#cyclist!din

Opening is right. As fucking open as your swollen lips are under his fingers and tongue.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard, when his lips move up over your clit to suck the hooded little bud into his molten mouth, tongue circling it—avoiding touching it completely before he catches you off guard with a sudden flick, a harsh suck that has you slamming yourself on mute as a moan bubbles in the back of your throat.

You should’ve known better than to leave those flimsy sleep shorts on when you got changed this morning. But wanted to be comfortable, and no one on the call would see past the pretty lace trim of your shirt anyway.

But Din had.

The minute he walked in after his morning ride, sweaty and ravenous—searching the house since you weren’t in the kitchen where he usually found you at this time – you knew he was up to mischief. The way his eyes slowly ran down your figure, stopping on the bare length of your legs and the supple curves he liked to grab and bite and kiss.

You should’ve known.

But here you were now, spine ramrod straight as you try to stop yourself from wriggling, your hips aching to rock against his face as he slides two fingers into your soaked cunt with a resounding squelch, the sound absolutely vulgar when you try to cover it with a “y-yes absolutely, I'll make sure everything is ready for Monday---”

His groans are muffled against your folds, his tongue lapping eagerly to catch every drop of your arousal as it steadily pulses out of you, his fingers dragging strings of it out of you to messy his face, your thighs, the fucking chair beneath you.

You try to mask your whimper with a cough, inadvertently drawing attention to yourself on the call where your boss asks worriedly, “you don’t have any symptoms, do you?”

He fucking grins against you - you can feel it, the bastard - pumping his fingers faster, grazing his teeth over your clit and sending spasms of pleasure across your skin,

“You look flushed, maybe you shouldn’t come in---” there was a murmur of agreement coming from the computer while you shifted, your hips rolling into the thrusts of his fingers helplessly.

“N-no I’m okay! More than okay—I’m—” you sound breathless, even to yourself as your hips shift, opening your legs wider for him as he drags you closer and closer to the edge, his growls of approval lifting from beneath the table as a fresh wave of slick coats his hand and face when you’re certain you’re about to be caught.

You don’t stay for the end of the meeting, leaving it with seconds to spare as you cried out—your orgasm ripping from you as violently as his fingers pounding into you. Your thighs are shaking, trembling as they hang over his shoulders and you’re certain how tightly your gripping his hair is hurting him.

But he only purrs, languidly drinking up your release with broad strokes of his tongue between your folds, thick fingers still lazily pumping in and out of you—reveling in the spasms of your walls still clamping down around him.

“Din---” you sigh, chest heaving and a flush darkening your chest and cheeks when he looks up your body at you.

You try to scowl, but those smoldering dark eyes—the quirk of his lips into a lopsided smirk while they shone with the evidence of your release had you dragging him up your body instead, lips clashing furiously—his tongue dragging along your lips before pressing into your mouth where he shares the taste of your release with you eagerly.

“You’re incorrigible,” you scold him, cupping his cheeks while his nose nuzzles into your temple,

“Just tell them your internet is shit and it kicked you off the call,” he quipped, the rumbling timbre of his voice sending pleasurable sparks directly between your legs once more, as if you hadn’t just cum all over his face while on a work call.

Your laugh is both disbelieving and mirthful, eyes shining with amusement when he captures our lips once more, the heavy weight of his cock pressing into your stomach telling you the ‘internet’ was likely to remain shit for the rest of the morning at least.

Hot, open mouth kisses are pressed along your jaw and neck, a large hand setting under the swell of your breast temptingly before he whispers,

You had only let him leave the bed after a series of slow kisses and tender sleepy caresses over exposed skin. A promise to return as soon as he checked on Grogu whispered against your lips—resulting in him returning with the bouncy rug-rat soon after for morning cuddles neither of you could resist. Din settled back against the pillows, his son sitting up happily on his abdomen with his fathers protective hand held gently behind his back—babies lost their balance a lot, he discovered, leading to an overexaggerated baby-proofing of his entire house.

Once you had pulled on his discarded shirt from the night before— the material swallowing you in its size and making his heart clench with a familiar tug of affection, you settled back against him after pressing a loving kiss to the top of Grogu’s head.

“Where’s mine?” Din’s chest rumbled beneath where you lay your cheek, basking in the solid warmth and strong embrace—his fingers tracing up and down your arm lazily, Grogu’s attention immediately turning to the movement and causing you both to laugh as he tried to catch his father’s hand.

“Mmh?” you smiled, turning your head enough to press your lips to the dip in his clavicle – a sleepy sort of laziness making you unwilling to stretch any further than you needed to, “there, happy?”

“Mm… very…” he rasped quietly, neither of you wanting to break the dreamy haze you found yourselves in. Just you, him and Grogu. Perfect.

If Din could pause life at any moment, it would be now.

His lips split on a smile when he was greeted with not only the sound of your laughter, but that of his sons as well—this little game of trying to catch Din’s fingers entertaining the two year-old to no end, small hands slapping down on his abdomen and chest excitedly when his fingers crawled away once more. The movement had tickled you, soft sounds of amusement filling his senses and he turned his head to press a kiss to the top of your head-- his lips refusing to separate from your crown as he inhaled the light scent of your shampoo until you turned your head upward.

Grogu managed to catch his father’s hand this time, a joyful babble filling the bedroom. Din’s mind distracted and reactions slow as he met your lips with his own, a rumble of approval bubbling in the back of his throat when your fingers scratched along the hair dusting his jaw. There was no expectation or desire for more – though he couldn’t say the same in another hour – and his lips moved over yours reverently, tasting you as though it was a privilege to even be given the opportunity. Making the most of every second.

You parted with a small smile, a giggle puffing on his lips when he made to chase your lips, drunk already. Those eyes you had fallen for so fast and hard, eyes that infiltrated your thoughts and dreams before you realised you never stood a chance—bore into yours now with nothing but naked love and a wonderment that was so achingly similar to his sons that you had to peck his plush lips once more.

A small gurgle pulled your eyes back down his body to where Grogu was still holding Din’s hand but was now nestling down into your side, obviously ready for his own Sunday morning lie in.

Din watched as you shifted—lifting the dozing baby up to settle more comfortably in the small dip where your body met Din’s, his small cheek nuzzling into your chest, one small fist wrapped tight around his father’s thumb.

Din muttered something - secret and special - softly against your hair, a small shake of his head all you received when you looked up at him from where you had been dozing off yourself. Either content with his response or too sleepy to ask again, you snuggled against him, the warmth of both your boys lulling you off easily.

Din himself remained awake only long enough to ingrain the image of you and his son intertwined with him—all three of you taking up a fraction of the space provided by the bed, his heart full and mind still disbelieving that this was his reality.