#growling

Post-Human Paperwork

This lowkey just johnny being a lil nasty. MDNI 18+ I refuse to reread my stuff so if this sucks, too bad.

You hear him before you see him. Usually a stealthy man, but now his steps and grumbles echo through your shared flat. He's mad cause you managed to slip out of his arms before he even woke up.

How dare you escape his affections? How dare you steal him from the heavenly experience of waking up to your warmth, your sweet smell?

He throws the bathroom door open, and just stares at you. He would've dragged you against him if you weren't sitting on the toilet right now. There was a time where you would've been ashamed by him seeing you like this, but by now it was just a regular occurrence

"G'morning." "Good morning, johnny."

He huffs like you've personally offended him, when you flush and go to wash your hands. How dare you put hygiene over him?

But it finally gives him the chance to touch you. Stepping up behind you, thick arms wrapping around your middle, as he rests his head on your own. He does look adorable like this. Mohawk standing up into all directions, his face a little red and puffy, eyes practically still closed. He was like a sleepy, overgrown, kitty resting on you.

"Yer're pretty," he utters, his voice all raspy, his accent almost unbearably thick.

"As are you," you respond, reaching down and stroking along his arm. Tugging at the hair a bit just to watch him react.

"Rude." You laugh, offering a pat against the muscle as an apology.

He leans down, eager to feel your lips against his own. He is in pure disbelief when you turn away, might as well kick him in the balls, why don't ya? "S'cuse meh?"

"Your breath reeks, big guy. So does mine."

"Ah couldnae care less." Of course not. He never does, he has his tongue down your throat first thing in the morning multiple times a week.

You don't exactly protest. But still squeeze toothpaste onto his brush and holding it out for him to take before preparing your own.

He doesn't really pay attention to what he's doing, he's just watching you in the mirror. The way your pretty lips are parted, the way your hair is still a little messy, too. It's like throwing his brain straight into the gutter with all your might when a bit of foamy toothpaste ends up on your lips, and his thoughts just go all dirty.

A man only has so much self restraint. His toothbrush is thrown into the sink shortly after. He grabs your jaw and forces you to tilt your head toward him. He doesn't care about the sound of protest you make. Just smashes his chapped lips against your own.

He groans, with satisfaction at first, then frustration when he realizes he can’t even taste you. It's just that clean, minty taste.

But that doesn't stop him in the slightest.

Forces his tongue into your mouth, and you whine, because it's icky. He licks into your mouth, relishing in the way it squelches. Enough to make you cringe, while he just gets more into it. Reminds him of how your hole sounds when you fuck.

He's practically eating it up, you can feel him swallow, can hear it. That can't taste good. The way the frothy, slick toothpaste pushes past both your lips, sliding down both your chins, but only ends up dripping onto your chest.

You somehow manage to pull away for a second to catch your breath. Though, he really only gives you a second. He leans down, licking up the toothpaste that went down your chin before his tongue is back in your mouth, forcing the mixture in with the muscle.

You can't help the whorish moan you let out, and he swore he could taste that sound. Because it means you give in, no point in fighting. Your lips are wet and needy, your mouths parting too wide, uncoordinated, and fast. Teeth clashing, before tongues tangle.

And you want to be disgusted, the mix of his toothpaste spit that he's forcing into your mouth and your own going down your throat are not pleasant. But all you can think about are his hands roaming your body, groping every curve like he’s mapping you out. He is, he'll draw you later. Your nails are digging into his bare skin, leaving crescent shaped marks behind. The way he's pushing you against the countertop guarantees to bruise your hips.

His own hands slide back up your neck, greedy and unthinking, right through the thick smear of minty paste his mouth didn’t bother to clean. It squishes between his fingers, warm from the heat of your mouth. He lingers for a moment, as if he's thinking. Then smears it lower, dragging a stripe of white foam down your throat, over your collarbone. Damn him

"I told you to use lip balm," you scold between your heavy breaths when you do pull away.

FULL MOON TONIGHT!!

AWWOOOOOOOOOO

GRRRRARF RUFF RUFF GRRRAAHHH