#human d

You're burnt out and D helps you home after a long, long day, initially without ulterior motives (his feelings for you are. Complicated). You are absolutely spent, and he uses his best judgement to determine that it may not be the safest idea for you to drive. He takes you to his dingy flat just to crash for the night (wow) on account of it being "closer to the station" than your house, at least another 20 odd minutes out. Still, only out what little goodness exists in his heart. He feels you're his, and needs you to be safe.

Being tired exacerbates the whole thing. Normally, if this really was your only option, you would sleep in your work clothes on the floor, whether it was D's house or some other coworker's place. But he's saying so quietly "Go to bed." ushering your jacket off your shoulders and smoothing out his bed. He turns around to do the same, taking his coat, shoes, hat off.

But lord, you are so, so, so tired and worn through.

Now, you start taking your clothes off. So naturally, as if you were already at home about to slip into your own bed. You're left in your button up and your underwear. D.iesel's stupefied splutterings fall on deaf ears as you crawl into his bed. Eyes track you. He realizes what he's caught.

"You don't mind me on top, do you?"

Such a mocking question, his awful smirk practically leering at you. He knows your eyes are hardly even capable of focusing on his form. He's on top of you now clearly, in his underwear, just as you had imagined a man like him would sleep. You don't care. Your mind is numb and body aching from the infinitely stretched work week. You try not to care that what you crave so badly is laid out in front of you, hot and hungry and prodding at your stripped body, because you can't even bring yourself to lift a finger.

D.iesel's strained against his briefs and rutting hard against your crotch, nose buried in the crook of your neck and puffing hot air into the valley of your collarbone. Roughened, definitely dirty hands come to feel up your chest from under your shirt, goading weakened unwilling mewls from you. You're pawing him away with what little strength you have, pushing away his arms in an attempt to halt him. You're moaning hoarse pleas of Dee, stop, D.iesel, stop, I can't. He doesn't, and briefs are becoming soaked through from pre, cock dragging against your own heat. "You love it, you love it." D.iesel's senseless groaning is riling you up as much as it is for himself. You notice your underwear are none the more dry.

The state of your body and mental burnout doesn't change the fact that you do want this. It must be nonsense to deny that now, only because of what? You're tired? You'd rather do this some other time? Don't kid yourself.

Of course, the filter between your mind and your mouth is virtually nonexistent in your stupor. "Stop," a whine.

"I want you inside me."

That makes D.iesel pause. Only for a breath, then he's pulling away to tear his underwear to his knees, and yours just to the side. He mounts you proper and aligns himself. His length fills you at an excruciatingly slow pace. Your body aches for the gap to be filled to the hilt, needing him wholly, hard and fast, as much as you can get. Handfuls of him. Your moans of protest have ebbed into those of pleasure, of want, of equal hunger, stubby fingernails dragging across his back in an attempt to bring him closer.

"You really are gullible when you're tired like this."

Moans from the both of you fill the hot air with an absolute lack of inhibition, D.iesel groaning into you whilst you keen upwards into him. How exquisite is it to relish the freedom of privacy, to break open the silence and secrets and suppression in a space where no one else can see. There's no pretending. You don't have to worry about the barrier you've set up within yourself, the one to keep him away from you, all of it entirely dissolved by exhaustion. You don't have to worry about being honest with yourself.

"I never thought I would get this far," he punctuates by bottoming out inside you. You whine.

"But, hah, the way your hips move tells me that..." he pauses, stamina not all that, but it gives him a breath to indulge in your noises.

"...Neither of us have any issues with this."

Every hard thrust rushes a whimper out of you. It's so hot. The both of you are so dirty. Your skin is wet from your sweat, his sweat, and his hot breath. You need his filth.

Hands hook under his arms to pull him in tight, and you keen to bury your nose in D.iesel's repugnant scent, straight into his armpit. If you were any bit more conscious, you would easily envision your average self as an angel on your shoulder screaming WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING????? But, you're not. He smells perfectly repulsive, the work from the day, or days, tracked on him, old and new sweat, sex, want... Your unabashed thoughts are as good as spoken. Simple-minded and foolish, it spills out: "You smell, so, badddd."

Disbelief aside, D.iesel can only grunt a breathy What the fuck? in response.

It's muffled, of course, but you keep groaning in positively mindless euphoria, words slurred nearly incomprehensible, Dee, fuck, D.iesel, guhhh, Dies-uhh, so, fucking, bad,

D.iesel's cock markedly jams hard against the tangled mess of heat inside your womb. He's impassioned by the completely abased state you've found yourself in at the hands of him, along with your active touch, and he's aroused to pump deeper, faster, you're practically sobbing with lust into his touch and scent, both bodies easily reaching climax with resounding cries and moans.

D.iesel, being D.iesel, is no stranger to pulling out. His mess soils your shirt from the bottom to nearly up to your chin. To his satisfaction, you have to sleep in strictly your undergarments now. There's no aftercare for you beyond a towel. It's what you wanted, right?

There's little sound beyond panting and sheets rustling.

Your mind is blank. There's still a residual blush of ecstasy across your face, and a kindled warmth burning your stomach. He towels himself off too before pulling up his briefs and settling into bed next to you.

"God, you're sick."

Ahah.

Cheers to your first night together. Surely this'll be a one-off deal.