#lanebbd

The pillow you threw at him falls to the ground with a dull thud, and you stick your tongue out, softly blowing a raspberry as he tugs your legs in retaliation. He narrows his eyes in amusement and smirks as you shriek, murmuring under his breath something half-hearted about women you don't care enough to dignify. Instead, you turn your sights to Lane's small flatscreen, where the PS3's startup screen begins to play.

"Devil May Cry 4? Seriously?" He stares boredly at the screen, one arm propped on your calf to hold up his chin, while the other traces absent shapes on the skin of your thigh. He can't help but stare at the rim of your shorts, catching the smallest glimpse of your underwear before you shift your legs.

Damn.

He sighs through his nose, leaning over your legs to finish the rest of your beer in a single dramatic chug just because he can.

Silence falls over the two of you, broken only by the sounds of Nero's grunts and the quiet clack of buttons as you aggressively handle his controller.

It doesn't take long at all until his hands start to wander. It's innocent enough at first, just a few lingering touches ghosting across your exposed skin. But then he's skirting around the hem of your shorts, the tips of his fingers brushing beneath the lifted fabric, just barely low enough to be considered decent, but high enough to make his intentions clear.

"Lane."

He shudders at the tone of your voice—the exasperation entwined closely with affection, and how it drips from your lips like sin itself.

God, the way you say his name should be considered a crime with how much he's willing to do to get you to say it again.

He grins at your suspicion with a shrug of his shoulders, the edges of his smile holding the familiar traces of what you've come to pinpoint as desire.

Your eyes narrow when they clash with clouded blue, the undeniable heat behind them sending a shiver down your spine. Trying to close your legs proves fruitless as he slots himself between them like he belongs there, tossing your legs over his broad shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Fuck, you look so good beneath him with your shirt—his shirt, the possessive part of his brain preens—riding up to expose your stomach, your lips parted as your breaths get heavier, and your eyes beginning to glaze with a hunger only he has the power to satiate. He licks his lips, chuckling lowly when you imitate the action.

His palm travels over the newly revealed skin, resting just where your shorts meet your navel, while the corners of his grin sharpen into the cocky smirk you've grown to look forward to every shift. He leans down to kiss you, deceptively soft, but it's quick to devolve into a desperate clash of tongue and teeth, leaving you breathless when he pulls away suddenly, your lips connected by a thin string of spit that glimmers beneath his TV's blue light. You blink blearily as his other thumb swipes across your lips, eye twitching at his cocksure smile with an almost dejected scoff.

"I'm not doing anything, baby, just keep playing." The way he kisses the bend of your knee doesn't exactly feel like nothing, and the metal of his piercings is cold against your flushed skin, sending cold chills throughout the rest of your body. But still, you turn back to the TV, doing your best to focus as his thumb dips beneath the elastic of your shorts. He pulls experimentally, letting the band snap against your waist whilst he caresses your stomach.

His lips leave wet bruises along your inner thighs. "Tell me to stop, and I will," his voice an uncharacteristically soft murmur against the most recent of his love bites.

You don't look away from the screen once. "If you stop Lane, I'll smother you with a fucking pillow."

He snorts loudly, biting hard enough to draw a yelp from you. "Always violence with you women," he tuts, licking gently at the bruise in an attempt to soothe. You roll your eyes, trying to focus on your input commands while Lane works you out of your shorts and underwear in one smooth movement, tossing the garments haphazardly over his shoulder with little regard to whether you'd find them later.

Your legs try to close, more so out of instinct than insecurity, but Lane's hands pry them apart gently, exposing your glistening cunt to his greedy gaze.

He nearly groans at the sight, using his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you…So wet, and I haven't even touched you yet. Need me that bad, princess?"

"Fuck you." You hate how pitched your voice comes out, all breathless and needy, just the way he loves it. The controller in your hands nearly cracks in two when he laughs, the heat of his breath telling of just how close he's gotten.

He shifts slightly, settling against the couch when you spare him a heady glance. "Go on," he goads with that godforsaken smirk of his while he rests his cheek on your trembling thigh, "just keep playing. You suck ass, though."

You open your mouth to retort, but the only thing that comes out is a soft gasp of surprise when he licks a slow stripe up your pussy, his lips closing around your clit as he begins to suckle relentlessly. His hands hold you open, arms wound tightly around your thighs with a rare show of strength, leaving you at his mercy as you squirm in his grasp.

Still, you do your best to fight through the hordes of enemies, trying with little avail to ignore the wet squelches of Lane's tongue disappearing inside you. It only gets worse when he pushes his middle finger in, lapping at your swollen clit like a man depraved. The pace he sets is punishing, each flick of his wrist a silent promise of what's to come.

Blindly reaching down, you grab at his hair with a shaking hand, whether it's to pull him closer or push him away, neither of you cares.

"Shit…How are you still so tight? Can barely fit two fingers in you, baby." He groans against you as he pushes in his ring finger right next to the middle one, a snug fit, but the burn hurts so good. You keen at the feeling, dropping the controller completely in favor of tangling your hands in his hair.

"Lane…" The sound of your voice calling out to him so sweetly has him almost rutting pathetically into the couch cushions.

"That's right," he growls between obscene slurps, "say my name." He curls his fingers, deliberately hitting that soft little spot he's had mapped out since your first time sleeping together.

Your whines taper off into drawn-out moans with a vague similarity to his name, the warmth in your stomach spreading to the tips of your toes as your legs begin to close around his head.

"You're close, aren't you?" You can feel the smugness of his grin through the haze of pleasure, making the mistake of meeting eyes from between your legs. His face is flushed red, clear blue eyes crinkled at the edges with his trademark lazy arrogance, whilst you fall apart above him bit by bit. "Then cum."

The snap of pleasure inside of you has your back arching off the couch and away from him, Lane's shirt clinging to your sweat-soaked body like a second skin.

"L-Lane!" You pant, weakly grasping at his wrist, but barely slowing his movements as he cleans up the remnants of your orgasm with slow yet calculated strokes of his tongue. Only when you stop trembling does he pull his fingers out, whistling at the sheen of slick that coats his fingers as he slowly spreads them in front of you. His face fares no better—coated in cum that drips from his jaw onto his graphic tee.

The bastard doesn't even bother wiping his face, cleaning what he can with his tongue before capturing your lips in a disorienting kiss that you can't help but melt into. You feel the heat of him through his sweats as he grinds against you, the weight of his cock alone reigniting the need inside you once more.

He makes quick work of your shirt, shoving down the cups of your bra to palm at your tits. His fingers tweak at the perked nipples, tugging and twisting them in a way that has you arching into the touch, your head thrown back against the couch's armrest.

"You-you're so annoying, you know that?" Your eyes narrow at him, but your lip is caught between your teeth as you bite back another whimper.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know, princess. Plus, you're the one who came over to my place," he rolls his eyes, tossing his shirt in the same forgotten pile as the rest of your other clothes, "condom or no condom."

"No condom…"

"Sorry, what was that? You're gonna have to speak up, pretty girl."

You're going to kill him. Right now.

If only you knew how attractive Lane found you right now, maybe then you'd curb your judgment.

"Kidding, now turn around for me, yeah?" He kisses the crease between your brows, not giving you much of a choice as he manhandles you onto your knees, your forearms propped over the armrest. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you, followed swiftly by a familiar nudge against your clit. Lane's hand holds you steady by the hip as you jolt, slowly sliding through your folds before finally pushing in.

"Breathe, pretty." He presses kisses along your back, ghosting his hands up your sides, and down your arms to ground both you and himself. He's trying, really, he is, to let you adjust, but holy shit, you're tight, debilitatingly so. He can feel the control slipping with every passing moment.

An eternity had to have passed before you're calling out his name like a siren's call. Don't you know what that does to guys like him?

"You can move."

And like the love-blinded sailor he is, he answers, first with a shallow grind that makes you push against him, pleading for more—for harder, then he's pulling out and thrusting back into the hilt, tearing a scream from your throat loud enough to have the neighbors looking for new listings.

You feel your knees buckle as your feet kick up, brushing against his thighs as he pummels into you from behind. His hands hold you up, their grip nearly bruising to keep you from collapsing.

He watches you shudder with every thrust with an expression that can only be described as self-satisfactory.

Nobody on this planet could make you feel the way he did.

Especially not that punk ass biker who always acted like he had some sort of weird claim on you. Last he checked, it was his name that you moaned out, and his cock that turned your brain into a fucked-out mess.

"Shit—keep clenching like that," he pants out, head hanging low as his pace becomes more erratic.

His name falls from your lips like it's the only word you've ever learned, woven between a slew of moans and whimpers that's making it substantially for Lane not to bust every second.

You feel the cold press of his nipple piercings against your back when his breath fans your ear, one of his hands falling from your hip to rub deep circles on your clit, which twitches from overstimulation.

"I'm gonna cum inside, alright?" He bites the lobe of your ear softly, pinning you to the couch with his weight. It creaks with every heavy thrust, clearly not built for someone of yours and Lane's libido.

You only nod frantically in response, your breath hitching at your own impending peak. "Lane, I'm close—!"

"I know, baby, I know. Let go for me, I've got you."

What could have only been described as pure ecstasy explodes beneath your skin, setting each one of your nerves alight as you orgasm with a strangled cry of Lane's name. It's not long until tears of overstimulation well in your eyes and blur your vision at the corners as he chases his own high, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and breathing in the smell of you.

The hand that had been rubbing your clit finds one of your hands, intertwining your fingers together tightly when his peak finally crests, filling you with enough cum to leak onto the couch when he pulls out.

He lies back with you on his chest for a moment, allowing his nerves to settle before stalking off with a yawn. He returns with a soft towel and a glass of water, wiping you down with enough thoughtfulness for you to think someone replaced your boyfriend while he was out.

He does not appreciate that comment and deliberately gives a rough wipe to your oversensitive cunt with a blank stare.

You kick him in the chest lightly, and he staggers back like he's been shot. With a fond roll of your eyes, you bend down to pick up the fallen controller as "Abandon All Hope" flashes periodically on the screen. "You're actually the worst, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love me."

"Unfortunately."