#non tickles

Older boyfriend Ted Lasso who’s young of mind and heart, but not so much of… well, the rest of him.

His back hurts all day if he sleeps the wrong way, he has a crick in his neck more often than he doesn’t, his knees absolutely kill him after a long practice, and he has a hard time reading anything on his phone unless he’s holding it at arm’s length from his face and squinting at it.

Ted’s age is not lost in him. Hell, he’s 50 years old, and he’s not in denial, he’s embraced aging just as he has all the wonders of life. He just has one small problem.

He cannot keep up with you, and he hates it.

You’re so absolutely smitten with him, as he is with you, and it seems like you want to be wrapped around him at every given opportunity. That aspect of it, he loves.

He gets it, he’s been your age before— I mean, that was nearly three decades ago but still, he’s had the experience— and if it were up to him, or if he were 15 years younger, he’d have you just as often as you want him to, but the version of Ted you landed has a box of nasal strips on his bedside, and is certainly only months away from needing a pill organizer.

He loves your body more than anything in this world. Every curve, every edge, all your strongest features, all the ones you’re insecure about. He has assured you time and time again that no matter the reaction his body has (or doesn’t have), he’s absolutely enamored with every inch of you.

As much as you want him, he craves to give himself to you twice as much, but he can only get it up so often, and his hands are rough and calloused and already mildly arthritic.

He beats himself up constantly for not quite being able to run at your pace, but the good coach Ted Lasso has always had a wondrous way of finding the silver lining behind every dark cloud in sight.

He so badly wants to give you what you want. For you, of course, but for his own selfish reasons as well. He loves the way you look when he’s taking you apart, all the pretty faces you make, the dirty sounds that fall from your lips, his name on your tongue over and over and over again. Ted’s a humble man, but he knows well what he does to you, and witnessing it in real time really blows his head up.

He brags about it like an egotistical asshole. Only ever to you, and usually while he’s amidst the process of doing the very thing he’s bragging about. That’s how Ted comes to realize that there’s one muscle of his that runs constantly without ache and seems to never require a cool down.

His mouth. And by god does he have a firm handle on how to put it to good use. A lot.

One he realizes just how often he can put it to use, you nearly can’t keep up with him. It’s like you find yourself hoisted onto a counter top every time you turn around. Or pushed flat on his desk, or pulled to the end of the mattress by your ankle. He’s absolutely starving for it, constantly.

More often than not, you find yourself with your legs thrown over his shoulders and your hands tangled in his hair while he cradles the back of your thighs, and he starts so dreadfully slow. He’ll start at your neck, kissing from rhat sensitive spot under your ear down to your chest, his mustache tickling when he nips at your belly and over your hip. He’ll work around your thigh, kissing, biting, leaving little yellowish-pink love marks behind before doing the same to your other thigh.

When he finally finds purchase between them, he’s not easily removed. It’s like he can go for hours. In fact, he has. He doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with the babbling mess he’s turned you into. If you can still utter a coherent sentence, then you can take much more, and lucky for you, he has so much more to give.

Not to worry though, when he finally decides he’s done breaking you, he’ll ever so gently put you back together. He’ll rub your trembling legs, massage all of your limp muscles, and kiss away all the pretty tears you cried for him all before he runs you a nice warm bath and carries you to it himself, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Besides, the only time you’re ever really afforded any peace and quiet is when Ted’s mouth is otherwise preoccupied, and you can’t deny that his tongue is capable of wonderful things when it’s not too busy rattling behind his teeth.

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I haven’t the slightest clue how to tag this if I’m being so blatantly honest. He’s got a little something going on and I think we all know what it’s called.