#sickboy

summary: sickboy wants to hear you - all of you.

word count: 2.2k

tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, Smut (v fingering, fem receiving oral), Canon accurate Sickboy (he’s an asshole), Sickboy has an oral fixation, Drug references, Sickboy fucks a bed and cums in his pants :3, Hair pulling, Renton and Begbie mentioned, No use of y/n

—

Sickboy’s ego was always too much for everyone around him to handle. Nothing was ever enough for him. He always wanted more.

Like this, the situation he was in right now. It wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. He had you laid flat on your back in your own bed, mini-dress rolled up to your midriff. He had your thong stuffed into the front pocket of his trousers and your thighs locked around his head but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

It didn’t matter what he did or how good he thought he was, you weren’t letting up, not giving him anything other than a low sigh or a quiet moan.

Sickboy was confused about it, because after all, you were the one who bought him the first drink. You were the one rubbing your heel against his lower leg when you sat beside him at the bar. You were the one who inclined your head towards the out-of-order club bathroom with ‘fuck me’ eyes; the one who was more than welcome to the prospect of him holding you against the wall by the throat with one hand while he fucked you with the other one.

But he was the one who suggested you go back to yours, because he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t fancy bringing a lass back to Sweeney’s while Renton was trying to sleep off his worst high yet.

But, in true Sickboy fashion, he wanted more. Sex and heroin weren’t all that different after all, because just like with a hit, he’d done it once and now he wanted it again. He was desperate for it. He’d made you cum using just his fingers and he wanted to make you cum again.

He was a greedy fucker and he couldn’t help himself. He, nor you for that matter, could deal with just snogging on the ten minute taxi ride back to yours. You were soaking through your panties and he was painfully hard, so he fingered you again in the back of the taxi, making you cum using just his fingers, again. Kissing you to swallow your moans whilst whispering into your mouth all the promises of the filthy things he was going to do to you later.

And that was how you wound up here. You were too quiet for his liking. He figured it had made sense in the club because you both had snuck into an out-of-order bathroom and didn’t want to attract attention, but when he thought about how loud the music was thrumming outside the door it started to make less sense. He supposed it made more sense for you to be quiet in the taxi ride because, well, it was in a fucking taxi. That was pretty vulgar even for his standards.

But here, in the privacy of your own home, no roommates to bother since you had left them at the club, and you still weren’t giving him more than a whimper. Sickboy sighed, ceasing his motions and raising his head from between your legs to rest it on your stomach.

That made you freeze and look down at him, wondering if he was enjoying this at all. From what you’d learned from past partners and hookups, you were doing exactly what you were supposed to. Apparently, lads didn’t like it when lasses were too loud or too keen in the bedroom. And while it had been a fucking chore not to scream both times Sickboy had fucked you with his fingers that night, you wanted this to be good for him, too. The last thing you wanted was to put him off. You weren’t about to deprive yourself of how good he was any sooner than you had to.

“What?” you snapped down at the bleach blonde man as his fingertips trailed up your inner thigh.

“Cat got your tongue, lassie?” he asked in that thick Scottish accent, his voice soft and low. At your questioning look, he began to slowly kiss your thighs where his fingers were planted, teeth softly grazing your skin and causing your breathing to quicken. “I wanna hear you, lass,” he murmured. “Wanna hear who makes you feel this fucking good.”

It was all an ego thing. He wanted to hear all of it for his own gratification. He wasn’t being generous. He hadn’t only paid attention to you and your needs all night because he cared more about your pleasure than his own. You’d offered to suck him off in the club bathroom, twice had attempted to give him a hand-job between the taxi and your front door, and he’d denied you every time, insisting he wanted to focus on making you feel good. It wasn’t completely false, though it was more about the fuck-off buzz he got out of knowing it was him that made you cum like that; that, and the pride he’d feel when he got to tell Rents and Franco that he’d made a girl cum X amount of times without even using his dick. But this wasn’t exactly the kind of pornographic scenario he pictured telling his mates about; no lewd noises, no desperate breaths, not even as much as a moan from you and it was starting to really bug him.

He looked back up at you with his dark eyes and mewled, “Think you can do that for me, pretty girl? Think you can let me hear you?”

“Bigheaded twat,” you laughed at him.

“I just wanna know you’re enjoying yourself, pet,” he crooned.

You gave a delicate, breathy laugh. “You’re so fucking full of it.” But you were cut off with a gasp when Sickboy pressed the pad of his thumb firmly against your clit.

“Come on, lass,” he murmured, eyes never leaving your face. “Let me hear it.”

His thumb pressing harshly into your core caused you to let out a hushed string of, “oh fuck, oh god”, but he glared at you, still not satisfied. “That all you got?”

“Please,” you whined.

“Fucking speak up,” he spat.

“I hate you so much,” you panted.

“I need you to be louder,” he encouraged, not relenting for a moment. “Gonna need you to speak up if you want me to keep going, pretty girl.”

“Please!” you begged, finally reaching a volume he was satisfied with.

Sickboy grinned, tightening his grip on your thighs and throwing them back over his shoulders. “That’s my girl,” he praised before dipping his head back down between your legs.

His tongue seared through you and you finally let out a delighted moan that seemed to spur him on. Your hands tangled in his hair, fog fanned through your brain and the only words you could think of to describe him were mean and cunt.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Si, please.”

He continued to lap at your core, and your back arched off the bed with a cry that you were sure would wake your prudish, conservative neighbours, but you were too deep in how fucking good it felt being fucked by Sickboy’s tongue to care. You pulled and tugged at whatever was available to you, one hand grasping at the sheets of your bed and the other tugging at Sickboy’s blonde locks.

You could feel him grinning against your pussy at the sudden change in your volume and reaction to what he was doing. You knew he was a smug prick but this was another level. “Aye, that’s it,” he praised you. “You taste fucking incredible,” he purred.

He did not stop, he did not relent. His name fell from your lips like it belonged there, like you were reciting an old poem. Your sounds made him strain against the lining of his pants, finally more than satisfied with your volume. He cursed under his breath as he fondled the curve of your hip, tugging you closer to his mouth. “I’ll be fucking this pussy all night,” he murmured against your core.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” you praised him, both hands now entangled in his hair.

You felt him smirk against your heat and knew immediately that he would not let you forger that admission. “Uh huh.” Like he already knew.

He couldn’t help himself because he never could. You tasted so good and sounded even better and he was so fucking hard, he found himself rutting his hips against the bed slowly, rocking it even harder, gripping your thighs tighter, so hard it turned his knuckles white and was almost sure to leave bruises the morning after.

The knot in your stomach was edging closer and closer to coming undone, the familiar sensation taking over your entire being as he devoured you mercilessly, until all you could think was Sickboy, Sickboy, Sickboy.

Sickboy continued to jerk his hips against the bed absentmindedly, nearing his own peak and causing his own breathing to become more erratic against your core as he continued to fuck you with his tongue.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, lassie,” he praised you breathlessly. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

Unsure what to do with your hands, you just kept tugging at his hair, which only turned him on more. Your moans grew breathier and your legs began to shake as you neared your climax. “Come on then, pretty girl,” Sickboy encouraged you, eager to see and feel you cum on his tongue. “Come on, your pretty cunt can handle it.”

You desperately clawed at the bedsheets with one hand, causing the corners of the bedspread to give way. You screamed and chanted his name, stars bursting across your vision as you reached your climax, gushing and dripping all over his tongue. Sickboy groaned into your core, the noise vibrating throughout your body.

He allowed his own release after he had felt yours, and he felt the post-nut clarity hit him that you had him so whipped that he was humping your bed because he was too fucking horny to wait a while before he got to really fuck you.

He wasn’t complaining, though. You’d done so well for him that you’d unknowingly made him cum in his pants from just your moans and pulling his hair. That was how he knew you were really fucking special, and he’d be damned if he was leaving your apartment without your phone number.

Sickboy took his time to make sure he lapped up every last drop of your release. By the time he lifted his head up, you had caught your breath and mostly come down from the high of your mind-blowing orgasm. But when you saw his blown out pupils, messy blonde hair, red face and a mix of his saliva and your juices running down his chin, you felt like you could’ve had a fourth orgasm just from that sight alone.

Your head hit the pillow and you stared up at your ceiling when you saw the cocky smirk plastered on his face. Sickboy laid down on his back beside you, allowing himself time to take a breather from the intensity of the last ten minutes.

“That was better than any fuckin’ hit in the world,” he panted, and it was your turn to smirk now. Maybe you’d both learned an important lesson about your partner’s pleasure that night. You stole a glance over at him, noticing he was still fully-clothed, but the sleeves of his white button-up were rolled up and a few buttons at the top were undone like he was teasing you. You noticed your leopard print thong hanging out of his pocket and wondered when the sneaky bastard had pocketed it. You made a mental note to buy another one, knowing you wouldn’t be getting it back, while also thinking of all the other pairs of panties you owned that would drive him fucking insane.

Fuck if this was going to be a one-time thing.

“Don’t tap out on me now,” you whined, reaching over to tangle your hand in his blonde hair again when you notice that Sickboy’s eyes were closed.

He opened them sleepily and looked over at you questioningly, raising an eyebrow. “Think you can handle some more, lassie?” You nodded vigorously, not even giving yourself time to think about how pathetic it must look before you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, swung your leg over Sickboy’s waist and settled down on his lap.

With both of your hands now tangled in Sickboy’s hair, you pulled his lips to meet yours, the tongue that had ruined you minutes earlier sliding into your mouth. “Need your cock,” you moaned into his mouth, beginning to slowly grind your naked core against his still clothed lap as your fingers tantalisingly made work of his buttons. “Need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Need all of it so fucking bad, Si.”

Sickboy leaned back, resting his weight on one hand while the other cupped your jaw, his thumb running over your plush lips. “So fucking perfect,” he crooned, and he gasped when he felt your hand close around his painfully hard cock and pull it from his boxers.

He whined and hissed in anticipation as you began to tease your entrance with his leaking head, before you stopped suddenly, leaning forward to claim his lips in another harsh kiss, smirking this time. “Louder,” you demanded.

Who said it was only him that could have an ego?