#softdom!reader

Cons like how he spends most of his Saturdays out on the pitch, crouched in the dirt and squinting into the sun, trying his best to convince a group of kids that, yes, they can hold a bat properly and maybe, maybe, hit the ball this time. Or how he’s up way too late most nights, sleeves pushed up and red pen in hand, squinting at papers on the female reproductive system and everything else that comes with trying to teach a bunch of twelve year olds something they only half listen to.

But it’s not all bad. There are perks, too. Like the way all the middle aged moms seem to think they’ve got even a sliver of a chance with him— lingering a little too long at pick up, smiling a little too sweet. Right up until you show up to get him, or when they spot the sweet note you tucked into his freshly made lunch that morning. And then there’s Steve himself, sat at the kitchen dining table late at night, rubbing at his eyes before reaching for the one thing he actually can’t do without when it comes to deciphering that kind of handwriting— his reading glasses— perched low on his nose while he tries to make sense of it all.

Every time you catch even the smallest glimpse of the furrow between his brows and how the glasses catch and glint in the low lamplight, you’re practically a river, knees turning to putty as you watch him scribble tiny notes in the margins of each answer.

Like just now.

You’d barely thought when you pulled your robe over your silk pyjamas, tying it loose, walking mindlessly towards the kitchen until you catch the sight of your beautiful husband and the glasses that are pressed right up against his face. You practically freeze in your tracks, thighs pressing tightly together as you linger in the doorway. Your lower lip catches between your teeth while you watch him, completely absorbed, head tilted slightly as he works through yet another stack of papers.

He hasn’t even noticed you. Currently too focused on whatever wildly incorrect answer one of his students has come up with this time.

“You want to come to bed?”

Your voice breaks through the quiet, soft but enough to make him jolt upright, pen pausing mid sentence. He blinks, a little dazed, before finally looking up, his honey eyes finding yours across the room.

And then dropping toward your frame 

His jaw slackens just slightly at the sight of your bare legs, the robe doing very little to hide them, before reality catches up with him. The papers that sit in front of him and how the deadline is tomorrow.

A dramatic groan leaves him as he leans back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face.

“I know— I’m sorry, I need to get these finished.”

“Can’t you do them tomorrow?”

You pout, already moving toward him, slow and deliberate.

“They’re due tomorrow, honey” 

He sighs, softer now, apologetic as he glances back at the stack. 

“I’m sorry— promise I’ll be done soon?”

“Hmph… okay. Can I watch you do them?”

You ask, leaning against the hardwood table, the cool surface pressing against the warmth of your bare skin.

“Of course you can, baby.”

He answers easily,  already turning back to the paper in front of him, attention slipping from you almost as soon as he’s said it.

Oh. Okay.

That’s how it is.

Your eyes narrow just slightly, watching the way his pen starts moving again like you didn’t just walk in here, like you aren’t standing right there. Like he didn’t just look at you like that a second ago.

You shift your weight, deliberately slow, the floor creaking softly beneath you as you inch a little closer. Close enough now to see the way his brows knit together again, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he focuses. Still not looking at you.

“Steve.”

You say it softer this time, almost sweet— but there’s something deeper underneath it. He doesn’t look up

Another con you forgot to mention is how much Steve cares about his work— almost too much. To the point where he overworks himself without even realising it, runs himself into the ground over a stack of papers and a red pen, gets so caught up in doing everything right that he forgets to take care of himself at all. He stresses and he overthinks, he stays up too late telling himself just one more paper until it turns into twenty.

And the thing is, you know him.

You know exactly how he gets, the little tells, the way his shoulders start to tense, how his brows pull together tighter and tighter the longer he goes on. You see it happening before he even does. But more importantly, you know exactly how to fix it.

Your hands move toward the fabric of your robe, untying the little bow at your waist and letting it slowly drop off your shoulders as if your a present ready to be unwrapped. 

It could be taken as a mistake, or an invitation. 

Steve is still focused on the papers, not even hearing the light thud of the heavy garment hitting the floor. So…you continue. 

Your hand slowly snakes down your body to your pulsing heat, and you quietly gasp at the feeling of your arousal seeping through the fabric of your sleep shorts. Your fingers begin to slowly rub at the swollen nub between your legs, rolling it between your fingers before reverting back to pressing tight circles against your clothed skin. The friction of the silk atop of your pulsing clit is  delivering an unimaginable sensation. 

The moment you let a moan slip past your lips, Steve finally looks up. His gaze takes the sight of you in and he exhales through his nose. There you are, infront of him, pleasing yourself because he’s too busy to do it for you, hair stuck against your forehead, breaths uneven and short, what type of husband is he? To not at least help out— but fuck…the papers. He still has six more to mark. 

“Baby, cmon— I told you, I’ll be done soon, then I’ll help okay?”

He grunts, eyes still glued to you, and your soft hands against your body

“That’s fine—”

You pant, other hand reaching your breast— pressing and pulling your pebbled nipple eliciting another sweet moan out of your pinkish red lips

“-I can do it myself”

Your hand stops and your body almost jolts at the loss. You begin to shed yourself of your pjs, taking off the top first as Steve eyes hungrily rake over you. Then painfully you remove the tiny shorts, raising your body up to sit atop the table— avoiding the papers of course because why would you get in the way of his work?

Your feet hit the seat next to Steve, and you spread your thighs open, hand quickly moving back down to your sopping cunt. 

Steve lets out a breath through his nose as he watches your fingers slide between your folds. You whine as you slip your middle finger into your tight hole, the pressure not enough— nothing like Steve’s rough calloused fingers at all. But to keep up the show, you continue.

The room is filled with the sound of your finger plunging in and out of your wet heat and your loud moans. Steve’s mouth is practically watering, the papers entirely forgotten as he watches you try your hardest to reach your peak, even though it doesn’t seem to be happening. If it were Steve’s hands, he would have had you coming around him in seconds. So he takes this as his in. Screw the papers he can do them tomorrow morning

Steve’s shifts out of his seat, hands reaching towards your thighs. When you hit them away, he stops immediately.

“Baby wha— let me help you okay?”

“No Steve”

You moan, your fingers pulling out of you and reaching towards your swollen clit to rub two tight circles before plunging back into you

“Please? Please just let me touch you.”

Bingo. You have Steve exactly where you want him. You shake your head at his please, your gaze hazed and heavy lidded

“I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Please honey—“

Steve breathes out, hands resting just between your thighs

“-Let me make you feel good mkay?”

With a loud groan, you give him what he so desperately wants. Shifting your body forward till you’re practically off the table.

Steve jumps at the opportunity, hands immediately grasping your breasts. You whine under his touch, his methodical fingers rolling your stubborn peaks. 

Steve’s lips ghost over your pulsing nub once, then twice. Before he stops, hands reaching towards the glasses that sit on his nose

“No—“

You breathe out, hips involuntarily jerking up towards him

“Keep them on”

Steve’s eyes widen at the request, and then he’s diving in towards your pussy like a man starved. His tongue rotates between sliding through your puffy folds and sucking and tonguing at your clit. 

His satisfied moans vibrate against your heat, and you swear you can hear church bells just from his tongue alone. 

You already got yourself worked up enough, so it’s only merely a couple minutes before your falling apart one his tongue, body rolling against his face as you finally reach your peak. Gushing all over Steve’s mouth as he works you through it. Tongue still pushing in and out of your heat until he knows you’ve calmed down. 

When Steve pulls back, he’s smiling. Lips red and swollen— glossy and drenched in your slick. He shuffles back to sit on the hardwood chair— an in for you to straddle him. 

He works quickly on his jeans, unbuttoning himself and sliding his briefs down along with the rough fabric of the denim. He lets an out sigh of relief when his cock springs free. Achingly hard and red, pressing against his blue button up.

“Take your shirt off too”

You say, finally sliding off the table to sit on top of him, legs swinging around either side of Steve’s thighs. 

He lets out a shaky breath, fingers fumbling to unbutton his shirt. You don’t help him. Instead your hand traces the vein on the underside of his shaft. Then you wrap your hand around his heavy base, slowly inching up. 

Steve’s hips buck into yours and his head falls back, the shirt sliding off his shoulders to reveal the thick hair that adorns his chest. 

Your hand speeds up, still wrapped around his thick cock, slowly circling around until he’s writhing below you

“Yeah— shit that’s it— mm”

Steve moans, head falling back against the chair

Once you feel him twitching below you, you halt your movements. Steve’s head has never whipped up faster

“Fuck— why— please”

He mutters out, nodding towards your hand stilled around his pulsing cock

“Please move again”

He fucking whimpers when your hand starts to rotate against him again 

“You like that?”

Your voice is deep, laced with something he’s never seen before

“Oh— oh yeah, I like it, please keep going fuck—“

You continue to pump his cock, feeling him get closer and closer, your fingers rub over the slit on his tip before moving back down again

“I’m gonna cum”

Steve’s a moaning mess under you, squirming and bucking up in your hand. Once you’re sure he’s going to come, you stop. 

Steve groans, eyes blowing wide. Before he can speak or bitch about, you quickly sink down on him. Your warm pussy envelops Steve, welcoming him in to your tight hole

“Fuck baby— oh my god”

You still for a second, feeling the way he fits into you almost perfectly. like His cock was made to be inside you, and you only. Your hands wrap around his neck, finally you press your lips to his.

The kiss is hot and messy, tongues gliding against eachotehr. Your moans are swallowed up eagerly by Steve’s mouth as you begin to move. 

Steve pistons his hips to meet your movements, hitting the spot deep within you. 

You moan against his lips, quickening your pace. The rough pad of Steve’s finger rubs against your clit, simultaneously pushing you over edge. Your whole body convulses against his cock as you reach your peak.

Steve quickly follows after, still built up from your teasing before. His cum fills you in white hot,short spurts. 

The room is sweaty, humid air clinging between your bodies. The only sound being your uneven breaths and the slick noise of Steve’s cock leaving your pussy. You hiss at the loss, feeling Steve’s cum drip down your inner thigh. 

“Same time tomorrow night?”

Steve’s voice comes out rough, breath still uneven, forehead resting against your shoulder as he tries to steady himself.

You hum softly in response, nodding as your fingers find his hair, gently pulling him back into you.

“Yeah” 

You whisper, he exhales something close to a laugh, tired and fond all at once, and you catch the way his grip tightens just slightly around you— like he’s not quite ready to let go yet.

So instead of moving away, you just kiss him again. It’s much slower this time, softer. No urgency left in it, just warmth, just him, just the quiet aftermath of everything settling into something familiar again.

When you finally pull back, it’s only far enough to rest your forehead against his.

He walked straight to the bedroom where he knew you’d still be up waiting for him, door open with a lit bedside light to welcome him despite his insistence that your sleep is more important. The urge didn’t even come up to wash his hands, disinfect his phone, or sanitize his work bag, being replaced instead by his desire to be in your presence.

As he’d suspected, there you were, sitting up on the bed you shared, eyes fighting to stay open as they flitted through the pages of a book. The comforter covered your legs, and only a thin sleep shirt separated your back from the headboard you leaned against, the shape of your nipples hardly poking through. Spencer hesitated to walk in and ruin the pretty picture.

When you noticed him, a fond smile grew on your face and you dropped your book to open your arms wide for him. He slowly walked over to you, stomach twisting just a little at the fear of being a bother, and started to position himself as he did whenever he needed a bit of extra comfort. He gave you a quick peck and settled down so his head rested on your lap, lying down on his side with his arm hugging your bare thighs. His long frame curled sideways by your legs under the blanket. He said nothing when you combed your fingers through his hair—just held you a bit tighter; nuzzled his cheek impossibly closer.

You broke the silence, absentmindedly separating small locks of his hair now with your fingers. “Want to talk about it?” you asked, to which he shook his head, movement still restricted by your thighs on his cheek, hating that he didn’t have more to say. Hated to have to make you pry just to hear about his day, but all the more in awe of how attuned you were to his emotions—even more than he was sometimes. Hated being moody and uncommunicative, but his brain was betraying him.

Your thumb now stroked his eyebrow, smoothing it out. Every part of him that your fingers touched relaxed in its wake, coupled with the scent of your lotion and laundry into his breaths. He finally spoke up, voice slightly muddled from his cheek against your leg; perhaps he sounded like his handwriting would sound, though he hoped he was more understandable than that.

“Per hour of sleep we lose, human blood pressure tends to increase by 3 to 5 millimeters of mercury, so you waiting up for me this late probably already caused an increase of 10 mmHg. Cortisol levels can also increase by up to 80% when sleep deprived, and your reaction time can slow by up to 500 milliseconds, which will make it more unsafe for you to drive tomorrow.” I appreciate you so much, baby, but you shouldn’t have waited up, is what he wanted to say. It never came out that way. I love when you greet me. Don’t put your health at risk for me. I’m sorry I’m late. But it always came out instead as numbers and statistics because that’s all he knows how to do, and it’s the only way his voice knows how to love, but you get it. He wants to add more.

You get him. “Stop worrying, Spence. I need to see you just as much as you need to see me. Can’t sleep otherwise,” you assured him. Goosebumps rose on his skin as you rubbed slow, pressured circles onto his forehead, massaging him properly now. Maybe your words were supposed to make him feel better, but he couldn’t shake the guilt in his gut. His burden complex weighed heavier today.

“My Spencer,” you breathed. Heat rose onto his cheeks. Your Spencer. “What do you need from me?”

He laid still on your lap, face now turned upward to memorize your own, pondering on the question. Always too scared to ask, though he knew what he needed. “Anything you’ll give me,” he whispered.

Now freshly dried from his shower, Spencer walked toward where you stayed sitting on the bed just as you had been when he arrived. He stood completely bare before you, an unlikely mix of both self-consciousness and pride filling him as you looked him up and down. The implied power imbalance of your clothed decency juxtaposed with his nude vulnerability has just occurred to him; he felt a rush in his stomach.

You pulled the covers off and spread your legs apart, then patted the space in between. Spencer crawled onto the bed as carefully as he could, trying not to shake it too much, now unsure of how long he could last. He found a seat between your thighs, the outer edge of his legs lining the inner side of your own, his back flush against your torso.

Goosebumps rose on his skin when your hands trailed up his neck, grazing his ears, then his cheekbones, to comb themselves through his soft hair. He shivered, just once. His mouth parted slightly in a shaky exhale and his head lolled back toward you, as a cat would, until it rested gently on your shoulder, full trust in you to support him. His eyelashes fluttered to a close as you slowly but firmly squeezed your fingers into a closed fist against his scalp, hair tangled within your grasp, letting the leverage of your palms against his head do the tugging. Despite the tightness of the skin around his temples, his facial muscles only continued to relax as he silently handed you all control of him. He released a shallow gasp as you gave your wrists a slow twist before releasing his hair entirely.

You slid your fingers down to his nipples, running your thumbs over them each for not long enough. He let out a sigh that must’ve released more air than his lungs had the capacity to carry in the first place. The stresses of the day began to leave with it, Spencer being overcome instead by the relief of being back in the comfort of his own home—in the arms of his beloved. Your hand was cool against his humid skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. Ears ringing, he hardly heard his own voice releasing a shaky, dragged out, sh— shhhit, between gritted teeth.

Your hands trailed down even further toward his soft stomach which was scrunched into a bean-like mound from his position against you, grazing down his happy trail before ignoring his painful erection and inching toward his thighs instead. Your nails dragged gently over his inner thighs and he pried them open for you; all for you.

He whined under his breath and his legs flexed under your touch, only the duration of a single twitch, lifting his hips up subconsciously to contact your hands where he needed them most. You gently pushed him back down, wordlessly insisting on giving attention to his soft thighs, asserting that it was your pace being followed. And he couldn’t object. He didn’t want to. Always so patient with him, he longed for you to be proud of his obedience. His thighs were yours to touch, after all, and so was what rested now painfully hard between them.

His head still laying against your shoulder, you gently swiped your tongue against his ear lobe, getting his attention. You whispered to him, and he was so receptive to you. “Do you think you’re ready?”

He didn’t need to see it to know, but he glanced down anyway, his cheeks burning up to a colour he imagined matched his throbbing penis. He ached to be touched there, swallowing at the thought.

He hummed lazily in response, already lightheaded from the rush in his head. He tilted his head in slow roll to place clumsy kisses all over your face, whatever part of it he could reach, nodding continuously to please touch me, I’m ready. He thought his lips had caught your nose, cheekbones, ear, jaw… but at that point he’d already been intoxicated by your touch and couldn’t tell the difference; only wanted to taste the saltiness of your supple skin.

“Words, Spence.” With his head still turned to you, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and nipped at it until it puffed up, drawing a light whimper from him. He arched his neck sideways to grant you access to the rest of him that your lips and teeth could reach. More of him now exposed to you, he quietly pleaded as you lightly sucked on sensitive points behind his jaw. A lone tear slipped out of his eye closest to you, and you lapped it up as it hung from his jaw.

“Ready. Always ready for you,” he choked, voice already hoarse. Your ability to take him to the clouds far before touching the most sensitive part of him only turned him on further, as well as the nurturing and patient but complete control you exerted. He was undeserving and yet eternally grateful. Swore to himself he’d spend the rest of his days trying to love you as completely as you did him.

Upon squeezing out some lubricant from the bottle in your bedside drawer, you grasped his erection in your slick hand, your other hand exploring the rest of his body, and he gasped with an unintentional jolt. From this position you two were in, it allowed the ridges of your curled palm and fingers, as well as the coolness of your wedding ring, to make full contact with the sensitive vein along the underside of his cock.

You played him like an instrument, and the sounds he made proved nothing less. You’d glide your sharp knuckles over him, barely making contact with him, much to his protest; your hand would run along the thin, elastic stretch of skin connecting his head to the underside of his cock. Or you’d bunch your delicate fingertips together at his tip, letting the widening of his cock separate them as you pushed down toward his balls. He almost wished, as the pads of your fingers trailed his length, that your fingerprints could be ingrained in his skin, if only to be claimed by you even more. His breaths grew laboured and he slowly lost the shame in his whimpers.

Your other hand moved to his lips, muffling his sounds slightly. Your breath tickled his ears, and he threw an arm back to grasp your hair or neck or whatever he could grab, trying fruitlessly to get closer for you to ground him.

He whined helplessly against your now vibrating hand, though it did nothing to quiet his volume as you so creatively played with his cock, fidgeting with him and using him like nothing. Tension was prominent between his eyebrows sewn together, and surely his forehead carried a few creases as well.

You gently ran your thumb against his bottom lip, and he instinctively pulled it into his mouth. Your thumb pushed degradingly against the inside of his cheek, forcing his mouth to open slightly. His tongue circled your thumb out of habit, and the slightest bit of spit dribbled out the corner of his lips.

The room started to smell and feel like sweat, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was experiencing everything and nothing all at once, sensations heightened yet brain numbed. Rare were the occasions that he couldn’t explain everything, and the times where he couldn’t think straight, but he revelled in it. Nowhere else was Spencer able to be completely defenseless and equally safe but in your arms—or hands, in this case. His guard wholeheartedly down, he cherished the privilege of being worriless and thoughtless.

His brain’s unusual absence of words and knowledge—two things which he so dutifully guarded just to feel competent—was welcomed because you were around to protect his vulnerability in the meantime.

By now, from the sweat or his own sheer lack of control, Spencer had slid down slightly so his shoulder blades were flush with your breasts; your hard nipples pressed against him through the soft silk of your nightshirt and it reminded him how eager he was to return the favour. He was leaning back a bit more, hardly noticing the ache from his weight resting on his tailbone.

The position gave you access to move your working hand even lower, gentle fingers starting to toy with his balls before moving down toward the sensitive patch of skin right beneath. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth when you hit it, hums and groans gradually increasing in pitch. Against his own will, he clenched around nothing, causing his perineum to shift against your fingers. He choked out another embarrassingly loud sound, mouth shamelessly open now, and then did it again.

You kissed his jaw. “How do you feel?” you whispered. You gave more attention to the pink head now, fingers tickling his smooth tip, thumb pressing down periodically on the ridges. Your other hand played with hair.

“You treat me so well,” he breathed, as earnestly as he could, turning his head to give a sloppy kiss to your wrist, drunk on your touch, your warmth, and you. “Love you so much,"—he swallowed—"ah— oh, f— fuck— Love what you do to me.”

“You deserve it all.”

His moans got more high pitched as you worked, and his breaths came in faster than his chest could keep up with. His hands grasped at your thighs to steady himself, blunt nails digging in.

“My Spencer baby, you look oh so beautiful,” you praised, voice dripping in sheer adoration. His eyes drew open and his gaze rolled back, then lazily toward you. Another tear slowly escaped the corner of his eye, and he wished he weren’t tearing up if only to see your pretty face more clearly. His eyebrows were still tense under the nearness of his undoing, tilted in a pleading pout.

“Please, please-please-please-please-plea— mmngh…” He pleaded and begged for release, no longer making sense of what was coming out of his mouth, eyes ever-downturned and watering once again.

He was helplessly putty in your hands, his body no longer his own, but rather a shell of just euphoria and feeling. He was floating and completely at your mercy, just as he loves to be.

“I love you, please, I—” His sentences grew choppy and more and more incoherent, his speech being mixed with unintelligible throaty noises. His chest rose and fell significantly faster than it had earlier, lips hardly separating as he mumbled a yesyesyesyes keep going yes just like that please, and his hips thrusted up to move his length further into your hand.

His desperate hands sought purchase from whatever they could grab, now tightly squeezing and scratching at your thighs. He readjusted his sweat-slicked palms as they slipped down your skin.

Your hand in his hair slid down roughly to grab his jaw in utter possessiveness, twisting it up toward you to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips. He did the best he could to return it. “Go ahead, baby,” you mumbled against his mouth.

He whimpered into the kiss, with no more capacity to spare you an audible ‘thank you’ as usual. You squeezed your working hand just the slightest bit tighter around his cock, working your way back up to his ever-sensitive pink head.

“Shitshitshitshit, fuck, oh, God. I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so—ah—” How naughty he felt. Maybe you’d tease him later about the junk coming out of his mouth, flustering him with the thought of what the neighbours would think. But as a sunflower proved its affinity to the sun and its warmth, all he could do now was gaze at you mindlessly, his neck aching at the effort. Under the dim yellow lamp lighting up the room, he embodied the sunflower’s golden glow. Its face would follow the bright star by nature and so would Spencer's, happily compelled by some force of nature to show you his authentic self as he held on so close to his orgasm. You smiled at him.

The bed squeaked under his shaking legs. Lone tears made their way down his face, free-falling now, and he made no move to wipe them. As he neared his peak, you kept your hand on his cock, hand wrapped snugly around his tip, angling it toward his chest.

You grabbed his throat with the other, fingers squeezing inward toward the two valleys around his neck that carried his precious arteries, and he felt the first spurt of cum burst through with a loud wail of surprise.

“Baby—“ he tried breathlessly, eyes still attempting to meet yours to please understand what I’m saying, please be proud of me, “baby, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming, I’m…” His muscles spasmed and sharply leaned him forward, causing your hand to obstruct his throat just a bit more, and he was thankful for it if only to ground his shaking to a minimum.

His head was pounding and his vision grew spotty as he basked in the feeling of his life, and his penis, in your hands, and the purpose with which you handled him as he prayed for this state of euphoria to not simply kill him. Though that wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.

He fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, yet still saw only white. He was burning up and held no sense of himself as his muscles twitched in waves, knees buckling, though you were there to hold him through it all. His mouth opened in a silent scream as you continued moving your hand along his sensitive length.

His panting gradually became less breathy and more audible, now backed by a throaty groan with every breath he released. Your name became the only thought in his mind, and he let it shakily slip out of his mouth, not caring how absolutely brainless he sounded. With each spurt of his release onto his chest, each involuntary clenching and thrust of his hips, he repeated it. Whether a cry of pleading, gratitude, or adoration, he wasn’t certain—but it all centred around you.

You talked him through the final stages of his orgasm with gentle murmurs of praise, pushing his hips down to forcefully guide him through it. Good boy, Spencer. Keep going. I’m right here. You got it. You’re doing great. Almost done. I love you. You’re so safe here. Your ministrations on his sensitive penis didn’t slow as you patiently waited for him, though he had to rest his hand on your wrist to slow you down, eyes finally falling closed; you obliged. His body offered you one final tremor of overwhelming pleasure.

The horrors of the day seemed to have been released with his release. But with the way you were now atop him, cleaning up the mess on his chest with your tongue, then crawling back up to his own mouth to offer him a taste, he felt his once-against stiffening cock asking for more where that came from. His aftercare be damned. No longer overwhelmed by his need for solace, this new rise of arousal was geared toward you—thanking you, loving you, cherishing you, pleasuring you in the way his words so often failed to do.

He would do for you what you had so generously done for him, and more, if you’d let him. He could give you his tongue, his length, his fingers, a toy—or whatever you wanted. Offer himself to be used and taken however you pleased. Longed to give you everything he could. He was yours, after all. 

Spencer told himself that there would be time for all that, though he always worried otherwise. Keeps it in his head, but he pleads every day that you wouldn’t end up like those he sought justice for at work, or be the body that haunted him until he arrived home to you, or the victim of a target aimed at him. Pleads every day that there would be more time.

So, the next time he hid his face, you stopped your motions, your hand stilling on his hard, throbbing cock. After a moment, he looked up, confused as to why you stopped.

As soon as his eyes were visible again, you resumed stroking him, complimenting him on how precious he looked. Kamden, assuming nothing, would soon turn away as the pleasure was just starting to build back up. And once again, your hand ceased mid stroke, waiting for his bewildered eyes to be on you before continuing.

After the third time of him hiding his pretty expressions with an arm thrown over his eyes, he began whining. "Please, stop teasing me! I get close and then you just stop, why?" His back arched off the couch as he wiggled around, trying to create his own friction against your still hand. Finally, getting nowhere on his own, he looked at you with a big pout and glistening, sad eyes.

And just like before, the moment his gaze was back on you, you resumed pumping him. You swore you could see the gears turning in his head, his fuzzy mind connecting the dots, and then his jaw dropped and his eyebrows furrowed.

"You're doing this on purpose!" he accused.

You flashed him a smile. "Yep," you confirm. "I told you, I like seeing your expressions. And you keep hiding them just when they're getting good."

Kamden stared at you, shocked. "That's not fair. I cooked, I cleaned up, you said I made you feel so good last night. You called me your g… your good boy. Please. Let me cum." He wriggled and squirmed the entire time he spoke, big doe eyes flickering to meet yours every other word. You were teasing his weeping cock head with your thumb; he was partially looking at you and thus deserved at least some attention.

"You did make me feel good. Fantastic, actually. And I appreciate everything you did tonight. Tell you what," Kamden watched you expectantly. "You can cum if you keep eye contact with me. I'll keep going and you can hide the rest of your face. You don't even have to ask me before you cum, but you have to let me see your eyes," you instructed, caressing the soft, supple skin of his inner thighs. His cock was slowly leaking precum over your hand at your ministrations. "Can you do that for me?"

This was an easier request than he was expecting. His face lit up in a crooked smile and he nodded eagerly.

"Use your words, baby."

Kamden swallowed, composing himself before he spoke. "Yes, y/n, I can do that."

"Good, thank you, " you said. When you resumed your stroking, now holding nothing back, Kamden's hands immediately flew up to his face just as a strangled cry left him. But like you requested, he kept his eyes uncovered and locked on yours. Over the course of your teasing, he had scooted back into the corner of the couch, his bare legs on either side of where you kneeled in front of him on the cushion. 

He looked so cute, so small, tucked into the couch and peeking at you over his sweater paws. You could tell he really was trying not to close his eyes. Occasionally, you would see his eyes flutter shut for a second, then quickly open them when he realized what he did. If you were in a particularly punishing mood, you would have reprimanded him for disobeying. But not today. Today, your sweet baby boy was trying his very best for you and needed your softer side.

His hips jerked into your grip as he got closer to his release. Your hand easily, but messily, pumped his aching shaft with all the precum dripping down it. Kamden's breath was coming shorter and quicker, his chest heaving as his climax approached. If he pulled his hands away, there would probably be a dribble of spit down his chin.

Tears welled in the corners of his eyes before spilling over and down his cheeks into the fabric of his hoodie sleeves. His cock was red and angry, ready to burst after being edged and teased for so long. It was tempting to stop stroking him when you knew he was so close, but you didn't. He was holding up his end of the bargain as best he could. It was only right that you did the same.

But, while Kamden could have cum whenever he was ready, it was like he was waiting for you to give the go-ahead to finally tip over the edge. Your dear, sweet Kamden still waited for permission, one final push. You knew just what to do. One hand continued to swiftly jerk him off, your eyes locked on his, the other hand abandoned massaging his thighs to slowly sneak up under his hoodie. He winced when your hand made contact with his sensitive stomach, but his glossy eyes didn't wander from yours.

Your hand reached its destination at his chest. A whimper escaped Kamden and he wriggled his hips frantically when you rubbed your thumb over one of his nipples, then rolled it between your fingers. But even still, he didn't cum, only looked at you pleadingly with tears streaming unabashedly down his face. You gave him an encouraging nod and harshly pinched his nipple between forefinger and thumb. Then, and only then, did Kamden give in, letting go of that tiny thread of self control to which he clung. A groan rumbled in his chest as white ropes of cum spurted all over the bottom his pretty, soft hoodie, his thighs, and your hand.

You helped work him through his orgasm until he collapsed, exhausted and panting, against the back of the couch. With his hands away from his face, you could see that, while his face was wet from crying, you were right; he had definitely been drooling. Again, in a different mood, you could have punished him for breaking eye contact even at the very end, but not this time. All you could do was wipe off his face while cooing and praising him for doing such a good job and listening so well.

Kamden smiled shyly at your attention and looked away. After a moment, he finally caught his breath enough to ask, "Am I…am I your good boy?"

When your clean hand made contact with this cheek, he nuzzled into it. Hovering over him, you pressed kisses to his forehead, nose, and lastly, his lips. "Yes, Kammy, you did so well for me. You're always my good boy."

His face lit up when you called him by that name. He pursed his lips and looked down, then lifted his eyes to yours. "Then, can I…can I do you next?"

"You want to edge me and tease me until I can't stand it anymore?" you asked with a smirk.

Kamden laughed quietly, shaking his head. "No, no. Just wanna make you feel good, too," he replied coyly.

Such a sweet boy. Even basking in afterglow, Kamden's concern was returning the favor, despite that whole scene having been in appreciation of his actions in the first place.

At first you just let it go, thinking it was cute of him that he was trying to tease you. But it was working. He kept doing it again and again, until you decided that he needed to be punished.

Chan was doing it again today. He grabbed a juice box from inside his backpack while you two were hanging out with the rest of the members at the cafe inside the JYP building, and you decided you had enough.

"Channie?" You called, a fake "sweet" smile on your lips. The others just kept talking about whatever nonsense they were talking this time.

"Hm?" He hummed, pink plump lips around the straw, sucking the pineapple juice.

"Didn't you wanna show me a track in your studio?"

"Did I?" Chan asked after letting go of the straw. "I don't remember." The look of genuine confusion on his face made you chuckle.

"Yeah, you said it earlier. We should probably go check it out now, right?" You were fighting yourself so much to not let the malicious grin take over your face.

"Okay..." He was confused, but he still got up, said goodbye to the members and followed you to his studio, like the "good boy" he was.

And that's where the two of you were right now.

"Mgh, Y/N..." Chan's sweet moans while you suck his dick had gotten even sweeter after you made him cum twice inside your mouth. "T-too much..."

You let go of his dick with a plop, eyes never leaving his flustered, red face. He was a mess, one hand gripping on the sofa's arm, lips all red from when he was trying to muffle his noises, and he had a couple tears running down his face. Beautiful.

"What you mean, baby?" You licked the pink head of his dick, and he let out a loud whine. "Isn't this why you have been drinking so many pineapple juice in front of me? So I can suck your dick as much as I want?"

Chan groaned at your dirty words, his grip on the sofa even harder, his other hand grabbing his black tshirt since you said he wasn't allowed to touch you until you were finished.

"I-It wasn't like that." He tried to argue, face getting even redder after you pointed out his little "game".

"Aww baby boy, so you won't be honest with me? Okay then. I was thinking about listening to you, but I guess I'll just keep sucking the cum out of your pretty cock until I'm satisfied."

You put his cock inside your mouth again and Chan cried from pleasure, his hips buckling despite how oversensitive he was feeling. Unlucky for your cute baby boy, you had a big appetite.

Harry had never felt anything like this before. It felt amazing and he could already tell he'll get addicted to the feeling of being full. "Feel good, my baby boy?" you question your boyfriend in a gentle manner. You were definitely a nice dom and Harry liked that. Your gentle but sometimes demanding manner made him feel safe and loved while being in such a vulnerable position.

"Yeah, s'good." Harry replies with a bit of a slur. You could tell that once he came that he'd be gone. Gone as in his head would be empty and his body would feel weightless. You kept a steady pace with your slippery fingers while taking your left hand and starting to stroke his cock. "Ahhhh!" he gasps loudly.

His cock is so much more sensitive than it normally is and he assumes its from the anal fingering being done. You have little practice when it comes to a male anus so you have no clue where his prostate even is. But when you thrust your fingers particularly hard and Harry's whole body reacts you reckon you may have found it.

After finding his prostate, Harry's been on the brink of orgasm ever since. His eyes are screwed shut. His hands are gripping the sheets. His mouth is parted and a continuous string of moans come out his throat. His toes are curling. You just keep your steady rhythm with your fingers and the hand jerking his dick off.

Though he already feels so floaty and not one hundred percent there, Harry still manages to ask permission to come. "Can.... can I come? Please...?"

Seeings as his body is slowly losing self control, you don't want to make him wait or edge him tonight. So gently you answer, "Go on. Come for me, baby." As soon as the words left your mouth and Harry knew it was safe to let go, he did just that. And he let go hard.

His whole body starts flailing around out of his control. Shaking tremors course through his body. Harry releases spurt after spurts of cum all over his belly and your fist. More than you'd ever seen him ejaculate ever before. His jaw is slack with a parted mouth. Mumbled words are being said but you can't really understand.

When you finally stop your fingers from fucking into him and you slowly release his softening cock from your hand, you sit there and look in awe of your boyfriend. His breathing is very harsh as he tries to come back to earth from that mind shattering orgasm. Harry has never came so hard in his life.

You carefully retract your fingers from his bum hole and Harry lets out a sigh of discomfort. Now he just feels empty. While he lays there reeling the after effects of coming so hard, you get out of bed to grab a damp washcloth so you can began to clean him up.

When you enter back into the bedroom with the cloth in hand, you notice Harry slowly coming to again. His eyes are fluttering open and he follows your every move with glossy eyes. But something you notice that is odd is how he's not said a word. Almost like he's too exhausted to even speak. Or some other reason that you aren't aware of yet.

You climb back on the bed and settle between Harry's legs, where you'd sat just minutes prior. You take the wet cloth and gently began to wipe off the sticky cum from his tummy and some that got into his trimmed pubes. (you'd washed your hand while in the bathroom.) His eyes stay following your actions while his voice stays non existent.

Then you run the cloth down between his spread cheeks to wipe off the messy lube that's coating his hole. You're gonna have to do some research on how to remove lube from inside the anus because you're unsure if the remnants of the product is that safe to leave inside.

Finally deciding to break the silence, you ask Harry, "You feeling alright? A bit quiet, aren't you." Harry trails his vision from your hands to your eyes and let the words you'd spoke sink into his brain. His brain is a bit slower then usual but he's finally coming back more and more and is able to understand you.

Hesitantly, Harry replies with a hoarse voice, "Ju... just embarrassed." His admission is slightly confusing to you. Why would he be embarrassed. He did nothing to be embarrassed about.

"H, what on earth do you mean? Why are you embarrassed? You did nothing to ensue embarrassment." you speak back calmly. He's never been embarrassed after sex or sexual acts before. Maybe it has to do with this being the first time you'd tried anything anal.

Sitting up on his shaking elbows, Harry explains, "It's just, I came so hard and....... and I feel like I looked a mess. I was a mess. Don't really remember much 'cause I think I blacked out or whatever but, it probably wasn't a very pretty sight." You want to laugh at his confession because to you it's so silly. But you'd never laugh when he's speaking with such vulnerability in his words.

You toss the dirtied cloth on the floor beside the bed and crawl up Harry's body, straddling his tummy. (you were wet from arousal but also dried yourself off in the bathroom.) Then you lean down and cradle his jaw in your hands softly.

"Harry, I've seen you come hundreds of times. You've seen me come hundreds of times. Just because we added a bit of anal doesn't mean anything different. I mean I could tell you came pretty hard, maybe harder than you've ever came before but you looked amazing as ever. I'd never judge you for how you looked while having an orgasm. Your body wasn't much in control so you had no way of trying to appear as if you were experiencing any less pleasure than you really were. Alright, no need to be embarrassed. I love you, baby." you ramble and when you finish speaking, lean down to kiss his lips softly.

"Okay," Harry says whispers, "can you cuddle me now. S'tired."

You lean back up and reply, "'Course I'll cuddle you, baby. Just let me turn the lights off and grab you some water." You get back off the bed and make a quick trip down stairs to grab Harry a glass of water. Then you come back up and turn the lights off except for the one lamp beside the bed. You help Harry sit up and hold the glass for him to sip on the cool water and he hums from the soothing it does for his scratchy throat.

Once Harry's done drinking the water you peel the covers back and help him get tucked in under the duvet. Then you reach off to the side to turn the last lamp off before turning back around. "Can you spoon me, please?" Harry asks of you. He's still feeling quite subby and just needs you to hold him.

"Yeah baby, turn around." you instruct and Harry turns around so you can scoot up to his back and hold him close to your chest. You're both still naked because you couldn't bother searching for clothes and honestly you both love feeling that skin to skin contact while sleeping.

While your naked breasts are pressed into Harry's back and your arms are securely around his body, the blankets up high to the tops of your shoulders, you both start to drift off to sleep. You're both exhausted and know you'll sleep good tonight.

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(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT’S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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