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this had been going on for a while, and just by seeing the state in which he was one could tell. his chest was going up and down rapidly, and his face showed how much he was struggling. a few tears have been going down his temples and adding that to the way he had been grinding his face into the sheets from time to time it had messed up his eyeliner. there were stains of the black make-up in the bed as well, but in your eyes his face looked delightful like this.

"i just want to take my time with my girl" you started thrusting back in, slow, allowing him to feel every inch of your cock that entered his body. he moaned, throwing his head up and arching his lower back. "that's it, let me fill your pussy" his dick spurted more pre cum somehow even if it was already shiny with plenty, throbbing painfully hard for the lack of attention. he had been close for a while now.

you pushed until your ballsack was right against his ass, and you could hear his whimpers along with his pleading words asking for more. you repeated the process three more times, getting completely out, barely letting your tip touch his greedy hole before thrusting home once again, taking your time and enjoying watching him shiver and beg. "i can't– i don't– fuckfuckfuck!" he cried out as soon as you changed your pace without warning, fucking him fast while holding his hips, watching his eyes go up and his dick bounce with the force of your thrusts.

the sounds the fast fucking made were your favorite, plus the constant moaning of your name. you were insulted and thanked in the same half choked sentence more than once. "cumming, i'm gonna cum so hard agghhh–mmghh" you stopped again, right inside of him as he once again pressed half his face into the sheets, cursing out as his dick just let out another amout of pre. "you're taking the piss on me" he looked at you with wet eyes, eyeliner beyond ruined and mouth fresh with some saliva on it.

you leaned down, forcing his leg to go up, showing you how flexible he was as you pressed a kiss in his mouth, simple but loving, and even if he was a little pissed he returned it, earning movement from you again. in this new position you started fucking him, deep, right into his prostate and feeling between both your stomachs his wet dick. "i thought you would like this" you murmured, feeling how he exhaled. "you don't like consistency, do you? so i'm doing exactly the opposite of that, baby girl"

he moaned into your mouth for the nickname, moving to meet your thrusts that were starting to go a bit faster. "i'm sorry i ruined your make-up in the process, but you still look handsome like this" you reached between your bodies wih your hand, pressing his length against his own belly, making sure he could also feel the bulge your cock made in him. "you feel me? i love being this deep into you" hobie mumbled your name, pleading to be able to cum.

"i know, i know. you can wait a little more, right? i want to mess you up more" you stopped to let him think, watching his eyes blink to gain a little more consciousness, breathing a few seconds and moaning when he could feel your dick twitching inside of him. he nodded and whispered a confirmation and it was all you needed to resume your vicious thrusting.

he was so good to you, loud and compliant even if he cursed your name every time you changed your pacing, his heart fluttering every time you praised his looks, calling him gorgeous, pretty; describing how greedy his ass was, how full of your seed his cunt was going to be. he loved every time your mouth would spit any kind of filth, and when he finally came his vision went white, body going slack in exhaustion as he yelled your name one final time.

Johnathon Ohnn is thirty-eight years old. He knows this because he always liked celebrating his birthday, even if they got less eventful over the years. He still enjoyed the candles and the cake, he still enjoyed how his family would come together to sing for him and how his coworkers would sign a group card. 

Johnathon was thirty-seven when the collider exploded. He didn’t realize his birthday had passed until he looked at a calendar. And really, how pitiful was that? No candles, no cake, not even a sloppily signed card. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he craved normality.

It wasn’t long after that he met you, significantly younger and full of spunk. It made him feel a little youthful again, like he was back in that old dorm room at the shiny age of twenty. Admittedly he didn’t do as many fun things as you did at his age, he mostly studied and contemplated taking Adderall to get through his finals, but he digressed. 

But observing you made him realize just how many things he missed out on during his youth. Sure, he sneaked a couple of his dad's beers as a teen and broke some college lab equipment he wasn’t supposed to be touching, rebellious things like that, but that wasn’t truly living. 

Before, he thought his accomplishments would speak for him; his doctorates and files of studies, his collider. But now, as he watches and listens to the dramatic reenactments of your late teenage hood and early adult life, Johnathon begins to realize maybe science isn’t the end all be all of his life. He realizes that he never went to any parties in college, he never had a quarrel-filled romance his parents disapproved of, he never traveled outside of the country aside from work—and as his eyeless gaze flits downwards, taking in the sight that is you in incredibly short shorts, he realizes another thing. 

He’s never had sex, either. 

It’s not that he didn’t want to have sex, because he really desperately did, it’s more like he never got the chance. Between his academics that shot straight to the workforce and his lack of genuine attraction to anyone around him, it got put on the back burner. 

But now it’s all he can think about. 

He thinks about it when he watches your hands gesture wildly, the way they look so agile yet sturdy. He thinks about it when your shirts are low cut or rising up your midriff. He thinks about it when you stand close to him and all he can smell is you. He thinks about it when your hips shimmy to a song you like. He thinks about it when-

Ahem. 

He thinks. A lot. 

Johnathon has never had a quiet mind, that much is true. He’s never figured out whether or not it was a good thing, but considering how much material his brain has given him for lonely nights, it can’t all be bad. 

Well. That was before the collider blew his dick clean off too. Which was another thing on his long long list of ‘Is living still worth it? I’m not too sure.’ (Except now he finally has a pro on that list, thanks to you.)

He can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous, however, hearing you talk briefly about past flings and relationships. Although he couldn’t exactly distinguish whether or not he felt jealous of your experience, or jealous of the men in your stories. He knows he could be better, even if he had virtually no experience to go off of. Despite it all, he still thinks to himself that he could make himself into someone you wanted, someone good for you. (Though he does also wonder if that’s perhaps his newly inflated ego talking.)

Johnathon sighs and holds his head in his hands. His hand briefly falls through the hole in his face and comes out of his thigh. Regardless of what he thinks could happen and what could be, he knows deep down that you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him. Still, a man is allowed to dream, right?

…

As it turns out, dreams do come true. 

Or at least a drunk, sloppy version of them. 

To be fair, Johnathon didn't think he still could get drunk, so it wasn't his fault that he was a bit heavy-handed with the bottle. It didn’t help that you were so influencing either, all too eager to dump the rest of your bottle down the hole in his face just to see where it’d go. Apparently, liquids dissolved down quickly in his voided body before they could emerge out of another hole. So, he drank. He drank because it was the first time he could feel any kind of normalcy, he could feel like he was human again. Unfortunately for him, he's still just as loose-lipped when drunk as he was before the collider incident. 

You swirl the foamy remnants of beer in your bottle, watching it swirl through the brown glass before swallowing it down with a tip of your head. Johnathon watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow, entranced. You breathe out, satisfied, and set the bottle down on the coffee table amongst all the others. 

“Y’know,” You begin, leaning back against the couch cushions, legs curled up comfortably to your chest. “You’re not as bad looking as you think.” You’re squinting your eyes a little at him, as if you were examining his body. “Lotsa people are into your kinda thing.”

Johnathon’s face hole constricts a little as if he were narrowing his eyes. “My kinda thing? What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“You know! Like…like not human looking.” You’re still looking at him, grinning, fingers picking at the hem of your pajama pants.

He makes a sound like a scoff. “That’s not really a compliment…”

You whine in subtle frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant like, you have different kinds of qualities. Good qualities.” You poke your finger out at him, jabbing his chest. Your fingertip sinks into one of his inkblot holes and it gives Johnathon a feeling that he knows he’ll be thinking about later tonight when he's all alone. You replace your finger to actually poke his chest now, the smooth, almost rubbery skin of him. He shivers a little nonetheless. 

“What…” he swallows thickly. “What kind of qualities?”

You continue to idly run circles over his chest with your index finger, humming softly to yourself. “I know the regular things, like how much of a good listener and talker you are. You know lots about stuff. And you also are like, super eager to please. That’s gotta be a good quality too.” 

Johnathon looks down at your hand, his black little heart thumping in his chest. It’s almost too intimate for him to bear. 

“Oh! And your holes!”

“My…my holes?”

“Yeah, I bet you can do some crazy things with them.”

“Oh god–” He nearly chokes at the thought running in his head.

“Yeah,” you continue, pulling your hand back to yourself. Johnathon hates how it makes him feel lonely. “I once met a guy who had crazy holes, haha, you could fit a whole fist in ther–”

“OH wow, really?” He quickly cuts you off, his paper-white face flushing a dull blue. He flaps his hands a little, as if it could cool down both his flustering and spiking jealousy. “I don’t think you should k-kiss and tell, right? Isn’t that a thing we’re not supposed to do? Kissing and…telling?” God, he really wants to know what it’s like to kiss you. 

“Oh, c’mon! I know there has to be at least something you’ve done that you just gotta talk about. What is it, huh? Weird partner? Did they have a weird fetish?” You gasp suddenly. “Oh god, a pregnancy scare maybe?…pregnancy fetish?” 

“No, no, none of that!” Johnathon waves his hands out in front of him rapidly, hoping to quell your questioning. “I’ve never uh- never really–”

“What, are you vanilla? Usually, nerds are like, SUPER kinky–”

“I’ve never had sex!” Curse him and his loose lips. 

The air goes still amongst the sudden silence and Johnathon begins to regret ever speaking. Actually, scrap that, he regrets ever being born. Well, it’s actually not like he really had a choice in the matter, but that's beside the point.

Then, you snort a little. “You’ve gotta be joking, right? Aren’t you like, forty?”

His face hole shrinks down nearly to the side of a pinhole in both embarrassment and frustration. “I-I’m not forty! I’m thirty-eight! A-and besides, lots of people don’t have sex until they’re older! Or at all!”

“Oh my god, this is like that one movie, what’s it called, uhh,”

You tap your chin, completely ignoring him.

“I should have never said anything, I’m such an idiot—“

“No, don’t say that!” You poke his chest again, whining when he recoils from your touch. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make fun of you, I’m sorry.”

Johnathon huffs, grabbing one of the half-full bottles and dumping it down his face hole. It scrunches slightly in what you’ve begun to assume is swallowing. You pout and scoot up closer to him. “Johnny…” 

He chokes a little, his gangly body going stiff. “Y-yeah?”

You grab his face, fingers pressing against his pale, rubbery cheeks. “You wanna do it?”

For a moment, Johnathon feels like the world has gone still. Everything is muffled and slow as the realization dawns on him. “Wuh-what?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You repeat, squishing his cheeks after each word like you were making him say them too.

“Yes! I-I mean, I would really like to, you’re so pretty, b-but uh, I’m a little, hah, how do you say it, ohmygosh this is harder than I thought it’d be! Uhm!” He flusters and rambles, hands flapping in front of his chest, and you’re just waiting. You’re looking at him with lidded, bedroom eyes, and Johnathon thinks he finally understands the meaning of that word. 

“I don’t have, I don’t have a penis!” 

A beat goes by, and then another, and he begins to feel like he blew his only shot with you.

“Do you have a vagina? It’s not an issue for me, I wanna fuck you either way.”

Jesus Christ, you are going to kill him. 

“I mean, I don’t have anything.” He breathes out, shoulders deflating. “The uh, the whole collider thing got rid of it all.”

“Oh man, that’s awful.” You pat his shoulder, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. “But, y’know, the offer still stands…maybe we can get a little science-y and figure out how to get you off, eh?”

Johnathon lifts his head and finds you grinning at him. “Science-y?” He repeats, his face hole crinkling like a smile. 

“Yeah, dude! Science-y! Hypothesis! Theories! Quantum holes! Your holes!”

He snorts and it leads into a laugh, a deep belly laugh that he hasn’t been able to do in a while. And really, why the hell not?

His laugh dies down when you get closer, straddling his thighs and seating yourself down in his lap—and god, he can feel those short shorts he loves riding up your thighs and wrinkling against his skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” You croon, leaning in and nudging your nose under his chin. If Johnathon still had a dick, that would have sent blood right down to it. 

His inkblot holes quiver amongst his body, undulating and jumping across his skin like microscopic particles, bouncing against each other under a microscope. Your face gets closer to his, lips hovering over the entrance of his face. Gently, curiously, you purse your lips and kiss the voided space. It’s almost as if there’s a thin membrane separating the outside world from the inside of him, cool to the touch and like bubblegum stretched thin. The membrane melds against your lips like it’s kissing you back and when Johnathon shivers, it puckers and purses. 

His hands tremble, hovering above your hips and thighs, as if it’d burn him to touch you properly, despite how much he craves it. 

Your tongue drags over the edge of his face hole and Johnathon practically whimpers. You’re humming softly, one hand idly stroking his arm as the other feels up his chest. He used to be a tad bit insecure about his pudgy torso, but with so many spots, he had other things to outweigh the worry. But now he can’t help but hold his breath, waiting for your approval of his body, the kind he so desperately needs.

“Cute.” You say mostly to yourself, dipping your fingers into a hole in his chest. He sighs out heavily in relief and pleasure, his head thumping back against the edge of the couch. 

“How’s this feel?” You poke and prod into the hole, pressing past the same kind of membrane as his face. Vaguely, you feel your fingertips come back out of another hole, but you don’t focus as much on that part. 

“Good,” Jonathan answers curtly, sucking a breath through his nonexistent teeth. When he exhales, it's shuddery and almost pitiful. “It’s good, it’s like- like there but not,” 

“So you can feel it? What if I do something like this?” Curiously, you curl your fingers in the empty space, and a fuzzy feeling coats your skin as if your fingers were pruning yet stayed completely dry. He yelps loudly, his body lurching and he finally grabs onto you. His fingers dig into your thighs on their own accord and you are absolutely delighted with it.

“Oh god!” He cries, his thighs shifting and squirming under your lap, and you start to feel something poking at your ass. You give a confused hum, lift your hips and look down. Nope, he still doesn't have a dick, but the empty space between his legs has seemingly swollen into a small, adorable bulge. Johnathon breathes out heavily and follows your gaze.

“Wow, that’s so cool…” You reach down between your laps and grind the heel of your palm against the bulge.

He gasps sharply. “Oh, fuck me!”

“Yeah, that’s what I'm trying to do.” You snicker impishly. You observe the way the squishy bulge flushes with color around the surface, almost like a blush. “I bet that feels really good, huh? It’s kinda like you have a really big clit. Sorta” You squish it in your hands and he shudders, shoulders tensing and inkblot shrinking. “Hey, you know what would be fun?”

Johnathon feels a little loopy, his stomach filled with butterflies and his brain thoroughly mush. He considers this endeavor so far to be successful considering the fact he didn't think he still could  feel pleasure. But here you are, proving him wrong once again. 

“Wh-what would?” He finds himself asking, rutting his hips up into your hand like a depraved little thing. 

You don’t answer verbally yet, just sit back down on his lap and rock your hips against his. “If you fucked yourself like this.” Your fingers curl back into one of his holes, running up and down the edge of it. Johnathon melts, blubbering out nearly unintelligible pleas. 

“You can do it, right? I’ll keep fingering you if you hump me like a dirty dog.” 

And oh, that does things to him. He’ll…have to address that new kink later. 

“Yes,” he gasps, grabbing on tightly to your hips and canting his hips up, grinding his bulge against your sex. “Yessss!” He can’t help but cry it out, his smooth head burrowing itself in the crook of your neck from the sheer intensity of it all. The heat of you is almost unbearable on his body, inside his holes. And he really is panting like a dog, he’s humping you like he actually has a dick to work with, like you could grab him and stroke him until he was a weeping mess. 

“That’s it, you don’t wanna be a virgin anymore, right? C’mon, show me what you’re made of, you little nerd.” You’re cooing to him like it’s praise, and with the way you’re stroking the inside of him, pressing your fingers past that membrane and curling until the fuzziness is almost unbearable, you might as well be.

Johnathon moans wetly against your neck, legs widening and hands holding your hips down firmly as he ruts. He grinds his aching core against you, practically delirious and melting with every saccharine whisper in his ear. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you hear him say, muffled against your skin and devious delight spreads through your entire being. You hook your fingers into the hole of his face and he cries out, a debauched “Ah! Ah!” as you lift his head up. His inkblot holes shiver violently, and you hold his face in your hands like he’s your entire world, like he’s the only thing that matters to you.

And then you lean in, holding his face so carefully—

And spit.

The man below you gurgles, your spit falling down the hole in his face as a viscous glob tasting faintly of beer. Johnathon thrusts his hips up once, twice, and he’s cumming. Nothing comes out of him, but you swear you can see the holes of him drooling, dripping liquid dark matter that hurts your eyes a little to stare at too long. Pleasure blooms in you at the sight and feeling of his incessant rutting, your hands petting his head as his first orgasm in so long washes over him.

And finally, he slumps back against the couch, trembling under you, the surface of his face flushed with color. You lift yourself off his lap, your shorts still wet with your own arousal, but you’re not done with him yet.

“It’s no good to leave your partner high and dry, you know?” You tease him, and the realization dawns on his faceless face. 

“O-OH! Oh, I’m so so sorry! I-I didn’t mean- that wasn’t my intention at all! Wh-what should I do? What do you like? Oh god, I’m so sorry—“

You quiet him by lifting his gangly legs up, exposing him even further. “Don't worry about it, it’s your first time! That just means I’ll have to use you.” That evil little grin is back as you brace one foot on the floor and the other on the couch cushions, slotting your hips against his. Poor Johnathon is practically folded in half, one leg hanging over your shoulder and the other dangling uselessly to the side. 

You don’t waste any time either, you get right to it, hips thrusting quick and hard against his over sensitive bulge. And oh, how he squeals. He’s always been a talkative man, but he never could have anticipated being this vocal. 

“Uhgn! Hah! Mmm-mmph! I-I can’t! S’too much, too much!” He babbles on, sights locked on how your hips connect with his, ruthlessly grinding and rutting and it reminds him of some kind of wild animal. 

“You can, huff, take it. Jus’ a lil more,'' your head hangs low between your shoulders, arousal twining together deep in your gut. Johnathon feels it too, and he feels it tenfold. His body feels like it’s on fire, steadily submerged in pleasure until he’s burning alive in it. He can’t take how you look above him either, so goddamn ethereal, the dim overcast of the tv lighting you from behind like a digital halo, as if you were an angel sent to soothe him after such chaos. Johnathon was never a religious man, but for you, he thinks he could be.

It only takes you a little longer, already so wound tight from before. He’s dangling on the precipice of release again, delirious with lust, clinging onto the back of your neck and tugging you in.

You find your face inside of him when you cum, and somehow the deprivation of sensory makes it all the better, colors popping up in your vision like synesthesia. You can feel his thighs tighten around you with his budding climax, but you can’t see, and you already know how you regret that. You suppose you’ll just have to overstimulate him again one day when he can’t hide himself from your view.

Johnathon goes limp and you’re finally able to pull your face from the inside of his, the dark matter sliding free from your skin like an unsticky slime. It’s weird, but oddly refreshing.

Cum stains the inside of your shorts but it’s the last thing on your mind when you take in the visual that is Johnathon. He practically glows with post coital bliss, seeped back into couch cushions without the tension you’re so used to. 

You let his legs fall back down, slumping into the seat next to him. He hums softly in delight, kinda loopy, entirely pleased. 

“So?” You question him, idly stroking his soft chest. It’s sweaty in its own way. “Was that good for your very first time?” You waggle your brows at him and he snorts, albeit a little weakly.

“Incredibly so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my life.”

You clap happily. “And you’re no longer a forty year old virgin!”