#tibrstar

His whole body shivered, the stretched fabric of his boxers twitching, and his tongue slid out to lick his lips.

“Yes,” he said simply, his voice low and gravelly, the eagerness in his eyes making you grin.

“Do you now?” you questioned, arching an eyebrow at him.

His assertion seemed to falter a little, a little pinch appearing between his eyebrows, but he licked his lips again before repeating himself. “Yes.”

Stan was many things, but subtle was not one of them. Still, you had to give him points for bravery.

You considered denying him, maybe playing the waiting game, banishing him upstairs for a bit to make him sweat, then rewarding his patience by giving him what you both wanted.

Some other day, perhaps. Tonight it was you who was lacking patience.

“Come on, then,” you encouraged, slipping your underwear down your legs and off, leaving you in nothing but one of Stan’s oversized shirts as you leaned back in the chair and hiked your knees up onto either arm, exposing yourself to his ravenous gaze. “Show me.”

He shuffled forward with a quiet moan, his enthusiasm for this never ceasing to delight you.

A lot of things about Stan delighted you. Like how he liked to play tough, but was so secretly soft inside. He cried at romantic dramas, he loved to brush your hair for you, nothing in the universe was more relaxing to him than watching TV after a long day at the Shack with you in his lap. And nothing turned him on more than working his mouth between your thighs.

He was fucking good at it too. All the talking he did as Mr Mystery paid off, it would seem, giving him a tireless tongue that left you moaning and trembling with your fingers dug tight into his hair.

“That’s it,” you encouraged him, cupping the back of his neck with one hand, the other giving his hair a little tug. “So good, honey, that’s so good.”

His dreamy moan vibrated against you deliciously, taking you all the much closer to the edge, your back arching, toes curling. He was diligent, attuned to every cue you gave him, every gasp and moan, unceasing in his ministrations until pleasure overwhelmed you, leaving you shivering and limp.

You tilted his head back with your hands, his mouth and chin shiny, his eyes glazed.

“Good boy,” you murmured, bringing your legs down off the armrests so you could lean your face close to his. “You’re so perfect at that, Stanley, you make me feel so good.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him, capturing his moan in your mouth before you began a trail of kisses along his face.

“Such a good—” a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “—good—” a kiss to his scratchy cheek, “—wonderful—” that, whispered in the shell of his ear, along with another little kiss, “—magnificent man.”

He was practically melting in your hands, so happy with your praise of him, which was exactly how you wanted him.

Maybe you’d take him upstairs in a few minutes, push him down on the bed, keeping his hands behind him so you could wind him up even more, riding him slow but not allowing him to touch.