#unspecified character

Homophobic co-worker who agreed to try something out with you (it was actually his idea).

His mouth hot and wet around your cock as he blows you off in a secluded corner at the business party. Music blaring from the main area— muffled and drown out by how eagerly he's sucking and bobbing his head.

Taking more and more of your length with each pass, pulling back until his lips are wrapped around the head. His eyes glare up at you when he sees that smug look on your face.

"I'm not enjoying this at all." His words dulled by the mouthful of cock in his mouth, even if his words are bitting they lack any heat.

With how insistently he laps at the pearly beads of pre that come out, you'd think he's been looking forward to this. He sticks out is tongue after grousing about how this was your idea in the first place.

He dives back in for more, yet you pull away at the last moment, a whine crawls up his throat in protest which he wasn't able to stop in time. "Wha- Why? Don't move away from me." His hands grip your hips to stop you from moving further.

"Thought you had enough already," a frown marrs his face, brows creasing as he glares up at you again. His knees are tingling with numbness but that's the least of his concerns right now.

To rub salt in to the wound, you tap the tip of your cock against his spit slicked, puffy parted lips. His tongue quickly darts out for a lick of its own accord— eager for any taste of you he can get.

"Look at you," smearing his lips with your essence, which he undoubtedly licks off. "Acting like a cock-hungry slut," he shouldn't feel turned on by your degrading words. The condescending undertones that make him want to prove to you otherwise. "You don't even care that someone might walk in this and see you."

Yet, he can't find it in himself to deny how the weight of your cock on his tongue makes his head get all fuzzy. Every throb and twitch whenever he takes it all the way down his throat— has him leaking in his slacks.

There's already a growing damp spot at the front, clear evidence of amounting arousal. He sputters out many remarks about how he isn't gay or into you. That he'd never entertain the idea of being with another guy, much less fuck one to let off steam. Denying everything as if he isn't slowing inching closer.

They die down quick, his mouth inevitably latching on again onto your cock with a pleased hum, sinking down until his nose is pressed against the whirly bush at the base. All he can smell is you— his senses overridden by that musky scent that drives him up the wall.

"Fuck," he curses out, muffled by how deep in his throat you're buried. His tongue tracing over the veins, circling the head whenever he pulls back for air. He looks so debauched, needy even.

Guess he'll stick to it for a while longer. He doesn't seem to want to part ways just yet, it's a good thing no one's come looking for the two of you.

The air is hot and heavy, bodies intertwined— not knowing where one starts and the other ends. Soft gasps and moans creep past your interlocked lips, hands gliding and caressing every inch of skin available.

His own grasping the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. The taste of your lips against his is like a drug he just can't get enough of.

The lack of air makes his lungs burn but it doesn't matter, all he wants is to keep tasting you. Your tongue dances with his in a passionate stricken manner.

The feeling of your hands grabbing onto his body ever so gently but firm enough to prevent him from squirming out of your grasp has his heart fluttering and pounding loudly in his ears. Your touch feels branding —a trail of heat burns his skin under your fingertips.

"More," he moans into the kiss, not even knowing what he's truly asking for. Eyes glazed over and hazy from the pleasure running through his veins.

Your lips part from his as they trail over his jaw and down the expanse of his neck. He gasps at the teeth grazing his skin, surely leaving a mark but he doesn't care.

"Fuck," his voice's shaky and breathless. At a particular nip on the soft column of his neck, he shudders against you. His grip on your hair tightening with a soft moan.

He feels so overwhelmingly sensitive and you're nowhere near done with him

Every muscle in his body is taut, his hips jut against you in search of much needed friction between his thighs. He's achingly hard against his stomach, pearly beads of white seeping from the slit.

"C'mon, I need more than this," he breaths out, neediness interlaced into each word. Urging you to skip the foreplay and get right to the main event.

He's been waiting so long for this— wanting to have you alone for himself.

Don't tease him too much, maybe he'll get frustrated and turn the tables on you.