#wyfstw

"No, it's just me. Are you inviting yourself over?" You laugh at his sheepishness, hearing the sounds of shuffling over the line and already have an idea of what to expect.

"I mean, I kind of planned on coming over either way. Just checking whether I'm going in through the window or the front door for a change." He says, confidence wavering under your interrogation. But, like everything he does, you only find it endearing.

"What if I had plans?" But the sound of fabric rustling again says that he wasn't taking that as an answer, even hypothetically.

"I'm your boyfriend." He states, like it answered your question in and of itself, "who would you be seeing tonight that'd be more important than seeing me?" It catches you off guard, his bluntness.

Sighing, you give in with practiced ease, "front door. I'll unlock it for you."

"That actually worked? Holy shit." His grin is audible, and you have half the mind to dim his cockiness. You don't, and he continues with an air of arrogance, "and people say dating is hard."

Sitting up in your bed, you keep your phone to your ear with one hand as you move to stand and leave the coziness of your room for the hallway.

"You sound like you're in either a really good mood or a really bad one." In a pathetic attempt to stifle your laughs at his overconfidence, he dramatically whines in your ear before sheepishly groaning.

"Hey, I'm joking!" He defends himself weakly, "okay, well, um, I'm coming over. I told my mom, so I'm not sneaking out, for what it's worth." That eases your previous suspicions, making your lips purse in concentrated thought while you trudge up to your front door.

The rest of your house is awfully quiet and the emptiness would weigh down on you had you no company to invite over. But thankfully that wasn't the case. Unlocking the lock on the door, you tune back in to the conversation naturally.

"Good. I don't want you having to worry about any of that." You hum, earnestly, knowing how that had gone for you before.

The first night, a few weeks ago, Ziggy snuck over to your place after a fight with his mom that left him helpless. That didn't help tensions, obviously, and when you snuck over to his place a week later, it all only prompted another argument between them. Considering you hadn't heard anything since, you'd like to hope this was a well deserved break from his parents. Just for now.

"Yeah," he agrees, sighing, "okay, I gotta go before my mom changes her mind. Because she would totally do that. She has before. I'll see you later, okay?" The way his tone softens for you makes those familiar butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"Okay. I love you." You're sure he can hear your smile beaming from ear to ear in your words, "remember, front door. And my room is-"

"Down the hall to the left. Yeah, I know. I've only snuck into your house 10 times now." The sarcasm is light, making you both roll your eyes yet never stop smiling, "I love you. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Ziggy," you have to be the one to hang up, knowing he never does it first. It's a habit of his you'll never complain about, though.

Here begins that awkward period of time, waiting around and watching the clock tick with every second. Gnawing at your lower lip, you head back to your room, pondering on what to do to help the time pass less painfully.

Fixing the blankets on your bed, messy from lying beneath them for so long, your eyes narrow before you move some of your extra pillows off the bed and to the side. There's more space for the both of you, a minuscule detail you're sure no one but you would notice.

Then, moving to the bathroom out of your room and down the hall, you decide on fixing your hair at least a little bit. Loosely brushing it, helping return it to its original state after lying down caused some frizz. Again, it doesn't feel as though you're doing much, only little details that make you feel a little more controlled.

Returning to your room, you slip your hoodie off and let it slump over the back of your chair, leaving yourself in a t-shirt and some shorts you'd worn around the house. Not exactly the pinnacle of sex appeal, you think, but your boyfriend doesn't get deterred by things like that enough for you to mind—thank god.

You already know why he's coming over, and it's been fairly obvious since he asked if you were alone over the phone. Every time you two were together for the past few weeks, whether at home or at school, it's been a series of denial and interruptions that neither of you could bear.

The first night, consoling him and holding him while he tried not to crumble under the pressure of his parents to you—that wasn't exactly your idea of foreplay. It wasn't even on your mind to worry about something so trivial in comparison.

Then, the second night, where you two got lost in a heated makeout up in his room before getting caught by his mom. Because why would anything go his way, right? But you two nearly did go further, and you're sure it would've had that not happened.

What fueled the fire along the way was his advances at school, between passing periods and meeting up by the bathrooms at the same time every week to see each other. That, or at lunch, when you two would hide under the bleachers at times and make out. That became more frequent as of late. But never more, and it was frustrating.

Then, a soft knock, before your door creaks open.

You're tidying up random parts of your room when Ziggy's head peaks in, eyes meeting yours and trying to figure you out with a dorky grin.

"Hey. You didn't hear me call your name?" He steps in and closes the door behind him. You catch his comfortable purple hoodie and lightly washed ripped jeans he wore clinging to his legs, all with his backpack over his shoulder. It's weird to see him without a guitar on his back, though he did have headphones familiarly slung around his neck.

"Oh, woah, hey. No, I didn't hear you, sorry." To say you're caught off guard would be an understatement. Since when did time pass so quickly? Either way, you set down what clutter is in your hands and move over to the door to wrap your arms around him tightly.

"Hey yourself," he jokes back when he feels your body on his, hugging you back just as closely, "it felt weird walking in like I owned the place. I feel like I'm breaking in." The snort he lets out makes you laugh back.

"Kind of are. My parents didn't know I'd have anyone over when I was alone, let alone you." You shrug, "but I don't mind. So you shouldn't either."

"Hell, we're 18, we can make our owns decisions." He scoffs before the facade fades, "but they, uh, they won't be mad, right? If they find out."

"They like you. It's fine." You shake your head, face burying into the crook of his neck to take him in, the scent and feel, "either way, I'd rather not think about my parents when you're here. Ruins the whole point of them not being here."

He huffs out a weak laugh in agreement, nodding back, "oh, tell me about it."

"Your room's tera cozy." Your boyfriend murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, before glancing over and taking in the sight.

His eyes flicker from the dimly lit light on your desk to your bed, neatly made with throw blankets lazily on top. At least he appreciated your last minute efforts.

"I cleaned it before you got here. Wanted to make it nice." With that, your nose nudges his jaw to redirect his attention to you, "hey, I missed you."

He blinks a few times, immediately looking back at you with wide eyes before softening and nodding repeatedly, "yeah, I-I missed you, too."

"What's with the backpack?" You ask, watching him rush to slip it off his shoulder at the reminder of it. That, along with his headphones.

"Uh, just, some stuff to stay the night—clothes, mostly—" he shakes his head, "just the essentials. Thought since your parents were gone all weekend, I could just... Stay both nights. Tonight and tomorrow. Hypothetically."

It's as if he had this planned but was avoiding asking, making you snicker. He falters at your reaction at first, but you just smile again and nod, at a loss for words.

A relieved sigh passes his wet lips, "good. I didn't really prepare for you to say no, since my mom thinks I'm here for the entire weekend anyway."

"Don't you usually stream tonight and tomorrow, though? On the weekends?" You move to lean on the edge of your desk, curiously, "please tell me your loyal followers aren't gonna be mad at me for taking away your beloved music from them for a few days." He whines at your sarcasm, groaning.

"Oh, be quiet. I can stream when I get back home." He retorts, feeling the slightest bit of embarrassment before regathering himself and walking over to you again, "but I can't do this at home." A kiss is pressed to your temple, light and feather-like.

"Yeah?" You hum back, leaning into the touch instinctively, "can't do what at home?"

"Be with you. Kiss you. All that good stuff." His voice has a knowing, underlying lilt to it. While you pick up on it, he traps you between you and your desk when he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you in place.

"It's been so long." His voice lowers, an attempt at seductiveness. But knowing him, you can't help but stifle a small giggle. He groans, "no, hey, I'm trying here! You can't laugh."

"I'm not. Keep going." You urge him, offering reassurance at the way his shoulders curl in on himself, "it's hot. I promise. Like, everything you do—total turn-on. Just caught me off guard."

This time, with cheeks more flushed than before, he sighs, "okay, but laugh one more time—"

"I won't. I promised." You interrupt, shifting to sit atop your desk and pull him closer to exemplify your words, "please?"

That feeling of being needed always makes his knees weak and lips part in momentary disbelief. It always makes your heart skip a beat to watch.

He takes a moment to regain his composure, leaning in to brush his nose against yours and mumbling, "you're lucky I love you."

Then, the feeling of soft lips on yours washes over you and sets off all your senses. He's slow, calculated, tongue tangled with yours as his nose digs into your cheek. You love it, the feel of him all over you. His face pressed into yours impossibly close, his hands tugging you flush against him, it's dizzying the way you two melt into one.

Pulling away, only enough to speak as you two breathe against one another, Ziggy asks, "you know why I came over, right? I mean, apart from getting to see you. Which is tera better and really way more than I could ask for, but—"

He tries so hard to word this right, and when you give him a knowing look, he just sighs and says it outright without the sugar coating.

"I wanna have sex," he says, forehead pressing to yours, "we haven't in so long. I hate it."

"That much was obvious." You tease, a hand curling in his hair at the nape of his neck, "you don't hide it very well, y'know. Not that I want you to. But I thought it was obvious I wanted to, too, when I did all of this before you came over." You gesture over your comfortable shorts and t-shirt hung over your torso, along with the dark, comforting atmosphere of your room.

"Well I'm not gonna assume." He huffs, eyes moving to watch your hand before steadying back on you.

"That's a first." The comment makes him roll his eyes and his head drop, nuzzling his face into your neck as he palms at your waist. His hands are big, demanding, like a puppy pawing for your attention.

"You talk too much." He says, wavering when you run a hand through his hair. In response, his hands trail all over your body, your sides and back, before settling on your hips with greedy touches.

You go to speak, hearing in return, "shh."

His hands eagerly slip under your shirt, clutching at smooth skin before running up to find the fabric of your bra and looking up at you with fluttering lashes. Your soft nod has him wetting his lips with his tongue, hands running over your clothed chest and reveling in the closeness of it.

You gently press a hand to his chest, watching him step back at the pressure as he watches you in awe. You only do it enough to stand, before speaking.

"My bed." You say, short for words, "I'm not having sex on my desk. Er—not tonight, I mean."

His breath hitches, and he moves to tug you by the waist right to where you'd asked him to. Except he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you between his bent legs as he looks up at you unintentionally towering above him.

"Wow." Ziggy ogles at you, "my girlfriend is so..."

That earn a genuine smile out of you as your lips quirk up, "what? Pretty?"

"Tera pretty." He rushes out all too easily, "Come here—"

Urgent hands are on you, tugging you down to meet him in the middle. You get comfortable on his lap, letting him maneuver you how he'd like.

Something you've learned is how he likes control. You're not sure the real reason why. Maybe because of family, maybe something else you have yet to hear of, but you just know you appreciate it because god, he is good at it. Slightly awkward, and definitely still learning, but good. You wouldn't want it any other way.

Hungry lips find yours, tongue lathing over yours as he tastes everything he can of you. He knows what you like, how you like when he nips at your lower lip and subsequently let out a whine in return.

"Please tell me you have condoms because I don't just have those laying around." You whisper against his lips when you remember.

He pats your thigh, replying with a dorky grin, "in my backpack. With my essentials. I'm prepared."

When you shift off of his lap and let him get up, he walks over to his backpack on the floor by the door and rummages through it. Fumbling with his wallet, he finally gets one out and holds it victoriously.

"Told you." Cocky now, he comes back over to the bed and sets it on your bedside table. You watch his every move, eyes trained on him

Like clockwork, he falls onto your bed before finding his place curled up against your side and resting a hand on your clothed waist.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good," he murmurs between peppered kisses to your shoulder, "so good." It's so alluring, watching his confidence grow with every touch and word he utters. So much so that you're arching up and into him.

He trails his warm palm back up your shirt like earlier, except this time, he's trying his hardest to get it off of you without having to ask for help. Instead, you sit up, arms lifting over your head in guidance. He sheepishly accepts the assistance.

"Could've done that on my own." Under his breath, he defends, before his hands move behind your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. This he had down, and after only a momentary struggle, he's shrugging the straps down over your shoulders and off your arms to entirely reveal your chest and stomach. Finally, he sits up and moves to be perched between your thighs, looking down at you underneath him.

His hands explore, taking in the sight of you before taking it further. You're sure that half of any foreplay with you two is him admiring, and while it's sweet, you're far too pent up for that right now. This was weeks in the making, and now that it was here, the last thing you wanted was to wait.

"Ziggy," you breathe out, watching his palms and fingers close around your chest as he looks up at you, "please."

"Don't get impatient," he playfully scolds, but he listens. He always does. Even his stubbornness can't withstand his girlfriend's pleads for more.

Slipping his hoodie off, too, his head lowers as he fixes his long hair. Now he's exposed, too, your hands moving to run over the newfound skin. His breath catches in his throat, but otherwise, he fights to feigns indifference.

His hands ghost overs yours, hovering before resting atop of them and taking them in his. Then, giving you a moments time to pull away if you wanted, he's pressing your wrists into the bed by either side of your head. He's hovering over you, looking like the spitting image of desire. Fuck.

You feel him everywhere once he's leaning in—hands on wrists, lips on lips, body on body. It doesn't help when he begins a slow, meticulous grind of his jeans against your shorts. The friction is rousing, a quiet noise escaping from deep in your throat as your head tilts back and eyes shut tight.

He tilts your chin back down to look up at him, the eye contact spurring him on more than you knew. Then, another slow grind paired with a squeeze of your wrists has you shakily exhaling against his lips.

"Well you got quiet, didn't you? Not complaining now." He huffs, a smile finding his face again. His words are emphasized by a methodical roll of his hips, right against your clothed crotch, making your neck arch again with a sharp inhale.

"Ziggy—" you sigh under your breath, barely legible, hands digging into his shoulders at the feeling of the jean seam perfectly pressing against your clothed clit. And he knew that.

"Look at me," he murmurs again, thumb and index finger finding your chin, "don't look away."

You give a nod in return, looking back up at him with all your attention and watching the way he shifts against you as you do.

"Good?" He whispers, head ducking down and nose nudging yours. When he receives agreement, he nods back and murmurs, "good."

His lips press against yours hungrily as he reaches down to fumble with the waistband of your shorts. Unexpected, but far from unwelcome. You lift your hips to help him, feeling the way he slides the article of clothing down and over your thighs. He sits back so he can help you get them off your legs completely, before settling back between them.

"You've been so good to me." Ziggy admits, pressing clumsy kisses against your lips and then, your jaw, "I can make it up to you."

You're about to protest—no, you don't have to, I was only helping you—but it's hard to once his thumb is grazing over your clothed clit, the only fabric separating the two being your undergarments now. What are meant to be articulated words that come out of your mouth are now shaky, soft sighs and poorly withheld moans.

"I'm, like, the best at this." He claims, confidently, kissing down your chest, along the line of your stomach.

"At what?" You hum, nails finding purchase in his scalp while you watch him move downward in anticipation.

"Y'know, this. Giving." He says, every bit of it genuine, looking up at you eagerly. Then, he presses a kiss to the waistband of your underwear, before slipping those down too, "like, going down on someone."

"I know what giving means, I was just making sure," you snort out, hand moving down to cup his jaw. The eye contact between you two heightens every sensation, every touch, every breath.

"Good. Because, again, I'm the best. So." He kisses your thighs, his slowed movements antagonizing.

You already know he is, though, the memories not lost on you. Tugging at his hair, he finally leans in to leave a messy kiss to your clit while his fingers run tantalizingly slow through your slit.

The buildup is well worth it when he locks his lips around your clit, lathes his tongue rhythmically over it, and slips two fingers past your entrance to curl upward. All while studying your reactions, both in your body and face.

Your hips arch up into him, leading to him using his spare hand to wrap around your thigh securely and keep you from moving from him. The inherent dominance in it makes your head spin.

"Fuck, you're so good," the choked out praise has him whining against your pussy and curling his fingers a little harder with a quicker tongue. That's one of the few things that could break his facade.

"So good for me, so good at taking care of me," you ramble on, letting out a particularly load moan when he curls your fingers against that one sensitive spot inside you, causing him to gleam.

"Yeah? I told you I was the best," he reiterates as he takes a second to catch his breath before leaning back down to lap at your pussy, fingers settling into a deep, slow grind inside of you.

You take the opportunity to relish in the bliss of your boyfriend so eager between your thighs, giving with so much enthusiasm, as if he was getting pleasure out of it, too. It's both heartwarming and utterly arousing.

"I think I'm close," you hum, eyes fluttering shut just for a second before remembering and looking back down at him. He rewards that with his thumb rubbing circles into your thigh, careful not to break the pleasure he was giving you.

He doesn't stop, and god, maybe he was the best.

You brush his hair out of his eyes so you can see him better, watching every furrow of his brows and shift in his eyes.

But at the same time, he's unpredictable. That's solidified when his face moves lower, tongue accompanying his fingers before letting it take over completely. His hands gently stroke your thighs, both free now, his tongue driving in and out of your pussy while his nose unintentionally stimulates your clit. It has you reeling, thighs weakly tightening around his head and hand clasping harder in his hair.

"Baby—" you choke out, hips twitching as you try not to roll your head back in pleasure, "please."

He gives a soft hum and nod in response, the slight nudge against your clit and vibration making it too hard to resist.

Then, finally, finally, you're cresting over and riding out the intense waves of your orgasm while being fucked through it and damn near into another. You can't describe how good it feels. You can only live in the way your back arches and you tug at his messy hair to ground yourself when you feel like your mind and body are elsewhere—anywhere but here.

And he watches, intently, eyes meeting yours once your gaze finds his again. It's heated, the look in his eyes. Tongue crooking to tackle that spot that makes you see stars while his curved nose now intentionally bumps against your clit alongside his thumb circling it—when did that get there?—you can't find it in you to mind.

When you take in a long, deep breath to really signal you've come down from it, Ziggy slowly pulls away and wipes his chin pridefully with the back of his hand. You roll your eyes at his smugness, trying to tug him up to be with you.

"You didn't have a lot to say," you mess with him, cupping the back of his head as he moves to hover above you again, "that's a rarity. You're usually very talkative, trying to talk me through it and tease me."

"Yeah, and I always take twice the time because of it. I can go down on you again after if you want, but I'm mostly trying to get to the sex part." He groans, eyes hiding beneath his askew bangs, "god, that sounded bad, didn't it? Like I don't care about giving. But you know I do."

"No," you shake your head before huffing out an amused laugh at the thought, "I mean, maybe a little. But I know what you meant."

"Like, I'm totally a giver. I love giving you head! I mean it." He feels the need to clarify, making you hide your heated face in your hands with embarrassment.

"Be quiet and fuck me already," you shush him before he can continue, "for someone so impatient, you talk a lot. Too much, even."

"I do not." He huffs, shaking his head in retaliation before dropping one of his hands to fumble with the button of his jeans, "I talk a perfect amount."

You reach down to help him, because his hands are far too unsteady and, well, messy, to do it himself. Getting the button undone with ease, you target his zipper next and get it undone too. Thankfully, your hands aren't shaky, but you can't say the same for your thighs.

He sits up, giving you more space. In awe, he watches you hastily shuck off his jeans and boxers together. Then, taking over, he gets them off past his legs entirely.

You never forget how pretty he looks like this, entirely exposed for you. From the pale, freckled skin of his shoulders down to the gentle curve of his hard cock pressed against your thigh, he's the spitting image of beauty.

"God, I love you," you manage to get out, legs wrapping around his waist as an attempt to pull him closer. He complies with ease, hands finding your waist to steady himself.

"Yeah? You love me?" He blinks, short circuiting before reciprocating, "no, I love you. Look at you."

His eyes roam over your body in admiration, before looking back up at you and then your bedside table, "hey, can you reach the, uh—"

Blinking in thought before understanding, you murmur, "oh, right," as you stretch your arm out to reach for the condom wrapper he'd acquired earlier. Something like that still felt so embarrassing despite it being far from the first time you'd done anything like it.

Handing it to him, he brings it up to his mouth and rips the top off between his teeth. It's hot, yeah, but you don't say it. Then, he takes it out from the confinement of the wrapper and rolls it over his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lips. You're not sure where to look.

You tighten your legs around his hips again, weakly pulling him closer in an attempt to get him to hurry. Getting the message, he speaks.

"Gonna fuck you so good," he mutters under his breath, stroking over his cock in preparation, "so, so good. Wanted this for so long, haven't you?" It's partially projection on his behalf, but it's not wrong. And you're sure the other part of it is a thinly disguised plea for reassurance.

"So long," you nod before teasing, "and for someone who's wanted it, too, you sure like to take your time. C'mere already. It's been weeks." The reminder has him drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

While you cup the back of his neck, Ziggy slowly presses the head of his cock past your entrance and into your pussy. It's long awaited, and just that has you exhaling a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Fuck, keep going," you praise, feeling him continue pressing forward with a particularly audible whine of his own. He's big, and after not being together for some time, the stretch is very evident. But the tension of it is eased by his thumb gently rubbing circles against your waist, both for his sake and yours.

"Need a minute?" He asks, nestled about halfway inside of you by now, and seemingly very affected by the feeling, too. His eyebrows are furrowed, drawn together, eyes all but there.

"Mmh," you hum, deciding to feed into his own desires with some added praise, "'s big, but I can take it. Just keep going, yeah?" He loved feeling like he was better, especially wanted—you knew that.

He stifles a moan, caught low in his throat, and he complies. With a final push, slow and intentional, he's buried inside of you, hips flush against yours as he lazily grinds into you with a shaky moan. You catch him staring down at where you two are connected before looking back up at you, caressing your hip as a wordless assurance.

"Taking me so good," he nods, out of breath, "'s like your pussy was made for me." The vulgarity has your head falling back against the plush of your pillow.

He finally starts a rhythm, pulling out painfully slow until the head catches on your entrance and he can fuck back into you with an increased fervor. That, combined with his thumb circling your clit lazily, has that familiar feeling of warmth flourishing in your stomach that you've missed.

When he pulls out to the hilt again, you tug him closer with your legs around his hips. Your calves dig into his back and pull him until he's flush inside of you and he moans, caught off guard.

He looks down at you, eyes widen and dumbfounded. Like the lost puppy he always looks like.

"Fuck," he breathes out, "oh—fuck. Okay."

He's easy for you. It only becomes clearer when he lets you keep doing just what you did, with every time he pulls out, you drive him back inside of you until he's buried against the sweet spot you love.

"I'm not gonna last long if you do that," he admits, this time rolling his hips inside of you rather than pulling out. Whether it's to hold out or for your own pleasure, you're not sure, but both are working.

"You don't have to," you breathe out, hand running over to cup his cheek before you drop your hand to rest on his shoulder. With your fingers and nails digging into his shoulder, he hisses, head falling when you tighten around him, too.

"Fuck, but I want to—" he argues, eyes shutting tight before he forces himself to look back up at you. Finally, he finds it in himself to start up a steady, more consistent pace again.

He grips your thighs, arms wrapped around them, as he fucks in and out of you. It acts as support while he ups his pace, attention focused on your expressions. When your nose scrunches at a particular thrust, he aims to recreate it, tilting your hips upward as he buries himself inside of you again with an increased passion.

And it's successful, your eyes shutting tight as your lips part and jaw drops, gasping out and clinging to his shoulder tighter. Your other hand instinctively finds his lower stomach, weakly pushing against it in an attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure you definitely don't want to be stripped of.

"Found it," he smiles, a weak laugh and smile gracing his lips at your visceral reaction, "right there, huh? Is that the spot?"

Then, he slowly grinds against it, making it impossible to hide just how good it makes you feel. Writhing beneath him, you soothe yourself by tracing his v-line with shaky fingers. He's so mesmerizing, every part of him.

You return a mix of a hum and a whine, thighs tight around his hips as you keep him snug inside of you without any way of pulling out. Finally, he gently pats your thighs, making you loosen the grip and hand over control again.

He tenderly reaches for either of your wrists again like earlier, giving you a moment before bringing them to either side of your head against the pillow and leaving you defenseless.

"You want me to do everything for you?" He hums back, like it's an offer, "fuck you, touch you, kiss you, talk you through it? Such a princess." It's teasing, but it has you clenching around him. He's not great with pet names, says they sound cringey, but in the heat of the moment that stance seemed to be lost on him.

He gently leans down, your foreheads bumping against one another's before he kisses you longingly. There's not a part of you that isn't being tainted by him, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

"I'm so fucking close," he breathes out, eyebrows furrowing and eyes shutting tight as his head drops into the crook of your neck, "stop doing that or I'm not gonna last." He whines, referencing the way you're pulsing around him uncontrollably with every thrust.

"Can't," you shake your head, biting your lip as you lean your head to rest against his, eyes falling shut as you focus on every languid drag of his cock in and out of your pussy.

You can't help but notice how blissed out he seems, pride filling in your chest that you're able to provide that for him. In a world where he's constantly searching for happiness, you've become one of his very sources of it. There's no stress or tension in him right now—just satisfaction.

"Can you-" he takes in a deep breath, far more breathless than he intended, "can you get on top?"

"You want me to?" You ask, going to curl your hands in his hair before realizing you had been confined still. It heightens your arousal.

"I like to watch you," he nods again, "and my legs feel like jello. Hey—I'm not rusty. I'm, like, tera strong. I just need a minute." The argument comes when you give him a knowing look, and you can only stifle a small giggle at the way his raw personality peeks through.

"C'mon, let's switch," you nod in agreement, "gives you a break so you can last." The playful joke makes him huff, but he finally lets your wrists go as he sits up.

He looks over you, pulling out slowly and making sure you're all good before lying down beside you and gripping your waist as a method of beckoning you over.

Your legs are somewhat weakened from everything, but you'll be damned if you let that stop you. The sight of his tousled hair, wet parted lips, and needy eyes is enough motivation.

His throat bobs once you slowly position yourself above him and ease back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. It's deeper in this position, and you're gonna have to work a little to find the spot you like, but it's worth it for his expressive reactions.

His stomach flexes and his eyebrows furrow and relax, while he grumbles a small, "shit."

Then, like always once you two get into this position, his eyes find themselves admiring over your chest as he clutches your waist. When you've settled into a slow ride, up and down, he looks lost in it.

He reaches up to grip at your chest, thumbs lazily stroking over the buds of your nipples as he fights to look between your face, chest, and lap.

"You're like some kind of goddess. I don't get it." The praise warms both your heart and the pit forming in your stomach.

You, on the other hand, are enjoying the scene in front of you. Riding him was always fun, because he'd get so expressive and his filter would drop, albeit at the expense of putting some work in. It was well worth it.

He crooks his hips up just a little bit, and when you ease down, his cock grazes that spot you'd been seeking. Moaning out, you chase that feeling, speeding up ever so slightly.

"Oh, fuck, that's it," he ogles up at you, the look of love in his eyes apparent, "oh my god, I can't—"

His resolve weakens, and it makes you eager to break him first. He's always so insistent on making you get off first, loving the feel as he would fuck you through it and into his own, but you never get to be the one to be brought to orgasm from his.

It becomes harder when he brings two fingers down to your clit again, circling at a decent enough pace to make your hips falter at the introduction of them.

You find yourself getting a little too close, hips twitching, and you grip his wrist, breath caught in your throat. You don't wanna cum too fast.

"We can go another round, just—please." Ziggy pleads, his convincing far too effective, "and we can try and last longer, I swear, but god—I can't, I need to feel you cum around me."

God, you wouldn't be able to hold out. Not when he's doing everything so right.

"Promise?" You nod back, hissing at the feeling of your g-spot being hit again from a particularly sharp drop into his lap on your end.

He nods, incessantly, "yeah, c'mon, babe."

The confirmation makes your own resolve weaken, too, and shift your focus to seeking release. Your hands find his chest, palms flat as you use it to help guide you up and down when you get close and it becomes harder to keep up with your own pace.

"Look at you," he sighs, rubbing at your clit faster now, eyes flickering from your body moving up and down on him to your face, scrunched up in pleasure, "you're perfect. Actually perfect."

You lean down to hover over him, hands fixed on his shoulders as you bury your face in his neck and let him fuck up into you now. He wraps a hand around your back, holding you close throughout it. You lift your head to look back down at him.

With a particularly hard thrust, he lets out a choked, broken moan. Staring down at him, you watch his freckled nose scrunch and eyebrows furrow impossibly tight as his eyes shut tight.

He weakly groans your name as he brings his head to burrow in the crook of your shoulder, hips lazily fucking up into you despite losing rhythm with the orgasm that had struck him. The warmth of him spilling into the condom inside of you, the intensity, all of it is enough to prompt your own climax, and hard.

"Z-Ziggy," you stutter, taking in a sharp inhale as you whine and hide your face in his hair. He rocks his hips up into you, orgasms coinciding well, as he chokes out curses and praises.

"Did so goddamn good." Is the one that stands out to you most, when you're trying to fight the blissfully powerful feeling of your orgasm. It hits hard, chest pounding and body tense, all while the rest of you feels like you're melting into the bed. Or, rather, into your boyfriend, whom you're lying on top of now limply as he holds you close.

He gently lifts your head, wanting to see you. When your eyes meet, his lips quirk up.

You're the first to speak, brushing the hair out of his face as best you could, "almost forgot how good you were at all of... This." What follows is a snicker from you and a prideful grin from him.

"Yeah? Good?" He keens under your praise, pressing a clumsy kiss to the corner of your mouth, "I know I am. I just like to hear you say it."

Scoffing weakly, your head collapses against his shoulder again. You feel boneless.

He doesn't roll you off of him, or ask you to move, or prompt you two to get up and make less of a mess of yourselves. No—he just lays there and rubs your back, kissing the crown of your head while he mumbles things you can't quite make out. You just mindlessly hum and let the natural chill of your room cool you two off.

"Uh," he coughs, clearing his throat, "do you wanna clean up? Or, just stay like this? I can get you a towel. I think I remember where your bathroom is. I should, at least, with how many times I've come over before." It's endearing, the way he can flick that switch from... whoever that was during sex to this. The Ziggy that loses all sense of himself when you so much as look at him a certain way. Your Ziggy.

"Not yet." Your hum reverberates against his chest, "I like this. Don't wanna get up yet."

His eyebrows raise before he nods in agreement, "yeah, of course. Just... like this. We can do that."

Relaxing fully under you, Ziggy's head rests back against your pillow and he takes in a deep breath that you feel the weight of. He can't sit in silence for long, so he continues.

"This is totally songwriting worthy." He murmurs, "not that I would do that... Or share it... But, like, you have to admit, that was like, totally worth having a song dedicated to it."

"You're a nerd." You sigh, shaking your head. It's hard to contain your smile at how absurd it is, "if you write that, you're not posting that anywhere. No matter how good it is. Just between us."

"Well, obviously." He scoffs, like the fact he'd do anything otherwise was ridiculous, "but I mean, if it's that good, I might be able to tweak it or something, but..."

Playfully hitting his arm at that, he huffs, "I'm joking! I'm not posting some kind of poetic sex tape. Who do you think I am?"

"Sometimes I don't know with you." You sigh, shaking your head, "I give you an inch, you take a mile. Or whatever that saying is." With a ruffle of his hair, he leans into the touch.

"I mean, if it was that good, though—like, millions of views good—" He bargains, nose nudging yours.

"The sex tape or the song?" You joke, playfully, watching him flush pink almost immediately. You don't expect it to get to him as much as it does.

"The song! Obviously." He objects.

"I don't know if I'd say it was obvious..." You continue, drawing it out, "not when you love streaming that much and quite literally do anything to get views."

"Well..." He groans, finding it hard to protest any longer with your arguments, "okay, c'mon. Time to get up. I have to go get, I don't know, something probably—"

"You can't get out of this. I feel like I'm cracking some kind of code except it's, like, a kink," a huffed out laugh falls past your lips while you stay right on his lap, weighing him down into the bed.

"Be quiet." Ziggy actually whines, sounding far too compliant to mean much, "I'll fuck you again if I have to." It's a threat, far from empty, but you can't find it in you to be intimidated by it. Just intrigued, and partially aroused.

"Then go get another condom from your bag," you nudge his side, watching him sigh and slip out from underneath you at the request, "you promised we'd go for another round, anyway. Never said when."

"Oh, so it's my fault now." He playfully sighs, rubbing your thigh as he sits up, "well I need a minute, clearly, so this'll be about you. How does that sound?"

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, your shoulder, then your lips. It's slower than the last ones, ridden with love and desire, while he softly nips at your lower lip.