Pinkie!

Service sub mhm mhm. Loves to run errands for you with the promise of touch later. He enjoys keeping you happy no matter the dynamic.

For a man so rarely vocal, he is loud when you’re in charge. He’ll gasp and whine and groan under you, and if you’re lucky you’ll get him babbling some nonsense. That’s not common though, you have to get him really worked up for that.

Which is why edging is so important. His self control is incredible (apart from a few times hush about that) so breaking it is incredibly satisfying. Edge him until he’s shaking and glassy eyed, stomach taught. He won’t beg with his words at first, but he’ll look at you. Pupils blown, lips parted. Such a pretty picture before you finally tip him over the edge and he starts vocalising his need.

If you tell him not to touch, he won’t touch. His hands will stay on his thighs, by his sides, anywhere but on you. It like him because he loves touching you, but he’s so good at doing what he’s told <333

Ooo praise him he deserves it!!! Call him a good boy or tell him how perfect he is when he’s between your thighs eating you out and he’ll respond by making you cum so hard your brain stops working for a moment.

Light pain play works wonders on him. He can take a lot, but you never go too far. Nails down his back to leave pretty marks, slapping his face to make him look at you, a firm hand around his neck. He likes the sting because it keeps him present.

Possessive even in subspace. If somebody so much as looks at you wrong, he’ll make sure you know exactly who worships you at home later on.

So obedient, so quietly. Ask him to do something and he’ll do it without a word. It’s in the way he stays still when you tell him to, or the way he drops to his knees when you ask.

Aftercare is sooo important. Tell him how good he did, hold him, stroke his hair. Big stoic man tucked against your chest with his face hidden in your neck 😵‍💫😵‍💫 rub his shoulders or back afterwards as a reward <333

He could feel the sticky blood slowly pouring out of his body, spreading over his stomach and down the staircase, accumulating in a pool by his feet. He could feel the warm tendrils temporarily warming his skin where they touched it ever so softly. He could feel the sharp pain radiating from the wound, beating in tandem with his heart.

He had been feeling a lot recently. He wasn’t sure what of it was real anymore, if anything.

A snowflake landed on his upper lip, and when it melted, it left a droplet of water behind, which slid into his mouth, landing on his tongue. He closed his lips, savoring the fresh coldness of the water.

He doubted he had more than a couple of minutes left to live.

‘Live’, he almost scoffed at the thought. He had seen a miracle, had experienced it. He felt on every level there was, but still, it hadn’t been him. He hadn’t been able to rip himself away from what had been decided was his life.

He was created and now he would be destroyed. He was born and now he would die.

He closed his eyes. Maybe it was for the best. Joi was gone, he was alone, and he wasn’t human. No one will care that he’ll bleed out on these steps. Just another replicant that needed to be retired. Just another officer who died in the line of duty.

The words Lieutenant Joshi had said to him days ago in her office rang around his head, “You’ve been getting on fine without one!” 

He wished he had a soul, or maybe he just wished that the pain would finally end. If he were lucky, birth and death were so intertwined that in the same way that the first gave you a soul, the latter took it back, and wherever one went afterwards, they would accept him, even without one.

Then again, he wasn’t sure whether he would die, or simply stop being.

“Hey,” a voice sounded from somewhere far away. It was a nice voice, he was still aware enough to realize that. “Hey! Are you okay?”

His arm shifted, but he wasn’t the one moving it. The coldness that had enveloped him was chased away, where he could feel his body being repositioned.

There was some mumbling followed by cursing. His coat was lifted away from his side, baring the wound to the freezing air, making him shiver more. “Okay, alright. I think I can help you. I just need you to come with me, please.”

He smiled, convinced now that he had died and gone to wherever beings with souls are allowed to go. The voice had said ‘please’ as if actually caring about what he wanted. As if he had any say in what happened to him.

“Is that a ‘yes’? I’ll—I’ll just take that as a yes. I need you to try to get up with me.” The voice hesitated. “I’m sorry, but it’ll probably hurt.”

The smile stayed on his lips. It was sweet the way that the voice seemed to actually care for his well-being. It made the rest of the chill occupying his body vanish.

His arm was tugged forward, and he automatically sat up with it, groaning at the pain racing through his body. He blinked his eyes open, finding the outline of a person next to him, holding his left arm.

“You’re fine. You’re fine. I got you. Deep breath,” the voice—you—said. “Now, on three, I need you to try to get on your legs, okay? I’ll support you, and you can lean on me, but I can’t completely carry you.”

You waited, and he realized that you wouldn’t move before he gave his okay, so he nodded as much as he was able to. At that point, he could only feel about sixty percent of his body.

“Perfect. On three, one… two… three,” you said and pulled his arm around your shoulder, heaving him upwards as much as you were able to. He let out another long groan, but managed to stay on his own feet, even though his legs were shaky and he had to put most of his weight on you.

You put your arm around his waist and gently led him forward, step by step, making sure that he didn’t trip. When he let out a muffled moan, you stopped immediately, checking in with him and asking if he needed a break. He wasn’t sure where you were leading him, but it didn’t matter to him anyway, he had already decided to follow you.

After a couple of minutes, blood loss was really starting to hit him. Everything was whirling around him so when he heard the sound of a Spinner door opening, he didn’t have the strength to worry where you got the mostly police-used vehicle, nor to continue keeping his eyes open.  

His body fell onto the bouncy seat and he was out like a light.

────────

The first thing he registered when he woke up was that everything felt comfortable. The second thing was that actually, his stab wound still hurt pretty badly, but other than that, it was like he was floating on a warm cloud.

He tried to sit up, but your hand on his chest pushed him back down onto the mattress. “Easy. You’re safe, everything is fine.”

He looked around him and saw that he was in a windowless room, sparsely lit by different lamps standing all over. There were a couple of bookcases and a closet, although they were all already pretty old, looking ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. The walls were a dark gray, matching the concrete floor. The mattress he was lying on was settled on top of what he assumed were several slabs of metal—he could feel the gaps and slight variations in height through the cushion.

You must have noticed his scrutinizing. “We’re at my place. I know it’s not much, but…” you shrugged.

“I like it,” he said. You looked a bit surprised to hear him speak and smiled.

“Thank you.” You sat down on the edge of the mattress, far enough away from K that you weren’t touching, but near enough so that he could feel his nerves react to you as if you were. “How are you feeling?”

He almost smiled again at the question. It really was sweet.

“I haven’t glued the wound together yet. I wasn’t sure whether you’d be okay with me getting all close like that. At the same time, it probably would have spared you some pain if I had done it while you were still unconscious, so, yeah… tough situation. Sorry if I made the wrong decision for you.”

“You’re fine,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You frowned. “Of course I had to, you’re a person, and people don’t deserve to die out in the cold, alone.”

“No.” K looked away from you, down at the slightly tattered maroon blanket thrown across his legs and stomach. “I’m… I’m not.”

Realization flickered over your features, but instead of disgust upon realizing what you had accidentally dragged into your home, resolve settled on your face, making you tilt your head forward in defiance. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m a—”

“Who cares?” You cut him off. Your voice was dismissive, but the way your fingers were rapidly tapping your thighs made it clear that you did care at least in some way. K didn’t want to push you away, in fact, he wanted to absorb as much of the comfort you were so naively offering him, but some part of him needed you to understand—some part of him needed you to push him away.

“You are a cop, though, right?” You asked in a small voice.

“That’s all I am,” he answered without hesitation, and your eyes narrowed at that.

“Is it?”

This time he had to think about it. Technically, the answer was easy: yes. However, he was quite certain that he was fired, or the replicant version of it, which meant that he was supposed to get retired. But he doubted anyone would actually come looking for him, and if he wouldn’t retire, but also wouldn’t be able to keep working, then where did that leave him?

“I’m…” he felt the heat of shame burn down his body at not being able to answer the question accurately.

“Well, are you gonna arrest me?” you asked, seemingly having regained some confidence while he struggled to answer.

“What?” The question shocked him. “Of course not.”

That wasn’t even something he did while still actively working for the LAPD. He had no right to arrest or subjugate a human. 

And he was sure you were human; it was something in your eyes, a flicker that he had only ever spotted in humans—he had assumed that it was their souls shining through.

“Good.” You smiled at him.

“Why…” he hesitated. “Why would you think that?”

Your lips parted slightly, but you continued smiling. “You really were out of it, huh? I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you leaned in closer, and a part of him wanted to close the gap between your bodies, if only to feel your skin on his at least once. “I am not part of the LAPD, and the Spinner I used to get you here isn’t really registered in my name.”

“You stole it,” he said, not as an accusation, but just as a statement.

You nodded, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you looked a bit proud.

“They’ll come looking for you for that. All vehicles of the LAPD are tracked, and any theft is not treated lightly. When they find you, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extend of the law.” You waved him off, rolling your eyes, and he felt a twinge of annoyance at your flippant behavior. Didn’t you know how dangerous it was? You shouldn’t go around telling people you stole from the LAPD, and you definitely shouldn’t have taken him in. You should have left him there—let nature run its course.

“I have been using it for years now. And it was already old and abandoned when I found it.”

“Still,” he sat up, ignoring the sharp flash of pain shooting through him. He needed you to understand. “It’s foolish. You shouldn’t have taken me with you.”

“What?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous?”

“Yes.” The word hung heavy in the air, drowning out the quiet buzzing coming from the ceiling lamp.

You tilted your head slightly, but to his annoyance, you didn’t seem afraid, more so intrigued. “To me?” you asked, and the question made him wince.

“No,” he whispered. You had saved him. You had let him rest on your bed. If he’d get the chance to, he would spend the rest of his existence trying to repay that debt. Maybe that could be his new existence, his next purpose.

“Then what’s the problem?” you whispered back.

Everything, nothing, he, you. His gaze bore into you, begging you to answer the question for him. How was he possibly supposed to react to that?

You noticed him getting overwhelmed, and backed off, getting up. “It’s okay, take your time. May I now take care of your wound, please?”

It took every training he had ever received not to whimper at the tenderness in your tone. He nodded. At first his eyes stayed glued to the blanket, but when you turned and started rummaging around the room, he followed your every movement. He lost sight of you for a couple of seconds when you walked through a rusty door he hadn’t noticed before, but you joined him back in the room quickly, now carrying some medical supplies.

You laid the things out on the mattress and then moved to his right side, kneeling next to the bed. You found his eyes with your own and then nodded your head toward a chair standing around a small, rickety table. “Your coat is over there. I took it off you because I figured it would be more comfortable. Hope that was okay.”

He nodded. He hadn’t even looked up to confirm whether his coat actually was there.

“I’ll have to lift your shirt, okay?”

K wasn’t sure whether he had ever laughed before, but suddenly he felt the bubbly feeling of humor crawling up his throat. He choked it back down and just mumbled a quick, “Yes.” And then tacked on a “Thank you.” It landed somewhere between ridiculous and confused.

You pulled the blanket down his chest, and then gently slid your hands up his shirt, pushing it upward. Your fingers grazed his stomach and chest, leaving trails of lightning behind. It didn’t hurt, but it should have. It should have hurt, but it didn’t.

It burned, though.

The wound on his lower stomach was covered with a thick piece of gauze, flimsily taped down. “I had to at least stop the bleeding a bit,” you said it like it was an apology and not the nicest thing anyone had ever done for K.

You pulled the strip of tape off him, and the gauze with it. The wound underneath was deep, bloody, and K suddenly felt ashamed of it. He didn’t want you to see him like that. He wasn’t made to be hurt and vulnerable. But when the tips of your fingers swept along the edges of it, an eerie part of him wished you would stuff your fingers into the laceration. Burrow them deep until you were covered in his blood, and he could keep you close and safe.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and hoped you would chalk it off to him being a bit squeamish at the ghastly sight. Then he felt the need to slap himself because he didn’t want you to think of him as fragile.

“I’ll glue it back together now, okay?”

“You don’t have to keep asking.”

You looked up, and when your eyes met, his fingers twitched. You studied him for a moment before continuing your work, reaching for the glue. “Alright, but I think I’ll continue to do so anyway. ‘S just good manners.”

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t; what was there to say?

The glue was familiar in its stickiness, and when it touched the laceration, K instinctively flinched away from it. You placed the hand not holding the glue over his ribs, not pushing or pulling, just a light touch, dragging him away from everything outside of this room, and anchoring him to you, to this moment.  

You pressed the edges of the wound together now, sealing everything back inside where it belonged. K hoped that something of you would stay inside him as well; a lash, maybe, or a little bit of the breath you exhaled, which had caressed his skin ever since you kneeled down next to him.

After a couple of seconds, you let go of him and then hummed in satisfaction when the wound stayed closed. “Perfect.”

K shifted a bit, and his hand landed close to where yours rested next to his chest. Without realizing what he was doing, he brushed his fingers against the back of your hand, hypnotized by the way your skin felt so soft, something that seemed impossible considering the brutal world you lived in.

When you moved your hand, he pulled back instantly, shame once again flooding his mind at being caught behaving like… like that. But you didn’t say anything, you didn’t even look at him weirdly, you just turned your hand around and then offered it back to him. Hesitantly, he traced the faint lines running over the palm of your hand, following them from side to side, mapping the constellation that was your skin.

“Thank you.” He sounded out of breath even to himself.

“You’re welcome.” With the hand not caught in his grasp, you pulled his shirt back down, covering him once again with the blanket. The gesture was ridiculous; the softness of the blanket was almost grating next to the feeling of you. “D’you want some painkillers?”

“No,” he exhaled. He closed his fingers around your hand and then furrowed his brows so hard it almost hurt. “Why are you doing this? You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Says who?” You asked and offered him your other hand. He was now clutching both of yours between his, and the sensation was enough to make him feel light-headed.

He shook his head. “Don’t ask that.”

“You know…” You hesitated, before continuing voice low and soft, with just a hint of sadness, “You deserve to not be in pain.”

Ironically, your words might have been one of the most painful sensations he had ever experienced. He’s sure you could feel his hands tremble, but he was too tired to correct himself. He stared down, and the sight of your combined hands set something loose in him that crumbled down, down, until its debris jumbled throughout his body, covering him whole.

You tried to pull your right hand away from him, and for just a second, he didn’t let go. He was stronger than you, no question about it. He could keep you there, in his hands, safe and soft. But then he did let go, because he only wanted what you were willing to give, anything else would be simulated, and he couldn’t continue existing in a world where the only affection he would get was forced.

To his relief, you didn’t pull away completely, in fact, your hand moved up to his face, settling on his cheek and gently urging him to look up. Your eyes were filled with compassion and a kindness so consuming, K had to blink just to not get overwhelmed.

“I don’t know what happened to you, or anything about you, really.” You smiled at him. “But I do know that no one, human or replicant, deserves to feel pain just for existing.”

Your other hand moved from between his, but before he could protest, you grasped his hand, placing it on your chest, right over your heart. Afterward, you placed your hand on his chest, over his heart.

The feeling of your heartbeat, stable, strong, so alive, beneath his palm was only seconded by the implication of the gesture. Your hearts weren’t beating in tune, but if he tried hard enough, maybe he could match his pulse to yours.

His other hand hovered over your form before settling on your cheek. When your thumb started caressing his face, he copied the movement. Your thumb was a little calloused, making him shiver with every stroke, but the skin of your face was warm and soft under his own callouses.

He couldn’t say for how long you two stayed that way. Without windows or clocks, there was no way to tell how much time had passed. It might have been minutes, it might have been an hour. All he could focus on was how right it felt to sit there with you, sharing touches and heartbeats.

"He's fine! Just a little anxious so I order something to help. him. relax!" The doctor pulled again and this time you weren't asking nicely. Pulling the doctor away from Lars and nearly onto his ass, your voice came cold and authoritative.

"Get out of this room before I drag you out." With a spat curse and a look you knew you'd be addressing later, the doctor left. You'd be reprimanded almost certainly for telling off a doctor like that but he wasn't helping Lars at all. The poor man was trembling all over, skin red from crying and from a pain response you understood him to have. It was heartbreaking and immediately your attitude softened entirely. Carefully you pulled a stool up to the examination bed but kept a good distance so Lars didn't worry about being grabbed again. His eyes were screwed shut and when they were open he blinked hard and fast, he was having a bad episode and all he had needed was someone with some damn patients. She hated how doctors always acted like they knew best and it didn't matter what the patient needed. Most doctors weren't like that but the one they were stuck with was an asshole about everything.

"I'm sorry about this," you told him quietly not wanting to startle him, his eyes blinked but remained on the floor. "That was probably so scary." Lars still heaved through breathes and you glanced up to the heart rate monitor he was still hooked up to. It was concernedly high, you needed to help him calm down. "How about I sit here with you for a little while? Just in case you need me? And we don't have to talk, we don't have to do anything just breathe. Could you maybe breathe with me? I get nervous when I have to do it alone." Lars glanced quickly at you, barely a moment's glance but he recognized you. You lived on their street, on the corner. He'd seen you jogging sometimes, or in your yard, you'd always been kind. Always said hi and always pretended you didn't see him when he openly and very obviously ran to hide from you. So he nodded, a little jerk of his head before you thanked him so softly in came on a breath and hit him carefully. Lightly. You took a deep breath and Lars struggled through another, you held it a moment, Lars did his best, then you guided him through a slow exhale. And you repeated this once or twice more before praising him, "Great job. You're doing so good." He blushed but it wasn't as dark or nearly as uncomfortable.

"Your name's Lars right? I live on your street, I've seen you chopping wood a few times. I don't have a wood burning stove, bet it's really nice." Lars began slowly relaxing, leaning more into the bed instead of half out of it. His watery eyes looked over to you a little longer smiling just a hair as he nodded.

"It's nice, yeah. And-um, y-yeah I'm Lars. I-I've seen you running sometimes." He looked away then almost embarrassed at having admit that. You just smiled. As he calmed more, the blood came throbbing painfully in his hand and he gripped it instinctively. You noticed the movement and the gauze that was much redder than it should have been. What did that doctor do to him?

"Is this why you're here, Lars? Did you hurt your hand." He looked at it, nodding bashfully before looking at you. When you weren't looking at him he took a little longer to look away.

You were pretty, he'd always thought so. It was why he always tried to hide when you'd speak to him or see him. Lars wasn't the best at talking to new people and you'd only moved in a few months ago. He knew you worked here, though. He'd seen you come home really early when he was getting ready to go to church or work outside and he'd seen you leave fairly late. Always in scrubs. Usually bright colors. Today you wore a bright green with Snoopy and Woodstock on them. He liked them.

You said his name and he quickly dropped his eyes, "Can I take this gauze off? I'll have to clean it and move it a bit. If I put on two gloves and maybe let you keep your hand on a paper towel, do you think you'll be okay? Do you think it'd be enough layers I won't hurt you?" Everyone in town had "warned" you about Lars and his peculiar ways but it was always out of kindness and care. They all loved Lars deeply and only wanted you to understand him a little bit so you wouldn't be offended and the like. You weren't. You thought he was sweet just— anxious. A lot. You watched him think it over, gauging the pain he was already in and deciding how he wanted to proceed. It was important he made that choice. And understood he didn't have to put up with being mistreated or his needs ignored. Finally, after a few moments and deep breaths, he nodded.

"The— The gloves will help." You nodded with a quiet agreement before rolling back a bit and putting on a few pairs of gloves. It would make moving a little harder but you knew he needed this and he needed his hand looked at. Lars watched you carefully almost anticipating you'd try and trick him. To test if touch really hurt him if he wasn't looking, but you kept your word. He counted three layers of gloves. Seeing how tight that made him filled him with a sickly churning guilt but you didn't mention it. It didn't outwardly affect you at all, and honestly? It really didn't. If it helped Lars feel safe then it was what you'd do. Not just because it was your job but because Lars was kind, he was gentle, and he deserved the patience he gave others. You cared about him. You cared about all your patients but Lars had held a special place in your heart since you first met him moving in. He hadn't spoken or looked at you all that much but when he saw you struggling with the heavier boxes and furniture, he wordlessly stepped in to help. Before he knew you. Before you asked or even noticed him. Because that's who Lars was. Awkward and shy, maybe perpetually anxious, but above all that he was caring. He wanted to help sometimes even if he might not know how. So yeah, if more gloves helped him trust you, helped him feel brave again, then it wasn't an inconvenience at all.

You still set his hand on a cloth before carefully removing the gauze, hissing in sympathy. It was a pretty nasty cut but not deep enough to damage tendons or nerves. Maybe just a stitch or two. Lars' body tightened up looking at it. It looked worse now. Was it because he got scared? Did he make it worse? "Good news, Lars," you smiled up at him making him blush, "I think we'll just need two teeny-weeny stitches. Nothing really serious." You pinched your fingers and heightened your voice which may have looked childish or silly but it helped him. He smiled a little before his eyes fell away again. "I'm going to flush it out, shouldn't burn it's just some really clean water." He liked that you were telling him what you were doing before you did it. Even something as little as that meant a lot to him. And your touch was very gentle, light, like you were making a conscious effort not to grab or force him with too much pressure. You weren't looking at him again and he watched you work, followed the slope of your nose and the way it crinkled when you focused on something little. He admired the way your hair lay and the way your skin reacted to the different light, shimmering with what he assumed was sweat but it still somehow looked beautiful. He watched your tongue poke from the corner of your mouth, the pinch between your eyebrows while you worked. Yes. You were very pretty and he couldn't help the little smile growing a little wider when you sat up meeting his eye. You had been so attentive and patient with him, he kept his eyes on you the entire time you spoke,

"All done! You did awesome, Lars. Just keep this wrapped and dry, I'll send ya home with some stuff to keep it all clean and then you just come back in a few weeks and get em removed!" Lars nodded looking at his wrapped hand before rushing to speak seeing you stand,

"Will you be here?" You stopped by the curtain tilting your head a bit. "W-When I have to- to get out?" He was flustered again. All that confidence evaporated the moment you looked at him and smiled.

"I'll try to be, if not you can come to my place? I have everything there, too. How's that sound?" Lars nodded gratefully, a wider smile as you waved. "I'll send ya some release papers then you can call someone to pick ya up?" He nodded again, voice small but much steadier than when you walked in and so heavy with sincerity something in your chest ached.

You knew hooking up with the most pathetic looking guy at the bar was a good idea, you really had to pat yourself on the back for that one. He seemed like a put together guy at first, the buttoned up shirt and the fitted pants really convinced you, it was when he opened his mouth and stuttered every time you made eye contact was when you were sold. You brought him to your apartment in no time with absolutely no resistance from him, it was already a perfect night in your book.

The two of you found your way to the couch, you were sitting on top of him with his hands on your waist and getting yours on whatever you could at the moment. His hair, his shoulders, his chest, his… wait…

“Is that…” You pulled back to speak. The feeling of hard metal through his shirt pulled you out of your haze when you grazed his nipple.

“Oh, it’s uh…” Holland cleared his throat, he wasn’t sure how to explain it. Not that he was necessarily embarrassed about it, but the piercing was definitely something you wouldn’t expect to see on a man like himself. “Got it back in high school, thought it was cool back then,” he let out a nervous laugh.

You brought your other hand to brush over your fingers over his second nipple and let out a disappointed sound. “Only one?”

Holland was taken aback by your reaction, “you… you like it…”

You smiled at him, “I do like it.” You gently grabbed the metal through his shirt and slightly pulled, forcing Holland to whimper. “Seems like you love it, though.”

“No, ‘s just- fuck-” he was cut off by his own moan when you tugged the piercing a little harder this time. His back arched towards you, betraying his attempt to appear laid back.

“It’s just what?” You asked with a giggle as you kept twisting the bud. You felt him grow harder and harder underneath you, his pants were tight enough as they were so you had no issue physically feeling how turned on he is at any given moment. “Seems like this one is more sensitive, did the piercing do that?”

Holland shook his head, not trusting his own voice to protect his tough-guy persona.

“No?” You shook your head with him, “so you almost cumming in your pants when I touch it is because it’s… not sensitive?” You delicately scratched the bud through the fabric.

“Ah! Ohhh god,” he whimpered, his dick twitching in his pants and becoming increasingly painful. It was all too much to bear, he wanted you to make him feel good and he wanted it now. Holland took his hands off your waist to rip his shirt open. The buttons flew everywhere and while normally he’d apologise for the mess, he really didn’t care at the moment.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You smiled and stood up. You liked what you saw. Holland’s chest was flushed with one of his pecs being redder from the tugging. His dick was painfully strained against his thigh, so strained you could see the outline of his tip.

Holland looked at you with fear in his eyes and started to babble. “What? What? No, no no no! I’m sorry, I’ll- I’ll put my shirt on, please-”

“Oh my god, calm down!” You laughed and got on your knees. “I’m not going anywhere,” you unbuckled his belt. “It’s my apartment anyways, so…”

Holland lifted his hips to help you slide his pants down. He was hard as a rock. There was a prominent wet patch around his tip, only encouraging you to want to put him in your mouth faster.

“Please, do something,” he begged quietly, making you stop staring and going back to work.

You pulled his dick free and slowly stroked it up and down while using your tongue to tease his reactive nipple.

“Fuckkkk,” Holland whined and bucked his hips into your hand, “so fucking good.” He threw his head back and let himself get carried away with the feeling of your hand and mouth on him.

“Yeah? Am I the first one to touch you like this?”

He nodded with a whine. Of course he had sex with different people before, his late wife being the most frequent one, but he never let anyone touch his chest the way he let you. No one was interested enough to toy with him the way he so embarrassingly wanted. Push, pull, suck, scratch - he’d let anyone do whatever they felt like with him, all they have to do is ask (although he’d never admit that it’s not necessary).

The lewd sound of your saliva against his chest made him pump out even more precum than before. Noticing that, you flattened your palm and rubbed it over his slick tip, making him moan even louder.

“Do you always get this wet?” You teased him.

Holland was embarrassed by how turned on he was from such little action, yet it somehow made him harder. “N-no, I mean, yes, I- I don’t know, it feels too good, I can’t-“

“Shh…” you scattered soft kisses all over his chest, “I know, honey.”

He was fighting to keep his eyes open to see you but you were touching him in all the right places, he felt his body turn to jelly. He was mindlessly rolling his hips into your hands now, chasing the high that kept getting closer.

“Oh- fuck! Gonna cum- gonna cum, I can’t-” he shrilled, his hands flying to grab your shoulders. You wrapped your hand around the sensitive head and quickly rubbed it.

Holland thought he was going to pass out, releasing all over your hand with loud desperate moans. He tried to ignore the tears appearing in the corners of his eyes, evidence of overdue pent up tension.

“Ohhhh my god,” he panted as he finished. “That’s- that was… I never… like, I don’t think I ever…” he tried speaking before his brain came back to full function.

“You don’t have to explain yourself all the time,” you said before shutting him up with a quick kiss. Holland felt his shoulders relax at that. “I’m gonna bring a towel.”

He was left alone on the couch, trying to breathe regularly again as you disappeared into the bathroom. “So, uh…” he called out, “that means I can get your number, right?”

You quickly came back with a smile and a soft clean towel, looking at a wrecked and sweaty Holland. “Only if you promise to get that other nipple pierced.”