“PRETTY..”

It was a too-small town somewhere insignificant and far away from everything significant. It was perfect really, to get away and reset, re-calibrate and downscale from how busy life got. So you quite literally threw a dart at a map and went for it. Financially it wasn't viable, your art makes barely enough to live but it was necessary.

Unexpectedly, what you hadn't been planning on finding in your reset, was someone. Loosely. Baron Lamram was the paper boy (man?) and he knew everyone from the elderly couple down the road to the de facto couple next door with too many kids.

He was a sweetheart, the way he immediately locked onto you as the new person in town. The conversations started off as typical small talk, though you consider he isn't really one for small talk since he just speaks his mind a lot. Then the conversations began happening outside of the usual mail exchange, through the doorway of your little house and in other places as a change of scenery.

Like at the corner store or just on the street.

Then it just became a routine, neither of you really had set it, but it just happened. Similar to how most things happened between the two of you, you kissed him and he kissed you, only a handful of times. But from then on he came around daily, even for just ten minutes, just to talk mostly. Or to see you.

So really, he wasn't anyone particularly grand, hell, he wasn't even your boyfriend. He existed as an entity somewhere that took up space like one but neither of you were in a hurry to rectify the confusion.

For now, it was just... Nice. No real expectations, none of the bullshit that came with modern day dating. Even if you could call kissing the same guy three times 'dating'.

The doorbell ringing signifies his arrival, a planned day together because you wanted his help with some art for an upcoming gallery.

"Sugar! You made it," you grin while swinging the door open, already you were a mess from head to toe. Cut offs of tape stuck all over yourself from sticking that plastic wrapping around the makeshift studio. There were perpetual flecks of paint in your hair or on your face. Today was no different, "hows your Ma?"

"Well," he scratches the back of his head, hair windswept from biking in the spring warmth. Baron was never one to beat around the bush, no he very much liked to beat the bush. It was easier to say 'good' then move on, but he never had a flair for those types of niceties. He gives context instead because he likes to give context, "they done raised the prices of Ma's medicine again."

"You're kidding?"

"Swear to god, I ain't."

He looks at you with those downturned eyes, the ones that made your stomach flip and your heart sigh with a resounding here we go'. "Well — this gallery could be decent pickings, I'll give you half the earnings for helping me out, sugar."

"Shucks... I ain't helpin' for money." You know this, but you know he'd never ask for help not because of some warped sense of masculinity or pride. Because you know he doesn't like to bother people too much with his troubles. Well... He doesn't expect people to offer help because who the hell can in these times?

"I know, sugar. C'mon! Get your ass in here." Your fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging him inside. He still never invites himself in, only ever waiting for you to pull him in or explicitly ask him to come inside. It was endearing and delightful.

Once inside the studio he looks around once, then at you, then back around again as if to verify that what he's seeing is real. "You... What's with all the plastic?" He points, turning on the spot, "you done changed it up since last time."

You gesture to the paint pots lining the wall, "we gonna make a mess."

Your artwork is best described as expressionism and byproxy, an extension of you. Less flashy in a way that billionaires would fork out fortunes for, but twenty somethings and quirky cafe owners would snatch up at the right craft market. Pictures captured a thousand unspoken things, invoking emotions and inspiration unique to everyone who looks at it.

The type of art you did was painting the subjects, then snapping that moment for eternity inside the tiny reel of film ready to be developed.

He's seen your work before, lining the entry way of the small ramshackle house. A lot of them were you, different lighting, different elements. One thing in common; Nudity.

"All right, sugar. I'm gonna sit on this, I want you to paint me. No overthinkin', just doin'." You grin, and in you fashion, clothes are discarded as though they were more an inconvenience than anything else. In your case for art, they were more annoying than helpful.

Some collections of art in the past that have made it to a gallery had you as the subject before, this wasn't new. Only this time you have help.

At first this was an endeavor you were completely comfortable to do alone, as always had been the case. Living in a small town now meant the subject pool shrunk drastically compared to the outer suburb living that was abundant in people willing to sit in front of a camera naked for an hour.

Baron, bless his soul, asked if you wanted help when it was brought up a few days ago. He was good at that — giving out his time like he had all of it in the world to spare. Barely scraping pennies together being the post boy, it was a non-negotiable for you that he'd give up a work day for this.

And now he's here, on a day off, staring at you with his mouth parted as if he was unsure what to do now that you sat on the stool naked.

"Sugar?"

"Mh." He tucks his hair behind his ears and draws a shaky breath. Tongue swiping across his lips while he really tries his hardest not to look at you.

"If you're not comfy, you don't have to do this, sweetheart." Because even though you double checked yesterday, then triple checked this morning on the phone, it was okay to back out at any point. Nudity is precious to some people, and that was never going to be something you'd make fun of (especially) Baron for.

"I wanna help," he rasps, finally flicking his eyes up to meet yours. Quagmire and petrified wood is what they reminded you of, swirls of amber adding visual variance that just made him all the more precious.

Nodding, your hand gestures to the paint pots, "don't overthink it, sugar. Get it on your hands, put colour where it feels right. Hell — you could dump a whole pot on me. Follow instinct. I got a remote to trigger the camera." Which you held up and shook in your hands.

The plastic on the floor crinkles with his careful and measured steps, if he isn't looking at the paint pots he's only looking at your face. He was sickeningly sweet.

It was interesting to watch how he looks at the colours, hesitating on one and then moving on. Once he clears the camera, now on the other side of the room, you snap a picture. A preamble to what is to come. Cleanliness and order before chaos and mess.

Finally, he comes over, having settled on the yellow he hovered near for a while. Right hand dripping with viscous paint, immediately forgetting its on there and tucking his hair behind his ear.

You giggle, he jerks away from his hand, "oh gosh dang it," muttering softly to his hand as though it had a mind of its own and did that on purpose.

"Paintin' the wrong canvas, sugar." A hand comes up to properly tuck in his hair, you slip off the hair elastic from your wrist, arms resting over his shoulders as he naturally settles between your parted legs. You gather his wayward hair and tie it into a messy bun. Strands not quite long enough to fit, frame his face instead.

"Better?" Your hands slide down to rest on his chest, fingers playing absently with the buttons of his coveralls.

He nods coy and bashful, a smile curling in his lips and immediately does it again without thinking. This time one of your hands gently grabs his wrist, "I can paint you next if you'd like, don't worry about getting messy."

Again, he nods and refuses to look away. The side of his face smeared with yellow and some of it tracked through his hair.

"Words, sugar. Yes or no."

"Y-yeah—yes." His words are clumsy and breathy, it occurs to you now that maybe he's never been this close with someone before. He adds a quiet, "I'd like that," before his throat bobs.

Despite the double affirmation, you know he was prone to being convinced into stuff he doesn't feel that good about, so your other hand cups his cheek, "are you sure?"

This causes him pause, the hand that was covered in paint had begun dribbling yellow onto your thigh. His doe eyes firmly plant their gaze at you, the most confidently he's looked at you since stripping naked. "I want you to."

Translation heard, he wants your touch, your hands, maybe even your lips on him. He had moments of quiet confidence like this, that seep through that sweetheart nature of his. It makes you consider he might not be as sheltered as he comes off.

Then he blushes when he accidentally looks at your breasts and that consideration immediately goes out the window.

Your hands drop, one closing around the remote for the camera.

Almost immediately, in a way that makes your heart ache impossibly hard, his messy fingers draw a tentative smudge across your chest where your heart rest beneath. It steadily thrums, stuttering for a beat at the cool touch, his touch. This sweetheart from a too-small town.

Without permission, your mind becomes a whirring presentation of every asshole you've given time or your heart to. Paling in comparison to this precious and rare enigma of a guy who isn't much to look at initially. But beneath there was hidden treasure just waiting for the right person to come by and witness.

With the pause of his fingers and the two of you locked in a silent conversation between glances and parted lips, he lifts his hand to brush across your cheek. Yellow smears along with the drag of his thumb across the apple of your cheek. Your finger twitches, almost instinctively pressing on the remote that triggers a near blinding flash from the camera.

A moment worth a thousand words, immortalized in light sensitive crystalized silver forever.

Once he finished off with the yellow, he moved onto green. Then came red. Then blue. Then pink. Colours mixing to make vibrant hues or muddying depending on where his hands decided to go. From arms, to legs, neck then naval. Each colour prompted another flash, each moment that felt right also triggered another flash.

His touch wasn't lewd, it didn't toe the line of inappropriate or opportunistic. It was curious and careful — there it was again, that rare confidence that would appear. Or maybe it was awareness.

"Hey," your hand gently curls around his, joining the muddy colours that have mixed from his painting, he's been at it for a while, lost in his own world. Eyes fluttering with those ridiculously big lashes, lips puckered in concentration and nose scrunched.

Baron had never looked more beautiful than right now. Hair haphazardly tied back, messy coveralls and those mahogany eyes with rings of molten gold. It was unfair.

You swipe two fingers across his neck playfully, "didn't wantcha feeling left out."

He blushes a dusty pink beneath freckles that aren't obvious compared to his moles. "Did I do it right?" He takes a step back, not to create distance, but to look back at his handy work.

Fingerprints and smudges streaked limbs and joints, his favourite was the accidental smiley face he made on the inside of your thigh.

"Baron," you lean forward, he's already hanging his head.

"'There ain't no right or wrong', s'what you were gonna say, right?"

"Uh-huh. Instinct just flows, sugar. You might be good at this art thing."

His teeth gnaw at the plump of his lower lip, not in a particularly sexy way or an attempt to come off attractive. It was a nervous one, "I guess... I ain't too sure how paintin' a pretty girl got anythin' to do with art or nothin'."

"Well do you feel different? Better? Worse? Pensive?"

"I got no clue what that word means, pretty." He chuckles awkwardly, abandoning the turquoise paint pot on the stool beside you, "I feel... calm. Like I ain't got nothin' to worry about. S'just you and me."

You and me. Said in that hopelessly earnest tone looking at you as though you were the reason he got out of bed every day. This... Thing, whatever it was, existing between you felt more real every day.

Nothing seemed adequate to follow that up, aside from a ridiculous love declaration, but this wasn't a scenario that needed it. Baron didn't need to hear you say anything other than you were there and listening, maybe love was on the cards eventually but right now it was still in its infancy.

A petal not quite ready to bloom outward.

So you say nothing at all, just keep your fingers on his skin until he speaks again, "can you paint me now?" He looks guilty for asking, in the downward turn of his head, missing completely the way you beam at his request.

Already, your unfolding off the stool, standing upright beside him with a toothy grin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah — can you make me blue?"

You laugh softly, "just blue?"

"I like blue," he says it defensively but theres no punch to it, barely a gentle reasoning — he's giving you context like he always does.

"I didn't mean it like that, sugar. I can do shades of blue, don't want you looking like smurf."

His lips curl into a smile, "I like them guys." He's now just fucking with you, evident in the way his smile turns impish and his eyes avoid yours like he's bashful about being playful.

Your fingers curl around the lapels of his coveralls, dark curls poking out from the opening which you have to actively try not running your fingers through it, "this'll need to come off if you don't wanna get it ruined." A suggestion, not a strict command. Whatever pace he wanted to set was going to be fine by you either way.

There's a moment he considers it, telegraphed in the quirk of his brows and soft hum that vibrates his chest, rumbling beneath your fingertips. Something in his mind embarrasses him, because his breath hitches and he stumbles to sit down on the stool. His eyes follow you more easily now you're covered in paint, as if it created a barrier for him to look guilt free.

While he sits with that lone paint mark from before, you trigger the camera to flash and in the process, accidentally startling him who wasn't prepared for it.

"Sorry, sugar." You chuckle from across the room, picking up midnight blue and teal.

"S'okay," his eyes track your approach, not in a lecherous way, never in a way that made you feel more like meat than a person. Baron was incapable of making someone feel like that, his eyes say too much. Curious without probing, assessing without scrutiny, innocence from inexperience not because there was anything 'wrong' with him.

He once told you he got called an invalid, not that exact word, but the connotation meant all the same. Baron was gullible, saw the best in people and went through life to enjoy the little treasures given to him, not to be sucked into all the misery that was hard to ignore.

He was not lesser for that, and thats what you'd said. All those things, about how he strolls through life looking at all the colours of the world and smells and sights and tastes. About how he assumes the best and never expects the worst, because whatever trajectory he was on would lead him to contentedness one way or another.

Without thinking, lost in the details of his face, your lips move and the gentlest of, "pretty," murmurs out. Then your brain catches up to the moment, and you smear some midnight blue over the apple of his cheek.

"You ain't actually mean that, pretty. That's you," he breathes, shifting on the stool and wringing his fingers.

Your messy hand cups his chin tenderly, tilting his head up to lock eyes, "you are the prettiest work of art I'll have the pleasure of painting." The weight of your words land heavier than intended, unintentionally feeling more like a declaration of love than the usual three words.

But it felt right to say, just like the strokes on his skin to follow it was all instinctual. Did it mean any less even if the two of you were simply delighted in one anothers company? No. It meant something, but that something didn't feel like it needed defining right now.

Indigo, lapis, azure, cerulean one by one make their statement across his face and hands and coveralls. When the moment felt right, the camera would flash and even though he knew that was the objective of this art work he still jumped every-time. Sapphire, cobalt, cyan and periwinkle soon join the mosaic union of all these blues while you work quietly to appreciate the man before you.

"Done," you nod with satisfaction, "all blue and not too smurfy either."

Your voice was gentle, breath puffing in his face when you reach up to adjust one of his wayward strands painted teal. There really were no words to describe the complex push pull of your feelings toward Baron, but maybe the ocean was a good example. It felt easy being near him, talking to him, sometimes it was like the tide.

Some days the tide was high, other days it was low but that wasn't indicative of feeling less intense about him. More that, whatever existed was softer, more calm in preparation for the days where it felt loud and consuming.

He must feel it too, while his hands stay put on his thighs, his head tilts into the delicate touch of your hand and subconsciously leans forward toward your face. "You look like one of them picato paintin's," he tried his best. Always.

A faint laugh bubbles out of barely parted lips, considering for a moment to correct him and say 'Picasso' but decide there was no need when the moment was perfect, "you look like a starry night, sugar." Both literally and in reference to Van Gogh's painting.

Without giving it much thought, your fingers circle the parts of his face where his moles came through the paint faintly, "s'like looking at the milky way." And like everything else about today, you just act on instinct and kiss the parts of his face where you know his beauty spots are.

He shifts, hands twitching but that embarrassing flush of inexperience and clumsiness halt his movements as you peck the tip of his nose.

"Baron." Not sugar, not sweetheart, but his name sounded so sweet whispered through your lips. At first it felt like a warning, like you had somehow managed to burrow into his mind and hear his thoughts but the look on your face said otherwise.

Then your fingers press into his wrists, not hard or demanding, just guiding them up to rest on your hips. "Is this okay?"

It was a simple question but it meant all the same, it seemed like a significant jump to go from kissing a handful of times to then be touching your naked body. He doesn't just nod and murmur a soft 'yes', his fingers flex out before firmly indenting in the plush of your body.

Only then do you let go of his hands, resting them languidly on his shoulders, "you can touch me," you pause and think if its worth clarifying, but settle on something that will make him feel more at ease, "wherever you like."

His hands don't move more than the soft rubbing of his thumbs across your skin, and surprisingly, he's leaning forward to initiate a kiss. Sweet and wobbly, his nose bumps yours in a way that was entirely ungraceful yet didn't deter him from feeling your lips with his own in a short peck.

"Hey," you murmur playfully, tugging him back closer, "get back here, you." This time you lean in, pressing lips to his soft at first. Enough that his hands tense around your hips and somewhere in your core, you feel that familiar tightness starting to coil more and more.

Your fingers curl into his long messy strands of hair, tongue swiping over his lower lip which causes an abrupt whimper to stifle from his mouth. He pulls back red in the face underneath all the paint, wide eyed like he did the wrong thing.

"Too much?" The question hangs in the air, quiet and safe. A checkpoint to stop things now before getting too carried away.

Peering through his lashes was a sight that nearly made your knees buckle. And then he shakes his head slowly, "can you kiss me like that again?" He pauses, then smiles nervously, "p-please."

"You liked it, hm?"

That felt like the biggest understatement of the century, especially when you kiss him again, tongue, teeth and spit but not rough or urgent. Unhurried and slow, every drag of your tongue against his was a long swiiiipe, mainly to help him get the movement down and replicate but also to just feel him.

Wet lips pressing against one another had you instinctively rocking your hips against nothing, legs pressed together as the need and desire starts to flush through you from top to bottom.

His hands move without any intervention from you, still cautious and learning but fingertips glide up your bare sides. He makes little humming noises through sharp intakes of breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe when your tongues are entwined. Hands stopping shy of your breasts, close enough that you know he's thinking about whether he can touch you or not.

"Shgar," you slur against his lips, breathy and deep. Only now do you bring a hand down to his, lifting it up and over one of your breasts. Both of you stutter, the kissing halts for a moment and nothing but the chorus of panting and heartbeats thrum in the studio.

"Can I?" His whine cuts through the silence, flushed in the face, lips swollen and wet, he looks at you with a foreign desperation. Unintentionally starting something in him that he had yet to experience but now he had it, he needed it. Can he what, exactly? You had no idea, but you nod anyway.

"Yeah, sweetheart."

What you hadn't expected was him to lean forward, press his face in the space between your breasts and nuzzle his head in. The hand already on one, squeezes softly, then releases intermittently, curious and light.

His lips press feather-light kisses across painted skin, barely pressing down on your sternum, the curve of your breast and then over your nipple, which he kisses tentatively first before sealing lips over the bud and sucking. The entire time his eyes are flicked up to yours, through long lashes and strands of painted hair.

Without even knowing it, he sometimes had the confidence of a guy much different than him. Your legs clench tighter and fingers anchor themselves in the loose bun beginning to unravel, kind of like how you might if he kept looking at you like that. "Sugar," you sigh, out of breath from him tugging at your nipple, "you feel so good sweetheart, but you're gonna swallow paint if you keep goin'."

As reluctant as you were to get him to stop, there was still a very apparent hazard of being covered in paint respectively.

When he moves back, nipple still trapped between his teeth until he finally lets go, he takes a shuddering breath and swallows, "I didn't taste no paint or nothin', pretty. Just you." The yellow smeared paint across his lips say otherwise.

"You're so sweet. C'mon, I'll get you all nice n' cleaned up, mmkay?" Your fingers thread through his and tug him off the stool.

"Yes, ma'am."  

Matt never thought that he would find himself in a sex shop out of all places; he usually steered clear of these stores. He hated how he found himself here, all because of a stupid dare. Now, he had to buy at least one thing. Sometimes he wished he had a time machine so he could skip the embarrassment of this whole situation.

It was Thursday, and Chris woke up with the ‘perfect’ idea for a video for the next day. “So we go into a mall, and let our followers give us some dares to do,” he said, grinning, showing them the sticker prompt he had already put on their group Instagram story. “Wow, you’re finally contributing,” muttered Nick as he patted his shoulder. Matt didn’t think it could get worse than what it already was; he assumed the dares would be harmless, dumb little things they had to do.

However, at all times, the fans went crazy and gave them some pretty embarrassing dares to do. First, it was Nick's turn; he had to go and ask for a random guy’s number. The catch was that Chris and Matt had to choose the guy. It was pretty funny footage, and Nick was only a little embarrassed, but it wasn't that bad.

Next, it was Chris’ turn, and he had to order a whole Auntie Ann's pretzel and eat it all in one bite, which was a challenge to him, so he didn’t feel very embarrassed. He just looked into the camera, giggling with his face stuffed with pretzels. Now it was Matt’s turn, and of course, it just had to be the most embarrassing one.

“Walk into a sex shop and buy at least one thing.” Chris read the dare out loud as Matt’s jaw dropped. That couldn’t be real. But it was, which is why Matt is standing in the entrance of the shop, looking dumbfounded.

“Okay, this is easy. Just go buy one thing and then leave,” he muttered to himself to calm his nerves. Matt made his way around the shop, trying not to look too suspicious or awkward. Thankfully, the workers didn’t approach him, or he would’ve fallen to his knees in embarrassment.

He walked out of the store with his bag in hand, cheeks red from the weird stares, and out to the car. “And then they made me buy something,” he recounts as he lies beside you in his bed, his head resting on your chest as you play with his hair. You stiffen a giggle, shifting slightly so you can look down at his face.

“So what did you buy?” you ask, genuinely curious. Matt’s face reddens slightly before trying to change the subject. “Something stupid,” he whispered, his head falling back onto your chest. “Come on, show me,” you tease, poking his side.

Matt groaned, pushing his face into your chest. “It’s embarrassing,” his voice muffled. “Let me guess…” You trailed off, tugging his head away and straddling his lap. He fell back on the bed with a soft huff as your hands traced the fabric of his sweater.

“Was it this?” you ask, giggling, pulling the bottle of oil from behind your back. Matt’s face reddened; he was flabbergasted. “Wait, how did you…Did you have that the whole time?” he mumbled, his brows furrowing slightly. “You left the bag on the kitchen table,” you said with a shrug, your eyes scanning the bottle and reading the label.

“Ooo, strawberry scented,” you teased, turning the bottle to show him. Matt chuckled awkwardly, his hand fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. Then an idea popped into your head. Everyone always joked about Matt being oiled up. What better time than now to make that fantasy come true? He noticed the smirk on your face, the same smirk whenever you got an absurd idea.

“No way…” he trailed off, reaching for the bottle before you could even get a word out. Your hands fall to your side, watching as he sets the bottle on the bedside table. “Please, Matt, you’ll look so good slicked up,” you teased, hands cupping his face. A soft whimper left his lips, his eyes glued to the pleading look on your face.

“Well, I mean, I do like the smell of strawberries…” he sighed, watching your eyes widen as you pressed kisses on his face, causing him to chuckle. “Thank you, baby,” you said once, the last time before kissing his lips.

Your hands were all over him, reaching under his sweater and feeling his warm skin under your fingers. He was so warm, so worked up just from your touch. Soon, he was undressed, left only in his boxers, while you straddled his lap. “You're so pretty like this,” you coo, nails gliding along his skin as he squirms. Matt’s skin was warm, his face flushed, the scent of strawberries filling the room as you coated your hands in the slick liquid.

He never tried something like this before, but you, on the other hand, had fantasized about it countless times. “It smells good,” he whispers, breaking the silence as your hands trail over his bare chest, smearing the liquid on his skin.

Your eyes are glued to the way the oil drips down his body, the droplets sliding down his chest to his stomach and slipping under the waistline of his boxers. Matt’s a mess, the cold liquid coating his skin, his hands gripping the sheets as you tug his boxers down. “Let’s see your pretty cock,” you giggle, taking his boxers off.

He spreads his legs, presenting himself to you, his leaky cock in full view. Glisenting with the oil and the precum seeping from his tip. The sight was picture perfect; you loved seeing him like that. “Please, touch me,” he begged, his lips forming a pout. Your thumb grazed over his leaking tip, causing him to jolt forward.

“Stay still, baby,” your hand holding a strong grip on his thigh as you pushed him back down, moving beside him. “You smell so good,” you whisper, tongue grazing his ear. Shivers went down his spine, his eyes following your hand as you began stroking him. “Fuck…” he trailed off his lip between his teeth as you leaned your head down, pressing soft kisses on his tip.

His hands shook at his side as you kept licking and kissing his dick, feeling it twitch in your hand. “Are you going to be a good boy and come for me?” you asked, stroking him faster, watching as his head threw back against the headboard.

The softest moan left his lips, his hips jerking as he started to come. Ropes of his release shooting from his member and coating your hand and face.

“There you go, come for mommy,” you whispered, not stopping your movements. You came up for air a few moments after, giggling about him tasting like strawberries.

“So sweet,” your lips pressing onto his hip before moving up beside him.

You were on Nathan’s right, his arm slung heavily around your shoulders. Chris was on his left, doing the same, both of you propping him up as he stumbled between you.

After some crazy ass party, Nathan was completely wasted, so drunk he couldn’t even stand up straight. None of you were in any condition to drive, so the three of you had taken an Uber.

Your boyfriend had clearly enjoyed himself a little more than the rest, since you were now helping guide his drunk self up to Chris’s room. “I love you guys so much, man. Like, you’re my best friend, dude,” Nathan mumbled, leaning his head slightly toward Chris, who just nodded along patiently to whatever his best friend rambled about.

Chris opened the door to his room, twisting the knob as Nathan kept going. “And you, baby,” Nathan said, turning to you with bleary eyes. “You’re my world. Like, I love you this much—oh, fuck.” He let go of both you and Chris to stretch his arms wide, trying to demonstrate just how much he loved you. What he didn’t realize was that your shoulders were the only things keeping him upright.

Nathan immediately toppled forward and landed face first on the floor.

Chris smacked his lips and gave you a look, nodding for you to grab hold of Nathan again. The two of you each took an arm, lifting him up as he groaned and made small noises of protest. “Why did the face hit my floor?” Nathan mumbled, rubbing his cheek with a pout.

“‘Why did the face hit my floor?’” Chris repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean, ‘Why did I fall on my face,’ dumbass. Making no sense.” You sighed as the two of you gently lowered Nathan onto the bed. He immediately started mumbling a bunch of random thoughts — jumping from one topic to the next, then circling back to where he started.

Even as you knelt down to take off Nathan’s shoes and socks, he kept talking, all you heard was thoughts with no clear direction. He didn’t stop, not even when you and Chris took turns fluffing his pillow.

“Nate?” Chris finally cut in.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,”

You started making your way toward the door to give nathan some space to sleep off his drunkenness. There was no way you wanted to be right there if he threw up, you’d just bought this cute baby blue dress that made your tits look amazing. No way were you risking ruining it! It was way too cute for that.

You were going to crash on the couch, while Chris took the other side. It was an L-shaped couch, so your feet would end up right next to his face, not exactly ideal, but it worked. You were too drunk to drive home, not as wasted as Nathan, but definitely still drunk.

“Why are you guys leaving?” Nathan scrunched his brows and pouted his bottom lip. “This is mean as fuck. You’re just gonna leave me in this dark room?” Your boyfriend was so drunk he huffed like he was about to throw a tantrum, then turned away from you both, facing the wall “Just say you hate me,” he muttered, lifting a hand and flicking his wrist toward the door. “Just fuckin’ go.”

Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes at how dramatic Nathan got when he was drunk, like a little fuckin’ kid who didn’t get the new Pokémon card. Annoying as shit. But he loved that annoying shit he called his best friend. So, fuck it. You watched as Chris paused, glancing between you and Nathan. For a solid three minutes, he just stared back and forth while Nathan filled the silence with his dramatic little groans and sighs.

Chris huffed and said, “Fine. Just stop crying.” Nathan immediately shifted his body to face the two of you again, though he stayed lying down. He stretched out his arms, inviting you to come cuddle with him. You didn’t hesitate and climbed into bed beside him. But instead of letting him be the big spoon, you scooted over and patted your chest, telling him to lie on you.

Nathan settled in without hesitation, nuzzling close and making himself comfortable against you. “Guess I’ll just take the floor,” Chris said, eyes moving between you and Nathan as he grabbed an extra blanket and pillow from his closet. He decided to sleep on the floor, right next to the side of the bed where you were lying.

Nathan buried his head against you, planting sloppy, drunken kisses along your neck while mumbling words that sounded like words you were pretty sure didn’t even exist.

You tried to drift off, closing your eyes as soon as Chris settled on the floor and switched off the lights.

Nathan soon stopped his sloppy neck kisses and began to drift off, shifting toward the left side of the bed, away from where you lay on the right and Chris slept on the floor. He turned his back to you, a clear sign he was going into a deep sleep. He tucked his hand under the pillow and got comfortable, finally.

You took that as your cue and shifted slightly to face Chris more. The room was pretty dark, the only light spilling in from the neighbor’s house. “Chris?” you whispered into the quiet. “You still awake?”

There was a long pause, and for a fat minute, you thought Chris had fallen asleep, the room was completely silent. Then you felt his hand lift at the edge of the bed, fingers teasing the hem of your dress. “Guess you’re awake,” you mumbled, as his touch started drifting higher.

However, you slapped his hand away. “Are you crazy?” you whispered, turning your head just enough to glance at Nathan. The light from the neighbor’s house revealed Nathan’s back still turned to you, completely unaware. Okay. Good.

His hand slid up from the floor first, brushing the hem of your dress before drifting higher. He traced slow figure eights over your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear, making your thighs tense. “You looked so good today,” he murmured from where he lay.

But the longer he touched you, the less satisfied he seemed with the distance. By the time you realized it, Chris had pushed himself up off the floor, now against the side of the mattress. He leaned in closer, hovering over you now, his stomach pressed against the edge of the bed.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties, tugging them to the side. The cold air hit you first, then the heat of his breath followed.

“The self control was…” Chris dipped two fingers between your lips, the sudden touch dragging a shaky gasp from you. His words broke off into a laugh as he pressed deeper, fingertips sliding against the wet heat he’d already pulled out of you. “Crazzyyyy,” he finished, drawing the word out while his thumb circled lazily over your clit.

The pressure was insane. He pressed down just long enough to make your toes curl, then pulled away to drag his fingers through your folds again, smearing your arousal across your skin.

You trembled, biting back a whimper, but it only made him worse. His thumb found your clit again, pinching it lightly between his finger and thumb before rolling it, making you jolt with a squeaked moan.

Hmph!

You jolted, and Chris instantly pulled his hand back. The room was still dark enough that Nathan wouldn’t have seen a thing. Though, the sudden noise turned out to be him rolling right off the bed and hitting the floor with a thud.

“That hurt,” Nathan grumbled from the floor. The sheets ruffled as you pushed yourself up. You were about to round the bed to help Nathan off the floor and back onto Chris’s bed, but Chris stopped you with a, “Leave it.”

There was no way you were leaving your boyfriend on the floor. Chris must have seen it in your expression because he sighed softly. “He’s drunk as shit,” he whispered. “When Nathan’s drunk like this, he loves cold floors. listen.” Lo and behold, your boyfriend was full on snoring now, as if he wasn’t awake five seconds ago.

You narrowed your eyes, catching the smile playing on Chris’s face. What the fuck was he so happy about? Nathan being so out of it?

As if he was answering you, Chris’s hand clamped around your forearm and shoved you back onto his bed. Your head landed near the foot of the bed, tilted slightly to the left, legs spread open as he positioned you where he wanted. From that angle, it only took the smallest turn of your head to see Nathan curled on the floor. His flushed cheek pressed into the floor.

Chris slid between your thighs, his weight settling against you. He glanced down at Nathan once, before leaning in. “Quiet,” his mouth crashed onto yours before you could respond. You kissed him back hungrily, gripping at his shoulders, savoring how soft his rosy lips were despite the rough way he always took you. His tongue swept over your bottom lip, wetting it, then pulled back with a loud ‘mmcht’ that broke the kiss. Instinct made your gaze flick toward Nathan. Relief immediately rushed through you when you saw him still sound asleep, completely unaware of what was happening only a foot away.

Chris smirked at the sight of your glances and began trailing kisses down your body.

“I love how scared you are.” He pressed wet kisses along your knees, moving higher, closer to where you were weakest. This was so dizzying, like being strapped into a rollercoaster, that stomach flipping mix of excitement and fright. The thought of Nathan waking up, catching you spread out beneath his best friend, made your pulse race harder than Chris’s mouth ever could, surprisingly.

When his lips brushed your clit through the thin barrier of your underwear, your breath stuttered, the fabric instantly damp beneath his mouth. His hand slid up your stomach to your breast, cupping and squeezing until your back arched into his touch.

It was too much: the fear, the pleasure. You shoved at his shoulder with the heel of your foot.

Chris only shook his head, his thumb flicking over your nipple. “And when you push me away,” he groaned, “when it’s too much… the sexiest part.”

He shoved your underwear aside like he had earlier, and latched his wet mouth onto your clit. The sudden tightening pressure made you gasp, the sound bursting from your throat before you clapped a hand over your mouth. Your head turned automatically, eyes darting to Nathan. He shifted slightly on the floor, a groan rumbling in his sleep, and the sight made your pulse skyrocket. You bit into your palm to keep yourself silent.

Chris didn’t care. He never gave a shit. His hand fisted the hem of your baby blue dress, dragging it higher and higher until it bunched against your collarbone. He wanted nothing in his way.

Cool air licked over your stomach and chest, making your nipples tighten into hard peaks.

“God,” he muttered against you, the vibration vibrating right through your clit. He rolled one nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to make you jolt, before teasing the other. All the while, his tongue worked lazy circles over your swollen clit: slow, then fast, then slow again.

Chris’s mouth tightened around your clit, sucking harder, his cheeks hollowing. Your thighs spasmed uncontrollably, your body betraying you completely, until Chris caught one and hauled it over his shoulder.

Now he had you open wide for him, one leg hooked high on his shoulder, the other pinned beneath his weight as he buried himself deeper between your thighs. The new angle made everything blurry. His tongue flicked and dragged, and you could feel every throb of your body responding against your will.

Your head dangled off the edge of the bed, vision swimming, the ceiling blurring in and out as your anxiety blends with the pleasure. You couldn’t stop thinking about Nathan. Just a few feet away, your boyfriend slept peacefully.

Chris was eating you out like he hadn’t seen food in years, like somebody had just tossed a starving dog his first meal. And chris wasn’t just licking, he was chewing the fuck out of it, tongue and lips working so hard you swore you were about to lose brain function. Your legs were twitching, your back was arching, and at one point, you deadass started seeing little flashing shapes at the edge of your vision.

You yanked your hand off your mouth to speak, embarrassed when a moan slipped out before you could stop it. “Mm—Chris, I’m literally gonna—” “Shh!” he cut you off, the word muffled against your cunt. The vibration from his voice sent a shock through you, making your hips jerk. Another moan tore out of your throat, higher this time.

Chris pulled back just long enough to slap his palm over your mouth, leaning in close, eyes narrowed. “Loud as shit,” he glanced at nathan, pinching your thigh with his free hand before diving his head right back down between your legs.

Even with Chris’s hand clamped over your mouth, he could still feel the moans vibrating against his palm, one after another, back to back. Damn. He was that good?

Your eyes snapped to Nathan on the floor. His breathing was steady, still asleep.

“You like this shit too much.” Chris pulled back just enough to slap your pussy lightly with two fingers, watching you jolt. “Moaning with your boyfriend passed out right there. Loud as fuck. You wanna get caught, don’t you?”

Your hips bucked helplessly, chasing his mouth, but Chris slammed your thigh back down with his free hand, pinning you open. He flicked his tongue over your clit, sucking so hard it ached. You sobbed against his palm, eyes watering, body thrashing in tiny jerks.

“Stay still,” he hissed, digging his nails into your thigh. “Or I’ll stop. You want that? Huh?” You shook your head desperately, the sound muffled under his hand. Chris blew a breath, lips shiny with your wetness. “That’s what I thought.” Heat tore through your entire body, your orgasm hitting so hard your back bowed off the bed, the lifted leg convulsing around his shoulders. You screamed into his palm, your body clamping down around his head as he kept working you, sucking harder, milking every second of your release.

When you finally collapsed, Chris pulled his hand off your mouth. A thin string of saliva stretched from his palm to your bottom lip. You gasped for air, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your heart never raced like this.

you giggled to yourself at the thought of him cuffed to the headboard, unable to touch you at all.

a little taste of his own medicine.

so you waited for him—making sure to stay out of sight. it was only a matter of time before you could hear the bathroom door open, foot steps padding against the floor as he wandered to the bedroom.

you saw him through the crack in the door from where you were standing behind it. you were sure he wasn’t gonna see you, tucked close enough against it.

his towel slung low around his hips—the small droplets of water running along his skin. you almost forgot what you were there to do, the sight of him turning you on more. the cuffs were still in your grasp, behind held tight to make sure you wouldn’t make a sound.

you giggled to yourself again, quieter this time. you didn’t give him any time to grab clothes or take the towel off.

you just pounced.

you ran out from behind the door, the noise making matt turn around just in time to see your body hurling towards his. one hand shoved him down against the mattress, his wet curls dripping onto the pillow as you quickly straddled his chest with a mischievous grin.

“what the hell’re you up to now bun?” he asked amused, watching as you snapped the cuffs around his wrists before he could stop you.

“shhh,” you teased, leaning back and patting his chest as if you’d actually gotten control of him, “you’re mine now.”

he gave you a lazy smirk, wrists tugging lightly against the restraints but not fighting it.

you let yourself sit back, planting your ass right on top of his cock over the towel. your eyes raked over him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

you let the thought sink in.

somehow you just managed to catch matt off guard and now you have him under you, in cuffs—just like you wanted.

you didn’t let yourself stop to think about just how easy it was to get him in this position. how he didn’t even bother trying to fight you the moment he noticed you. and he could—you knew that.

still, you pushed it down. letting your hips grind over him, the towel slowly slipped away from around him at the friction and movement.

“bet you hate this,” you smirked down at him, circling your hips more, pressing a little harder, “not bein’ able to touch me…”

matt chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you. “that so baby?” he asked, his tone teasing as he tugged at the cuffs again—just a little rougher this time.

the action only made you giggle, bracing yourself on one hand as your other trailed between your bodies—slipping under your skirt, pushing your panties to the side.

your hand grabbed his cock, guiding yourself to position the head of him at your entrance. you stifled a small sound as you ran the tip through your folds, rubbing against your clit with every pass before you finally sank down on him.

you moaned, the stretch burning—your hands bracing against his chest as he bottomed out. he groaned too, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

it didn’t take long before your hips started to roll, your body beginning to bounce on his cock. matt looked up at you in awe, watching the way your face twisted with pleasure, mouth opening on silent sounds.

“look at you, makin’ yourself feel good on my cock.” he muttered, his eyes trailing over your clothed body. he couldn’t see where you guys were connected—your skirt flowing over his stomach.

his words made you moan, your body bouncing harder. you thought he was straining against the cuffs—fighting them—but you were too busy caught up in how good he felt to notice the way his eyes never left you. how he wasn’t struggling at all.

he was still watching. admiring the way your lips parted, the way your thighs trembled, how greedy you looked taking him.

“you really think you’ve got me pinned, don’t you baby?” he drawled. your hips faltered, confusion flickering across your face as you looked down at him. “what do you—”

the sound of the cuffs clicking made your words stop, your stomach dropping. you watched as his wrists slipped free from the metal like it was nothing.

before you could react, his big hands grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress.

“m-matt—” you stammered, but his mouth brushed against your ear as his cock slammed back into you, making you gasp. “you think some cuffs are enough to keep me down bun? hm? you should know better than that baby.”

your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin, sure enough to leave marks for him to look at later. you whimpered as he set a bruising pace, the bed frame groaning under the force. one of his hands came up and curled around your throat—applying a small amount of pressure.

not to hurt you—never to hurt you—just enough to keep you where he wanted you. your eyes rolling back at the feeling of his hand around your neck and at every time his cock pressed against that spot inside you.

“cute little trick,” he grunted, pounding deeper. “but if you’re gonna cuff me, y’gotta do better than that.” he teased, his body leaned back, one hand still tight around your throat while the other slid down.

he shoved your skirt up roughly, finally giving himself the view he’d been denied—your pussy stretched wide around him, watching the way you sucked him in.

“fuck,” he rasped, smirking as his eyes locked onto the mess between your thighs. “look at you, bun…“ he muttered, voice going rough the longer he looked at you spread out before him.

his thumb pressed to your clit, circling harder as his cock drove into you. your back arched off the mattress, a sharp cry breaking from your throat, nails digging into his shoulders more as the sensation consumed you.

his thrusts slammed deeper, thumb working relentless circles on your clit. “look at you already close to cumming baby—cuffed or not, you’ll never be the one in control. not unless you work for it.”

which lead to heated words being exchanged.

“chris i’m not doing this with you.” you snapped, crossing your arms as you leaned against the kitchen counter. some of his words had rubbed you the wrong way, and it was making you frustrated.

you were sure that they weren’t meant to harm you—but you were quite confused in the midst of it. of why he was just pushing your buttons.

“you already are though.” he shot back with that cocky little half-smile that made you want to throw something at him.

did chris mean anything he was saying? no. he wasn’t even sure why he was still trying to jab at you. but maybe it was because he liked seeing you mad—it turned him on.

seeing you huffing and puffing, crossing your arms and giving him mean eyes.

so maybe he was making you angry on purpose, but it wasn’t to hurt you.

the back-and-forth escalated for awhile, but at some point you got fed up and the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“go fuck yourself chris.” you spat, moving yourself away from the counter and towards him a little. your eyes squinted at him.

he paused, tilting his head slightly at what you had just said to him. and you could see something flicker in his eyes—something that wasn’t anger at all.

the smirk plastered on his face deepened, raising a brow at you. “careful what you wish for baby.” he said, letting his eyes rake over you slowly before moving back up to meet your gaze.

you rolled your eyes at him and turned away, grabbing your phone and walking off towards your bedroom. you didn’t have any more energy to try and deal with him right now—and maybe walking off wasn’t the best solution, but it was what you needed to do before you got anymore frustrated.

it wasn’t long after that, that you could hear the front door downstairs close. you assumed chris had left, but you weren’t going to go after him.

by this point you thought everything was done—it had been an hour since chris had left, you knew he did because you couldn’t hear anyone else in the house. and he hadn’t tried to come to you at all either.

you had been scrolling through your social medias, trying to find something to keep you busy. but your phone buzzed with a message notification, chris’ name popping up on your screen.

you sighed, thinking maybe he was texting to keep going at you. but it wasn’t that at all when you clicked to open the message. instead it was a video, not a message.

nothing apologizing to you about it earlier. just a video that started off with a black screen.

you shifted on your bed, rolling over onto your back as you stared at your screen. why was he sending a video? was it an apology video? you had questions running through your head, ones that you couldn’t answer.

you didn’t dwell for much longer, your finger hovering over the play button and as soon as you clicked it the first clip opened with him propped back against his headboard at home.

the low light of his bedroom were casting shadows across his chest and his face. the camera was propped up and angled low, just enough to catch the lazy drag of his palm over his already-hard cock.

you sucked in a sharp breath as you watched the video.

“well..” his voice came through your speakers, low and amused. he sounded tired, but you were sure he probably wasn’t. “you told me to fuck myself…”

you could see how his hand moved slow, the wet sound of his skin sliding filling the quiet space of your room. his thumb spreading the first bead of precum that beaded at his slit, rubbing his thumb in tight circles before gripping himself again.

“i was just gonna jerk it in the shower and let it go,” he murmured, eyes flicking down at his cock, watching how his hand squeezed himself before glancing back toward the phone. “but then I thought—nah. she told me to. she can watch me do it instead.”

he shifted slightly, spreading his legs wider for you to see. the movement made the muscles in his abs tighten, his wrist twisting just under the head of his cock. he groaned quietly—letting his head tip back for just a moment at the feeling.

“you know what i’m thinking about right now?” he breathed, his hand picking up the pace just a little. you saw how his teeth dug into his bottom lip, a quiet curse slipping. “not thinkin’ about my hand—thinking about your mouth. about how warm and wet it gets when you’re desperate for my cock down your throat,” he let out a groan, tipping his head back to look at the camera. right back at you. “thinking about the way your throat works around me when you choke a little…”

his pace slowed now, teasing himself—letting his grip loosen enough to glide from the base to his tip. he was teasing himself just for you. that maybe dragging it out would be some sort of apology. and every stroke dragged out the ache, his chest rising heavier with each pass.

he gave a short breathy moan a moment later. his eyes were hooded, his hips trying to buck up into his own fist with how slow he was going. but he stopped himself. “didn’t—didn’t even mean to frustrate you earlier,” he admitted. “i just… fuck baby—you look so hot when you’re mad. couldn’t focus on anything else. got me hard the second you started snapping at me.”

the confession made your thighs press together. your pussy throbbing, wetness beginning to seep through your panties, making them cling to you.

his moment of neediness didn’t last for long though. “you’d probably be on your knees right now if you were here,” he continued, his tone dipping lower. “pretty little thing hm? mascara running down your face, gagging on it ‘cause you can’t take it all at once…you’d try, though. you always try for me.”

you whined at those words, rubbing your thighs together now to try and get rid of the ache between them. the longer you sat here watching, the more turned on you became. the argument from earlier slipping from your mind.

your breathing had gone shallow by now, eyes fixed on the way he moved, on how big and thick he looked in his hand.

the sound of slick skin filled the video again as he picked up the pace once more. his pre-cum caught the light, a glistening sheen over the flushed head, dripping down over his knuckles.

“i like that look you get when you’re cock-drunk,” he went on, his voice catching on a breath. “all fucked out, eyes glazed over… you don’t even realize how messy you’ve gotten until I point it out.” he brought his hand away from his cock, spitting into his palm without breaking eye contact with the camera, his grip tightening as he returned. his strokes became heavier, faster, the sounds were obscene.

your eyes tried to advert from your screen—the eye contact making you squirm. but it was as if he knew you would do that at some point. “look at me,” he rasped like there was no room for argument, so you did. you didn’t have to, but you did. “look at what you did. you run that mouth and tell me to fuck myself, and now I can’t stop thinking about your mouth and you riding me ‘til i’m empty.”

your stomach flipped—heat coiling more as you watched him squeeze himself at the base, his veins standing out along his length. his tip was becoming more flushed and angry as he went on, more beads of pre-cum dribbling out from his slit, hand catching them and using it as lube every time his hand moved up.

“bet you’re watching this with your hand between your legs right now aren’t you?” he muttered. “bet you’re wishing I was there to do it for you.” he wasn’t entirely wrong…you weren’t—but you hadn’t even realized your free hand was starting to wander across your body. groping at your tits before sliding down and teasing the waistband of your panties. but not fully touching.

but the more you heard his moans and groans and the more you watched how his cock twitched in his hand—your mind couldn’t stop your hand from slipping under the fabric.

your fingers brushed through your slick folds, dipping down before moving back up your press them to your swollen clit. you were so turned on from this that it hurt—that the minute you started to rub your bundle of nerves, your body was already shaking and twitching just from how sensitive you were.

the video continued. his hips bucking up into his fist faster, curses slipping past his lips. you could tell he was close, and you weren’t far behind him.

your fingers worked at your clit. rubbing tight, quick circles. your own hips starting to grind up against them, trying to change your own release that was approaching rather quickly.

the pleasure coursing through you started to become overwhelming, your head tipping back against your pillows and eyes closing as whines and moans of chris’ name slipped from your lips. hips bucking more frequently now.

chris groaned suddenly—the noise had your eyes snapping back open, looking right at your phone screen. his hips were lifting off the bed as his strokes turned frantic, his thighs tensing as his breaths were quick and broken.

“oh fuck—baby—” his voice cracked on the last word before he came. thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist and up across his stomach in spurts. he didn’t look away from the camera, didn’t slow down right away. instead he kept milking himself. his hips bucking into his hand to drag it out.

and that sight alone—watching him cum—pushed you over the edge.

your breath caught, fingers pressing harder against your clit as you watched him—watched the way his cum painted his abs, dripping over his knuckles, the way his chest rose and fell like he was still chasing every last drop from himself.

“chris!” you gasped his name, your own hips jerking up into your hand. the tight circles on your clit turned sloppy as your thighs began to tremble more. your pussy clenching around nothing as you came—slick dripping down over your hand, your thighs threatening to snap shut.

your eyes stayed locked on the screen through the haze, and somehow that made it stronger—the image of him still stroking lazily through his release, cum smeared across his stomach.

“fuck..” you breathed out, your fingers still rubbing through the aftershocks even though it was almost too much for your body to handle, chasing the last little sparks until your body finally collapsed back against your pillows, panting.

when the last drop slipped from his flushed head, he let himself go, his spent cock twitching against his stomach. his cum streaked over his abs and dripped down his sides of him.

he sat there for a moment, catching his breath before he reached out to grab the camera. he tilted it slightly so you could see it all—his chest rising, the mess of his cum across his skin and the smug smirk that was curling at his lips before the video ended.

you laid there, breathless and shaking still. you were trying to wrap your head around what just happened, but you were too tired now to try and even think.

your phone was still in your hand, resting next to you on the bed. you felt it vibrate.

chris 🧡

leave your front door unlocked.

9:35 pm

@chrisbratt333 @courta13 @matts-babytomatoes @lilyswirly @chrisspussygang

@sorrybirds @mattslilies @emely9274 @everythingaboutbags @httpssturns

@raeses @izzylovesmatt @ajskorner @le4hsblog @nessaisabelartemas333

@wesj11 @lino2319 @alwaysiconick @anisturniolox @ilovesamgoldencoch

@eeyoresturnz @salaciousxsturniolo @alwaysiconick @mattspillowprincess @mattsturnioloss

@sophieredevil @i-said-icecream-cake @chrispycremedonut @mattsdivaa @spookysturnz

@ariieeesworld @sturnsfluff @linaelmj @idkwhatthisis2009 @japblogs