much reality very fantasy

The last word he punctuates with a grind of his hips, not quite a thrust, but enough to move him within you, to give you some of the friction you so desperately crave. You gasp and press your heels into the bed, your knees tight around his slim waist, and you try to lift yourself up against him, but he keeps you pinned to the bed with his hips and his cock.

"Every time we do this," he continues, his mouth drifting over your cheek, your jaw, lips warm from the heat of your skin, "—I feel a little closer to what it must be like to be living again."

"Oh, Mikey," you breathe his name like a prayer, a space in your heart reserved only for him weak and warming. You don't know what else to say, so you don't; you merely wrap your arms around him and hold him close.

You would be content with just this, but his length is still buried firmly inside you, and you swear you can feel it pulsing with the rhythm of his pump.

He's huge—you hadn't failed to appreciate that when you'd first slept with him. Not overly so, but big enough you can't meet thumb and forefinger around the thick of him. Big enough that he stretches you almost to the point of pain, but not quite, until your body adjusts. Big enough you can feel him in the back of your throat when he thrusts hard enough.

It's very distracting. Not to mention your arousal still spooling deep down in the bottom of your stomach, undeniable, like a hungry, caged predator waiting for its meal.

You need more. You can't help it. "Mikey, that's beautiful, but I need you to move, please—"

You trail off as he kisses your neck, nipping at the fragile skin over your throat, and you let out a faint whine. "Patience," he tells you in that quietly assured voice of his, and despite it you try desperately to grind up onto him using your leverage from the bed.

Mikey pushes down harder with his hips and you squeak in almost-pain as that forces his cock as deep as it can go, and you feel it from your cervix to your scalp. Your eyes roll back and you take a deep breath but your lungs are crowded out by the man inside you, and you clench down on him automatically. You've never felt so full before.

But still, you ache for friction, for the slide of his cock through your walls, stimulating places inside you no man has ever reached before. Mikey lying still above you, inside you, is driving you insane.

"You're never going to make me cum like that," you tell him, because you know he likes to make you come. He's obsessed to watch you as you lose control because of him, for him. He gives you at least three orgasms every time, but you haven't even had one yet and you need him in a way you never have before.

"Am I not?" His tone is almost playful, and before you can answer he pulls out of you, leaving you gasping empty at the loss, but he's not done—he grabs your hips and hauls you over into your stomach effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing, and you're too shocked and boneless to fight it as he hauls you back on your knees.

Then he's positioning himself behind you, and you have time to stutter out a surprised "Mikey—" before he plunges back into you all the way, all at once. You cry out as he pushes through your inner walls, your thighs trembling as the head of his dick drags over new territory inside you, hitting places that have your toes curling. Then his hips are flush against your ass and he's holding himself still again while your fists twist in the bed sheets and you push back desperately against him.

"Patience," he says again, his voice a purr that goes straight to your aching cunt, and you whimper helplessly as his fingers dig into your skin and he holds you tight.

You're throbbing inside, you realise after a moment, in time with his simulated pulse. You're under-stimulated and your body is seeking any kind of input it can get. You feel every inch of him, buried to the hilt, and you can feel your excitement ramping. A ghost of what he must feel, powerful nonetheless.

Mikey feels your body relax into it, and he lets go of your hips, one hand ghosting comfortingly up your spine as he leans forward and wraps his other arm around your middle.

"That's it," he whispers in your ear, his breath warm on your neck. You shiver as he slowly draws you up to sitting on your knees, still keeping his length fully inside you. You're overwhelmed, skewered helplessly by his cock.

The arm around you ventures lower and you realise what he's doing an instance before you feel his hand drift over your mound, a second before his middle finger finds the hood of your clit, swollen and wanting. You gasp and shake in his arm as he applies a gentle pressure, moving his finger in a half-circle over the throbbing bundle of nerves. It's almost too much. With him inside you pressing on every spot, his fingers working you so expertly.

Said fingers continue to move, applying a little more pressure, switching from a circular motion to an up-down brush of his smooth fingertips over your clit. You can feel your thighs trembling as the heat behind your hips builds. You're hopeless to fight it; it bears down on you with the force of a typhoon, a hurricane, a beautiful, natural disaster that you know is going to leave you broken in all the best ways.

Mikey murmurs your name into your ear and you can feel him pulse inside you, faster now. You wonder if he's as close as you are, just from this.

You don't have time to ask him before he adds a second finger to the pressure on your clit and finds just that spot , and he's relentless and determined and all the things you love about him as he brings you to orgasm.

You feel your inner walls start to flutter with it an instant before it rushes through you, blossoming out from his fingers, from his cock lodged so deep inside you, and you cry out as the ripple of heat peaks and shakes you, hard, an earthquake in your bones, setting your marrow on fire. Every hair on your body stands on end, gooseflesh marbling your tingling skin, and Mikey holds you as you tremble and buck through it, holding himself there, buried in your warm, wet heat.

He grunts against your neck and you realise he's cumming, too, your release setting off his as your insides constrict around him, squeezing as his cock pumps his seed deep inside you, so deep you can feel it, hot in the pit of your belly and it sets you on fire all over again.

His fingers don't stop moving until you start panting and whimpering and reaching for his wrist to push his hand away. Mikey halts then, but he doesn't pull out, merely holds you there as you lean back against his chest, limp and sweating and panting wordlessly.

He's still inside, you realise. Still hard and pulsing. You shudder against and around him, and you can feel his smile against your neck.

"See?" You can't be angry at the smugness in his voice. "I knew you could do it." His praise sparks in that place in your chest again, and you murmur some kind of agreement. It turns into a groan when he suddenly pushes forward and grinds into you. You fall to your hands and knees again and he takes your hips in his hands and —oh, God—he starts to thrust.

Mikey pulls out all the way and slams back in as hard as you can take it. His fluids are running down your thighs and it's so slippery and messy but he doesn't care, he fucks into you with the singleminded focus of a breeding you. All the friction you had been craving before and more, all at once. The sound of your bodies meeting is a wet slap with every thrust, mingled with your moans and cries that only seem to spur him on.

You cum around his frantically pistoning cock, spasming inside and out, clawing at the bed, practically sobbing with the strength of it—a supernova in every nerve.

You gasp his name mixed with a prayer or maybe his name is the prayer, tensing through your toes and thighs and stomach as the tension inside you winds to a singing point and snaps. You cum hard, as he pistons into the willing, clenching grip of your body.

Mikey buries himself in you one last time and he's panting and filling you again and you don't think you've ever felt this impossibly full, and fucked, and satiated as you collapse limply on the bed.

He holds himself above you with his hands on either side of your head. His lips are warm, this time, when he kisses the back of your neck.

Your voice is a croak, barely more than a whisper, when you manage a soft "—Thank you," and Mikey's smile is, as always, something you can only feel as he presses it to your skin.