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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

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happy birthday loser; jjk x reader; 18+

summary: after three years of simping over your roommate, you give him one hell of a birthday celebration. idiots to lovers pwp oneshot. literally zero plot

warnings: explicit smut, mutual thirsting, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, squirting, loud filthy (unprotected) sex. wrap before u tap

a/n: happy birthday jungkook! this is my first oneshot in 4+ years so be gentle w me please, usually i prefer to write series but i wanted to challenge myself and ofc write something special for everybody's favourite maknae's birthday. enjoy!

word count: 8k

On Thursdays you cook burgers for dinner.

But today isn’t just a regular Thursday.

It’s your roommates birthday, his twenty-fifth to be exact, so when you ventured to the grocery store last night you were sure to pick up the ingredients for his favourite meal in preparation for tonight. Samgyeopsal.

Pork belly is his favourite meat, you’ve been subjected to many a conversation about how tasty he finds it, how it’s the right balance of protein and fat, how it goes with anything, how he likes to wrap the succulent meat in lettuce leaves before submerging it into sauce and shoving it into his mouth.

It’s his favourite food without a shadow of a doubt. And so you’ve taken it upon yourself to cook it for him on his birthday. He is your favourite person after all, without a shadow of a doubt.

Jungkook moved in with you three years ago, at a very dark time in your life when you were wallowing in your post-breakup blues. You initially met the triple threat of tall, dark and handsome Jungkook at an open mic night when he struck up a conversation with you at the local bar.

As if being gorgeous isn’t enough, he’s a very talented singer and guitarist too, he and his grungy rock band like to play at bars and clubs on weekends. When he’s not busy at his nine to five as a software engineer, where he’s due to be leaving any minute now.

The more you got to know him you quickly realised he’s somewhat of a loser. Not a loser in the sense of having no friends and nothing significantly interesting about him – not in the slightest. Jungkook is a loser in the sense that he’s extremely introverted, painfully so, and lacks social skills.

He prefers to stay home after a gig, he doesn’t care for parties or girls or even much alcohol. He loves the quiet life, spending most evenings glued to his laptop to play videogames or sat beside you on the sofa binging something on Netflix. When he's not running his expert fingers over the nooks and crannies of his guitar.

Truthfully you’ve been kind of infatuated with him for a while now, he’s just so endearing and rib-shatteringly hilarious without even trying. It’s hard not to fall for him. His smile is earth-shatteringly perfect, his touch more so. You are but a woman after all, and a woman has needs and desires just like everybody else.

Jungkook being what you both need and desire daily.

At the time you met him a relationship was the last thing on your mind. Him moving into your spare bedroom was just a way to make up the rent and bill money your ex-boyfriend used to pay. But now you’re three years single save for the very occasional one night stand and Jungkook has never looked more appealing.

Maybe it’s the way he helps you reach snacks on the highest shelf when your tiptoes fail you. Perhaps it has a little something to do with the sweet melodies that flow from his pierced lips, flooding the apartment whenever he showers. It could be the fact he likes to ‘air-dry’ and parades around the place wearing nothing but a damp towel after said showers. Or it might have something to do with the way the supple skin beneath his big brown doe-eyes crinkles when he smiles.

But maybe, maybe, it’s because he’s everything you never realised you were looking for – until it quite literally showed up on your doorstep and moved in.

Okay so maybe you’re down bad for your roommate, but who in their right mind wouldn’t be? If you had to pick one word to describe Jungkook it would be… Perfect, handsome, funny, sweet, sentimental, ripped, gorgeous, talented. Any of those work just fine, it would be an insult to simply pick just one.

One of the many perks about living with Jungkook is that you’re both organised messy people, sure there’s some clutter here and there throughout the apartment but you both know damn sure what junk is where. Your personalities match, you don’t make the rules, they just do. All your friends say it, as do his friends. You'd be a show-stopping couple for sure.

It’s just that well… The man is somewhat emotionally constipated, can’t smell what’s right under his nose no matter how many hints you’ve given. Like a nose-blind lion on the prowl, there's a willing zebra right here, but he hasn't seemed to notice.

Wearing low-cut shirts at dinner, skirts that are a little too short, always making sure your makeup is clean and dewy looking even when wearing sweats. The innocent flirting that’s nowhere near innocent on your end. You shower him with compliments on the daily, being sure you don't appear too indifferent or nonchalant about it. You mean every compliment you've ever given him.

You like him, but you didn’t realise how frustrating that would prove to be giving his obliviousness.

But that all ends tonight.

You’re wearing a simple black slip dress, the smooth fabric ending just below the curve of your ass and the straps are so dainty that he’s bound to notice your exposed cleavage. Maybe even the lace trim of your sheer bra too, complete with a matching thong of course.

It’s not uncommon for you to get dressed up randomly, even before Jungkook moved in, you’ve always liked making an effort and looking pretty. It makes you feel good, confident even. You even went as far as to shave today, ensuring you're extra smooth, yknow just in case.

It's been a whole eleven months since you invited a guy back here, and the outcome was less than satisfying. Much like all your sexual endeavours, he got his and all you got was the ick. You haven’t seen the guy since.

It’s been a hot minute since Jungkook invited a girl back here too, maybe even over a year now. The way your roommate likes to saunter around half-dressed with long, messy brunette hair and a wicked smile has always affected you, made your mouth dry and your panties damp. Truthfully you don’t understand how a guy like that is single, well maybe it's because he doesn’t appear to have a radar for women, but you’re grateful nonetheless.

Black helium balloons fill your lounge, the big ‘25’ being the most obvious. You’ve spent the day mentally preparing for this, you want to show him how much you appreciate everything he does for you and celebrate his birthday properly. From him always prepping extra breakfast in the mornings just to make sure you’ve eaten, to his inked fingertips giving you back massages when you’ve hit the gym a little too hard. He’s usually the one to cook dinner most nights, so tonight you want to return the favour with a smile.

You’re just about to start prepping dinner when the unmistakable sound of his key in the door sends a rush of excitement through you. He’s home.

“Hey loser.” Jungkook’s voice is casual when he slips into the apartment, you’re too busy reapplying lip gloss to get a good look at him just yet.

“Good evening.” You chuckle, clamping the handheld mirror shut and sliding it into a kitchen draw.

You don’t know when it started, nor who started it. But the two of you like to use the term loser as a term of… almost endearment. It’s an inside joke between you both, friends and family members often gasp at the nickname you have for each other but for you? The word loser started to make your heart flutter and squeeze a long time ago. Finally you peer to the doorway and acknowledge him with a kind smile, one he’s reciprocating already.

“Happy birthday loser.”

As always he looks good enough to eat. His chiselled yet soft features, tanned skin, the little beauty mark nestled just beneath those very inviting lips of his. The muscles that threaten to tear through the fabric of his clothes. The tattoos that peak out from his sleeve cuffs. The piercings, his long dark hair that parts in the middle and frames those very handsome, genetic lottery winning features of his. You fight a teenage-like sigh, just looking at him is enough to make your heart race.

“What’s all this..?” His eyes scan the room as he shimmies out of his blazer, leaving him in a black shirt tucked into slacks of the same colour. His favourite colour is black, almost everything he owns is black, hence the fitting colour of the birthday decorations. “Are you making pork?” His angled chin tips in your direction, lazy footsteps bringing him closer.

“Mhm.” You nod, suppressing a grin, “You like pork belly, right? I thought it was your favourite.”

He’s nodding along to the sound of your voice, still smiling, “No I do, it is. It’s just we usually have burgers on a Thursday.”

“Ahh, but today isn’t just Thursday,” You remind him with a mischievous wink, “It’s your birthday, Thursday the 1st of September.”

“Congratulations you know how to read my drivers license.” Jungkook snorts when he props himself onto the kitchen countertop, next to your little workstation, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You didn’t have to do all this yknow.”

“I wanted to.” You hum, turning on the stove.

“But what if I already have plans to celebrate my birthday?” His pierced brow quirks, the silver barbel glimmering beneath the harsh kitchen lighting.

You tut, fighting the urge to roll your eyes when you glare at him and see his nose is already scrunched playfully, “Do you have plans?”

“Looks like I do now!” He claps, taking a beat before cocking his head to one side, his features softening upon watching you cook, “Thank you Y/N.”

Looking him dead in the eye you offer a genuine smile, “Anytime.”

“Would you be offended if I showered before we ate? The AC at work broke and this shirt feels sticky.” He sighs, cracking his neck.

“Why would I be offended?” A light puff of air rips from your nostrils when he fails to respond, his features blanketed with uncertainty and confusion. He really is emotionally constipated.

“No, I wouldn’t be offended loser. Go shower.” You’re giggling, shaking your head in disbelief, “It’ll be ready by the time you’re finished.”

“You’re the best!” He hops off the counter, making sure to spank your ass before skipping into the bathroom. “Happy birthday to me indeed.” He chuckles, winking in your direction before he closes the door behind him.

It’s always like this, the playful flirts and touches, but you crave something more. You want him to shove his tongue so far down your throat he could eat you out at the same time. You want to feel his tattooed hands to explore every square inch of your body while he fucks you into oblivion. The thought alone is enough to frustrate you.

Maybe you should just hop on top of him one night in front of the TV. Sometimes you do sit on his thighs, his ridiculously strong thighs, if there’s a lack of seating. You sigh dramatically, mentally debating whether the large sofa would fit through the window. If there’s nowhere to sit you’d have to sit on him. Problem solved. All you have to do is throw the fucking sofa out the window and pray he takes the hint. Easy enough.

The sizzling meat in the pan is interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, revealing a cloud of steam and a shirtless Jungkook, tattoos and muscles displayed in all their glory. He’s wearing nothing but Calvin Klein boxer shorts, grey ones, that leave fuck all to the imagination.

“Forgot my towel.” He chuckles awkwardly, briefly heading into his bedroom to retrieve said towel. That damn white towel. What would he do if there were no towel? Walk around bare-ass with his dick on show? Maybe you could throw the towel out the window instead, it would be much easier than the sofa.

“You okay?” Jungkook’s presence startles you, he’s right next to you with furrowed brows and his stupidly muscular arms crossed over his chest, towel draped on his shoulder. “You zoned out again, thinking about anything good?” He’s laughing, wetting his lips between smiles.

Your gaze flickers to the bumps of his toned abdomen before settling on his face, he’s smiling brightly at you, seemingly unaware of the carnal desire you have to pin him to the kitchen floor and mount him right now.

“I’m fine, go get your shower.” You act indifferent, prompting a quiet, unconvinced ‘oookay’ from your roommate before he’s gone again.

You’re genuinely entertaining the idea of throwing out, no wait burning that sofa now, Jungkook’s thighs have always been way comfier anyway.

Interestingly enough the timing of his shower is perfect, you’re plating up dinner on the coffee table when he’s finished. Making sure to grab a bottle of soju from the cupboard, he’s not much of a drinker but you figure it is his birthday after all. Dragging two plump cushions from the sofa you’ve suddenly grown a strong hatred toward, you sit on one, leaving the other free for the birthday boy himself.

“Oh my god this smells great,” Jungkook comically inhales until his chest, his bare chest, is full of air. “Have you watched those 365 days movies? Someone at work recommended them to me earlier.” He says nonchalantly while sitting next to you, only wearing that damn white towel over his hips. The scent of his coconut bodywash clings to his beefy frame and floods your senses.

“The sex movies?” You laugh, handing him chopsticks all while trying to keep your gaze on his face. Somewhat a difficult challenge considering he's half naked. Again. “I’ve heard they’re really graphic with basically no plot, just steamy sex scenes, bad accents and a hot guy with tattoos.”

“Ah, you do like a man with tattoos.” He sniffs, fingertips lingering on yours while he grips the utensils, “Well since it’s my birthday I say we watch them. Seokjin at work said they're pretty good.”

“Okay,” You shrug, “But since when do you know about what kind of man I like?”

At this Jungkook grins, finding the remote and switching on Netflix, “You’ve only ever brought two guys back here since I moved in, both had tattoos. It’s a reasonable assumption to make.”

“Valid.” You’re nodding, beginning to tuck into the food, “I guess I do like men with tattoos, yeah.”

“Yeah?” He asks, gently elbowing your side. When you glance at him he’s smiling, wiggling his thick eyebrows animatedly while gesturing to his dark sleeve tattoo. “I’m a man with tattoos.”

“That you are.” You wink, praying to every higher power that one of these days he's going to acknowledge you're a woman. A woman with a vagina. A vagina that needs stuffing immediately.

“Shit Y/N this is amazing,” Jungkook’s frowning while he chews, a crystal clear sign that he’s enjoying the food you’ve made, “You should cook this more often, so much better than burgers. Fuck,” He moans, dark lashes dusting his face when he squeezes his eyes shut, “So good. So fucking good. Best birthday meal ever.”

This is how most of your nights together are spent, sat witching TV on the floor while eating dinner and enjoying each other’s company. You’re coming to the end of your meal when the first sex scene in the movie starts playing, well, okay not really. The characters aren’t having sex but she’s tied up to the bed watching someone else suck off the sexy guy with tattoos. Your brows are hiked up your forehead, eyes wide, this is not where you thought the plot was going.

“Would you ever do anything like that?” Your roommate asks with his last mouthful of food, watching the TV while running a hand through his damp long hair, “Maybe not the kidnapping part but would you ever wanna watch someone have sex?”

“Nah,” You shake your head, “Not for me. What about you?”

“For sure.” He affirms with a nod, still staring at the screen, “But I’d rather be watched than be the one watching. Especially if I was into the girl, I’m way too jealous for shit like that.”

Ignoring the way his response sends a shiver down your spine you swallow your food, “Aren’t you a little socially awkward to put yourself in that kind of situation? No offence.”

“None taken, I am an awkward guy,” He snorts, “But I don’t know, the idea of someone seeing me absolutely destroy someone kinda gets me going… I like the idea of being watched. Don’t you have anything like that?”

You gulp, “Like what?”

“Any kinks or fantasies.”

“I guess so… Doesn’t everybody?”

At this Jungkook takes it upon himself to pause the movie, giving you his full, undivided attention, “Tell me some.”

“Jungkook…” Your sigh shifts into an awkward giggle, truthfully he is your fantasy. And that towel doesn’t leave much to your imagination, if anything at all. But it doesn’t take you long to crumble, “Okay fine, what do you wanna know?”

“Where would you most like to have sex?” He’s smirking, hooded eyes boring into the depths of your soul, “Anywhere in the world, go.”

“Hmm… I don’t know actually, I’ve never thought about it. What about you?”

“My bed.”

You deadpan, a single brow quirked, “Your bed?”

“It’s comfy, it smells nice, and I can go to sleep after without worrying about getting home since I’m already here. Of course my bed is the number one choice.” He’s looking at you as though you’re stupid, as though his answer is obvious when he scoffs.

“Okay… that’s fair enough.”

Jungkook’s watching you closely, and you swear you see his vision drop to your chest for a millisecond before settling back on your eyes, “What would your ideal guy do to you in bed?”

Sucking in a breath of air you’re already nodding, “Easy. The ideal guy isn’t selfish and knows how to make me come, maybe even squirt. No guys ever made me do either. Your turn.”

“None of the guys you’ve slept with have made you come? What the fuck! Um-, okay…” He licks his teeth before making noises akin to car turning lights, emphasising his thoughts, “The ideal woman is bossy, not dominant but knows what she wants and tells me how to do it. I like vocal women, women who aren’t scared of their own voice. Plus the ideal can actually ride me, the amount of women that give up after four bounces is kinda disappointing.”

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry, prompting you to swallow nothing. Thankfully you’ve never heard Jungkook having sex, there’s been a couple of times you’ve heard heavy breathing and little whimpers from his bedroom but it’s always when he’s alone in there. Guys masturbate, it would be unreasonable to expect him not to do it when you’re home. Plus you’ve definitely gotten yourself off while he’s slept in the next room, you have zero room to talk.

“Really? Four bounces?” Your voice betrays you slightly, wavering with curiosity.

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong I don’t mind doing all the work, it’s just annoying when they talk a big game and put in minimal effort. Just be upfront about wanting me to be in charge, you know? I like being in charge it’s no big deal.”

You’re shaking your head, frowning with an uncertain smile, “Then what are you complaining about?”

At this the birthday boy sighs exasperatedly, as though you’re missing the point, “It’s just annoying isn’t it? When you think somethings gonna go a certain way and then it doesn’t…”

“Tell me about it.” You snort, pouring two shots of peach soju.

“Okay,” Jungkook takes the shot of soju, snapping his fingers excitedly, seemingly unphased by the bitter taste of alcohol, “Who do you wanna sleep with more than anyone in the world? Who’s your number one?”

Slinging back the soju, you bite the bullet with an devilish smirk.

“Hmmm… You.”

Stone cold regret washes over you when he looks through you, the same way he looks at people he’s not comfortable with yet. The exact same expression he gives strangers when he doesn’t understand why he’s been roped into their conversations. His pierced lips purse, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing from a thick swallow. Eyes animatedly round, shocked and astonished.

“Uhh…” He wets his lips before his eyes narrow, brows pinching, “I’m being serious Y/N…”

You nod, “Me too but never mind.” You sigh dramatically, pouring more shots.

“Stop fucking around with me!” He playfully pushes your shoulder, earning embarrassed laughter to bubble in the depths of your throat, “You can’t just say that to me out of nowhere!”

“Out of nowhere?” You repeat, frustrated, “Jungkook I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried hitting on you and it just seems to go straight over your head.” You whine, lips forming a cute pout that he can’t stop staring at, “Anyway… Like I said, never mind. Forget I said anything. Who’s your number one?”

But Jungkook is too stunned to speak. He’s looking down at you as though you’ve just told him you want to marry him and have his babies. Surprised doesn’t cut it, nor does confused. It’s a deadly cocktail of the two mixed with a little nervousness tugging his usually sharp features up and wide.

“I-, what?” He blinks away his daydream, “Are you being serious? You actually wanna fuck me? I can’t tell. You know I’m bad with stuff like this. Spell it out for me loser.”

At this you shake your head, feeling deflated, “It doesn’t matter, honestly just forget I said anything, you don’t find me attractive so it’s not like it’s ever gonna—”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth.”

An agitated exhale leaves you, your roommate still staring at you expectantly with a single brow quirked, “You don’t have to say it out loud Kook, it’s obvious.”

“Wow, you really don’t know me at all, do you?” His white teeth are bared in a dazzling panty-dropping grin, “Why do you think I’m sitting here in a towel Y/N? Just out of curiosity.”

“Cause you like to ‘air-dry’.” You mimic air quotes with a mocking tone, slugging back another shot of soju. He does the same.

Jungkook’s voice drops into something akin to seductive, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a huge smile, “Actually, I thought that maybe if I walk round the place half naked all the time you’d take the hint eventually. You think when I moved in friendship was the only thing on my mind?” He’s laughing now, shaking his head in disbelief, baffled, tongue darting over his lips to wet them. “You think when I came up to you at the bar all I wanted was to be your friend?”

“W-what are you saying? That you are attracted to me?” Your heart races away in your chest, a lick of heat wetting your spine when your roommate tilts his head to one side, smirking.

“Ask me who my number one is.”

“Okay… I’ll humour you. Who’s your number one?” You’re blushing, unable to wipe the smile from your features when he sucks in a harsh breath of air, watching you closely.

His inked hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging your face closer, close enough that your noses bang together and you both giggle. “You are, loser.”

The next thing you know he’s kissing you, and you’re kissing him back.

Where most make out sessions begin soft and slow, gentle and uncertain while both parties attempt to figure out what the other likes – that’s far from what’s happening here. It’s heated, it’s messy and fuelled by years of pent up frustration and longing. His grip moves to your jaw where he pries it open, slipping his tongue into your mouth at that exact moment.

“Oh… Jungkook…” You mewl, smiling triumphantly against his mouth.

Fucking finally.

“You have,” He pulls back, lips kiss-swollen and stained with lip gloss, “No idea,” His hands sneakily find your hips, guiding your body until you’re straddling his towel-clad thighs, “How long,” He’s smirking, palming the fat of your ass when his lips find your in a hurry, “I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

“Well why didn’t you say anything then?!” You frown, sighing in bliss when your dress is being pushed up, pooling your abdomen that’s full of pork belly and butterflies. Giving enough leeway for Jungkook’s fingertips to slip into the waistband of your underwear.

He chuckles into the kiss, averting his mouth to pepper your jawline with lots more dainty little kisses, whispering, “The same reason you didn’t, I didn’t know you were into me like that.”

“Except I tried, multiple times…” You hum, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Palms explore Jungkook’s muscular back, every lump, bump, every inch of tanned bare flesh that you’ve seen simultaneously way too many times and not enough at all. “All the slutty outfits… The compliments, I’ve been pretty vocal about finding you attractive actually.” You’re grinning, fingertips toying with the long brunette hairs at the nape of his neck.

At this Jungkook sighs, lulling his head back to get a better look at your face. His eyes are blown dark with lust, his gaze hooded and intense. But it’s the breath-taking smile he wears that sends a rush of heat straight between your legs.

“I do like a woman who’s vocal about what she wants.” He winks, crushing his lips to yours once more, “So tell me what you want loser.”

“Want you.” You pout, elbows resting atop his broad shoulders when you brush the hair away from his face, physically incapable from breaking the string of messy kisses. He tastes like peaches and sin. “Want you to make me come.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, ridding your body of the skimpy little dress that didn’t leave much to his imagination. “Wish you told me all this sooner, could’ve been blowing your back out daily by now.”

“Not my fault you can’t take a hint.” You snort, blood rushing to your cheeks when you see his hungry stare fixed to your almost bare body atop of his thighs.

He rolls his eyes, “You’re one to talk. Why do you think I put your snacks on the top shelf?”

“So you can help me reach them…?” You scoff, biting down on your lip, “So you look like a strong alpha man helping his poor defenceless vertically challenged roommate?”

“Nah,” He admits with throaty laughter, large palms exploring your curves and reaching round your back, until they’re unclasping your bra in one swift movement, “Like seeing your ass peek out the tiny little dresses you wear when you get on your tiptoes.”

Your mouth falls open in genuine shock, brows raised expectantly, “Jeon Jungkook!” You gasp, gripping his chin and angling it towards your lips, “Who knew you were such a fucking pervert?”

The man’s in a total daze, lost in your eyes with a bright smile, “You think that's perverted? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Maybe this is a bad idea. Having wild, carnal, fringing-on-illegal sweaty hot passionate sex with your roommate. Maybe. But when your bare back hits his soft mattress with a ‘ooomf’ and he rids himself of that damn towel, you struggle to see past this moment right here, right now. Jungkook is naked, and it’s a glorious sight.

You’re grinning when he crawls up the bed, but to your surprise, no, rather to your excitement, he stops when his profile is faced with your underwear. Hooking his fingertips beneath your thong he smirks, gaze briefly meeting yours until he’s dragging your underwear beneath your ass and down your legs.

Being naked in front of Jungkook is something you’ve often thought about, it was the motivation behind your tactical shave earlier today, secretly praying this would happen. But now that you’re here, in his monochrome bedroom that smells of vanilla, on full display for the man you’ve been crushing on for so long. It all gets a little overwhelming.

“What are you doing?” He mumbles, thick brows pinched when you sheepishly shut your legs and stop him from seeing the whole show.

“I-, uh…” You swallow, clearing your throat, “It’s been a while…”

“And?”

“And I’m nervous.” You giggle, throwing your head back into his pillows.

At this he makes his way up to your face, knocking your legs apart with his knees to settle his weight between them. His strong arms hold his body in place, planted either side of your face. The way he’s peering down at you should be illegal, so smug yet there’s a glimmer of concern behind his sparkly eyes. It’s when he releases a breath of air against your face that his features soften into a faint smile, awestricken.

“I think you’re gorgeous Y/N, you don’t need to be nervous.”

“I haven’t had sex in almost a year…” You whisper, avoiding his gaze.

“And?” He repeats, chuckling mostly to himself, “Neither have I. And it didn’t stop you from using that noisy ass vibrator of yours the other night, did it?” Your eyes snap to his in a panic, he’s fully laughing now, the sound equal parts mischievous and salacious. “Walls are very thin…” He sniffs, tilting his chin to the wall his headboard rests on, backing onto your bedroom.

It’s after you sigh, beyond mortified that he heard such obscenities, that he sinks his lips to a sweet spot on your neck, sucking the flesh harsh enough to leave sensual bruises, “Let me make you feel good baby, I promise I’ll make you feel good… Don’t be nervous.” He murmurs, and you’re left breathless.

The pet name sends a rush of something strange over your body, you’re not used to him calling you anything other than loser. Maybe your name, but definitely not baby. You like it. While he’s working on making a total mess of your neck the familiar heat and lust comes back, stronger, deeper, and more determined.

“Jungkook… Please… W-want you to make me feel good.” You whisper, already in a daze.

It’s then that you feel him smirk against your skin, planting one final coy kiss to your lips before making his way down your body with one continuous lick that has your body aflame. His tongue never leaves you, travelling to your collarbones, your breasts. The flat wet muscle glides over your nipple and you gasp, brows furrowed in concentration.

“You’re so sensitive…” He hums, lapping up your nipple, taking it between his teeth and playfully sucking. Tiny whimpers and moans peep from your lips, along with the occasional gasp that has your roommate losing his goddamn mind. His tongue soon finds the other nipple, winning himself more of the same noises that are making his cock throb with anticipation already.

“So nobody’s ever made you come, huh?” He mumbles, “But you’re so fucking sensitive baby… Aren’t you?”

“Mhm…” You bite your lip, hands greedily smoothing over his bare shoulders. You want to feel his body, his entire body. You want it on top of you, next to you, underneath you, inside you. Perhaps it’s due to all the pent up frustration harboured toward him, but there’s a dull beat between your legs that you so desperately want him to listen to.

And then it hits you, Jungkook likes vocal women.

“Make me come please… Want you to make me come…” You moan, writhing around beneath him at the new found tingles all over your body. The cool air kisses your core when he spreads your thighs, sinking down the bed until he’s eye level with your bare pussy.

“Oh my god.”

His words win you to tug yourself up onto your elbows, a little curious. That’s when you find him staring at your vagina with pure astonishment. Lips ajar, brows hiked so far up his forehead that it’s wrinkled, a small surprised scoff hot against your flesh.

“What?” You frown, suddenly self-conscious, “What are you looking at?”

“What am I looking at?” He parrots, sighing with puffed out cheeks, “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen, that’s what I’m looking at.”

“Oh.” You giggle, not knowing what to say.

You didn’t expect him to be so confident in the bedroom, so outspoken and complimentary. It’s no secret that he’s a very socially awkward man in the streets. Apparently a very different story to the personality he has between the sheets.

“You have the cutest little beauty mark…” He whispers, sinking his lips to your folds, “Right here.” He kisses you gently, and you feel like squealing. “Fuck, you’re addicting baby. Losing my mind down here.” He chuckles right before digging in.

He places a languid, drawn-out lick from your entrance to your clit, one so mind-numbingly slow that your toes curl against the sheets. He repeats this, once, twice, three, four, five times until he’s dipping his tongue between your folds with a whispered moan. It feels nice, feels good, but it's not enough.

“You plan on making me come any time soon, loser?” You playfully kick his shoulder, winning hot laughter against your centre.

It’s then that his arms hook under your thighs and he drags you closer to his waiting face, until his full lower-profile is smothered in your cunt. His chin, his multitalented lips, the soft bend of his nose, all of it. He playfully slaps your thighs and you take the hint, throwing your legs over those obnoxiously broad shoulders of his.

That’s when your guttural moan fills the air, when Jungkook starts lapping up your clit so expertly that you question whether the whole ‘shy, socially inept, cute boy’ persona he has going for him is just a façade.

He’s good at this. He’s fucking amazing at this. You’re gasping for air when he suckles on your clit, massaging the muscle with his tongue while it’s still being pulled between his lips. You groan, you hiss, you whimper. It feels indescribably fantastic, and there’s no way he’s not going to be able to get you off doing this.

“Holy shit, Jungkook.” You whine, hips pushing your core impossibly closer to his face. “Mmmph, oh—” Another long moan cuts you off, actually it’s more of a groan. A needy one at that.

His hooded stare flickers up to your face, watching your every move before him. “So sensitive.” He murmurs, sounding disbelieved.

Watching you wriggle and whimper for him only fuels his lust further. He takes it upon himself to push your legs onto your chest with one hand. Until your knees are to your breasts. You don’t complain at the new angle so he carries on, pulling away from your pussy for a second to spit on his fingers. Not that he thinks you’re going to need it, you're already drowning his sheets.

Unceremoniously he plunges two digits into you dripping walls, and you shriek.

“Jungkook, oh god, oh my god Jungkook…” You pant, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open.

It’s a second later when his mouth reattaches to your clit and you’re borderline sobbing. You feel so full, like an elastic band being stretched to it’s limits. You’re going to snap soon, you know it. There’s a heat building in your gut, one that comes in rhythmic waves that match your racing heart.

That’s when something odd swells inside your stomach, something new and exciting and overwhelming. Jungkook’s fingers aren’t fucking in and out of you like you’d expect them to be, they’re consistently inside you, curling upward and pressing against a spot that very few people, yourself included, have ever managed to discover.

“Jungkook seriously what the-, fuck!” You warn him, eyes flying open in utter disbelief.

“Mmm?” He chuckles, his response lost to the sounds of your pornographically wet pussy squelching and sloshing around his fingers.

“I’m-, oh my fucking god…” You’re whining, whimpering, shivering. “Feels so fucking good.”

At this he moans in response, sucking your clit harder, hitting that spot inside you even harder, faster. You inhale sharply, preparing yourself for the earth-shattering ecstasy that’s sure to crash down on your body any second now. But strangely enough it isn’t the hold of your clit between your roommates lips that pushes you over the edge, nor is it the thrilling curl of his finger.

You peer down at him, his brows furrowed deep with concentration, the same way they are when he eats something delicious. His face is spinning and twisting to each and every side to make sure he’s licking and sucking all your nerve endings. And that’s when his heavy eyes flicker up at your mess of a face.

Jungkook winks.

And you squirt everywhere.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god!” You groan, watching the man who you’ve been simping over for years giggle against your skin as though he hasn’t just made a catastrophic mistake.

Because now you’ve experienced this side of him, there’s absolutely no way you can go back to just being roommates.

He doesn’t fold, doesn’t stop, nor does he slow. No. He carries on. Sucking, finger-fucking, licking, moaning, curling those digits and slurping at your pussy until it happens again. And again. And again.

And again.

“P-please…” Your body jumps and jolts on the mattress, convulsing from oversensitivity, your back damp with sweat and heart beating so fast you fear it’s going to implode any second now. “I-, I can’t take another one…” You pant, hands flying to the hairs at his scalp where you try and pry him aware from your core.

He hums in agreement, nodding along with your words all while wearing a big, dumb grin. “Okay.”

You’re fucked. Head spinning, reeling, brain unresponsive. Limbs already aching, you’ve never come this many times in one sitting to date. Not even with that ‘noisy-ass’ vibrator of yours. The distant sound of laughter forces you to come back to reality, finding Jungkook laid next to you with shiny lips and a wicked smirk. His head resting on the bend of his elbow, his pierced brow quirked curiously.

“I’ll give you a minute...” He’s laughing, tongue toying with his silver lip ring. A moment later he shifts on the bed, until he’s laid on his back and his entwined hands are tucked behind his head. A content smile broadens his features, a smug one, one that gives you a devilish idea.

Adrenaline and the need to have his cock inside you courses your veins, along with a hint of arrogance. That’s what leads you to sitting up, mouth falling open when you catch sight of Jungkook’s huge cock, rock hard and waiting. Oh you’re about to give him the best birthday present in the world. He wants a woman that can ride him? Who can last longer than four bounces?

Challenge accepted.

Carefully, you throw your leg over his waist until you’re hovering over his muscular body. He really is huge, by every ridiculous definition of the word. Lazily, he opens his eyes before they grow wide with surprise at your current position.

“Oh?” He chuckles, hungrily exploring your naked body with his stare, as though he hasn’t been ogling it for the past however long you’ve been in here. “I’ll warn you now, if you’re any good at this I’m gonna have to take you on a date.”

“We’re going out on a date regardless.” You snort, gripping the base of his shaft, shit, he’s big, “Since you’re the only guy around here who knows how to make me come.”

“Suits me just fine loser, I'll take you on a date. If you're lucky I'll make you squirt again at the dinner table.” He grins, wetting his lips. “Let me rephrase then, if you ride me like you mean it I’ll take you on the best date of your life this weekend.”

“Deal.” You wink, chest swelling.

You pump his cock a few times before you sink yourself down onto it with a long, shaky moan.

“Holy shit… baby…” He pants, tugging at his own hair with furrowed brows.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut but you can just about make out them rolling back into his skull behind his lashes. It’s when you’re fully settled onto his cock that you bite your lip, picking yourself up only to slam down onto him with a loud wet smack. His doe-eyes snap open at lightening speed, a drawn-out grown rumbling his strong chest.

“Fuck!” He gasps, jaw slack and eyes wide.

You grin down at him triumphantly, clearly he didn’t know you were capable of making him feel just as good as he made you feel. You repeat the motion, harder. You do it again, and again, until Jungkook’s hissing and messily gripping your hips in a hurry.

“Y/N… What the fuck?!” He stifles a moan when he bites his lip, mesmerised by the way your pussy squeezes his cock each and every time you pull yourself up and drop back onto it. “Seriously what the fuck are you made of, oh my-, fuck—”

It’s at this moment you brace yourself on his chest with splayed hands, keeping your body steady before you ride him like your existence depends on it. Like there’s no tomorrow. Like you’re the only two people on earth. There’s a hot burn in your thighs but you don’t let up, bouncing on him consistently, pace never faltering.

He’s so big that you fear you’ll split open, but you welcome the underlining sting of being this stuffed. Obscene wet noises along with the sound of the bed squeaking in sync with your movements fill the air. Beneath you Jungkook is a moaning mess, he’s chewing on his lips as though that’ll stop the profanities and groans from escaping him – but it doesn’t.

“Baby… Oh we definitely-, oh shit-,” He hisses, hands snaking round to your ass cheeks where he squeezes them like they’re his favourite stress-balls, “We should’ve done this-, way-, waaaay sooner.” He moans again, head thrown back into his pillow.

You’re slamming down on him with force, so much intent behind your bounces that the crown of his cock hits your cervix each time without fail. The sight before you will be burned into your memory forever. Jeon Jungkook, panting, whimpering, trying his absolute best to keep it together all while you ride him to heaven and hell and back again.

“You like it when I ride this fat cock of yours?” You moan, usually you’re not one for dirty talk but you simply can’t help yourself. He looks… Feral. And it’s only spurring you on even more. “You’re so big Jungkook, fuck, feels so fucking good inside me…”

“You-, you’re…” He can’t get his words out, they’re dying in the back of his throat, lost to the ‘mmmphs’ and ‘ooohhhs’ he delivers every time you drop down on him. “Do I l-like it? Fuck. Best-, mmmph, best fucking pussy... Slow down baby, please.” He whines, the sound has your lower abdomen in utter turmoil, another orgasm threatening to ripple your body.

You do as he says, he is the birthday boy after all. Besides, there’s no way in hell this is going to be the only time you’ll ride him. Your evenings together are going to look a whole lot different from now on, that's for sure.

The speed of your ministrations slows, but the depth and force does not. You’re still fucking yourself on his hard length with so much purpose that you feel his knees buckling, thick thighs twitching beneath you.

“Baby, fuck…” He rasps, “Ohhh fuck! Mmmph…” It’s like he’s mesmerised, mouth hanging open and eyes incapable of looking anywhere but you. He's completely infatuated with the way you feel atop of him.

You feel a hand snake up to the nape of your neck before you’re being pulled toward his face, his lips smashing against yours in another series of messy, desperate kisses. Gritting your teeth when the white hot heat inside your walls threatens to snap, Jungkook feels your sopping walls clench around his girth and groans into your mouth.

“Again? Ohhh...” He hisses, trying his best to sound cocky but it’s less than convincing when he too is a whimpering mess. “You’re a fucking goddess Y/N-, ohhhh.” He pants, finding your hips with tattooed hands where he holds them in place.

It’s a moment later when he plants his feet flat against the mattress, bending his knees, showcasing his strength when he keeps you in one place above him. That’s when he fucks you hard, as though he’s punishing you for something. Thrusting in and out of you so violently that you’re blubbering into the crook of his neck.

“Fuck! Right there, right fucking there!” You cry out, voice almost lost to the brutal clapping noises of you being fucked ten ways to Sunday.

Each rut of his hips has you seeing stars, he feels so fucking good inside you. So deep. His pelvis is knocking against your swollen clit, be it intentional or accidental you'll never know - but it has you spiralling into insanity.

A long, vocal moan tears from your throat when you’re hit with another orgasm. You feel boneless, as though you’ve just discovered the real definition of pleasure. You’re so wet that he’s sliding in and out of you with ease now, the pulsing of you walls throwing him over his own edge until he thrusts into you one final time.

It's deeper, he's holding your hips in place, dragging them impossibly closer to his body when he fills you with his come. Breathless and sweaty.

“Baby… Oh my… god.” He chokes out between ragged breaths, and you can’t help but giggle into his skin.

Moments later you’re rolling off him, too weak to adjust the position you land in but you do throw a leg over his thighs with a smile. Heavy breathing and quiet chuckles bring you back down to earth, forcing you to gaze over at your roommate.

Jungkook’s already looking at you like he’s madly in love, as though you’ve just offered to do this every day with him for the rest of your lives. When you wet your lips and smirk you register his cock twitching against his abdomen, he really is shameless. And by the look on his face, he isn’t even close to being through with you.

"Best. Birthday. Ever." He pants, absolutely befuddled that he's just had sex, mind-blowingly, indescribable sex with his roommate, the same roommate he's been fawning over for a long time now.

You send him a wink before pulling his face to yours, there's no fucking way you're done with him either.

“Happy birthday loser.”

#jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #happy birthday jungkook #jungkook fluff #roommate!jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook x you

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l0vergirlv0mit · 6 months

Text

Bags

Song to go with: Bag by Clairo ❤️

Pairing: College!Hazel Callahan x Reader

Summary: you’ve been in love with your best friend for years. Watching her date people sucks especially when one of the absolutely despises you.

Contents/warning: Switch!Hazel x Switch!Reader, fingering, oral, pet names, nipple play, cursing, threats, light? violence (nothing gory), sm yearning.

A/n: for the dorm imagine Buffy and willows dorm from btvs<3. Also reader isn’t fem but also isn’t masc but is definitely masc leaning. for my in between girlies 😘.

You alarm clock rudely wakes you up with an incessant buzz. Hitting it a bit to hard it falls off your night stand making you groan into the sunlit room. You sit up with squinted eyes not noticing that Hazel was still in the dorm. “Well good morning sleepy head.” She smiles at your groggy state.

You wake up just enough to snatch the alarm clock of the ground and punch it off. “Ughhh good morning.” Your eyes finally adjust to the light fully taking Hazel in. She was still in her pjs wearing a white wife pleaser and low waisted grey sweats. “Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” You ask her confused as to why she was skipping her morning class.

“I should but Anya had me up till 2.” She clasps her hands around the back of her neck. She still had her tired raspy voice probably having woken up a couple minutes before you. “Oh god spare me.” Suppressing an eye roll you got up from the bed and grabbed your towel, getting ready to go to the showers. Anya pissed you off to no end.

And it wasn’t because she was dating the person you wanted more than anything (maybe a little bit). It was her glares and her back handed compliments that she gave you any chance she could. How she would snap at people over anything and everything she was extremely abrasive.

Your friends tried to explain that that was just her personality but you didn’t function like that you were quiet and sweet. Both didn’t mix well so she tended to single you out. Always trying to push you out of your comfort zone by teasing and getting a rise out of you. You can barley ask a waiter for ketchup let alone defend yourself. But you refuse to tell Hazel about her behavior because she was happy. She was so sweet to Hazel and that made you most livid.

“Not like that y/n we went out for our 4 months.” She grinned at your scrunched face. “How fun nothing says I love you like sleep deprivation.” She raises her eyebrows at your grouchy mood with a soft smile still on her lips.

“Oh wow someone’s moody, anyway Josie was texting the group chat about a going to the bar tonight are you gonna come?” Hazel asks you hoping you’d say yes because you never go out. “Mmm I’ll think about it Haze Ill probably have a lot of work to do.” Hazel sighs. “Pleaseeee you never come out with us anymore.” She give you a pleading look. “I have a lot of today I’ll let you know if I’m up for it.” You giggle at her childish tone and pat her shoulder then leave the dorm.

—

You let Hazel know you were coming and put your phone down and change out of your work clothes. Your style has always been a bit more grungy and masculine only really dressing a bit feminine for special events or outings.

You put on your favorite baggy black jeans that hung off your hips so beautifully. Then put on a spaghetti strap tank top and a long sleeve over it made of black mesh and lace that was completely see through. You left your hair messy and smudged black shadow and liner on your eyes. Finishing off your outfit by putting on your black docs.

Hazel was already with the group so you drove yourself to Josie, PJ, and Isabel’s shared apartment. You found your way to the apartment door knocking timidly. You rock back and forth on your feet waiting for someone to open the door.

When someone finally does it’s her. She doesn’t talk to you directly. “Y/n is here now guys can we finally leave?” She says not letting you in yet talking to YOUR friends behind the door.

Hazel quickly comes to the door and smiles brightly at you pulling you in by your hand . “Oh wow someone’s trying to get lucky tonight.” Hazel softly says nudging you. This earns you a glare from Anya.

The group sits in the living room area to catch up before heading out. Everyone’s talking but your mind is elsewhere. You’ve always been the quieter one of the group so your lack of conversation goes unnoticed.

You can’t help but stare at Hazel and Anya. A deep grief blooms in your chest. Hazels arm around Anya protectively. Anya tucks a piece of hair behind Hazels ear and kissed her on the cheek. Hazels face becomes so soft and loving it tears you apart wishing so bad that you were Anya. Hazels hand travels to her waist to pull her closer just to top it off.

You look at Anya for a bit taking in how perfect and pretty she is. She’s so feminine and put together. She was everything you would never be. She had on a full face of makeup that was perfectly done and a dress that hugged in all the right spots. She was an absolutely gorgeous girl.

You were only pulled out of this haze by Josie putting her hand on your knee. Knowing exactly what was going through your mind. You had drunkenly told her about your 2 year long crush on Hazel in a club bathroom. You look back at her with glazed over eyes and squeeze her hand as a silent thank you.

“Are you guys ready to get wasted cause I am.” Josie announced and pulled you up with her off the couch. She looks to you and smiles trying to change the mood that’s setting in. You smile back but felt suffocated anyway and had to leave. Everyone excitedly agrees and heads over the bar.

—

This bar was THE bar all the college kids go there to find hookups and get drunk. The group gets drinks to loosen up but you decide to hold off for tonight. You let your friends make you dance their tipsy state amusing you. You move timidly at first but the encouragement from your friends has you swaying to the music.

You danced with Britney trying to absorb her confidence in some way. When Hazel comes over to playfully dance with you twirling you around and giggling. She saw your shyness and was trying to remedy it.

She made you sway with her hands on your waist. It was all friendly and playful and you were best friends so it wasn’t unusual behavior.

Nonetheless you felt your face get warmer at her proximity. Anya was staring from the bar after telling Hazel she didn’t feel like dancing. Anya really thought Hazel was just going to sit there and watch all of her friends dance instead.

Anya quickly changed her mind though. Seeing you too make her jealous. Hopping out of her seat and waltzing over to shove you away from Hazel with feigned innocence. Hazel mouths sorry towards you and it was your turn to go to the bar and watch from a far. You get yourself a coke to sip on since you would be driving later, not much of a drinker anyway.

You sit there mindlessly scrolling your phone trying to keep yourself occupied. Watching them still it hurts your chest. Hazel holds Anya close she has her face in the crook of her neck holding her from behind. It was a real sight. Especially when Hazel looked so good. Her cropped white tee and baggy jeans left just enough midriff exposed to mesmerize you.

Josie comes to sit besides you breaking your trance. “I hate her.” Is all she says and she looks from Anya to you. “Me too.” You both laugh together. “Yeah she’s kind of a bitch isn’t she.” Josie remarks pressing her lips together and furrowing her brows.

“Yeah she’s something.” You huffed and smiled brighter grateful for your friendship .That’s when Josie gets a certain look that you know to well. “You wanna smoke?” She flashes you a wide grin and wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh god yes.” You take one last sip of your coke and follow her outside.

—

You and Josie walk back into the bar in a hazy giggle. After a shit talking session that had you loosing your shit and gasping at gossip. You go to dance again and you notice Anya arguing with Hazel.

Anya rolled her eyes and says something that made Hazels face contort into hurt. Hazel says something in a pout then storms off in the other direction. “Jesus they do this shit every fucking night bro.” Josie rolls her eyes following Hazel to the bathroom. Every night? You though to yourself. You were under the impression everything was great?

The anger taking over your body doesn’t let you ponder over it more. Body moving without you telling it too, you yank her shoulder to face you. She was taller than you and definitely stronger then you but you didn’t care. The face Hazel made at Anya was enough motivation. You could’ve fought 10 frat boys and won.

“Hey! What did you say to her.” You could stand her being mean to you but being mean Hazel was absolutely not allowed. “I don’t think that’s any of your business y/n.”

She looks you up and down. “I suggest you fuck off before I tell her your little secret.” She gets closer to you only inches from your face. “What do you mean secret?” You started getting nervous. She grabs your face in her hand and looks in your scared eyes. “Your in love with her. It’s pathetic really the way you gawk at her.” Her acrylics are digging into your cheeks. Frantically staring at her in disbelief.

“Start keeping your distance y/n, Im not worried about you im just annoyed that you THINK that could happen. Like she’d ever be into someone like you.”

She let’s go of your face lightly tapping it. You feel tears fill your eyes about to break the barrier of your water line. “I-i… f-fuck you Anya.” Tears cascade down your face. Anya just vocalized your internal thoughts for the past 2 years now your sure she’s some demon from hell that crawled out to make your life miserable.

Just as Hazel and Josie come out of the bathroom they see you walk quickly out of the bar. Hazel feels completely exhausted, this was supposed to be a fun night you FINALLY agreed to have fun and hang out again.

Hazel follows you out just catching up to you when you get to the door of your car. “Y/n! Wait! Please, where are you going it’s barley been an hour?” She looks at you confused eye brows pushed together and hands on her hips. “I’m tired Hazel.” You can’t face her you can’t stop the tears rolling down.

You open the door but Hazel puts a firm hand down closing it again getting frustrated at your short response. You finally look her in the eyes and she takes you in. “Holy shit y/n are you ok?” She goes to put a hand on your shoulder but you flinch. Her face becomes even more worried than before. Staring at the streaks running down your cheeks.

“Please Hazel I just wanna go home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow ok.” Hazel moves her hand from the door and lets you open it. “We will talk about this tomorrow?” She ask you to get more confirmation. “We will.” You reassured her knowing talking was the last thing you were gonna do.

You drove back to your dorm still feeling shocks of fear pulse through you at the thought of Hazel knowing you were completely in love with her. Losing her would do more than wreck you. She’s been your best friend for what felt like forever.

Finally inside your dorm you rip your clothes off and put you pjs on as fast as you could. You didn’t bother to take your make up off and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Thank god for the weed.

—

Your woken up by the jiggling of keys. You turn to look at the time and you way overslept. “Oh your up.” She closes the door lightly walking over to your bed. She puts a brown paper on your nightstand and smiled softly at you. “I got you a bagel from the place we like, I made sure they put extra cheese and hash browns. And I got you salsa.” The same sadness you felt the night before washed over you. Her sweetness makes you fall apart in more ways then one.

“Thanks Hazel.” You can only produce a small awkward smile. “Do you wanna talk about last night?” She carefully sat next to you and put her hand on your back, rubbing up and down. “I’m ok Hazel, really it’s fine.” You brush her off.

“I can’t help you if you push me away y/n. You’ve been really distant recently I’m worried. I-i mean did I do something?” She spoke softly and looked at your face silently begging for you to look her in the eyes instead of the floor.

But you can’t you start to cry before you can even get a word out. “No you didn’t do anything I’m sorry. Last night Anya was just really mean. Well she’s mean every time I’m around her but I-I’m sorry.” You spoke through tears and hiccups not even knowing even know why you were saying sorry. Regretting everything you just said. You knew Anya was going to tell her—everything was going to be ripped away from you.

Hazels face contorted into anger and shock. You were petrified that you had made her angry at you. “Anya did this.” Her tone was steady and dark. You nodded. Her jaw was clenched and her fist balled breathing heavily. She grabs her keys and opens the door. “I’ll be back in 30 minutes.” She shut the door behind her harder than she meant too. She quite literally couldn’t control her anger. She liked Anya, a lot actually, but the fighting has gotten to much. Hazel could handle a bit of sass from her here and there. But knowing she hurt you had Hazel enraged.

—

It had been 45 minutes of you sitting there bouncing your leg. Shaking anticipating the consequences of your breakdown. You tried watching a movie to get your mind off of your situation but you couldn’t focus. The bagel on your nightstand making you nauseous just by being there. Frustrated tears forcing there way up every once in a while.

You hear the knob jiggle and keys. Your immediately alerted. Hazel calmly walks through the door and moves to where you’ve come to stand infront of your bed. She takes your face into her soft hands pulling you into the deepest kiss you’ve ever had. When she finally lets you catch your breath she looks in your watery eyes .

“Why did you never tell me.” She whispers looking over your post cry face. Your lips puffy and pink frustrated cheeks. You notice that her lip is busted and she has a mark on her cheek that is definitely going to turn into a bruise. “Y-you aren’t angry? Are you ok?” You started to tear up again from the relief.

“No baby i could never be angry at you. And I’m fine just thought I should put what I’ve learned in my boxing class to use.” As she’s wiping your tears way, your remember, her and Anya took the same boxing class; thats actually how they met. Hazel looked angry but you didn’t think she was THAT angry. “I didn’t think you thought I was pretty.” She pulls you closer to her. “What! Why is that?” She questioned from the crook of your neck. “Cause you date girls like Anya I didn’t think I was your type.”

Hazel suddenly starts placing kisses on your neck. She realizes she has you turning into putty in her hands, like she always wanted. Everything about you was captivating to her in this moment. The way you smelled, the way your skin felt, how she could hear your breathing pick up with every kiss.

Your heart was racing you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “Your not gonna have to worry about Anya anymore honey, I promise. Your the only girl I want. And your sooo my type.” Hazel sucks a bruise with no warning into your neck and licks over it. “Oh my god Hazel please.” Your hand reaches up into her hair your fingers tangled in her silky brown tresses. “Please what baby?”

Your face got impossibly redder whole body on fire unsure of how to answer her. Feeling the way Hazels hands roamed you made your head spin. You just couldn’t take it anymore pulling her up lightly by the hair to have her look at you.

“I need you.”

You make sure you say it clearly. Hazels eyes become more lidded than before overcome with lust. She pushed you backwards towards her bed until you fall into her sheets.

“Y-your so beautiful.” Shes stammering seeing you laid out in HER bed. She connects your lips again teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance.

You want to make her feel as good as she’s making you feel. Her knee comes between your legs giving you relief from pulsing heart beat that’s developed.

Your grinding on each other urgently. Years of pent up sexual frustration and longing being released.

You try to keep up with her kisses the best you can. The friction making you lose control. Completely entangled in each other, hands trying to feel every part of her.

Exchanging heavy breaths and soft whimpers. It was frenzied and sloppy it was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

You tug her shirt over her head. She does the same for your exposing your bare chest. “Fuck.” Her brows pushing together as she feels her arousal pooling in her boxers. She can’t help but gently thumb your hard nipple trailing kisses from your collar bone to your breast.

She took the soft flesh into her mouth leaving hot kisses. Her hand massaged the other. Her lips wrapped around your nipple and released it with a pop. You let out a strained moan.

Her hand traveled to the waist band of your pajamas pants. Teasing you with her fingers moving back and forth under the fabric.

“Can I take these off.” She ask you her eyes begging you to say yes, desperate to see all of you. “Please” You nodded and she gently undressed you leaving your skin vulnerable to cool air for your dorm.

It doesn’t matter though, because Hazels warm body is pressed to you in a second. Her hand trails from your breast to your hip slowly, keeping your attention.

“Do you know how long Ive wanted you?” You shake your head, voice escaping you in the moment. Her finger slides through your folds, your wetness sending waves of pleasure and confidence through her. The sound alone made her ache.

“Way to fucking long.” She slips a finger in your soaked needy hole. You let out an open mouthed exhale. She slips in another finger. “Fuck! Mm-n!”

Her fingers stretched you out and the sensation was mind numbing. An endless repeat hazelhazelhazelhazel. Was all you could think about. Her fingers curled at a slow pace hitting just the right spot. Working your clit with her thumb at the same time.

“Im I making you feel good honey?” Her voice was gentle and attentive. The way she was grinding down on your thigh mixed with your pretty noises was making her go insane. Your moans start to get more frequent. As you were embarrassingly close to release so soon. “S-so good Hazel.”

“Talk to me sweetheart. This is all mine now right?” Hazel questions you her pace picking up and mouthing your tits. “All yours all yours all yours all…” You mumbled to her as your eyes flutter. “That’s right honey.” She kept a rough tempo leaving marks on your chest until you were finally coming undone under her.

Shes watches as your orgasm possesses you. Moaning her name as you arch your back grinding yourself against her fingers. “Yeah honey just like that cum for me baby.” She doesn’t stop till your squirming from overstimulation.

You catch your breath for a second before becoming focused. You didn’t want your fatigue from your orgasm to keep you from pleasing her. Hazels already pulling you into another deep kiss like before.

“I want to make you feel good now Hazel.” She seemed a little shocked. As you think about the girls she’s hooked up that’s probably not the kind of treatment she was used too.

“You don’t have to y/n, making you cum is pleasure enough.” She seemed almost nervous. You shake your head and take her hand placing the two fingers that were just fucking deep inside of you into your mouth.

Releasing them with a pop. Her eyes are droopy and mouth slightly open. Her chest breathing deeply overwhelmed with lust. “No Hazel. I really want to make you feel good.”

Hazels ripping off her sports bra without another word. You nudge her shoulder down and straddle her. She’s frantically trying to take her sweats and boxers off. You help her rip them off and throw them across the room.

The sight is beautiful she’s completely soak, all you want is to have your face between her thighs. “Can I taste you?” You ask coyly as your hands rub up and down the tops of her thighs, your words going straight to her core. “Fuck, y-yeah, yes p-please—I mean.”

You settle between her thighs leaving light kisses on her inner thighs. Hazels having a hard time keeping still with you so close to where she needed you.

You look up into her eyes through your lashes as your breath fans over her soaked cunt. She lets out a whimper on accident and it set her body on fire with embarrassment.

Finally you lick a broad stripe. Hazel sign in relief. Her fingers pulling at your roots. Your hands are hooked over her thighs keeping them apart. Tongue flicking over her clit at a pace YOU didn’t even know was possible.

Hazel eased into the feeling of being taken care of. She’s switching between look you in the eyes and looking at the ceiling when the shyness become too much. She quietly took in the sensation of being taken care of before speaking trying to get rid of the shyness.

“I’ve thought about you like this s-so many nights.” Hazel mumbles out between whimpers. You push your finger into her curling. “Yeah?” You question quickly. She throws her head back when you go back to sucking on her clit.

You add another finger. Pace becoming quicker and deeper. “I always imagined this,oh god,h-happening during one of our movie nights.” You hum into her creating a whole new sensation as her legs start to quake. “I th-thought youd take the hint. Oh god don’t stop.”

She let out a soft laugh until the knot in her stomach was becoming to much to handle. “I mean we c-cuddled for like 3 hours at a time! Shitshitshit!” Hazels grip on your hair became tight as her eyes rolled back, letting out a loud moan. The knot in her stomach snapping as the white hot feeling flushes over her.

You watch her in awe. Her chest heaving as she grinds into you her other hand gripping the headboard showing her toned tricep.

You help her fully ride out her orgasm then pull away to use your shirt to clean yourself in and lay next to her gently.

Hazel turns to look at you with a tired smile spreading across her face. She cups your cheek once more kissing your forehead. “I thought it would end like this too.” She says to you quietly. “Me too.” You reply going to kiss the tip of her nose. She looks into your eyes for a moment thinking.

Her eyebrows push together as a though crosses her mind. “Did you ever eat the bagel?” You laugh at her genuinely concerned question and pull her into an embrace, warm bodies lovingly entwined. “No I actually thought I was dying though in my defense.” Hazel pouts at you.

“Did you beat up Anya?” You question her instead. “I tried to but she honestly kicked my ass sooo bad, like embarrassing I’m so happy you weren’t there” You laughed at this too.

“I looked cool though right?” She dropped her voice dramatically. “Oh yeah sooo cool.” She gasped at your sarcasm.

When your both of yours laughter dies down it’s seems both of you have the same realization that your best friend was now your girlfriend. Eyes saying what they needed too.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked quietly. “Only after you eat cause a $12 bagel on a college student budget is atrocious.” She kissed your forehead and nudged you to get up.

(Thank you for reading😙)

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x you

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fredwkong · 10 months

Text

Gateway Drug

You had always had fantasies about marijuana. The DARE officer had described the sensation of being stoned, the desire to do nothing but get stoned again. He’d scared you deeply, scarred you, even. You’d never even gotten close to buying any, terrified that you would… what? Enjoy it?

Now, here you were. It was legal, and not only that, the psychiatrist had told you it would help with your anxiety. You had walked into the dispensary and walked out with a product, and the world hadn’t ended.

The clerk had handed you three pre-rolled blunts, and said that they were guaranteed to ease you into getting stoned. He’d had a strange smile on his face as he’d said it, but you had been so anxious that you hadn’t registered it. You’d barely been able to get a word out faced with him: a laid-back, blissed-out stoner who stank of skunk and body odour.

You hurried home and got ready. You laid out some of your favourite snacks on your obsessively clean counter, and tidied everything away. You thought about dusting a second time, but realised you were delaying. You tugged down your scratchy polo shirt and wiped your sweating hands on your pressed khakis.

With shaking fingers, you flicked on a lighter and lit one of the blunts. As soon as the smell of the smoke hit your nose, you felt yourself loosen up. It didn’t smell so bad.

You took a hit and resisted the urge to cough. By the time you breathed the smoke out, you were already starting to feel relaxed. Your polo shirt loosened into a soft, old band tee, and your khakis became a pair of worn sweatpants. As you took a second hit, the smell of weed embedded itself in your pores and the fabric of your clothes, filling your whole awareness.

With the weed hitting you, you started to sink deeper into the couch, which had just been a new Ikea loveseat but was swiftly becoming a beat-up, stained, broken-in sofa with a dent for your thickening ass. Your head, facial, and body hair grew out sloppily, greasy with unwashed sweat and oil. The smell of weed mixed with the growing scent of your unwashed, musky bod.

You took another slow hit, and your slow, stoned brain sent you a new idea: you started to strip off your musky, threadbare T-shirt and wiggle out of your sweatpants. It felt great to get naked in the comfort of your own home. The cool air tingled against your oily skin as you settled back onto the couch. You wiggled your long toes against the carpet, enjoying the sensation against the oily digits.

The growing cloud of pot smoke briefly obscured your vision, and when it drifted away your apartment was transformed into a proper stoner den. The couch faced a wide-screen TV with a full shelf of gay porn under it. The floor was covered in dirty clothes and trash you were too lazy and stoned to pick up. In the kitchen, the grungy counter was covered in empty takeout containers, and the sink full of dishes. The bed in the opposite corner wasn’t even visible under piles of clothes that might have been clean or might have been dirty.

Your body changed, too. Rather than being slender and weedy, you were now softer, shorter, and definitely hairier. You scratched your hairy balls as you alternated between tokes on the blunt and sniffs of your rancid armpit. At this point, your dick got more than interested, standing to attention and beginning to spurt jets of pre from your big stoner ballsac. Getting stoned always got you horny. And you were always getting stoned, so you were always horny. The rich smell of your uncut dick mingled with the stench of weed.

As you took the last few hits from the blunt, expertly smoking it right down to your fingers, you started to jack off, using your ample precum like lube. As you leaned back and moaned in a deep, blissed-out voice, your collection of bongs and other weed paraphernalia appeared on the coffee table in front of you, the only place you cared about keeping tidy. You shot a huge load all over your naked pecs and belly, which you rubbed into your thick hair as you discarded the spent blunt in an ashtray.

You grabbed a half-finished bag of cheetos from the kitchen counter and lay back down on the couch, scrolling Grindr and wondering if the hot clerk from the dispensary was available to bottom. Then you remembered the pack of three blunts he had given you. Your previous life was like a distant dream in the back of your mind, but you knew just enough to wonder if two of your old, uptight dude friends might want to come over and try some of your special weed.

It was a gateway drug, after all.

#male transformation #stoner tf #dumber tf #musk tf #reality change #mental change #male tf #all fwkong

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chronically-ghosted · 12 days

Text

bloody kisses — part three: cinnamon girl boy

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 10K content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, self-doubt, shame, worries about aging, heavy petting, oral (male receiving), first time giving head, gag reflex training, assplay, doggy style, protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, bad family dynamics, hints of poverty, discussions around divorce, tim's internal battles, dominant!tim, bratty!shane, nasty dirty talk (anyone who identifies my favorite line gets a gold star), lmk if anything has been missed! dividers: @saradika-graphics a/n: i wanna cry @perotovar let me play with their beautiful blorbos and i had so much fun. i've never written m/m before so they took a HUGE risk on me - thank you so much for trusting me to treat them well!

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

(from @chronically-ghosted: if you liked my humble take on this, you can find my masterlist here!) ♥♥

Russet streaks of late afternoon light filter in through the vinyl slats over the grungy carpet when Shane opens the apartment door. He shuts it with a sigh, locking it behind his back, before tipping his head against the frame, closing his eyes, and taking a long inhale. On the exhale verging on a sigh, he tosses his keys onto the ripped and faded black couch to his right before trudging into the linoleum kitchen.

There’s a note on the counter:

Gone to visit Barry’s kids in New Jersey. Be back on the 10th. Money for food is on the fridge.

Shane’s dark eyes flit to the M magnet that Samantha left here the last time she visited from Maine. Even their father came that time.

He snorts resentfully when he sees it: twenty bucks to last him two weeks – thanks Mom.

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday.

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling.

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe.

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything.

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster.

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar.

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be.

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere.

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating.

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next.

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now?

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s.

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar.

Samantha.

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away.

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel.

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him.

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it.

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone – especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that.

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him.

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day.

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor.

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?”

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.”

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive.

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward.

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth.

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.”

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.”

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?”

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke.

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?”

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb.

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?”

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?”

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably.

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice.

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently.

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?”

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly.

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.”

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.”

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it.

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry.

This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret.

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much.

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze.

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin.

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .”

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh.

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell.

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.”

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet.

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.”

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Oh,” he says.

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers.

“Shane.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?”

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

“It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.”

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat.

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers.

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector.

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn.

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy.

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek.

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands.

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth.

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered.

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain.

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.”

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face.

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up.

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic.

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers.

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager.

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end.

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.”

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him.

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light.

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast.

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans.

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.”

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough.

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.”

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.”

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?”

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.”

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before.

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?”

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back.

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head.

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat.

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head.

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there.

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused.

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.”

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.”

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?”

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes.

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.”

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.”

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.”

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions.

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door.

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment.

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek.

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.”

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.”

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance.

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice.

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck.

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders.

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks.

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.”

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?”

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it.

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?”

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this.

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot.

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent.

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both.

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger.

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago.

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles.

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed.

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.”

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now.

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.”

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage.

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest.

“Ohmy god . . .”

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.”

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.”

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.”

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin.

It feels too fucking good.

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole.

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,”

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear.

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets.

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him.

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze.

“Turn around,” Tim pants.

“What?”

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.”

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets.

“… stop.”

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips.

“You want me to stop?”

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?”

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps.

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain.

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.”

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him.

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today.

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse.

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets.

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.”

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze.

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets.

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

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