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love-toxin · 2 years

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pleasantries -- dylan lenivy

cws: enemies to lovers, male reader/mlm romance, teasing, dirty talk but it's mostly praise, fingering, unprotected sex, bruising.

word count: 2.7k

he's a dumbass. genuinely. and no, you won't change your mind on that–Dylan has been a menace since the day he arrived at camp, and you're certain that he'll be that way until the day he dies. he's just so….so….

"thinking about me, gorgeous?"

so infuriating. he flashes you a wink and a smirk and you wish you could just slap it off his face.

"about how annoying you are? always."

"wow, I'm on your mind all the time, huh?"

"shut up."

you hate that he can twist your words so effortlessly to humiliate you, especially when there are other people around. your banter has reached legendary status at camp, to the point that even the campers feel the tension whenever Dylan starts teasing you when you're not in the mood. he's just lucky that the cabin you've shared with him is cleared out for the summer, and your fellow counselors are packing up at the lodge all the way across the field. and you're certainly ready to join them, but Dylan apparently wants to be a nuisance just one more time, since he steps in front of the entrance to the cabin and rests his arm on the doorway. even if you tried, there's no way you'll get past him when he towers over you so significantly.

"whoa! whoa–hold up, now. you gotta pay a toll to leave our beloved cabin eight, y'know."

"is it a kick in the balls?"

you're quick to bite back, but he holds his hand up to his ear, his two fingers sticking out to mimic exactly what you thought he was insinuating.

"it's your number, duh. and please don't kick me in the balls."

"and why would I give you that, exactly? so I can call you up for a good time?"

you say it in a tone dripping with mockery, and yet the grin on his face is all you need to sigh and roll your eyes. you knew for a fact from the first week of camp that Dylan's harboured deeper feelings for you, even though you're certain that it's just because you're the one other guy at camp that swings his particular way. it's nothing more than that…nothing.

"aw, c'mon, you mean two months of nagging you hasn't worked?"

"incredible, isn't it? and here I was thinking you'd get it with just one more day. shame."

you move to duck under his arm, but he stops you with a hand on your chest and winks. he really does think he's so smooth, and with a sigh, you shake your head and hold your hand out.

"y'know what? fine. gimme your phone."

Dylan's more than happy to do as you say, his metaphorical tail wagging as he drops his cell in your palm and straightens up with a winning smile on his face. it's so easy to make him think he won, you almost feel bad for holding it close to your chest and darting past him before he realizes what's happening.

"hey!"

you barely make it down two of the steps outside the cabin before he's on you, and fair enough, it takes him only a second to catch up when he's so much bigger than you. you can feel him on your back in seconds, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, it makes you stumble a bit when it feels a little…well, it feels better than you would’ve imagined.

"get back here, you!"

Dylan's arms reach around you easily, tightening like a vice around your midsection as he pins you back against him and starts carry-dragging you back through the door. and for once, you're laughing and giggling along with him as you try to wiggle away–but you end up achieving the opposite, as the more you flail in his grip, the worse his balance gets until his knees buckle against the bed and he falls backward into it. with his height to his advantage you don't even hit the sheets, you just fall into him completely as his phone slips from your grasp and clatters to the floor. panting, you hold your hands up as your white flag.

"alright, alright. you win. i admit defeat,"

on the contrary to what you expected, Dylan just squeezes you tighter, totally numb to the fact that his precious phone now lies abandoned on the floor beneath him. you poke at his arm and up his bicep whilst reminding him of his victory, with the full expectation that he would now let you go, but he just nuzzles his face into your shoulder.

"I know. I just like holding you."

the touch makes you freeze up, and the soft twinge to Dylan's words causes you to rethink your feelings, even if just for a moment. it's rare that you get to see him drop the faux-confident act, and even rarer so to hear him whisper so he knows you can hear.

"....you smell really nice."

"get off."

you feel his grip loosen immediately, and he holds his arms away from you to allow you full reign to get up and off his lap. but, instead, you wiggle about until you've turned yourself around and plopped yourself right back where you were. except this time, you can see for yourself how deeply Dylan is blushing. you lace your arms around his neck, your knees on either side of your lap, and grin to yourself as his eyes dart down and back up again.

"you like being beneath me, huh?"

Dylan stutters, his words coming out squeaky and sentences broken to the point of unintelligibility. eventually he realizes that it was worthless to try and speak, and he shuts his mouth for once.

you're not even sure whose clothes came off first, or who kissed who first, but before you know it your lips have introduced themselves, your shirt is bundled in his fist and he's got a hand on your lower back, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your jean shorts. and his own top is gone, thrown somewhere on the floor of the cabin, and yours soon joins it when he tosses it aside and lays back so you can hover over him. and his kisses aren't too bad–they're gentle, sure, but they're there and once he introduces his tongue to the mix it gets a lot more heated, fast. it feels like forever to try and get your buttons undone, and your cock is already growing so stiff against the fabric that it just pulls a whine from you when you finally yank them down your legs. and it actually goes pretty smoothly then, up until the moment that you feel Dylan's palm brushing you through your boxers and it sends shivers racing up your spine.

"shit! ah, quit it, Dylan–don't make me cum yet…"

you bat his hand away and reach behind yourself like you were trying to, your fingers briskly wetted with spit that make it a much simpler task to press them inside yourself. however, it becomes a little more complicated when you've now got something hard pressing right into that spot, and in the moment that you hesitate Dylan's fingers pry yours out and replace them, much to your shock and strained awe. what surprises you even more is that when you turn your attention back to Dylan himself, he's got a concentrated look on his face like fingering you is some sort of complicated equation he's gradually figuring out. you're so tempted to make fun of him, and you're about to, until one of those long fingers of his presses against something vital and you moan instead of speak–and then he's got such a shit-eating grin on his face, and even worse, he doesn't stop prodding that spot once he finds where it is.

"keep moaning for me, you're so cute.."

you really have no say in the matter, because as long as he insists on curling his fingers into that spot that makes you melt, you can't do anything but hide your head in his chest and grumble about how annoying he is between each gasp. but his name comes out in a sweeter way than you mean it, and he's all too eager to unzip his jeans and guide your boxers down your thighs and off each leg before he settles you back into your place against him. with nothing separating you now, it all feels much more real, and it dawns on you that this is really happening–but you're a little too far gone to let your pride get in the way, and you let him push your hips down to meet the head of his cock. he's definitely bigger than you thought he was, but that's one thing you swear you won't let him know…until you cry it out when he pulls his fingers away and starts to enter you.

it's beyond embarrassing, and so is how warm your face has gotten, but Dylan just smiles and laughs breathily as you sink down lower on his cock with a "really?" on his lips. he's squirming a little bit, trying to alleviate the pressure that comes with how unbelievably tight you are, and at least it eases your nerves a little to see him coming undone and grabbing for the sheets just at the feel of you. when you've finally reached the end, or at least what feels like as much as you can take, you finally manage to move your hips–only for Dylan to gasp and grab your waist with those big hands of his, trying and failing to get you to stop as he whines that he's already too close.

"I'm too much for you, huh?"

you say it half-jokingly and half-smugly, but he's got nothing but sincerity in his eyes and his voice when he answers you in that tone laced with desperation.

"you're so pretty on top of me,"

this time you try to be more commanding as you order him to shut up, but it comes out more like a whine and he answers you so quick you can't think of any other good rebuttal.

"make me."

he doesn't need to say it twice, he can barely get it out once before your lips are on his again. it's disgusting how talky he gets when he's holding you down on his lap, his hips thrusting slowly like he doesn't want it to end too soon…it's…it's something you wish didn't feel and sound so good. Dylan's method is more focused on guiding you by the waist rather than trying to be rough–he grinds you down against him and pauses when you clench especially tight around him, and as much as you hate to say it, it's definitely one of the better ways you've been touched. every stroke and glide down his cock feels like trails of fire are left behind, your body so heated and warm that it feels like it's making your brain fuzzy and melting you from the inside out. you've been trying to keep him quiet, but you're the one that's making all the noise the second he starts ramping up and getting a little rougher with you, including the whimper you let slip when he brings his palm down on your ass in a sharp slap.

lucky for you, though, because you're not alone. Dylan may be doing most of the movement, but he's just as much of a mess as you are and can't stop arching his back into you, like it's impossible to even think of keeping still. he doesn't even seem worried about the door hanging open a crack–his eyes are on you and only you, and his grip only gets firmer and more possessive as you ride him faster and faster to meet his thrusts. if you didn't have the threat of someone stumbling upon your little session, then you probably would try to drag it out even longer to get as many of those reactions out of Dylan as you could. but time is not on your side even now, so you let him chase his own end because in all reality, you're going to cum much sooner than he is at this rate. much sooner, of course, being now.

"fuck!"

a few more f-bombs squeeze out of you as you ride him to your end, until you can't move because you're tensing up so much that even a stroke against you feels like fire against your flesh. your moans resemble sobs at this point, your untouched cock twitching and spitting cum all over Dylan's chest and yours, while he yanks your hips down with his bracelet digging into your skin as he cries out your name instead of your chosen expletive. the regret and shame starts setting in when you start feeling the warmth of his cum in your belly, but you brush it off because you're too tired to care and you barely have enough energy to lift yourself off his cock and collapse into bed beside him.

there are no words exchanged, just exhausted panting. he reaches over to touch you, to tousle your hair with his fingers, and for once you let him do it without any snarky remarks. maybe that's why he does it now, because you can also feel a kiss on your forehead that feels just as soft as his other kisses. it's nice, at least for a little while.

but before long, you work up the energy you need to pull yourself up and sit on the edge of the bed. Dylan sits back on his elbows panting, sweat dripping down his chest, and a glowing look about him like he's just been hit by cupid.

"you tell anyone about this-"

he just touches your hair again, and while you don't push his hand away, you do suck back what you were going to say and resign yourself to a pout instead.

"aw…still didn't win you over, huh? even with my massive, gut-churning-"

you shut him up with a kiss, because he really doesn't know when to shut up. he's such an idiot. he's your idiot.

"say another word, and you won't ever get it again."

you stand up on wobbly legs, and start pulling your pants back up and buckling them into place. if you were paying attention, you would notice the shivers down his back as he listens to the sound.

"you, uh…you don't wanna…clean up? I'll find you a towel,"

he flinches when you look back at him with the kind of intensity you've been saving for a moment like this. he's right, pulling your jeans up over your sticky skin when you haven't even wiped yourself off is not the most comfortable feeling, but…

"nope. I wanna smell like you for the rest of the ride home."

while you're retrieving your shirt, you scoop up Dylan's phone from where it's fallen, tap away at the screen for a few seconds, and turn to toss it into his lap which he safely catches. it's good he does, because if it breaks you'll have to listen to his whining all the way home.

"you'd better call me, idiot."

"I'd rather call you my boyfriend."

your eye roll could be heard from Spain, and so could his laughter at his own joke. it's not like you're gonna correct him though, because he thankfully has picked up on exactly what you were thinking. and it doesn't happen often, so you'll take what you can get where you can get it.

just as you're pulling your t-shirt on over your head, a clicking sound demands your attention and you shoot a look over your shoulder–and of course, there's Dylan, his phone's camera pointed at your bare back that's undoubtedly littered with bruises around your waist area. you cast a glare down at him, and he shrugs his shoulders but can't hide the satisfied expression on his face.

"what? I needed a contact picture…and, uh, a keepsake. y'know. for science."

he doesn't even believe his own bullshit for a second, but you can let it go. you'll just be biding your time for the ride home, because you know it'll be impossible for him to keep quiet if you can get your hands on him. and you don't even yet know that your night's going to turn out much different than you thought…which might make you wish you had taken a shower when you had the chance.

#dylan lenivy #dylan lenivy x reader #the quarry #male reader #2k #ellie writes

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