♡⡷ Lucky Ducky — March x F!Reader ˎˊ˗
♡⡷ Just as he’s resolved to wash away his frustrations, he hears the familiar pitter patter of another set of feet enter the changing room.
♡⡷ warnings: established relationship, semi public sex, creampie, simp behaviour, unhygienic tbh ♡⡷ rating: smut, 18+! ♡⡷ wc: 9,083
♡⡷ a/n: i gen haven't written anything in a few months, and this is my absolute first FoM fanfic ever... first time writing for March too waaah please be nice to me im rusty!!! otherwise i hope you enjoy!
The waiting room stinks of strong perfume, something floral and too sweet for his senses, accompanied by an underlying hint of expensive soap that hits the back of his throat unfairly well. So potent is the overwhelming smell that his nose scrunches up in honest distaste, internally lamenting the fact that this is the only place to properly soak his well worked for muscles in the whole of town—he’ll have to chastise Juniper over her choice of scents later, making a mental note to leave an in person review when he gets the chance as he shifts around in his swim shorts until he’s comfortable, tucking his discarded clothes away into one of the provided lockers for safekeeping as he prepares himself for the utter relaxation he’s hopefully about to experience.
Minus the smell, at least. When he’s so used to grease and soot, burning wood that sticks to his skin all night long, anything other than the stench of work is almost too much to bear.
Regardless, his eyes close with promise as he sits on a nearby bench, allowing the soft sounds of running water to fill his mind with such ease that he’s half convinced he could fall asleep right where he is, if not for the allure of releasing all the pent up tension currently coiled tight in his shoulders. Adeline has been working him hard as of late, preparing hundreds—no, thousands it feels like—of these tiny little nails for an upcoming construction project. Meaningless, boring work. Of course, he’s more than happy to help at all, seizing any opportunity to prove just how useful and necessary he is for the town at large. But… Nails? Seriously? His heart yearns for something more substantial, something more important, a flashy show piece that he can attach his name to for recognition or something equally as valiant. Now that would at least make his aching muscles worth the effort, he muses to himself.
Though unfortunately, peaceful musings never seem to last long in this town, try as he might. Not since you came along.
Just as he’s resolved to wash away his frustrations, he hears the familiar pitter patter of another set of feet enter the changing room. Opening his eyes just a smidge, just to get a peak to quell his curiosity, he instead lets his lids fully snap open to the sight of you, his beloved girlfriend.
Well, maybe there are two things worth working his muscles for after all.
Instincts beg him to tense up, showing off for you as you saunter up to his seat with such a soft smile that he almost thinks you’re here to bathe yourself too. The assumption doesn’t last long though, noting the slight pink tinging your cheeks for his viewing pleasure. You’re real pretty when you’re pretending, y’know that? Got his heart racing and everything, body heating up before he’s even had a chance to dip a toe in the soothing waters he was promised this morning. As if he were permanently attached to a leash held by you, suppressing the urge to nervously bounce his leg in an effort to keep his cool guy attitude in front of the one person that matters most.
“Well, look who it is…” he almost coos, allowing only so much softness to taint his voice as he leans forward, looking you up and down as if inspecting your right to be in the bathhouse with him. “I almost didn’t come today.” He admits with a forced sigh, the weight of his words heavy at the back of his tongue, throat threatening to close as he takes in the sight of you first thing in the morning.
Your presence alone commands some semblance of honesty in his words, eager to impress.
“Now I’m glad I did.”
The warmth that flushes up his neck to find home on his cheeks can be dismissed as the heat from the flowing water, right? Nothing more, nothing less, he’s just warm from the humidity, that’s all. Admitting to thing such as eagerness over your presence certainly hasn’t got him light-headed. And his twitching hands certainly have nothing to do with how close you are to him, waking him up far quicker than a dip in the pool could ever hope to—nah. Definitely not.
“Care if I join you?” You ask innocently enough, tilting your head curiously to the side—cute. You’re so infuriatingly, frustratingly cute, his tongue clicking in trained annoyance over how hard his heart races at the sight of you acting so pretty. Like it comes intuitively to you, or perhaps more disappointingly, he’s most susceptible to your natural charms.
Though he takes a moment to respond. Not by choice, rather… His stalling is borne out of a need to compose himself. Replace the softness he aches for you with something more commanding, something to prove his worth, so that you learn to rely on him more than his previous attitude had afforded. A quick lick of guilt catches his breath at the memory of his first meeting with you, needing to offer you more than his past self could ever. But the way that you remain patiently waiting for his response is a swift balm over his bad behaviour, and he appreciates being given such a chance, determined not to let it go to waste.
Exhaling through his nose, he steels himself. The least he can do is give you an honest answer.
“Please,” he chokes out, decidedly not what he had intended on saying, but the word has already left his lips and you’re already smirking back at him and all he has left is to clear his chest from the remainder of shame that coils around his lungs. “I— I mean sure.” He settles on, stuttering through his usual act as you busy yourself with the changing room, and he’s left to contend with the soft twisting in his stomach. Please, please, please, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.
He doesn’t mean to act so foolishly, cursing himself internally at the slip-up. But there’s just something about you, even before he had started seriously courting you—in fact, he might even be worse off now since dating, struggling to bite his tongue around you now that he can call you his. Honesty just spills from him, like water into a cup, or a bath.
Right, he’s here to bathe. There’s nothing wrong about bathing with you, surely… Out of everyone in town, the person he’d be most expected to share a bath with should be you, though butterflies nonetheless line his lungs as you enter his vision again, bathing suit hugging your body in just the right way to make his mind race. Empty besides you, and how pretty you look, and how well you suit that colour, and how hard he itches to reach out and grab at you. Frozen in place in sheer awe over just how much he likes you, adoring with the silence he forces upon himself; he tries not to stare, truthfully, but the sudden heat of your hand on his bare shoulder fills him with the striking realisation that he can stare, and that maybe you want him to. Boyfriend privileges or something, he’s new to all of this. Flailing through a series of new emotions as quickly as he can to try and calm down, but you seem to strive to make his life more difficult by the second.
“Ready?” you speak in such a casual tone, ignorant of the nerves building in his body as his gaze flickers around the space you inhabit, stealing glances of your soft skin, the way the swimsuit makes little indents across your hips, God, your tits…
He is, after all, just a man.
“Yeah,” he swallows down more honesty, “Yeah, okay.” but with how tense his muscles already were, it’s no surprise that he almost springs into action, every inch of him uptight as tries to focus solely on not popping a boner right in front of you, lest he embarrasses himself even further than he already has. He’s so determined to not be viewed as a loser, in fact, that he forgets all about holding your hand as he stomps his way over to the main room, allowing you to trail behind him only because the thought of watching your hips sway in front of his attentive gaze makes his life in such flimsy shorts much more dangerous.
He even enters the bath before you, hoping that the bubbles will hide most of his obvious infatuation for your choice of outfit under the water, taking the furthest side with his arms stretched out and draped along the edge, if only to remain somewhat inn control of his affections. And as you enter the pool yourself, gradually lowering into the water, he can’t help but to imagine that you’re obviously teasing him. A slow show of your body dripping wetter, drool collecting behind his tight jaw as his teeth grind to the view of your legs disappearing under the blue, wetting your skin with condensation droplets that leave him thirstier for something other than a drink, tight little swimsuit growing darker in spots that the water brushes up against, and Jesus fucking Christ, now he’s jealous over water…
Despite his morning plans to ease the tension in his overworked muscles, the pressure only builds in his body as he stares you down, feeling the obvious furrow in his brow as he settles into a neat scowl in response to your effortless taunting. He’s sure you don’t actually mean it, he’s probably just pent up from working such long hours without time to tend to himself, but fuck—what he wouldn’t give to release his stress through the show you’re unknowingly providing him right now.
At least the water is warm, offering a much more pleasant aroma now that you’ve decided to join him in relaxing. Soft sounds of the consistent stream keeping the bath full fill the air, begging to be listened to, but all he can focus on is his own ragged breathing as he looks at anything other than you. As if the pristine tiles of the bathhouse are miraculously more interesting than anything you currently have to offer, which really couldn’t be further from the truth if he was more honest with himself.
He’s strong thought, right? He can handle a little showing off, it’s not like he trains for no reason.
“Comfy?” your question snaps him out of his more indulgent thoughts, directly calling for his attention that he all too eagerly gives without a second thought, only to be met by the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, and a slight jiggle of your tits as you shift around idly; he’d never miss that.
“Mhm,” he nods, knowing full well that if he were to open his mouth to proper conversation, he’s liable to embarrass himself further. “You?”
“Yes. It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Nicer with you, he keeps to himself.
He’s supposed to be resting right now. Loosening his tired muscles, letting the water soothe all of his aches and pains from the past work week. It’s one of the only joys he has, spare the inn on Friday nights. Not that you’re spoiling the fun, abso-fucking-lutely not, it’s just… Well, you’re making it harder for him to let loose, in more ways than one.
What he’s not supposed to be doing in the bath is struggling to hold himself back from jumping you without a word. Jaw as clenched as his arms are taut, all in an effort to appear calm, composed, and collected. Thank God his lower half is hidden under ripples of water, the constant stream from the tap promising to keep his secrets for the time being. Though he doesn’t have the best imagination around, he has enough material right in front of him to think about grabbing your arm and tugging you snug against him in one swift motion, letting you feel the swell of his bulge under the bubbles as a reminder of exactly what you do to him. He can envision shoving your head under the water to meet his hips, hiding you from an unfortunate visitor to keep your dignity in tact. Hooking your legs over his shoulders on the edge of the bath, curling his fingers under your suit—he can think about a lot of things, though none of them are anything you might describe as clean. Desperate, more like.
And it’s not like you help his situation, sitting there just… Just… Fuck, just sitting there! In as little clothing as possible without being naked, prompting his primitive brain to imagine what might be hidden underneath. He’s not stupid, he’s seen your body before, but the way you rest there so nonchalantly in spite of his intimate conflict has him feeling hotter than the water that surrounds him is. Like he’s a lonely pervert or something, leering at you from afar because confronting his affections is far scarier than suppressing them.
He just doesn’t wanna fuck this up. Can’t stand the thought of fucking you up.
Though, from day one, you’ve always been able to see right through him, haven’t you?
“You’re staring, March.”
Shit, the soft teasing lilt you attach to your astute observation has his cheeks feeling flush, stomach twisting with that sickeningly sweet tone you use to scold him with as if parenting him. A childish reaction threatening to creep up his throat in response, if not for the way he thickly swallows it back down with better judgement. You so effortlessly remind him that his affections may be considered rude by most, but the way you’re fluttering your lashes back at him as he continues to gawk begs otherwise.
He’d apologise if he truly meant it.
“No I’m not.” He huffs defiantly, still yet refusing the tear his gaze away from your pretty smile out of rebellion alone. A challenge, perhaps.
“You’re still staring.” Always quick to bark back—it’s part of why he fell for you in the first place.
“Because you’re still yapping.”
A giggle falls from your lips, and he can feel his stomach do a flip as he falls back on his perfected frown, squinting his eyes at you as a means to protect his ego.
“You were staring before that!” you continue, and he knows he can’t argue with that, because it’s the cold hard truth. He was leering at you, in spite of the shame between his legs—or maybe because of that. You’re too pretty for him to discern the difference right now, head fuzzy with thoughts solely of you. Always you, late at night, first thing in the morning, in the bathhouse, doesn’t matter what he’s doing in truth… You’re always at the back of his mind, in his periphery. The resulting throb behind his shorts is the only inevitable outcome, really.
So, he gives up. Sighing heavily as he sinks lower into the bath, as if doing so would somehow absolve him the embarrassment of getting caught red handed, his legs instinctively stretching out under the waves to accidentally brush against your own polite ones; an honest mistake, but his reaction is nonetheless immediate.
Shooting straight up with his lips pressed into a thin line to suppress a pathetic whimper at the mostly innocent touch, core flexed so strongly that it’s a wonder why he even attempted to relax in the first place. Just that brief contact, the lack of concern on your face from his pass against you, is enough to have him gasping for air. The steam surrounding him now feeling much more suffocating than usual, your presence at the opposite end of the bath he usually inhabits having the opposite effect as intended.
Like he said, he’s just a man.
A sensitive, overwhelmed mess of a man, averting his gaze from your curiosity as he chokes on the words he’d like to say. You’re so pretty it’s annoying, I can’t focus on anything besides your chest, the feeling of your skin against my own is enough to get me going.
Obviously, he can’t admit to such dirty thoughts out loud. Not when he’s so out in the open like this, vulnerable to your charms despite his outward sarcastic shield. He can only handle so much!
Though you seem determined to prove him wrong— typical. Inching closer just a bit, worry etched so sweetly on your face that he has half a mind to act up if it’d help soothe your nerves. “Are you okay?” he hears you gasp, but he’s far too concerned with diminishing his growing need for you as opposed to offering you any sort of reassurance. His heart hammers against his chest as he fights his own urges, begging to spill some of his secrets, but he’s much too prideful to let loose in front of the one person he tries his absolute best to be cool in front of. Even if his body betrays him by the second.
But he can’t leave you hanging, forcing out a rough sounding I’m fine, which very much doesn’t sound fine now that he’s heard how steeped in heat his words has become, and he can’t escape your worries for long as you continue to approach, swimming over to his end of the bath as he locks up. Frozen in place, not from fear, but from a selfish want to have you nearby in spite of himself. A prisoner of his own making, coiled up like a spring as you grow closer and closer, a lump in his throat pleading to bark back at your continued sympathies as all the blame falls on you, really. If only you didn’t looks so nice today, too bad he’s useless when it comes to self control, his fault for being unable to react faster to your concern, so on and so forth.
It’s only natural, he swfitly reasons with himself, to be tenting under the water when you are his girlfriend after all. Would be weird if he wasn’t, right? Though his logic does very little at pacifying his increased temperature, a hitch in his breath promising to ruin him as your brows knit together in what he can only describe as adorable confusion.
“Are you sure?” you double check, though there really isn’t any need to. Despite his frown, he’s never felt better. You and him, alone in a bath together? This is the stuff his wet dreams are mode of, to be honest! But therein lies his issue.
He’s all too eager to make his dreams a reality, and your faux innocence is only riling him up further. As if you have no idea exactly as to what you’re doing to him right now, prompting a tut to escape his tight lips at your display of utter naivety.
“’M sure.” Curt and polite, muffled by the water as he attempts to hold on to the last shred of dignity he has, still allowing you to grow closer to him because what else is he gonna do? Deny his girlfriend?
“You look warm…” you pout so cutely at him that he turns to grinding his jaw in an effort to hold back. “It’s a bathhouse.”
You scoff at his self-explanatory reply, though there’s a soft look in your eye that lets him know you haven’t taken his short answer the wrong way. You’re probably used to his communication style by now, right? “Obviously, but I mean more than expected… Are you getting sick?” Every inch of his body is screaming for him to lean forward a little, just enough to close of the distance you’ve thus left between to show you exactly why he looks so red right now. Hair sticks to his forehead not from the steam, but from the sheer amount of sweat your interest in his well-being has caused. Finding it difficult to deny that it’s incredibly hot to him that you’re so concerned about him, knowing that he can look after himself but still finding the time of day to want to care for him. You’re infuriatingly sweet.
He wishes so badly that he carried over some of his previous confidence in the changing room, because he wasn’t lying. He is glad that he came in today, that you seemed to show up as a stoke of luck—how nice it’d be if he could quip back with something snarky, a sarcastic reassurance to get you off his back… Or his front, in this case—with those pouty lips that drive him mad and the breathy tone that has him biting his tongue.
But before he has a chance of formulating anything even close to an answer, you grab on to the side of the bath he rests on, pulling yourself closer as your knee brushes against his crotch, and well fuck.
He’s rock solid.
As if stricken by an immediate sickness, or pained by your soft brush against him, his hands that were white knuckled against the edge of the bath fly under the water, cupping his cock from further investigation as he regards you with an uncharacteristically pleading look. Biting down on his bottom lip to keep his whines hidden, looking at you with such large puppy dog eyes it’s a wonder he doesn’t start sobbing from the sheer humiliation of his current predicament.
And after a brief tense pause, you only make it worse for him.
“Are you…?”
“Shut up—” a mix of whispering and shouting, his voice pitched a tone higher as he struggles to catch his breath from the emotions you’ve stirred inside of him. Obvious now even to you as his knuckles brush against your exposed thigh, and it’s a good thing he’s cupping his crotch at the moment…
On one hand, he’s absolutely mortified. Terrified of the repercussions that may comes from acting like a pervert in public, getting hard solely from watching you out the corner of his eye like some sort of sick peeping tom. You must think he’s gross for that, right? Disgusted in his inability to control himself, still yet reeling from the brief contact of your knee against his hidden cock like some sort of dirty virgin. But on the other hand… He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard before. Heat pooling just below his stomach, muscles taut and tense as if expecting this to go anywhere other than a light scolding, no doubt leaking precum all over Juniper’s poor bath without second thought. Well, it’s not like he can stop himself now, steeping in the embarrassment his lower half had brought upon him, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he cringes at himself enough for the two of you.
An apology rests at the back of his tongue, brought up with the bile that comes from getting caught doing something he really shouldn’t, even if you are his girlfriend. The setting is all wrong—inappropriate at best.
But you bring him back to Earth with a soft, pleasant sound. A little chuckle, more teasing than reprimanding as you settle to his right, body pressed as snug as allowed through the waves against his shaking arm. Don’t fucking do that, he wants to reprimand instead. But the feeling of your tits squishing against his bare arm causes him to stutter, in both mind and body. Reeling from the sensation of your slippery skin, the heat coming off of you overwhelming his senses to a dull, stupid state.
“It’s okay, March,” you whisper against his skin, the intimate sound of your words going straight back down to his cock to make it throb in his protective hold. He hasn’t the strength left to reply to you, at least not verbally, though he continues to shiver nervously back against where your front connects to his flexed arm. “Do you want some help? Can’t leave you here in that state…” He didn’t think it was possible to get harder than he is now, but alas, your offer of help has his eyes rolling back at the mere thought. How kind, he muses to himself, for you to offer relieving him of his perversions like some sort of saint. The contrast of which is not lost on him, serving only to make his hips buck involuntarily as he fully takes in exactly what you’ve just offered, and he shudders out a heavy breath.
Without missing a beat, he looks down between his legs before answering, connecting the dots with ease. “You’re lucky Juniper isn’t here.” He settles on when he finds nothing better to complain about, squinting at you with a lazy lying smile on his face. It is, of course, the truth; without the owner present, it’ll be easier to misbehave. But the pill of his lewd intent is easier to swallow if he has you to blame for it, huffing out some steam at the incredulous expression you offer back at him.
“Me?!” You feign shock, successfully tugging his lips higher. He understands your tone—it’s him that’s hard, he gets it already. Understood it for the past however long he’s been soaking in the tub with you for. “Besides, are you saying you wouldn’t want my help if she was here?”
“No,” he gives in to impulsivity and lets go of his crotch, leaning one arm back to be parallel to your own that hangs over the edge of the tub, facing each other and dripping water onto the floor below with a consistent soft thud. “I’m saying, you’d get us caught if she was.”
You start to whine something petulant, thought he doesn’t particularly care for the contents of your protest, too busy repositioning himself now that you’ve given him the go ahead as he cuts you off mid sentence, standing as best as he can in the shallow bath with his spread wide palms immediately finding home on your hips. Spinning you around before you even realise what’s happening, careful to keep you steady so that you don’t fall and hurt yourself when tending to his desires.
"Atta girl-" he teases once you’re settled, low and strained, like he can't hold himself back much longer.
This position is easier for him to handle. Bending you over the edge of the tub, the thickness of it enough to support your upper body without being too awkward to hold. And, with your face out of view, you’ve got no chance of watching how easily he falls apart for you. Besides, it’s not like he hears you complaining about it. The power dynamics suddenly shifted as he uses his hard worked for strength to his advantage, pinning you in place as water threatens to slosh around your trembling legs, knees buckled just a little to give away your immediate submission to his sudden snap.
This is relaxing too, right? He allows your hands to brace yourself against the edge of the tub, though he’d ordinarily keep them pinned behind—this isn’t an ordinary experience though, is it?
He clicks his tongue down at you, the role reversal causing his dick print to throb under the wet suction of his shorts. “Still happy to help?” his head tilts to the side even if you can’t see it, amused at your sudden ability to shut up, watching the pretty picture of your instinctive swaying from side to side as his own private show. Though he’s mostly provoking you, he is also seeking consent, checking in that you’re okay with this and that he hasn’t allowed his fantasies to run too wild under the insinuation of your words. “Lemme know.” He encourages you when he doesn’t immediately hear a reply, squeezing at your hips with stability to try and communicate that he won’t get upset if you’ve changed your mind, he has a hand for a reason.
A second or two passes, but his cock throbs painfully as if they were minutes... Twitching behind his shorts as he hovers just out of your reach, nonetheless feeling the heat roll off you from his slipping grip of your skin.
He’s about to back off when you finally confirm.
“I wanna help.” You hum, voice drenched in such a sweet, dulcet tone that his mind immediately blanks at, staring dumbly at where your cunt hides behind your swimsuit like it was her consenting. The gentle side to side of your hips helping to hypnotise him as he tracks your movements with a parted mouth, just before he bites down on his bottom lip with resolve.
You’re a great motivator, at the very least.
“Good,” he practically coos down at you, letting one hand drop down to the hem of your swimsuit while the other keeps you nice and steady with an iron grip kept at your hip. He doesn’t work all day for nothing! “Then stay still.”
With his hand dropping lower and lower, he pings the edge of your swimsuit back against your skin once or twice, hearing the echo that resounds around the otherwise empty bathhouse, but he’s much more interested in listening to the short gasps for air you make upon each snap. Teasing your limits as he toys with you in the private public offered by the water, regaining his confidence when he feels you twitch and shift under his scrutinising gaze, already forgetting to stay still.
Not that it bothers him seeing you act so eager like this, pleased with the way you squirm under him as he idly traces the outline of your cunt over your swimsuit, cursing under his breath at the way the way fabric digs into your skin, clinging to your wet heat as you present yourself to him as the answer to his fat, throbbing problem right now.
His chest rumbles with attachment, grip tightening to prevent slipping off your waist as his resolve crumbles the more he idly plays with you.
A soft sigh escapes him as he thumbs at your clit over the skin tight fabric, whistling lowly to himself when your whole body jerks for his attention, something he’s all too eager to provide. Letting out a rough, hushed little “Fuck it—-” before he unceremoniously tugs your suit to the side, freeing that pretty pussy for his eyes to fuck first, his hips instinctively bucking forward a tad to let his bulge rub along your slit. The resulting combined gasp bounces off the walls of the bathhouse like some lewd prayer, his skin immaterially prickling with selfish enjoyment at the way you’re seemingly incapable of withholding your own perversions. You really are lucky to be alone with him right now, huh?
And he’d be lying if he said that the risk wasn’t worth the reward himself. His heart hammers from the thrill of it all, secretly admiring the way you couldn’t care less as to who hears your little whimpers and whines, or perhaps you’re simply revelling in his touch enough that you’ve already forgotten all about the threat itself—the fact that Juniper could return any minute now, or a stray wandering neighbour might decide now is a good time to soak in the pools, only to be met by your shivering sighs and pretty pussy on full display for his wandering hands. Shit, he’s been so hard for so long, he could probably cum just from the sight of your cunt alone. But imagining someone walking in on him inspecting your holes, tugging your cheeks apart to spread you wide open for his leering does get him going more than he’d like to admit. Prideful to a fault, extended to how pleased he is by your display, torn between wanting to share the pretty sight with others versus keeping you all to himself.
The bathhouse meets a nice middle, he muses to himself.
“Doin’ okay?” he checks in, leaning forward just a little behind you only to choke on a whine of his own when the outline of his cock comes into direct contact with your exposed cunt, heaving over you with barely there restraint like a bitch in heat. You should feel lucky, actually, that he’s still got his shorts on. He’d otherwise be balls deep in you already if not for the wet barrier keeping him somewhat sane, cock hot and ready pressed against his skin.
You mumble a small mhm back at him, and he supposes it’ll suffice. Must be hard collecting your words when he’s absentmindedly dragging a finger up and down your bare slit, collecting the slippery slick that drools out from your hole in preparation for him, cunt feeling wetter than the bath he currently stands in. Enough to leave a soft squelch in his trail, a sticky sound of your arousal that has him dangerously on the verge of caving.
Though what really pushes him over the edge is how small and weak you sound when begging him please. “Hurry up,” you whine softly, a cute little sound that has his tip leaking all over himself. “Before someone sees…” He can practically see the pout on your lips as you plead.
And, well, since he’s yet to actually relax this morning, it couldn’t hurt to use his strength one last time, right?
He’d love to spend his time working you open, giving you a few shallow in and outs of his thumb at your entrance, popping it repeatedly in lieu of a proper finger fucking to warm you up. His throat dries up at the sound alone, the way your hole immediately tries to wrap around his barely inside teasing as if begging for it, like you need him just as much as he needs you. And you’re so cute when he’s edging you, ruined from the frustration alone as he so often has his fun. But fuck, you’re right… He only has limited time to impress you, and he wastes part of that precious time in tugging his shorts down just enough for his cock to spring free, the water surrounding him splashing up against his abs, over the edge of the tub, up your backside, purely from how fast he tries to rush. He doesn’t mean to be so clumsy in his plea to free himself, but the water that’s soaked his shorts has left him sensitive and sticky, the material clinging to him for dear life as he gives up half way, letting them hang just under his ass as he lets out a noticeable groan of irritation.
“Right,” he’s quick to excuse himself, genuinely apologetic for making you wait more than a few seconds before giving you exactly what you’re asking for. Promptly grabbing at the base of his cock with one hand, tugging your lips apart with his other, and tapping the tip against your slit once or twice. Allowing you to get sufficiently desperate before pressing forward. “Ready?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. Rhetorical given the way you push back in a seeking of contact without thought, coaxing him closer with a needy whimper that he’d be dumb not to heed.
Even though he tries to go slow for your own sake, he ends up falling forward further than intended due to the moving water under his feet, tip catching on your hole in a way that has him gasping for air. The hands he was using to guide himself in now planted firmly against the edge of the tub, supporting the sheer weight of his indecent intent as he pants heavily above you, hot breath no doubt warming you up more than the bath itself attempts.
He corrects his posture as quick as he can to settle your keening, lovingly tutting down at you as you shift your weight around to try and catch more of his cock inside. Needy little thing, you’re only stroking his ego the more you wriggle around, knowing that you depend on him so eagerly to resolve the tension in your tummy gets him soooo rock hard, God, his want to serve you overtaking all sense as he hovers over you with a twitch in his hips, letting his tip dip deeper into your cunt with a forced sigh escaping him. And he can’t stop now, not when he feels the first suck of your cunt around the sensitive head of his cock, drooling precum against your insides as if you weren’t wet enough already for him to slip further inside, tilting his head back marginally as he enjoys stretching you out at least with his fat girth—who needs fingers when his cock is right there, right? Just the searing heat of his erection, humping into you with small, easing thrusts to help you get accustomed to him again given your little to no prep. But he stutters inside like he can’t help himself, involuntarily offering more than he intended because you indulge him too much.
Though with how warm and wet you already are as half his length throbs inside your hole, he figures you might not need much prep at all. Perhaps the fact that he’s taking you in public is enough to have you ready for him, cunt choking his cock well enough to have his eyes rolling back before he’s even fully inside, silent behind you in pure focus of filling you full and not much else. Eager to please you as he gradually feeds you the final few aching inches, rolling his hips so gently that he’s forced to hold his breath in fear of whimpering praise for you.
Instead, he shudders out a whispered “Holy shit.” To the room itself. The only witness to his perversions.
Ah, but you make it just so easy for him to fall further. Laying limp to let him support his own weight with two damp palms clutching at your hips, nails biting into your slippery skin just a bit to keep himself upright, else he’s liable to fold in half on top of you. Heaving from the amount of effort it takes to simply stall behind you, giving you a few moments to grow accustomed to the stretch he’s kindly offering as his huffs of air are all the compliments you get. Because though he’d be hard pressed to admit it outright, he needs more than a couple of seconds to catch his breath himself from the sheer tightness surrounding him. Poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek in light frustration over how effortlessly you wind him. Without even trying honestly, rendering him useless to anything but his more primal instincts, feeling compelled to prove himself to you with his ability to make you feel good—just because it’s you. He only ever gives in to you.
And it’s only when you start to squirm on the end of his cock, communicating that you’re ready for him to move again, that he gives in to the urge deep in his stomach with a long, drawn out drag backwards. Reeling at the harsh suck of your hole along his length, all the way up until only his tip remains inside as he hold his breath in preparation for giving you exactly what you’ve been asking for.
Some part of him recognises that you’re talking to him. An echoed plea reverberating amongst the lonely baths, high pitched and needy in a way that triggers his rash behaviour as he pushes forward again, lust pooling in his hips to drive himself forward in an immediate, unfair thrust— an attempt to quell the urgency in your tone. Though he’s not sure exactly what you were begging about, he figures he might have hit the mark as he starts with an eager tempo, offering almost his full fat length in an effort to not slap his balls back against you which would surely get him caught with his pants physically down.
The fast fucks he immediately humps into you with cause bubbles to form around his thighs, greedily splashing water well over the edge now that he’s given in to his desire to fuck you first thing in the morning. Been on his mind all night too, y’know? Tip of his cock making a mess of his sheets, fist aching to fuck himself before heading to the baths to try and calm himself down—and then you show up, soft, cute, coaxing him closer with that stupid little swimsuit and kindness in your heart. Helping him by presenting yourself with easy access, prompting him into disregarding his well taught discipline with a simple flutter of lashes and a pretty pout to boot. It’s gross to know just how down bad he is for you, a sickly sweet intimacy crawling up his spine as you already struggle to keep your enjoyment hidden, and he has to wrap a toned arm around your neck so that he can personally muffle your pretty whines. Not that he particularly wants to, biting down on his tongue to keep his own hidden in favour of hearing your choked sobs instead, but he’s a selfish lover at the end of the day. Eager to keep you all to himself, stifling the whines and the gasps his half humps fuck out of you so that no one else gets to hear how pretty you sound when getting fucked.
And he so desperately wants to praise you for your strained efforts. Wants to commend your cunt for wrapping around him so well, squeezing every hot inch he fucks against her, so warm and wet and his—but if he so much as parts his lips to breathe, he knows for sure he’ll get you caught. Dirty words hidden behind his teeth when his jaw clenches at the muted sounds you struggle to suppress, thighs tense with the effort it takes to simply stay standing. Needing more than anything to completely encase you with himself, wrap you up against his own body to fuck you so full of him that you’re forced to confront the fact that he’s so madly obsessed with how good you make him feel, and that you’re all he ever thinks about.
Though he supposes bouncing you back on his cock in semi public like this might suffice for the time being. The pads of his fingers digging into your cheek as a reminder of his affections for you, as if the increasingly fast fucks weren’t enough. Growing sloppy with himself as he adds an extra inch or two with each subsequent thrust, all in an effort to please you more.
It’s easier to ignore the growing recall of his balls surrounding the room he’s plowing you in when the wet suck of your cunt holds all his attention anyway.
He was right, however. You are loud, enough to grab the attention of anyone who dares to dip in the pools this morning. And despite to the best of his knowledge of secrecy, the idea that someone might be lurking in the shadows, keeping to themselves to watch how well he fucks you over the edge of the bath, listening just as intently as he is to the strangled sounds he refuses to allow pass your lips—God, fuck, the thought alone only makes him hotter. Makes him fuck faster, as much as he can despite the wet ground he stands on, cock sliding inside of your too tight little cunt with ease given how slick you’ve gotten from his attention, dripping into the pools below as he hums with some mixed sense of appreciation and annoyance.
“So good—” he lets slip, embarrassed by the strain present in his tone, but nonetheless allowing a rough groan to escape now that he’s already started yapping, unable to withhold his praise for the way you take his cock any longer, and how nice it feels to be fucking you balls deep in public like this, clinging to you as if his life depended on getting you off first thing in the morning. “Just like that, that’s it.” crooning down at you, laboured breaths fanning across the back of your neck as he leans down just a bit, angling his cock deeper against your insides as his tip kisses precum as far as it can reach. And it doesn’t help that the new position has you gasping louder, whimpering against his trembling palm with barely contained restraint, his head dropping on instinct alone to press against your sticky back, keeping you pinned in place with one hand slipping to your waist to tug at possessively, as if he were sure there were eyes on you and he needed to reassert his dominance.
And it’s almost as if you want to get caught at this rate, pushing back against his every fuck forward in tandem, increasing the loud slap of his balls against your ass with such desperation he can’t even begin to scold, the wet squish of your angel cunt prompting his skin to prickle with increased sensitivity as he feels the urgent need just as strongly. Like the mere existence of you under him is overwhelming, the sounds you’re unable to withhold as he fucks the shape of his cock inside your tight hole with every greedy thrust forward like he’s seeking validation for his efforts causes him to start stuttering. Sloppy with his drives deeper, messy with his affections as he openly pants against your back, cooling your sweat slicked skin as he bullies you against the edge of the tub, letting go of the grip he has on your mouth just to selfishly endure your enjoyment regardless of the risks. It’s much hotter knowing you’re unable to contain yourself when he’s fucking right up to the hilt anyway. A deep sense of worth it urging him to continue ruining you for breakfast.
It’s those risks that has him so hot and eager in the first place anyway. The fact that he’s doing something to you in a place he really shouldn’t; a shared bath house is decidedly not where you should desperately fuck the love of your life over the edge of the pool, drooling a mixture of fluids into the water as if it were home, like it was a private affair shared simply between two lovers and not the town itself. But the fact that his fucks are so wrong to begin with, fervently disregarding privacy in his desires for you, greedy for that pretty pussy choking his cock so well, so fucking good holy shit—knowing that if he were to be caught balls deep in you as he is now, he’d never hear the end of it—that’s what he needs most of all right now. You really shouldn’t be letting him fuck you like this, addicted to the tight fit of your cunt, the way she squeezes him just right, balls taut against your backside as he reluctantly peels himself off of your back, just to push his weight back down on your hips to force your soaked body into a deeper arch for his selfish gratification.
He’s already close. Always quicker than he’d like to be when you’re involved, but can you really blame him? With the way you’re now whimpering without restraint, sighing in that soft, erotic tone he can’t ever deny, he really never had a hope in stopping himself from pure indulgence. Fucking fuller moans out your throat now as he uses your body as an anchor, dragging you back against his pelvis just as much as he buries himself forward to the hilt, a pretty froth of cream adorning the base of his cock as evidence of his good job. He could cum just by looking at that alone, if only he didn’t need you to finish first.
It’s his duty. As your loving, doting, fast fucking boyfriend, he’s supposed to make sure you always cum first.
You make him reckless, your reaction of immediate approval when he drops one hand to between your legs has him compelled to continue, even in spite of your increased volume. He’d tease you for it under normal circumstances, but the needy edge to your tone has his cock throbbing harder, not thinking clearly as he brings his attention to your sensitive little clit, urgently rubbing careless circles against it in a desperate bid to have you creaming his cock as soon as possible, before he acts foolishly first. As seems to be common with you.
He lets out a soft, shuddered sigh at the way your hole clamps down on him harder in response, more demanding as you start to shiver against his touch, evidently appreciating the way he dumbly tries to stroke your clit, even if his actions are more focused on stroking his cock inside of your pretty pussy, wanting to make her all better. “This is all your fault,” he seethes from behind, swallowing a pitchy moan in an attempt to save face, sucking at his teeth to try and stall the inevitable, if only to prolong his own pleasure. Though it’s a bare faced lie—he wanted this just as much as you seem to, if the amount of precum his fat cock fucks out of you is any indication, staining your insides for at least the upcoming week as his own. “Just wanted to relax, and—and fuck,” doesn’t matter what the ill-fitting scolding he was gonna hiss at you with was, because you cut him off perfectly with a rapid rhythm promising to end him. Cunt convulsing around his cock as his hips falter behind you, instinctively rubbing harsher circles against your pretty puffy clit just to make you squirm some more, the sound of your hiccuped moans going straight to his dangerously full balls as his cock pulses with need—just a few more uneven fucks later and he’s collapsing on top of you with a whiny whimper, pained by how good you make him feel.
Thick white ropes shoot from his tip as his pace slows, only offering you half thrusts when your cunt continues to milk him, unable to find his strength to bury balls deep again despite the way he continues rutting against you, fucking his seed deeper with every greedy thrust because he can. And he wants to. Heaving openly above you, panting with sheer bliss when he fills you so full that some of his seed spills out around his stammering fucks, a breathless laugh falling from his bitten lips when he just can’t seem to stop himself, making sure you take every single drop of him and then some before it spills. Nursing his spent and sensitive cock in the warmth of your overstuffed cunt while he still has the chance, while nobody has came to interrupt his lewd display yet.
He only starts to pull out when you begin to actively kick him away, splashing the water in his direction as overstimulation likely takes hold between your legs, and he winces to himself when cum continues to seep from your well loved hole and into the bath water below.
Hopefully Juniper won’t be able to tell later.
Tucking his cock back under his shorts to let the water wash him clean, he leans over your shivering form one more time to make sure you know how thankful he is, and how much he loves you. Leaving a feather-light trail of kisses across your exposed neck, trailing down your spine subtly with an adoring hum filling the space left between your gasps for air. Gently, he shushes you. Not out of annoyance, but as a means to comfort and console you after such hard work, his heart swelling with genuine pride held just for you.
“You okay?” he breathes slow against you, thanking his stamina for the fast recover to allow his focus to rest solely on helping you, hoping that by pressing his heart against your back that you might come down slowly with him. “You did good, so good.” he whispers against your skin, the sudden silence of the tub causes his skin to heat up in soft embarrassment. Hoping to ease some of your potential own, prepared to take the brunt of the bad behaviour if need be. For that kind of fuck again? Absolutely.
Reassured by the sight of your soft nod, he smiles with satisfaction to himself as he pushes up off your back, returning to his previous position in the pool with his back to the edge, settling much more comfortably now that his balls have been drained thanks to your help. A successful morning by all accounts, his muscles now loose, mind calm as he soaks for a moment or two. Allowing you space to collect yourself, though he doesn’t complain when you seek further solace in him by moving to cling to him like a koala. He shifts around to accommodate you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with one arm wrapped around the small of your back to keep you close, the other remaining on the edge to support his own balance. “C’mere pretty,” he nods against your skin, idly huffing in your scent to further relax. If a hug is what you want, then a hug is what you’ll get, especially after that performance. “Glad you showed up.” he offers, unsure as to whether he’s asking you a question, or communicating a statement.
Though you hum agreement back at him regardless, wrapping your arms loosely around his clammy neck as temperatures cool, and you’re left to bask in the afterglow of his tense muscles.
Just as he does too. Resting in the warm water for the first time since he arrived this morning, stretching his legs out under you with a small, pleased sigh.
But he knows you better than that. Dozing off with the weight of you calming him, it’s not long before his eyes snap back open and his expression tugs into that casual scowl he so often wears.
“Bet you’re relaxed now.” you quip, carrying a mischievous lilt to your voice that’s hard to ignore.
And even after all the kindness he’s shown you today; he tuts back at you. Happy to have served you, but just as happy to put you back in your place. Lying through his teeth for the fun of it, lowering his posture so that just his head is above water and letting the pool heal his efforts before barking back.
“No thanks to you.”
