You like my hands that much? 🔞
Noah Sebastian x Reader. Smut.
NSFW (18+), explicit sexual content, smut, fingering, heavy sexual tension, hand kink, reader embarrassment, teasing, suggestive language, mild possessiveness, consensual adult behaviour.
I haven’t posted in months and the first thing I give you is hand kink Noah? Sorry not sorry. I’m back, better than ever. Enjoy x
You’re curled up on the couch in Noah’s dressing room, scrolling through photos from last night’s show.
You shouldn’t be staring this hard…but that picture stops you dead.
Tattoos vibrant, long fingers, hand gripping the mic, silver ring catching the light. It’s enough to make your thighs clench, you were so engrossed with his hands that you didn’t hear door open. You don’t feel him until he leans over the back of the couch, voice warm and suspicious.
“What are you looking at?”
You jump, flipping your phone instinctively face-down like a guilty teenager.
“N-Nothing! Just tour pics, you know I like to see what the fans took of you.” You let out a nervous chuckle, it’s mostly true.
He raises a brow, amused by your response.
“Uh huh, so why did you hide it?”
He reaches around you, gently but annoyingly fast, plucking your phone out of your hand like he has every right to.
“Hey! Give that back!” You said, immediately standing up to get the phone back. You hated how tall he was compared to you, his height was definitely an advantage in this situation.
He ignores you, unlocking it with your own face while you groan.
Then he sees the screen, the image still up.
Then his lips curl slow, wicked, smug.
“You were looking at my hands?”
You want to sink into the floor and cease existing.
“…Yes.” You squeaked out, there’s no point in denying it.
“Why look at pictures, when you have the real thing right here? All you had to do was ask baby.” He smirked, handing the phone back to you.
“Noah-” You tried to explain yourself, watching him sit on the couch.
“Come here angel.” He smirked, patting his lap.
Your stomach dropped, not in a bad way - but in that terrifyingly good, full-body heat kind of way.
“Noah…” You said again, voice smaller than you intended.
He didn’t respond with words. He just kept his eyes on you, legs slightly spread, two fingers tapping his thigh in a slow, knowing rhythm.
“Don’t make me ask twice.” He murmured, head tilting, that smirk deepening.
Your feet moved on instinct and before you knew it, you were sat in-between his knees. His hands already sliding up your hips like they belonged there.
The second you settled, one of his hands slid up your spine, the other coming to rest on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles that made your breath stutter.
“You know…” He began softly, his lips brushing your cheek as he leaned in, “If you wanted a picture of my hands, all you had to do was ask.”
You covered your face again with both palms.
He laughed - quiet, low, ridiculously smug.
“You were looking at my hands.” His breath warmed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Do you know how cute that is? How completely innocent you think it is?” He continued, fingers now sliding higher on your thigh.
“And how not innocent it actually is?”
Your lungs forgot their entire job.
He leaned closer, lips brushing the corner of your jaw.
“Tell me something,” He murmured.
His hand lifted yours, pulling it gently away from your face.
“Do they make you nervous… or do they make you excited?”
He intertwined your fingers with his tattooed knuckles against your skin - slow enough to make your stomach flip.
You swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know.”
“No?” He whispered, squeezing your hand just once. “You don’t know what my hands do to you?”
He lifted your joined hands, placing them against your thigh…
Right where his thumb had been circling.
Right where heat lingered.
His lips grazed your ear again. “You sure you don’t know?”
The room felt small, too warm, too charged.
He smoothed his palm up your inner thigh - slow, deliberate, not quite touching where you were starting to ache.
“Sweetheart, look at me.” He breathed, watching you.
You did, hesitant, nervous and melting.
His expression softened, eyes dark but warm.
“I’m not teasing you to embarrass you.” He whispered. “I just like knowing what you like. What you think about.” He continued and pressed a kiss near your pulse point.
His thumb brushed your inner thigh again, higher this time.
“You can want me, you already have me.”
Your exhale trembled, he leaned his forehead against yours.
“Let me show you.” He murmured, eyes dark and hungry.
“Noah…” You whisper, breath trembling.
He lets the tension hang, lets the silence wrap around the two of you.
His hand on your inner thigh is warm, steady - too steady.
“Angel,” He murmurs, watching your lips part, “You’re already shaking.”
His voice drops, soft but impossibly sure.
“And that’s my favorite thing about you.”
His fingers slide higher, barely brushing the seam of your jeans.
Not touching where you want him, but just close enough to make your entire body tense.
“Sit up a little.” He tells you.
You do, instinctively obedient.
He slides his hand under your thigh, pulling you forward until you’re straddling his lap properly. Your chest pressed to his, your breath mingling with his.
Not with fear, with want.
He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and warm.
“Better, now I can touch you how I want.” He whispers.
His hand returns to your thigh, only this time he drags it up.
Raising goosebumps across your skin.
He reaches the hem of your jeans and stops again.
“Oh, you’re begging already?”
He smirks - slow, sinful.
“I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
He cups your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing your lower lip until you instinctively lean forward. His mouth meets yours.
Then your fingers grab his shoulders, anchoring yourself and something in him breaks. Noah sits up straighter, kissing you deeper, hungrier. His free hand slides behind your waist, pulling you closer until your body is flush to his.
You gasp softly into his mouth.
“Good girl…” He whispers against your lips, “Come here.”
He kisses down your jaw, your neck, the spot where your pulse flutters, and your hips rock forward entirely on accident.
“Oh, so that’s what you want.” He murmurs.
“You did.” He grips your hips with both hands now, holding you still on his lap. “You meant every inch of it.”
His thumb slides beneath the waistband of your jeans - just enough to drag across bare skin
He leans in, mouth brushing your ear.
“You want my hands.” He whispers.
His thumb dips lower, not touching where you’re throbbing, but close enough to feel heat.
He groans softly - a low, broken sound that goes straight between your legs.
“Angel.” He exhales, “You have no idea what that does to me.”
He tilts your chin up, kissing you again - slow, deep, claiming.
His right hand slides down your stomach this time, fingers gliding under the fabric of your jeans.
You tense - anticipation electric.
His lips brush yours as he asks, barely audible:
You nod so fast you can’t breathe.
“No, use your words.” He murmurs, eyes flicking to yours.
“Yes. Please touch me.” You breathed out, voice with want.
He pops your jeans undone and unzips them, his fingers slipping inside your underwear, already wet and waiting.
The sound you make into his mouth damn near ruins him.
“Fuck…” He whispers, burying his face in your neck.
“You’re already so wet for me.”
He presses a slow, perfect stroke over your clit - gentle but intentional, the kind of touch that makes your whole body go weak against him.
Your hands clutch his shoulders.
Your hips move on their own.
He groans - low, involuntary.
“Shh…” He whispers, kissing your throat. “Let me feel how much you want me.”
His fingers stroke again - slow, coaxing, devastating.
Your hips roll again, helpless.
Noah’s grip on your waist tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you, guiding your movement with barely any effort at all.
You cling to his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin as your hips move, following the rhythm he created.
You felt so close already, embarrassingly close. Noah could sense it.
“You’re nearly there aren’t you?” He spoke, fingers working on your clit so precise, so deliciously.
You nod, couldn’t find the words, hips moving frantically. His other hand comes up, sliding under your shirt, finding your breast. He rolls your nipple between his fingers - firm, slow, devastating.
“Come for me.” He whispers. “I want to feel you fall apart in my lap.”
He brought two, long tattooed fingers inside you, whilst his thumb moved over your clit. His fingers constantly hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars.
And your orgasm slams into you so hard your entire body arches into him.
Your nails claw at his back.
Your thighs squeeze around his hips.
Your breath catches in your throat and breaks into a soft cry.
Noah moans into your neck as you pulse around his fingers, holding you through it, guiding your hips until the aftershocks make you collapse against his chest.
He kisses your shoulder, slow and reverent.
“That’s it…” He murmurs, stroking your thigh with his free hand. “You did so good for me.”
He pulls his fingers from you, slow, slick and glistening. Then brings them to your lips.
Your breath catches. You obey.
He slips them into your mouth, watching your lips close around them, watching you taste yourself.
“Jesus Christ, baby.” His voice cracks into a low groan.
He cups your jaw with his clean hand, kissing you deeply - slow and hungry, tasting you on your tongue.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, lips still brushing.
“That was just one, just wait until we’re back in the hotel room.”
