you kinda alluded to it in your captain mack facetime fic, but macklin not knowing how to jack off because reader always does it for him is sooo hot!!
MC71.||macklin celebrini.
macklin doesn’t know how to please himself.
“Whyyy can't you just help me?” Macklin whined, his voice echoing through the kitchen as I focused on putting the groceries away and tidying up the counters.
“Because, baby, I’m busy, and you have two perfectly working hands that can do it yourself,” I replied without looking up, keeping my tone practical.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him sit on a barstool at the kitchen island. He was already restless, his hand blatantly palming himself through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. Macklin was completely horny and practically begging for me to help him jerk off, but I really couldn’t be bothered right now. My hands were full, the kitchen was a mess, and I needed to start prepping dinner before it got too late.
“You have hands too... why, please?” he whined louder this time, shifting uncomfortably on the stool. The friction of his hand against his pants clearly wasn't doing enough to relieve the pressure, and his frustration was growing by the second.
“Baby, I have to make dinner,” I said softly, turning around to face him. “I don't understand why you can't just go to the bedroom and jerk off. You'll feel so much better if you just take care of it.”
Instead of listening, he shook his head, his bottom lip trembling as tears suddenly welled up in his eyes.
I paused, setting down the box of pasta I was holding. Leaning my hands on the island directly across from where he sat, I softened my expression. “Hey, is there a reason you can't do it?” I asked gently, noticing how genuinely distressed and frustrated he was becoming. This was turning into something much bigger than a craving for attention.
“I don't know how,” he cried, the first few tears finally spilling over and rolling down his cheeks. “You always do it for me... I don't know how to do it right.” He completely dropped his head onto the cool marble of the island in total defeat, his shoulders shaking with soft sobs.
“Macklin,” I sighed, my heart instantly melting.
I walked around the island to his side. Hearing my footsteps, he looked up, sniffling miserably.
“I wish I could do it, but it’s too hard. I just can't do it,” he whispered, shaking his head as the tears rolled down his neck, soaking into the collar of his t-shirt.
Standing there looking at him, all the pieces suddenly began to fall into place. I thought back to all the times he would come home from long road trips completely sensitive, desperate, and clingy. I had always assumed he just missed me terribly. Or the times he would frantically fly me out to whatever city his team was playing in—it wasn't just about loneliness. It was because he literally didn't know how to please himself, and he relied entirely on me to break that unbearable tension for him.
“Okay, baby. It’s okay,” I murmured, reaching over to grab a paper towel. I gently wiped the wetness from his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He nodded weakly against my touch. “I’ll do it, but it has to be fast, okay? Just so I can get dinner started.”
“I can be fast, I promise,” he whispered, blinking his wet, heavy lashes up at me with absolute devotion.
“Okay. Pull your pants down, we’ll just do it right here.”
I stood squarely in front of him while he remained seated on the island chair. With trembling fingers, he pushed his pajama pants and boxers down to his ankles, leaving himself completely exposed and watching me with wide, expectant eyes.
I leaned in first, capturing his lips in a series of slow, deep, repetitive kisses to calm his racing heart. At the same time, my hand slid down, wrapping firmly around the thick base of his cock. His entire body shivered violently under my touch, a ragged moan escaping his throat and echoing into my mouth.
When I pulled away, I began jerking him at a steady, medium pace. Macklin’s head dropped back down, his gaze fixed entirely on his own lap, watching my hand do all the work he couldn't figure out how to do himself.
“Th-thank you,” he panted, completely overwhelmed by the instant relief. A thick drop of pre-cum leaked from his tip, smearing over the top of my hand and easing the friction.
“Mhm, you're so welcome, baby. You're so handsome,” I cooed, intentionally using the praise to push him over the edge. He let out a pathetic little whimper, his thigh muscles tensing up instantly at the compliments.
I fastened my pace, the wet friction generating a soft, rhythmic sound. Gut-wrenching cries and breathless whimpers left his mouth as I shifted my grip slightly, using my thumb to rub slow, deliberate circles over his sensitive pink tip. His body jolted in the chair, his hips helplessly rolling into my hand.
“I-I can’t... no m-more,” he gasped, wiggling frantically on the stool as his orgasm rushed to the surface.
I smiled up at him, loving how completely undone he was. “Wanna be a good boy and finish now so I can cook for you?”
He nodded frantically, his messy hair flopping around everywhere. “I'm a good boy,” he whimpered.
An instant later, his entire body shook. His head dropped all the way back as a heavy rope of cum shot directly over my hand, splashing across his own stomach and staining the front of his t-shirt. His back arched completely out of the chair, his grip tightening on the edges of the stool so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Be careful, baby. It’s okay, please don’t fall,” I warned gently. I let go of his length softly and cupped his balls, massaging them a bit to help him milk out the last few drops as they leaked onto his shirt.
Once his breathing finally slowed, I pulled away, looking at the beautiful disaster sitting in the kitchen chair. I couldn't help but smile. I walked over to the sink, washed my hands thoroughly, and grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, running it under warm water.
I walked back over and began tenderly wiping him down, cleaning up the mess. “Here, baby, take your shirt off. Let’s put a clean one on you.” I helped him pull the ruined fabric over his head.
He pulled his pants back up, standing up a bit shakily. He held his dirty shirt in one hand and the wet cloth in the other. “I want to help,” he said softly, standing there bare-chested and shy, the rosacea flaring in a bright, pretty pink across his cheeks.
“You can help after you go put a fresh shirt on and take those down to the laundry room, okay, baby?” I leaned up on my tiptoes to press a sweet kiss to his flushed cheek.
He nodded happily, completely content, and hurried off to do exactly what he was told.
just one night with him is all i need.
