・❥・smut mdni i got no witty summary for this one. backshots with hugo. that's it.
that's the only thought you can string together, with your cheek pressed flat against the pillow and vivian hugo's enormous body draped over yours like a second skin. his chest is pressed to your back, his hips slotting behind yours, his arms caging you in on either side. he's so much bigger than you that you're practically swallowed whole. cocooned. buried under him.
"look at you," he murmurs against the back of your neck, lips brushing your hairline. burgundy strands tickle your shoulder. his voice is low and unhurried, that same neutral calm he carries everywhere, except now it's got this dark, slow edge to it. "you're already shaking."
he doesn't. "i haven't even done anything yet."
slow. devastatingly slow. you feel every centimetre of him stretching you open, your walls fluttering and struggling around the sheer girth of him and all you can do is grab fistfuls of the sheet and whimper into the pillow because there's nowhere to go. no room. he's behind you, above you, against you, his weight pinning your hips down perfectly so you can't even squirm away from the stretch.
"mm." his chest rumbles against your spine. "take it."
and you do. you have to. his hips keep pressing forward, slow and inexorable, until he's bottomed out completely and you feel him so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.
a beat of silence. his big hand spreads flat across your stomach, pressing down lightly like he's feeling himself inside you. you whimper.
"there," he says, almost thoughtfully.
it's not frantic. vivian hugo doesn't do anything frantically. even like this, even buried inside you with your slick coating him, his rhythm is deliberate and deep, long strokes that drag against every sensitive wall and have you biting the pillow to keep from screaming. his hips roll into yours from behind, the thick slap of skin soft and wet and rhythmic. his mouth finds the back of your neck again and he just breathes there, warm and steady, whilst you fall apart underneath him.
"god," you sob. "god, you're so—"
you hate that he sounds completely composed. you hate that you're a mess and he's cataloguing it.
"yes," you gasp. "yes, fucking— move, please—"
he does. harder this time. his forearm comes down across your shoulders, pinning you lower into the mattress, and the angle shifts and you actually cry out, loud and ugly, because now he's hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur at the edges.
"there it is," vivian says quietly, almost to himself. pressing into that same spot again on purpose. and again. "that's the one."
you're drooling against the pillow. you can feel it and you cannot care. his cock is splitting you open from behind and his chest is so warm, so solid against your back, and every thrust forward grinds your clit against the mattress just slightly, just enough, just—
"i said," his mouth is at your ear now, burgundy hair against your cheek, his voice dropping to something quiet and absolute, "not yet."
his hips stop. fully stop. buried to the hilt, pulsing inside you. and you're clenching around him desperately, your whole body shaking with the effort of holding back, nails scratching uselessly at the sheets.
"vivian," you whimper. nearly crying.
"you'll wait," he tells you. calm. like he's reading from his blank book. "until i say."
long seconds pass. the wet, full feeling of him is unbearable. you're clenching and fluttering around nothing, trying to get friction, trying to get anything, and he just stays there like he has all the time in the world.
then he pulls back and slams forward.
he does it again. and again. the rhythm turns brutal now, finally, his hips snapping into yours from behind in a punishing pace that drives you up the mattress inch by inch, and his big hand grabs your hip to drag you back onto him, meeting every thrust, the wet slap of it obscene in the quiet room.
the orgasm crashes through you in waves, your pussy clenching hard around his cock, your thighs shaking, a broken string of his name dissolving into nothing against the pillow. he rides you through it, relentless, hips still snapping, drawing it out until you're sobbing and overstimulated and limp.
he follows a moment later. deep. buried. the groan he lets out is low and private, the most undone you've ever heard him. his hips stutter. still.
his chest stays pressed to your back. his weight stays on you, warm and enormous and grounding. one big hand comes up and smooths down your hair, almost absentmindedly, like he's tidying a page he's already read.
you're wrecked. thighs slick, sheets ruined, lungs still catching up.
"breathe," he says quietly.
you do. because he told you to. and somewhere in the wreckage of your brain that feels less like obedience and more like something you can't name yet.
his lips press once, soft and unhurried, to the back of your neck.
you're not sure if he means you. or himself. or the two of you together like this, fitted perfectly, his body swallowing yours whole.
an: first time writing hugo ehe. how did i do :p
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