josh dry humping fic GAWWDD PLEAASEEE thankayou for your service
cw : nsfw, dry humping, grinding (m. receiving), mutual teasing, lap sitting, desperation, dirty talk, dominant reader undertones, praise kink, explicit sexual content, gender-neutral genitalia
Josh Levy was sitting in his chair, hunched over his keyboard like it had personally wronged him. The glow of his dual monitors flickered across his glasses, illuminating his furrowed brow as he angrily typed something about the decline of practical effects in kaiju cinema.
You’d been watching him for a while—his jaw clenching with every keystroke, his shoulders tight with frustration. His Dune shirt had ridden up just a little, exposing a soft sliver of skin above his waistband. His legs, thick and splayed, bounced unconsciously with nervous energy.
He didn’t even flinch when you climbed into his lap.
You settled onto him slowly, your weight sinking into the cradle of his thighs, legs draped on either side of his. His hands froze on the keyboard for a second—just a second—then resumed typing with forced focus.
You pretended not to notice how his breath caught.
“You’re sitting on the keyboard cable,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the screen.
“Guess you’ll have to type slower, then.”
His thigh twitched beneath you. You shifted your hips, just slightly, feeling the thick shape of his cock begin to stiffen under your ass. He was already half-hard, probably had been since you first walked into the room.
Josh adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, trying to sound unaffected. “This is important. I’m making a point about historical media literacy.”
You leaned in close, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
He didn’t answer. You could feel the tension coiling in his body—could see the way his fingers hovered above the keys, twitching like he wanted to type but couldn’t concentrate. His cock pressed up, thick and straining in his jeans, caught right under you.
You rolled your hips once. Just a test.
Josh gasped—an actual, audible gasp—and then went rigid beneath you, his whole body vibrating with restraint.
“Don’t,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear, if you keep—”
“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you ground against him again, slow and deliberate. “You’ll come in your pants?”
His hands snapped to your hips, grip tight.
You kissed the corner of his jaw, slow and lazy. “And you love it.”
He whimpered. The sound went straight to your core.
You began to move—hips grinding in slow circles, dragging yourself along the firm ridge of his cock, feeling the heat and pressure through the denim. Josh clutched your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
“I’m trying to work,” he tried again, voice strangled, desperate.
He bucked up into you before he could stop himself, and you both gasped. Your thighs clenched, your own arousal soaking into your underwear. The friction was so good—hot, tight, dragging in just the right way.
His breath was shallow, face flushed, glasses starting to fog.
“Fuck,” he whispered, grinding up into you now, chasing the rhythm like a man possessed. “You feel so good—I can’t—fuck—”
You rocked harder, hips matching his rhythm. The desk chair creaked beneath you both. Your clothes were a mess, your underwear sticking to you, his jeans damp where your bodies pressed together.
Josh leaned forward, forehead resting against your shoulder, his voice wrecked.
“Please,” he begged. “Please keep going. I need—I need—”
“You need to come?” you whispered, hand threading into his hair. “From humping like a fucking teenager?”
He groaned—loud, embarrassed, needy.
“You’re gonna do it anyway,” you added, mouth brushing his ear. “Might as well enjoy it.”
Josh thrust up harder, frantic now, rutting into you with desperate, clumsy jerks. You held him steady, rode him through it, every grind sending sparks up your spine.
“Fuck—fuck—I’m coming—shit—”
His hips stuttered. He gasped your name. His whole body arched beneath you as he came in his jeans, hot and hard, cock twitching under the soaked denim as his thighs trembled beneath you.
Even while he was panting, even while the wet patch on his pants grew and his glasses slid sideways on his nose, Josh kept grinding up into you—slower now, but insistent, feverish.
“You haven’t come yet,” he mumbled. “Lemme get you there.”
His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, urging you down, guiding your hips to rock again. He was soaked, trembling, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the way you ground against him, the mess between your bodies, the slick friction growing tighter, hotter.
“You feel so good,” he whispered.
You bit your lip, whimpering as the pleasure coiled tight in your gut. His voice, the pressure, the mess—every part of him was working you closer.
Josh grinned, breathless. “You gonna come on my lap, too? Gonna soak us both?”
Your thighs locked around him as you came—sharp, hot, shaking with release. You pressed your forehead to his shoulder, breath stuttering as the waves crashed over you.
He held you through it, arms wrapped around your back, still grinding just enough to keep the high going.
When you finally went still, panting against his neck, Josh sighed deeply. You both sat there—sweaty, sticky, breathless.
“…Your fault,” he murmured, nuzzling your jaw. “You distracted me.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
“Not really.” He leaned back in his seat, blinking at his screen. “Think I just came all over my ‘In Defense of Suitmation’ draft.”
You laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Josh adjusted his glasses with a dazed little smile. “Worth it.”
