Baby Come Home → Kyle Garrick
childhood bestfriend!Gaz who decided you were his long before you could understand. He’s just waiting for you to come home.
tags/cw: mdni 18+ !! f!afab!reader. weirdo men mention (i’ve rid of their existence dw) teasing. smut, no piv - dry humping. light d/s, i think. praise praise praise.
w/c: 3,2k
a/n: this started off as a wee lil drabble but once i started going, i could not stop. teehee ♡ LISTEN TO: shut up my mom’s calling unedited.
He created a monster, really. monster? Or princess? He’d say princess, might even say his princess in his head… And to his mates on base.
When you were in secondary school, he’d carry your lunch pail to and from the cafeteria. He’d help you brush the grass out of your hair after you’d instigated some sort of roughhousing. Occasionally picked you dandelions and left them at your desk.
Kyle never let you lift a finger, ever. When you were teens, he’d tell you to never settle for anything but the bare minimum.
“This,” he’d lift your book bag with no struggle before brushing his hands against your arms to cough up your notebooks while you were at it, “is bare minimum. You’re not carrying your own books to class love.”
Taking care of you was a compliment to him, a privilege. A sweet thing like you allowing him to take care of you? The honour was all his?? No one else’s? No eyes for anyone but him??
He insisted on being your first kiss. That the teen boys in school would only use it as a tally mark for their ego measuring contests. Maybe even over exaggerated a few truths about some of the locker room talk.
“Yeah, the boys have been seeing who can steal more first kisses.”
“Jesse’s even been drafting up some sort of contest on who can get to second base the quickest, love. I’ve no clue who’s in it, but you should steer clear of that lot.”
‘Truths’ was the keyword. It wasn’t a complete lie if Jesse Walsh was actually trying to see which virgin he could he could deflower before the fall ball. Abd there really was a whiteboard in Tommy Jarvis’ basement where the boys on the footie team could messily smear their points; Kyle didn’t partake.
It was all but perfect, teeth clanking against each other, slobber pooling between your lips. It was his first kiss too.
But Kyle made you feel safe and comfortable, allowing you to take up the space in his arms as you pulled yourself into his lap. He didn’t even touch you until you pulled his hands to your hips. He was so gentle and tender with you. His kiss left you breathless and craving the physical affection even.
Nothing came of it afterwards. Nothing that came with some sort of verbal communication. That didn’t mean he didn’t steal a few kisses from you after that night. Best friends kiss sometimes, it’s fine! he’d tell you. Not that you minded anyway.
In year 11, Kyle bargained your curfew with your parents, because they were close like that, under the guise of ‘post-game snacks’.
“The team usually like to have some sort of outing after each game game. I’ll make sure she comes home on time and fed, sir.” Kyle would tell your father. Your father wouldn’t even bat an eye, clapping kyle over the back with a nod.
“As long as she gets home on time.”
He didn’t tell your father what exactly post-game snacks consisted of. You’d always ended up in the backseat of Kyle’s car in the parking lot of the pizzeria by the school — where the rest of the team were in fact eating. Always in his lap, kissing him like you needed him under your skin. His hands just barely grazing under the skirt of your school uniform, prying your legs apart so you were flush in his lap.
Kyle would return you home a minute early on the dot, to remain in your parents’ good graces (not that he needed to try) he’d walk you to your doorstep - drape you in his jumper if it was chilly. And he would leave you dizzy with your stomach doing somersaults, skirt embedded with wrinkles with how rough he’d bunched the fabric up in his fists.
He was perfect.
So of course, naturally, this would warrant you to look for pieces of him in the men you’d start seeing in your adulthood, when studies had died down enough to allow you a social life. Just the natural swagger that would come with being a gentleman. The organic cadence of when a man truly valued women. oh, did this man set the bar high. Purposeful, surely.
You’ve had to hide your scowl every time a man made some sly comment about expectations he was looking forward to just by holding your door open for you. You’ve had to bite back comments when the men you were out with wouldn’t hold your beverage with care, telling you you shouldn’t have an issue just leaving it at the unattended booth; you did leave it at the booth just to call an uber to swipe you up to take you home for the night.
Dating… wasn’t really for you. Not when you couldn’t find someone exactly like your best friend kyle that wasn’t Kyle. You scolded yourself for thinking the way you did, but he made you this way. Whether he’s aware of it or not slips beyond your imagination.
Oh, but he knows.
It’s not entirely surprising to him when he returns home from deployment that you remain unclaimed. He’s not at all surprised when you tell him all the ways men have disappointed you in one way or another.
It’s almost evil, the way he even entertains the idea of you going out to see other guys.
“Come on, give it here.” Kyle sprawls himself out on your couch, urging for you to hand over you phone. He has to bite back the shit-eating grin when he’s met with your lockscreen - you and him at a footie game in Manchester City kits. His face is already programmed into your phone’s facial recognition system and he’s immediately opening up your Bumble app.
You curl up next to him absentmindedly, nuzzling the side of your face on his toned bicep as he sifts through your matches. He smells good, as you remembered him. Sandalwood with a touch of eucalyptus, the scent of your comfort.
“You swiped right on him?” Kyle scoffs in disgust, tilting his head back to look at you in disapproval. He’s offended that this was someone you even considered replacing him with.
“Thought he was cute.” you frown sheepishly.
“Right so, he purposefully has group photos so you can’t tell which one is him.” Kyle deadpans, swiping through the array of photos this man has set up on his profile. “Actually, I don’t even think there are solo photos of him- there isn’t. Which one of these bloke’re you thinking is the cute one then?” he tilts the phone towards you and your silence is enough for him to know he’s proven his point.
“Well what about your friends?” you can’t help but think out loud, knowing it’ll get a kick out of him.
“What about my friends?” your phone is placed face down on the arm of the couch as he turns to give you his full attention. His eyes harden at the doe eyes you’re giving him and his jaw clenches when you have the audacity to bat your eyelashes at him. He dares you to complete that thought.
“What if you set me up with one of them?” Kyle’s eyes trace over your features, almost as if he’s giving you a moment to take back what you’ve just said. The sudden attentiveness to you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand and your back straighten. He’s looking at you with such intensity, you wonder if the military taught him how to read minds and he’s seeing in tenfold how badly you want him. Kyle allows a gust of air to leave his nostrils, not quite a laugh, but you can tell he’s amused.
“Careful princess.” he breathes out lowly. Your breath hitches against the air you didn’t even realize you were holding onto. His arm had been stretched out across the back of your couch, so it was easy for him to shift his arm slightly so his hand could grip your shoulder.
“What? I’m serious!” you absolutely weren’t. “It’s embarrassing that I can’t even sit through a date without getting hives. These men are horrendous! Surely, your friends are your friends because you find them appealing. What about Soup? He seems like a good lad.”
“Soap,” Kyle corrects you as nervously fumble around with the hem of your skirt. The topic of your dating life made you anxious at times; the fact that no one was good enough for you because of him felt awfully embarrassing. “I don’t know if you’d like him like that, he’s a bit abrasive at times, but unpredictable too.”
“But he respects women?” you quirk an eyebrow up and at that he nods, but there’s a bit of uncertainty that clouds his eyes. The bar is truly in hell.
“‘sides, think he’s got a thing going on with our lieutenant, but you didn’t hear it from me.” Kyle chuckles in attempt to change the subject.
“Well, are they looking for a third?” you relent and this completely wipes the smile from his lips. “You can tell them I’ll be good for them!”
“You trying to take the piss at me?”
Kyle’s plump lips purse together and you don’t have any control of your eyes when they flicker down. Evidently, you don’t seem to have control over any part of your face, especially when your own mouth parts slightly just so you can run your tongue across the bottom of your top teeth.
His eyes mirror yours.
Kyle can’t help but eye the plump of your lips, the sheen glistening even under the dim lights. He knows they’re lightly coated in a gloss he can’t remember the name of, but he can’t help but entertain the idea that they’re shimmering, just begging for attention from him. You hold his gaze for a moment while his mind wanders rapidly over where he’d love to see your lips stain.
He can’t help but feel like a teenager all over again. thinking, dreaming, yearning for your lips to be speaking his language.
“Don’t need t’worry about bein’ a third, princess.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’re my one.”
If you wouldn’t come home when you needed to, he’d just have to bring you home like he always did.
His thumb catches onto that damp bottom lip of yours. He swipes his finger and extends his thumb so he can catch a glimpse of the shine on his finger. He hums when he realises it’s different from the one you used to wear.
He would wager that the translucent shade would be much too hard to get out of the collar of his polo. Maybe it would stain his sheets too. And if you pressed your lips to the pillow (yours, not yet at least) that sat beside his, he wouldn’t mind at all either.
Kyle doesn’t pay any attention to the way your breathing stutters under his touch. He used to. He was so attentive to the way your skin would prickle if he’d brush ever so slightly. Or how shy you would get when he got his hands on the plush of your bare thighs, lips bruising against your neck. He knows all of this. He doesn’t need to pay attention.
He does, however, pay attention to the way you react when he reaches over to grab your thigh. You flutter into his touch like his hands were meant to be there. and within seconds, he’s got you pulled over on his lap like it’s deja vu’s business.
With planted hands to his chest, you jut your chin forward to lean in, but he stops you.
“Ah-“ Kyle pets the side of your face and you can’t help but preen under the touch. “Need you to say it.”
The whine you let out is almost embarrassing. A small pout forms at your lips and he’s almost giving in to the very treatment he’s damn near conditioned you to.
But he remembers: he’s good to good princesses. And you haven’t really been on your best behaviour.
“Oh, come on,” he tuts his tongue at you, lips forming a circle as he coos at you. He’s taunting you. “You were so ready t’be good for Simon and Johnny, you don’t wanna be good for me?”
“Yes!” you bleat. Pathetic little thing, just as easy to make fall apart as before.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’ll be good for you,” you could shrink in his arms if he wasn’t holding you still in his lap.
He didn’t even need to hear the last two words, but you throw it in like it’s a ripest cherry of the bunch on top. Too sweet to him, you were. Kyle muffles a grunt at your admission, thumb swiping at your bottom lips once more. He can’t even believe the sounds that are coming from them — these sweet things he used to kiss on saturday nights?
“And?” he knows you might keel over with shyness into his chest. And he’d let you, having already given him what he needed to hear. Kyle just wants to test out his luck.
“I’m yours.” you say it softly. Gently. Like you’re testing out how it sounds, how it feels rolling off your tongue. How it feels being his.
“You’re mine,” he keens back to you immediately, leaning in to press a needy, warm kiss to your lips. You can’t help but clasp his shirt in your fist, the other cupping the side of his neck like you’re afraid he’ll leave you again.
Oh, he’s not leaving you anytime soon princess, not when you’ve just come home to him.
His hands find their place on the meat of your thighs. They’re fuller than they were back then, not that he has any complaints over it. Kyle doesn’t miss the opportunity to refamiliarise himself with your body.
Soft, plush, just as he remembered. Do you still make this noise when he - a feathery touch to the back of your calf - yes, yes you do.
He breathes in every puff of air that you exhale. He’s trying to get your nervous system acclimated with his. Kyle’s hands are at your knees, tugging them apart as much as he can without hurting you.
You’re flush against him and this time, his hands wander just as they do in his mind. One hand smoothes over the thick of your thighs and curls around the back to roughly grip your ass. A light moan twinkles from your lips and he nips at you in response, your pants only growing louder.
When you buck your hips against his, Kyle bites. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to know you’ll probably have some sort bruising. So you do it again. And you have his assistance, hand gripping your ass as he guides you along him.
Fuck, he can barely feel your soaked panties with the tips of his fingers. Teasing him almost. So close but so far away.
He pulls you particularly harsh, misplacing your angle on bis hips and your clit bumps against the cold of his zipper. A loud moan rubbles from your chest and sends waves straight to his cock, already hard and leaking with pre. His movements staggering as he struggles to hold himself together. He’s a soldier, he shouldn’t lose his cool so quickly — but it was you, and you were there before he was a soldier, so you defied all sense of discipline he’d learned.
You’re a mess of a puddle in his arms. Sweating, panting, whimpering with your forehead pressed to his. Your gloss is all over his chin, eyes hooded as his free hand cups the bottom of your jaw to wipe the saliva gathering. You’re drooling…cute. You’re desperately trying so hard to maintain the eye contact the same way his eyes are locked with yours, but your eyes are fluttering.
Finally, you’re soaked through his jeans. It makes it easier to glide your clothed pussy over his cock.
Kyle scrunches the back of your panties up, so the front tightens and a sharp cry releases from your chest. He lets out the filthiest groan when you draw your hips back far enough to brush against the head of his cock and it makes your heat throb, like you have a second heartbeat. Lifting one of your hands to grip the back of the couch, you slightly lift yourself, bouncing with every tug and push.
“Kyle,” your whine is barely audible, the only evidence that you’ve said anything is the way he sees your mouth move. He only hums in response, partially because he’s not sure if he heard right. “Feels good.” you’re a slurring blubbering mess.
That, he hears.
His hips jerk upwards instinctively and you cry out in pleasure at the additional pressure against your clit. You can feel a storm festering at the pit of your stomach, it’s pitiful the way your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate pulsate around him.
“I know princess, it’d be so easy if I could just… slip inside, mmh?” the huskiness of his voice has your hips stuttering but he holds you still, bumping his hips forward while pulling you down. He can feel your panty-clad pussy trying to tap past the barrier of his jeans, wanting to feel more of him.
But he won’t have you like that quite yet, not like this.
“Fuck, Kyle,” the burn in your stomach bubbles, almost boiling over as you lean over and rest your forehead on his shoulder. His face is still nuzzled at your side and you can feel the heat from his heavy breathing against the shell of your ear.
He’s mumbling words of encouragement, trying to egg you on. Kyle wants you- needs you to come. Needs you to be good for him. Needs you to be his.
“Come on princess, I know you can do it. Be good for me, you can do that, can’t you?” rhetorical, but even in your sex-driven haze are you nodding your head at his words, trying your best to listen to his requests.
“I know baby, haah feels so good, doesn’t it? Hm? You’re so good for me.”
A crescendo of pleasure ripple through you as you straighten your back, lifting yourself from his cock. Kyle will not have that. He’s pulling you back down and he can feel the seam of your cunt against him, throbbing, clenching around the phantom cock that you could only wish was inside of you.
He holds you as you cry out, going limp in his arms. The pretty sounds that come out of your mouth with the pressure of you fluttering against his hips in a rapid frenzy has him coming in his jeans with a guttural moan. He can’t even help that his eyes roll back, humming- buzzing as his heart hammers into his chest.
Kyle doesn’t pay any mind to the mess in his lap, doesn’t care. Not in the moment. His arms wrap around your waist, rubbing you back with a sharp pant and a soft giggle pulls him from from his daze.
He's feels full. That the very reason his heart pumps of blood is for his love for you.
Welcome home princess.
