⊹ ࣪ ˖ BIRTHDAY SEX - p.js
ˎˊ˗ pairings: bf!jay x gf!reader
ˎˊ˗ sypnosis: jay (park jongseong) thinks it’s going to be a quiet birthday night — until you surprise him with everything he didn’t know he needed. from a chaotic celebration with friends to a more intimate kind of attention when the night winds down, what starts as a simple plan turns into something far more personal, where every detail, every touch, and every moment is just for him.
warnings & content: smut (18+), established relationship, needy jay, reader is a tease, jay talks you through it ugh, jay is really sweet, "ruin him" type shi, soft but incredibly filthy, use of baby as an endearment, vulgar language, heavy makeout, dry humping, teasing & denial (mutual), dominant & submissive undertones (mutual), oral sex (m. & f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise kink, body worship, slight consensual power play, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, domestic intimacy after sex ➜ mdni ! or do.. it's up to you ♡ enha members are mentioned | purely a work of fiction, nothing here is real
now playing: birthday sex by jeremih | ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |
♪ el’s bubble: advanced happy birthday to my fine ass man park jongseong 😍 don't really know how to feel about this because i've barely ever written smut but #YOLO 🙂↕️ i hope you enjoy this piece ! likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are always open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
The sunset bleeds through the glass in slow, honeyed streaks, turning everything gold like the night already knows it belongs to him.
The elevator hums as it rises, smooth and steady, the kind that makes the city feel distant long before you even reach the top. Warm-toned lights reflect against the mirrored walls, catching on the silk of your dress, on the sharp lines of his suit, on the quiet space between you that feels anything but empty.
You stand beside him in that black slip satin dress, the fabric soft, deliberate, almost unfair in the way it falls against your skin. His blazer rests over your shoulders, heavier than it looks, carrying the faint trace of his cologne. He had not hesitated in the lobby. One look at you, and it was already slipping off him, already draped over you like it belonged there.
His hand settles at your waist, familiar, easy. His thumb moves absentmindedly against your side, a quiet habit, something he does without thinking when he is close enough to touch you.
“You didn’t have to come all the way down,” he says, voice low, calm, like he is speaking just for you despite the empty elevator.
You glance up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “It’s your birthday. I can do the bare minimum and pick up my boyfriend.”
A soft huff leaves him, almost a laugh, though he keeps it contained. His fingers press slightly into your waist before relaxing again, like the reaction slipped out before he could stop it. His gaze lingers on you a second longer than necessary, searching, but you keep your expression light, unreadable.
The doors slide open to the private foyer, all marble floors and muted lighting, polished to the point that it barely feels lived in. He steps out first this time, one hand slipping into his pocket, the other still holding onto you like letting go is not even an option.
You follow, letting him take the lead.
The walk to the door is short, quiet, almost too quiet. The kind that settles into your bones, smooth and familiar, like every other night the two of you have stepped into this space together. Routine in the way his hand fits around yours, routine in the soft echo of your footsteps against marble, routine in the steady rhythm of his breathing just slightly ahead of you.
Like nothing is waiting on the other side.
You key in the code, fingers steady despite the way your chest tightens just a little.
It comes out loud, uneven, completely uncoordinated, voices crashing into each other at different timings, some too early, some too late, some louder than necessary. It echoes against the high ceilings, bouncing off glass and stone, filling every inch of the condominium with something alive, chaotic, and warm.
For a split second, he pauses.
It is subtle, almost unnoticeable, the kind of reaction anyone else would miss. But you feel it instantly. The slight stillness in his hand, the faint tension in his fingers where they hold yours, the way his step halts just a fraction before continuing. Surprise flashes across his face, quick and unguarded, something raw that slips through before he has the chance to mask it.
The living room is already full.
Heeseung is sprawled across the couch as if he owns it, one arm thrown over the backrest, clapping with exaggerated enthusiasm, his grin wide and teasing like he has been waiting all night just to see that exact reaction. Jake stands near the kitchen island, phone already up, recording shamelessly, his laughter spilling out between words as he tries and fails to keep the camera steady.
“Say something, bro,” he calls out, still laughing, clearly enjoying this far too much.
Sunghoon leans against the counter with his arms crossed, posture relaxed, watching everything unfold with a quiet smile, shaking his head like he expected this outcome from the start. Sunoo is practically glowing with excitement, hands clasped together near his chest, bouncing slightly on his feet, eyes flicking between you and Jay like he is waiting for a bigger reaction that never quite comes.
“Take your time, Jay-hyung,” Jungwon calls out, voice cutting cleanly through the noise, playful but knowing, his gaze sharp as it moves between the two of you, lingering just long enough to suggest he has already pieced everything together.
Riki does not even bother hiding it. His grin is immediate, unapologetic. “Hyung, you actually look shocked. That’s insane.”
The room feels alive in a way the condo never does.
Music hums softly somewhere in the background, barely audible beneath the noise. There is the faint smell of food lingering in the air, something warm and savory, mixed with something sweet that sits lighter, like sugar and frosting. A cake rests on the table, slightly off-center, candles already set but unlit, decorations scattered around it in a way that looks rushed but intentional, like everyone had a hand in putting it together.
There are jackets thrown over chairs, half-finished drinks on the counter, small signs of life in a place that is usually too pristine, too untouched.
It is quiet, almost lost under the noise, something that sounds like a breath leaving him slower than it should, like a laugh he chooses not to fully let out.
His hand shifts in yours, fingers threading through properly this time, fitting between yours with more intention, more weight. Grounding. Certain. Like he is anchoring himself, or maybe anchoring you.
When he steps fully inside, he does not let go.
He does not make a scene, does not react the way they probably expected him to. No wide eyes, no exaggerated surprise, no dramatic words.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, gaze sweeping across the room, taking everything in with quiet precision. Every face. Every detail. Every effort.
Subtle. Controlled. Effortless.
“You guys are so, so loud,” he says, tone even, composed, but there is something softer beneath it now, something warmer that lingers in the way his voice drops at the end, something that betrays how much this actually means to him.
A few groans, a few laughs, someone telling him to “react properly,” but he barely acknowledges it.
Because then he looks at you.
It is quick, but it lingers all the same, his eyes settling on you like everything else fades just slightly into the background. There is something different there now. Definitely not surprise. Not entirely.
His thumb brushes slowly against your hand, once, deliberate.
“You planned this?” he asks quietly, voice lowered just enough that it is meant only for you.
But the way he is already looking at you, the faint curve at the corner of his lips, the knowing in his eyes, says he figured it out long before the door even opened.
“Of course I did,” you say, soft but certain, tilting your head just slightly as you look up at him, like there was never a version of tonight where you would not.
The corner of his mouth lifts, something quieter than a full smile, but close enough.
And just like that, the room pulls him in.
It happens extremely fast.
“Okay, but can we eat now or are we waiting for a speech,” Jake says from the island, already halfway through something on a plate he definitely was not supposed to touch yet.
“You started already?” Sunoo gasps, scandalized, eyes widening as he walks closer. “We literally just got here.”
“I was hungry,” Jake shrugs, completely unbothered, taking another bite.
“You’re out of your own mind,” Jungwon mutters, though he is already reaching over to steal something off the same plate.
“Hyung is old now, he needs to eat early,” Riki adds from somewhere behind them, grinning, clearly pleased with himself.
Jay scoffs lightly at that, finally letting out something that resembles a real laugh. “You’re talking like you’re not next.”
“Not yet,” Riki shoots back immediately. “I still have plenty of time.”
“Time for what exactly,” Sunghoon cuts in dryly, barely looking up from where he stands. “You’re already annoying.”
Heeseung hums from the couch, watching the entire thing unfold like it is entertainment made specifically for him. “This is why we should’ve recorded his reaction longer. We missed it.”
“I did record it,” Jake insists, waving his phone slightly. “But he didn’t react properly.”
“Yeah, that was so underwhelming,” Sunoo agrees, pointing at Jay. “Do it again.”
Jay shakes his head, amused now, shoulders loosening as he leans back slightly, finally settling into the space like he belongs in the middle of it.
“You guys are ridiculous.”
“Say thank you first,” Jungwon adds, tone teasing but pointed.
There is a pause, brief but there.
Jay glances around at them, at the mess, at the effort, at the noise that fills the condo in a way it never does.
“…thank you,” he says, quieter this time, but real.
A chorus of exaggerated reactions follows immediately, mocking cheers, someone clapping too loudly, someone else telling him that was “so heartfelt” in the most unserious tone possible.
And just like that, he blends in.
He moves through them easily, slipping into conversations, into the rhythm of their teasing, throwing comments back just as quickly as they come at him. There is a looseness to him now, something more relaxed, more open, his usual composure softening at the edges the longer he stands there with them.
He nudges Jake when he tries to take another bite.
He rolls his eyes at Riki but does not hide the smile this time.
Heeseung throws an arm around his shoulder at some point, and he does not shrug it off.
It is loud. It is messy. It is easy.
Yet — every so often, he looks at you.
Not long enough for anyone else to catch. Just quick glances, subtle, almost instinctive. Across the room, in between conversations, in the middle of laughter.
Like he is checking if you are still there.
Like this, somehow, still leads back to you.
You never really stay in one place.
The noise builds around you, layered and constant, laughter folding into overlapping conversations, someone calling out from the kitchen, someone else arguing from the couch like it actually matters. It fills the condo completely, warm and restless, like the space finally feels lived in.
But you move along the edges of it, quiet, deliberate.
You check the food first.
Lifting lids just enough to let the heat breathe, adjusting plates so they do not look crowded or rushed. Every dish laid out is his favorite, not in a way that is obvious, not labeled or pointed out, but intentional in a way only you would notice. The things he reaches for without thinking. The ones he finishes completely. The ones he mentioned once, casually, as if it did not matter.
You nudge one dish closer to the center so it does not get overlooked. Slide another back before it tips too close to the edge. You swap utensils, wipe down a small spill with the corner of a napkin, straighten something that does not really need straightening.
You move to the drinks next, checking levels, making sure there is enough, that no one is left standing awkwardly with empty hands. You pass one to Sunghoon when he looks around for it, hand another to Heeseung mid-sentence without interrupting him. It is seamless, almost practiced, like you have already done this a hundred times.
You drift in and out of conversations without staying long.
A soft laugh here. A short reply there. A nod when someone pulls you in. You never linger enough to become the center of anything, never take the attention away from where it belongs.
Somewhere between all of that — he starts to notice.
A brief glance when you pass behind him, your hand brushing lightly against the back of a chair. His voice pauses for half a second before picking back up, like it did not happen.
You reach across the table to fix something, the light catching on the satin of your dress, his blazer still resting on your shoulders. His eyes follow the movement without meaning to, lingering just long enough to feel it before he looks away, dragged back into whatever Jake is saying.
You laugh softly at something Jungwon says, quick and easy, and his head turns instinctively, like your voice cuts through everything else without trying.
Quiet. Unnoticed by everyone else, but him.
You bring the cake out last, careful, both hands steady as you carry it to the center of the table. You set it down gently, adjusting it until it sits right. The candles are already placed, the design simple but intentional, nothing flashy, nothing excessive.
His favorite. The one you baked yourself.
Behind it, slightly off to the side, is the other cake, bigger and louder in design, covered in decorations and writing from the boys, colors layered a little messily but full of effort, the kind that makes the room feel even more crowded in the best way possible.
You smooth your hands over the table out of habit, then straighten, brushing your palms against your dress.
That is when you feel it.
Not fleeting. Not distracted. Steady.
When you look up, he is already watching you. Across the room, with everything still happening around him. Riki laughing too loud at something Jake said, Sunghoon telling him to shut up, Jake still holding his phone up like it is part of his arm, Sunoo carefully fixing the position of the decorations on their cake like it matters more than it does.
None of it reaches him. Not right now.
His attention is not entirely on them, but it is on you.
The way he looks at you has shifted.
No teasing. No half-smile meant for the room. No shared joke thrown back at his friends.
Just something quieter. Softer.
His eyes move over you slowly, like he is noticing everything at once. The blazer resting on your shoulders. The faint disarray in your hair from moving around the kitchen. The way your expression is still focused, still checking, still making sure everything is right.
Something shifts in his face.
The room stays loud, full of movement and sound, but this moment pulls inward, like everything else has been pushed slightly out of focus.
He does not say anything.
The room falls back into its rhythm after that moment, noise spilling over again, laughter returning in waves, the two cakes already becoming a topic of debate between Jake and Sunoo.
You drift back toward the kitchen without thinking too much about it.
Just checking things again.
Straightening what has already been straightened.
Making sure nothing is running low, nothing is forgotten.
That is when you feel him behind you.
Not sudden. Not startling.
Just close enough that the air shifts.
“You did all this?” Jay’s voice is low, right near your ear, calm but softer than before.
You glance over your shoulder slightly, already holding back a smile. “No, I hired a lot of professionals.”
A quiet exhale of amusement leaves him.
He steps in beside you anyway, naturally taking the knife from the counter before you can reach for it again. He does not make a big deal out of it, just starts helping, cutting neatly, passing pieces onto plates like he has done it before.
You watch him for a second. “Careful. That one’s yours.”
He looks at you briefly. “I figured.”
There is no pause in the way he moves, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
The two of you work like that for a moment, simple, unspoken, shared in small movements rather than words.
Then he sets the knife down and tilts his head toward the quieter corner of the kitchen.
“Come here,” he says, still low.
You follow him without question.
Just far enough away from the noise that it softens at the edges.
He leans back against the counter, arms loosely crossed now, watching you for a second before speaking again.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says.
Not heavy. Not serious in a way that breaks the mood.
You raise a brow slightly, playful. “So I should’ve let Jake order a cake with your name spelled wrong?”
A quiet laugh slips out of him immediately, unguarded.
“No,” he says, shaking his head once. “That one was necessary.”
His gaze settles on you again, softer but still amused.
“But this?” he adds, quieter this time, nodding faintly toward everything you handled. “You didn’t have to.”
You shrug lightly, like it is nothing. “I wanted to.”
Enough for him to pause for a second before he looks away, exhaling through his nose like he is trying not to smile too much.
“Yeah,” he says finally, voice low again. “I can tell.”
The night does not end all at once.
Somewhere between laughter turning softer and conversations stretching longer than they need to, the energy starts to loosen at the edges. Plates are emptier now, glasses half-finished, the two cakes already cut into and shared, both versions of the celebration slowly blending into one warm, messy memory.
Jake is the first to lean back on the couch with a satisfied sigh, phone still in his hand but attention fading. “Okay, I’m full. I’m not moving for the next hour.”
Sunoo is still talking about how the decorations “looked better in person than in photos,” while Sunghoon quietly clears a few empty plates without being asked, acting like it is not a habit. Jungwon scrolls through his phone, laughing under his breath at something Riki says, while Riki himself is still speaking like his energy has no limit.
Heeseung checks the time.
“Okay,” he says, voice easy but final in a way that shifts the room. “We should probably start heading out.”
Not suddenly, but gently.
Phones get picked up again. Chairs scrape softly. Jackets are gathered. The condo, once overflowing with noise and movement, begins to quiet in layers.
Jay moves with them naturally, not rushing anything, not holding them back, just fitting into the flow of it ending. He thanks them when they tease him again, shakes his head when Riki tries to stretch the moment out longer, listens while Sunoo insists on taking “one last photo.”
The door opens, closes, opens again.
A last round of teasing from Jake at the threshold. Sunghoon’s casual “text when you’re free.” Jungwon’s small wave. Sunoo lingering just a second too long before finally stepping out. Riki calling something from the hallway until Heeseung drags him away with a laugh.
Then the door shuts fully.
Silence does not arrive immediately.
It settles in gradually, like the space is remembering itself again. Dimmer now. Quieter. Evidence of the night still scattered everywhere, empty plates on the counter, traces of cake on the table, chairs slightly out of place, the warmth of people still lingering in the air.
The energy has shifted, not gone, just softened into something smaller, something that finally does not need to be shared with anyone else.
The condo feels quieter now, but not empty.
Jay is near the kitchen island when you step out.
His shirt sleeves are slightly rolled now, posture looser than earlier, like the night has finally stopped asking anything of him. He is holding nothing, just standing there in that calm aftermath, gaze unfocused for a second until it finds you.
You had taken off his blazer a long time ago.
A black slip satin dress clings softly to your frame, catching the low amber lighting of the condo every time you move, the fabric reflecting in quiet, fluid highlights. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your face in a way that feels unplanned but soft. Your makeup is still intact, carefully done but slightly lived in now, your dewy lips catching the light whenever you speak or breathe.
Not large, but held carefully.
Jay’s gaze drops to it first, then back to you, slower this time.
“Baby, what’s that?” he asks, voice lower, calmer, but clearly more attentive now.
You stop a few steps away from him, adjusting your grip on the box slightly before looking up at him properly.
“It’s not from them,” you say first, glancing briefly toward the living room behind him, where the aftermath of the party still lingers in small, scattered traces. Then you look back at him. “It’s from me.”
His brows lift just slightly.
You take a breath, like you are deciding how to say it, then your expression softens into something more certain.
“It’s your personal gift box,” you continue. “They’re just stuff I picked out, things I thought you’d like, or things you probably forgot you even wanted.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he can stop it.
“You made a whole box?” he asks, like he is testing the words, like he is trying to understand the scale of it.
Then you step a little closer, careful, like you are still holding something fragile even though it is just a box.
“I didn’t want to just give it to you and leave it there,” you add, softer now. “So I thought… we open it together.”
That makes him pause again.
His eyes flicker over your face, slower this time. Not just the box anymore. Not just the room. You.
“You want to open it together,” he repeats, quieter, like he is making sure he heard you right.
You shrug lightly, but there is something shy in it now, something honest you are not fully hiding anymore.
“It’s your birthday, baby,” you say simply. “I… I want to see your reaction.”
A small exhale leaves him, almost a laugh, but it does not fully become one. Instead, he steps forward, closing the space between you just enough that the box is now between both of you.
His hand comes up slowly, not taking it, just resting lightly under it to help support the weight.
“Okay,” he says, easy, but there is something softer under it now. “Open it with me then.”
His eyes lift to yours again, steady.
“But if you put something embarrassing in here, I’m blaming you in front of everyone tomorrow.”
A faint smile tugs at your lips, soft and knowing, but you do not answer him right away.
Instead, a quiet giggle slips out, barely contained, like you are trying not to give him the satisfaction of a response too quickly. Your eyes flick up to his for a second, dewy lips curving just slightly as you tighten your hold on the box between you both.
The smallest shift in his expression, the way his gaze narrows just a little, like he is already suspicious of you.
“You’re not even denying it,” he says, voice lower now, almost amused.
You just shake your head lightly, still smiling, still not saying anything, like words would ruin whatever you are enjoying about this moment.
“Yep,” he continues, tilting his head slightly, “that’s really concerning.”
You finally step closer, enough that the box is fully between your chests now, your fingers brushing his for a second as you adjust your grip. The contact is brief, but it lingers in the air longer than it should.
“Open it,” you say quietly.
He studies you for a second longer, like he is trying to figure out exactly what you are hiding behind that smile.
Then, slowly, he lifts the lid.
The box is carefully arranged.
Not messy. Not rushed. Intentional.
The first thing he sees is perfume, sleek and expensive, something subtle but distinctly him, the kind of scent that lingers without announcing itself. His fingers hover over it for a second before he glances at you.
You only smile a little more.
Classic, refined, the kind he would wear without thinking, but would still catch light every time he moved his hand. Placed neatly in its case, positioned like you had turned it over in your hands more than once before deciding it was the one.
His hand pauses slightly at that, fingertips resting near the edge of the box.
Then he exhales quietly, almost under his breath.
“Wow, you really went all out,” he says.
His voice is quieter now, less teasing, more thoughtful as his fingers hover over the edge of the box, taking in everything piece by piece.
The way everything is arranged like you actually thought about where his eyes would land first.
Then he shifts something gently aside.
Both were placed with the same careful intention as everything else, like each item was chosen in a different moment, but all leading back to him.
His fingers pause for a second longer than the others.
A price tag hangs slightly awkwardly between the rest of the items, half-hidden, like it does not belong there at all.
“Why is this still here?” he asks, quieter now, brows faintly knit.
You blink once, then glance down at the box like you are just noticing it.
“Oh,” you say lightly, almost too casual. “That must’ve slipped in while I was arranging everything.”
His eyes narrow a fraction.
“That does not just slip in,” he says.
You shrug, entirely unbothered, lips curving like you are trying not to laugh.
“Well,” you add, tilting your head, “why don’t you check it properly then?”
Like he already suspects he should not, but you are looking at him like it is the most normal request in the world.
Finally, he exhales softly through his nose and reaches in anyway.
He pulls the tag out, glances at it once, and goes completely still.
The reaction is instant, subtle, but sharp. His hand stops mid-motion, fingers tightening slightly around the tag before he quickly lowers it again, like it suddenly weighs more than it should.
A breath catches quietly in his throat.
His fingers linger on it for a second too long.
The room feels quieter again, like everything else has slipped further away the moment he actually reads it properly.
“…you’re kidding,” he says under his breath, almost disbelieving, eyes flicking up to you immediately.
You don’t answer right away.
Instead, you shift slightly closer.
He’s still standing, still holding the item, still caught in that pause between understanding and reaction.
So you bend down just a little, bringing yourself closer to his eye level, where he’s looking into the box. The movement is slow, unhurried, deliberate in a way that makes his attention snap back to you instantly.
“Why would I be kidding?” you ask softly.
Your voice is quieter now, no longer competing with anything in the room.
His gaze lifts properly now, and it doesn’t leave your face. Not even when you straighten halfway again, still close enough that the space between you feels noticeably smaller than before.
There’s a subtle shift in his expression. It’s as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re being serious or just enjoying watching him react.
You tilt your head slightly, lips curving faintly.
“I told you,” you add, gentler now, almost teasing again, “it’s a personal box.”
His grip on the box loosens just slightly.
“Personal,” he repeats, slower this time.
You hum softly in confirmation.
“If you want to take a little peek, I'm wearing the lingerie right now."
The words slip from your lips like a secret invitation, laced with just enough huskiness to make the air between you thicken.
Jay's eyes widen a fraction, his breath catching audibly as the implication sinks in.
You watch the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow, the item in his hand forgotten for a split second before he carefully lowers the box back onto the nearby island. His fingers tremble slightly, betraying the storm building inside him.
"Seriously, baby," he mutters, voice rough and low, like gravel underfoot. "You're gonna drive me crazy."
Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist.
The grip is warm, insistent, sending a jolt of heat straight up your arm and pooling low in your stomach.
He tugs you forward, leading you out of the cluttered space and into the living area, where the soft glow of a lamp casts long shadows over the couch. The room feels intimate, enclosed, like it's holding its breath along with you.
Jay sinks onto the couch first, his body sprawling back against the cushions with a controlled urgency that makes your pulse quicken. He pulls you down onto his lap in one fluid motion, your thighs straddling his as you settle against him. His forehead brushes yours for a second, breath warm, like he needs to steady himself before anything else.
The hard line of his erection presses up through his pants, unmistakable and throbbing against the thin fabric of your dress, right where your core aches in response. You shift slightly, grinding just enough to feel him twitch beneath you, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
"God, you're already so hard for me," you murmur against his ear, your breath hot on his skin.
His hands move to the hem of your dress, calloused palms sliding up your thighs, bunching the material higher with deliberate slowness.
The anticipation builds like a slow burn, your skin prickling under his touch as he savors every inch revealed.
He peels the fabric upward, inch by inch, exposing the lace edges of your lingerie — the delicate black straps hugging your hips, the sheer panels teasing the curves of your breasts and the soft mound between your legs.
"Fuck, baby, look at you," Jay rasps, his voice thick with hunger as he pauses to trace a finger along the lace trim. "You're so sexy like this."
The dress whispers over your head and away, leaving you bare save for the intimate pieces that cling to your body like a second skin. Jay's gaze devours you, dark and hungry, raking from the swell of your cleavage down to where the lace dips low over your ass. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs tracing the edges of the fabric, dipping just under to brush your bare skin.
"You're so hot," he breathes, the words punched out like he's been holding them back too long. His voice is wrecked, laced with raw need, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine.
You lean in, your hands framing his face, fingers threading into his hair as your lips crash against his. The kiss starts fierce, mouths fusing in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, his stubble scraping deliciously against your chin. He tastes like mint and faint whiskey, his tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch as you suck on it lightly, drawing a muffled curse from him.
Your bodies press closer, your breasts flattening against his chest through the thin lace, nipples hardening into tight peaks that rub against him with every shift.
Jay's hands roam upward, one cupping the back of your neck to angle you deeper into the kiss, the other sliding down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling you harder against his bulge.
"Keep moving like that," he growls into your mouth, breaking just enough to speak before capturing your lips again. "You feel so good, baby."
You rock your hips instinctively, feeling the rigid length of his cock strain against you, the friction sparking heat that makes your pussy clench with want. His grip tightens just slightly, not to stop you — just to keep you there, like he doesn’t want you slipping away.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to nip at your lower lip, then dives back in, devouring you like he can't get enough, breath mingling in hot pants as the world narrows to the slide of lips, the grind of bodies, and the promise of more to come.
You pull back slightly, your lips hovering over his, a teasing smile curving your mouth as you feel the insistent throb of his cock against your soaked panties.
"Aw, you're that horny already? That needy?" you whisper, your voice laced with playful mockery, your fingers trailing down his chest to toy with the buttons of his shirt.
His eyes flicker over your face for a second longer than needed, like he’s trying to read you, not just respond.
Then, his eyes flash with a mix of frustration and desire, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you in place. "Well, you started it," he shoots back, his tone rough but edged with amusement. "You already knew what you were doing when you decided to wear that dress for tonight. Teasing me all evening like that — bending over, brushing against me. Don't act so surprised now."
You laugh softly, the sound breathy as you roll your hips again, deliberately dragging your lace-covered cunt along the length of his bulge. The friction sends a jolt through you, your clit pulsing with need, but you keep your movements slow, torturous. "Me? Teasing? I was just being myself," you say innocently, leaning down to nip at his jawline, your teeth grazing the rough stubble there.
His breath hitches, and he bucks up slightly, seeking more pressure, but you lift yourself just enough to deny him.
"Bullshit," he mutters, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, tugging lightly to tilt your head back. His lips find your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin. “Still with me, though, right?” he murmurs against your skin, quieter than the rest of him. "That dress hugged every curve, and you knew I'd be staring. Knew I'd want to rip it off you the second we were alone."
You shiver at the pull on your hair, the sting mixing with pleasure as his mouth works over your neck. Your hands push at his shoulders, not to stop him but to create space, your body arching into the sensation.
"Maybe I did," you admit, your voice dropping to a sultry purr. "But can you blame me? Look at you — all tense and worked up. It's fun watching you try to hold back."
Jay growls low in his throat, flipping the script by thrusting his hips up sharply, grinding his cock against your core with enough force to make you gasp. The lace of your panties is drenched now, clinging to your folds, and the ridge of him presses right against your entrance through the barriers.
"Hold back? Baby, I'm about two seconds from bending you over this couch and fucking you senseless," he warns, his free hand slipping between your thighs to cup your folds over the fabric, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit.
The touch makes your thighs tremble, heat flooding your veins as you bite your lip to stifle a moan. But you don't give in yet — instead, you capture his wrist, guiding his hand away with a wicked grin. "Not so fast," you tease, shifting to grind down harder, feeling his cock jump in response. "I like seeing you squirm. Bet you're leaking already, aren't you? Soaking through those pants for me."
He curses under his breath, his grip on your hair loosening as he drops his head back against the couch, eyes locked on yours with burning intensity.
"You're killing me," he says, but there's a smirk tugging at his lips. His hand softens where it rests on you, like he’s not entirely complaining. His other hand traces the edge of your bra, dipping under to thumb your nipple, rolling the hard bud until you arch into him. "But two can play this game. Keep grinding on me like that, and I'll make you come without even touching that pretty pussy of yours."
You whimper at the promise in his words, the idea sending a fresh wave of arousal through you, but you hold out, rocking your hips in a deliberate rhythm that has him groaning with every pass.
Your breasts bounce slightly with the motion, the lace scraping against your sensitive skin, and you lean forward to press them against his chest again, letting him feel how your nipples drag over his shirt.
"Admit it," you challenge, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "you love when I take control like this. Love feeling me tease your cock until you're begging."
Jay's response is to surge up, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue thrusting deep as his hands clamp down on your ass, guiding your movements faster.
The kiss is all teeth and desperation, saliva mixing as you both pant into each other's mouths.
He breaks away first, nipping at your earlobe. "Begging? Never," he lies, his voice strained. "But keep this up, and I'll flip you over and eat that little cunt of yours until you're the one screaming my name."
Your pussy clenches emptily, aching to be filled, but the teasing has you hooked now. You slow your hips to a torturous grind, circling just the tip of his cock with your clit through the fabric.
"Promises, promises," you taunt, trailing kisses down his neck, sucking marks into his skin to match the one on yours.
He retaliates by pinching your nipple sharply, the jolt of pain-pleasure making you cry out softly. His fingers delve lower, slipping under the lace to trace your slick entrance, dipping just the tip inside before pulling away.
"Feel that? You're dripping for me," he murmurs, bringing his fingers to his lips to suck them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "You taste just as good as I remember, baby. Bet your mouth on my cock would feel even better."
Your breath catches at the suggestion, heat pooling low in your belly, but you shake your head with a sly smile. "Not yet," you say, resuming your grind, faster now, chasing your own building pleasure while denying him release. His cock throbs insistently, the wet spot on his pants growing, and you can feel every vein pulse against you.
Minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity of this back-and-forth — your bodies slick with sweat, breaths ragged, the air thick with the scent of arousal. Jay's hands explore every inch they can reach: kneading your breasts, slapping your ass lightly to make you jolt, fingers circling your clit until you're trembling on the edge, only to stop and make you whine in frustration.
"Please," he finally mutters, the word slipping out unbidden as you hover over him, your folds spreading around the shape of his cock through the clothes. His voice drops quieter than before, like it slipped out without him meaning to. His control is fraying, hips jerking up desperately.
You smile triumphantly, but the need in his voice mirrors your own. The teasing has pushed you both to the brink, your body humming with unspent energy. Slowly, deliberately, you slide off his lap, his hand lingers at your waist for a second before letting go, your knees hitting the soft carpet between his legs as you kneel before him.
Jay watches you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving as you reach for his belt, unbuckling it with steady hands despite the tremble in your fingers. The zipper rasps down, and you tug his pants open, freeing his cock. It springs out, thick and veined, the head flushed dark red and glistening with pre-cum that beads at the slit.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, his hand coming to rest on your head, fingers threading through your hair without pushing — yet.
You wrap your hand around the base, stroking firmly as you lean in, your tongue flicking out to lap at the tip, tasting the salty essence. He groans deeply, his thighs tensing under your touch. You swirl your tongue around the head, tracing the ridge before taking him into your mouth, lips stretching around his girth as you suck gently.
The flavor of him fills your senses, musky and addictive, as you bob your head, taking him deeper with each pass. Your free hand cups his balls, rolling them lightly, feeling them draw up tight. Jay's hips twitch, but he holds still, letting you set the pace, his curses spilling out in a litany of praise.
"That's it, suck my cock just like that. You’re doing so good," he rasps, his voice breaking as you hollow your cheeks and hum around him, the vibration making him shudder. His voice softens at the edges, it’s as if he’s more focused on you than anything else. You pull back to lick along the underside, from base to tip, before plunging down again, your throat relaxing to take more of him.
Saliva drips down your chin, mixing with his pre-cum, as you work him with relentless enthusiasm — sucking, licking, and stroking. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding you subtly now, fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts that have you moaning around his length.
Your pussy throbs neglected between your legs, arousal trickling down your thighs, but the power of having him like this, unraveled and vocal, fuels you. You speed up, tongue pressing flat against the vein on the underside, until his breaths come in sharp gasps, his body coiling tight.
Jay's hand fists in your hair, not forcing but anchoring himself as his hips buck shallowly into your mouth.
"Mmgh, baby, fuck, just like that," he moans, the sound raw and broken, vibrating through his chest. His cock pulses on your tongue, swelling thicker as you take him deep, your lips sealed around the base, throat working to swallow him down.
You hum around him, the vibration drawing out another guttural groan."Oh shit, yes, suck it harder," his thighs quivering under your palms. Saliva slicks your chin, dripping onto his balls as you bob faster, one hand twisting at the root while the other massages the heavy sac, feeling it tighten further.
His moans escalate, a string of desperate sounds spilling from his lips: "Fuck, your mouth... so good, baby, don't stop." His abs clench, the muscles rippling under his half-unbuttoned shirt, and you glance up to see his head thrown back, neck corded, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.
The first hot spurt hits the back of your throat without warning, his cock jerking as he comes with a strangled cry. Flooding your mouth with thick ropes of come. You swallow greedily, milking him through it, your tongue lapping at the underside to prolong the waves until he's spent, shuddering and panting above you.
Jay slumps back against the couch, chest heaving, but his eyes snap open to lock on yours, dark with lingering hunger. His hand finds your face for a second, thumb brushing your cheek in an attempt to ground himself again. He tugs you up gently by the arms, pulling you into his lap again, his softening cock smearing sticky remnants against your thigh. He holds you there a second longer than necessary before moving, he doesn’t want to break the moment just yet.
"That was... fuck, you're incredible," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before crashing his mouth against yours in a deep, claiming kiss.
His tongue sweeps in, tasting himself on you, the kiss turning sloppy and fervent as his hands roam your back, fingers digging into your skin. You melt into it, your own arousal spiking anew from the intimacy, your soaked panties chafing against your swollen folds.
Without breaking the kiss, Jay stands abruptly, scooping you up in his arms with effortless strength. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, his hands cupping your ass to hold you steady as he carries you toward the bedroom. His grip adjusts slightly, more careful now, treating you like you’re something fragile he doesn’t want to mishandle.
The living room fades behind you, the air shifting to the warmer, softer glow of the muted lights spilling from the doorway.
He kicks the door open lightly, stepping inside where the bed waits with its crisp, clean sheets turned down invitingly, the room bathed in a golden haze from the bedside lamps. The scent of fresh laundry and faint vanilla lingers, a contrast to the musky heat between you.
Jay lowers you onto the edge of the mattress, following you down to kneel between your spread thighs, his body crowding yours. The kiss deepens, slower now, his lips moving with deliberate tenderness — sucking on your bottom lip, tongue tracing the seam before plunging in again. You taste the salt of his release mixed with his natural flavor, and it makes your core clench emptily.
Your fingers find the knot of his neck tie, tugging at it experimentally, feeling the silk slide under your touch. He hums approval into your mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough for you to loosen it fully, pulling the fabric free and tossing it aside. The simple act feels charged, another layer stripped away, leaving him more exposed.
You slow things further, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one with unhurried care. His skin warms your palms as you push the fabric apart, revealing the broad planes of his chest. You trace the lines of his muscles, feeling him shiver under your exploration, his nipples pebbling as your thumbs brush over them.
"Take your time, baby," he whispers, his breath fanning your face, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you. His eyes don’t leave yours, patient in a way that doesn’t match how rushed he was earlier. His own hands mirror yours, sliding up your sides to the clasp of your bra at the back. With a deft flick, he unhooks it, the lace loosening immediately. He peels the straps down your shoulders, drawing the cups away to bare your breasts fully.
The cool air of the room pebbles your nipples instantly, but Jay's gaze heats them, his stare lingering on the full swells and the tight buds begging for attention.
"So beautiful," he breathes, cupping one in his palm, thumb circling the peak before leaning in to take it into his mouth.
You arch into the wet suction, a soft moan escaping as his tongue flicks and laps, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks straight to your folds. His free hand hooks into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your hips with insistent pulls. You lift your body to help, and he slides them off your legs, the damp fabric whispering against your skin before he flings them across the room, forgotten.
Now fully exposed, your thighs part wider, inviting him closer. Jay's mouth switches to your other breast, sucking harder while his hand kneads the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations build a slow fire in your belly, your hips rocking up to seek friction against his still-clothed form.
He pulls back slightly, lips shiny and swollen, a string of saliva connecting him to your skin.
"I want to taste you next, baby," he says, voice low and promising, but he doesn't move. He pauses for just a second, like he’s making sure you want this too. Then, he captures your mouth again, the kiss languid and exploratory, tongues sliding together as your hands continue undressing him, shoving his shirt off his shoulders to pool on the floor.
You whisper it against his ear, voice rough and quiet, “Please, I miss you so much already, baby.”
That pretty much does it for him.
Slowly, carefully, Jay lowers himself between you, his movements unhurried, deliberate, like he’s giving you time to feel every second of it.
He blew hot air across your folds as one finger slid across your clit once more, resulting to you fisting at his hair. He groaned at your harsh touch.
“Baby,” you gritted through clenched teeth as another set of knuckles brushed against your throbbing lips. “Don’t tease me like that. Please.”
Through tousled, messy hair, he glanced up at you with a knowing grin spreading across his lips. He knew you were at his mercy.
“Oh?” he hummed, “Weren’t we like this earlier? Except that the roles were reversed? I’m just simply giving you a taste of your own medicine.” He pressed a gentle kiss over your concealed clit. “Toying with me until I beg for your touch. It would seem a bit unfair if I just let you off the hook easily, no?”
You moaned as his mouth sucked on your inner thigh. He licked his way up to your burning core. His hollow breath fanned your lips. He lifted his gaze from your core, mouth an inch away from your heating centre. Suddenly, without warning, he dragged a long, frustrating lick across your pussy, hitting each nerve you possess. You cried out as a wave of desire flooded your system.
Jay’s tongue licked at your folds, tasting the wetness between them as he grunted against you, the tip of his nose rubbing your clit. You threw your head back as a string of breathy moans bubbled from your throat. His grasp around your thighs grew firmer by the second.
His tongue stroked gentle licks against your pussy, rubbing and nibbling as your head began to spin in circles. Using two fingers to part your lips, he planted wet, hungry kisses along your centre before he went to suck on your folds, driving your knees together. With his free hand, he gently guided your arms back into place, silently asking you to relax against him. You followed, settling your weight across his back.
He moved over you with a hunger that felt almost desperate, as though you were the only thing he needed in that moment, taking in every sound you made. Jay moaned against your skin as he felt you shiver beneath him.
“God,” you gasped, “More, baby. I need more.”
Jay exhaled sharply, a low grunt slipping out at your pleas. He circled your clit as he slowly drove a finger into your hole, your wet walls aching for his touch. His movements grew slower at first, measured and steady, before gradually becoming more intense, his control slipping as he stayed focused on you, flicking the spot that made you see the whole solar system.
You instinctively tightened your legs around him, your body lifting slightly to meet his closeness. Sweat enveloping your hairline as you watched the man of your dreams devour your cunt, longing to make you come for him.
He moved between you with deliberate focus, building the tension until your breath caught sharply at the sudden shift in pressure. When he looked up at you, his expression was dark with intent, like he was watching every reaction you gave him, pulling you closer to the edge without letting you fall.
“Baby,” you cried out. You could tell immediately he reacted at the name, the change in his composure subtle but unmistakable as he kept his attention on you, not breaking away for even a second.
He groaned against you. The sound sent a vibration straight through your core. His mouth sealed around you tighter, his tongue flicking in fast, perfect pulses that made your legs lock and shake. He pressed one hand down over your stomach now, holding you in place as your whole body started to quake beneath him.
You were so close already.
“Go ahead,” Jay urged you, his voice was soft but dangerous, matching the way he kept you completely overwhelmed, “come all over my mouth, baby.” His voice softens on the last word, as if it’s meant only for you.
His voice and the sudden shift in his movements unraveled you all at once, pulling a sharp breath from your lips as the tension finally broke.
Your body went taut for a moment before giving in completely, trembling as the sensation washed over you in heavy waves that left you breathless and disoriented. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, steady, like he’s holding you through it, not just watching. Your fingers tightened instinctively, grounding yourself in him as everything blurred at the edges.
He didn’t move away. Just stayed close, steady, letting you fall through it while his presence held you there, calm against your unraveling.Like leaving you would break something he wasn’t even partially ready to lose yet.
When it finally started to ease, your breathing came uneven, your body still sensitive, still catching up to what just happened. He exhaled softly above you, eyes fixed on you like he was making sure you were okay before anything else.
The moment didn’t rush to end. It just lingered, quieter now, heavier in a way that felt almost more intimate than before.
He lingers there, not pulling away just yet, his hand resting lightly as his breathing slows.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, eyes still on you, as if checking every detail of your expression.
You nod slightly, catching your breath. “Yup, I’m okay.”
For a moment, his expression is all warmth as he studies your face, something almost like love lingering there. Then it shifts, subtle but undeniable, his focus deepening again as the quiet between you tightens.
One hand slid up over your side, pausing to trace the line of your ribs. The other came to rest just beneath your breast, his thumb grazing the curve like he was reacquainting himself with every part of you.
“You’re beautiful, I hope you know that,” he murmured, eyes drinking you in like he could never get enough. “Always, but like this…”
His voice trailed off, replaced by a soft kiss — just above your breast. Then lower.
A moan spilled out of you. You gripped at his hair, threading your fingers through the dark strands and tugging instinctively.
“I missed the way you taste, baby,” he murmured against you. “All of you. Every sound. Every reaction.”
You couldn’t speak, still trying to steady your breathing as he drew you back in, his attention relentless in a way that made your body react all over again. Still sensitive from before, you already felt yourself slipping back into him.
Jay lifted his head, just slightly, to meet your eyes.
“You still want me?” he asked.
You nodded, immediately, breath shaky. “I want you so, so bad, baby.”
He kissed your lips, slow, dragging, passionate. Tongues tangling. Teeth clashing. He kissed you like he was addicted to the taste of you, like his world started and ended in your mouth.
He shifted between your legs, his body solid and hot over yours. You parted for him easily, welcoming and aching, and he took his time guiding his cock between your folds, dragging the flushed head through your slick heat. Not pressing in yet. Just teasing. Just letting you feel him.
You whimpered, breath catching. “Please, baby…”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours.
“You’re still so wet,” he whispered. “Still open for me.”
You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as his cock stretched you open again, inch by inch. The stretch burned beautifully, deliciously, making your breath stutter and your nails press crescents into his skin. He moaned softly at the feel of you, tight and warm and twitching around him, and he paused, deep inside, to kiss you again.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, your neck. “I’ll take care of you.”
Each thrust was slow and deep, not rushed. He pulled out just enough to make you feel it, then slid back in, hips settling snug against yours. His cock dragged along your sensitive walls in just the right way — like he knew every inch of you by memory.
You clung to him, barely able to breathe.
Your body was still reeling, still tender, and every grind of his hips made your eyes roll back. You wrapped your legs around him, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
His hands never stopped touching you, sliding along your hips, your waist, your thighs, tracing lines of heat into your skin. His mouth, gosh, his mouth, kept pressing kisses against your temple, your shoulder, murmuring your name like a vow.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispered. “You always do.”
He thrust in again, slower this time, letting you feel every second of it.
It was unbearable. Perfect.
“I’m not going to stop,” he said, lips brushing your ear. “Not until you come on me. Not until you lose it again.”
Your moan was shattered, desperate, your body already tightening again, but still holding on.
You didn’t realize how tightly your legs were wrapped around him until he pulled back slightly, just enough to reposition. Just enough to press his hands beside your head and look down at you like you were the only thing left in the world.
His hair was damp, falling over his forehead in soft strands. His chest heaved above you, the muscles in his arms flexing with every movement. You could feel the pulse of him deep inside you, slow and steady as he held himself still for a moment. The warmth of him was overwhelming, your body still trembling from that drawn-out, ruined climax. Your skin is slick with sweat, every inch of you sensitive and straining.
You were breathless, your mouth parted, moaning softly without meaning to. One of your arms draped over his back, the other still tangled in his hair, not wanting him to move, not wanting him to stop.
He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours.
“I like this,” he whispered. “Like being on top like this.”
His hips rolled into you again, slow and deep, dragging a moan from both your lips. You felt everything. The stretch, the way his cock filled you so fully it bordered on too much, how your still-sensitive walls fluttered and clenched around him without permission.
Jay kissed you once, just the corner of your mouth. “I like seeing your face when I’m inside you. Like this. How pretty you look, falling apart for me. I always want to fuck missionary because of how beautiful your face is.”
“Jay,” you whimpered, the sound raw.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know, baby.”
His next thrust was deeper. Then deeper still. Not fast. Not yet. Just long, dragging movements that made your legs shake and your hands clutch at his back.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, voice nearly gone. “So wet. Still twitching around me. God, baby, fuck.”
He pushed in again, and your nails raked down his spine. You couldn’t help the whine that broke from your lips — your body already climbing again, tighter this time. Hotter. Sharper. Like your core knew it was allowed now and refused to be patient.
Jay groaned, low in his throat, his hips jerking once in response.
“Already?” he teased, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re getting close again, aren’t you?”
You nodded, eyes glassy. “Yes, please.”
He caught your wrists and pressed them gently above your head, holding them in place with just one hand. His fingers wrapped around both your wrists, steady and warm, and the strength in his grip made your breath stutter.
“Stay,” he whispered. “Just let me take care of you.”
You gasped when he thrust again, this time harder, rougher, his pace shifting, faster now, driven by something deeper. The bed creaked beneath you with each motion, and the wet slap of skin against skin filled the room.
“Ah — fuck,” you cried, legs locking tighter around his waist.
He growled softly in your ear, teeth grazing your cheek. “God, baby, you sound so good. That voice, those little cries, I could lose my mind.”
You couldn’t look away from him. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and blown wide with heat, and even as his hips snapped into you with new intensity, there was nothing cruel in the way he moved.
“I love this,” he said again, panting. “Watching you, feeling you. You’re so fucking tight, baby, I can feel everything.”
You moaned his name, over and over, as your body began to fall apart beneath him. Your legs trembled, your stomach coiled tight. You were so close. It was so much. It was him.
He kissed you through it, kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without your lips. Tongue against tongue, teeth grazing swollen skin, his other hand cradling your cheek even as your bodies slammed together over and over again.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until he kissed the tear off your cheek.
“Baby,” he gasped, “you’re gonna come again, aren’t you? You feel so close, your body’s shaking.”
“Please,” you whispered, broken. “Please, I need… need to—”
“I know,” he breathed. “I’ve got you. Let go. Come for me.”
Your orgasm hit with a force, nearly knocking the breath out of you, and he followed right after, warmth spilling deep inside you, a low groan breaking from him as he held you through it. It tore through you like a wave breaking over open flame — violent, desperate, beautiful. Your back arched, thighs trembling, and your body seized around him as stars burst behind your eyes.
“Fuck—” Jay groaned, voice wrecked. “That’s it. That’s it, baby. Let it out.”
You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
He whispered something, could’ve been your name, maybe, or just “I love you” over and over, kissing your face as your body shook with the aftershocks.
His hips kept moving, slower now, but steady, fucking you gently through the overstimulation, coaxing the last tremors from your core. You whimpered, clung to him, tears slipping freely down your cheeks as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you again.
He loosened his grip on your wrists and lowered his body fully onto yours, pressing warm kisses into your temple, your cheek, your jaw.
“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me.”
You nodded into his shoulder, chest heaving, soft sounds of aftershock whimpers still falling from your lips.
The tension slowly ebbs away, leaving only the quiet hum of the room between you.
He shifts first, easing the moment into something gentler, then settles beside you on the bed instead of over you. The mattress dips under his weight as he exhales, grounding himself beside you like he’s making sure you’re still there, still okay.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
His hand finds yours naturally, fingers threading in with an ease that feels familiar now, like it was always meant to be that way.
Then he exhales, a low, almost disbelieving sound, and lets his head tilt slightly toward you.
A faint, tired smile pulls at his mouth.
“You’re…” he starts, then stops, like the words don’t quite come out the way he intends.
His thumb rubs once over your knuckles, slower now.
“God,” he murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. “You’re really something.”
That makes the air between you soften even more.
He shifts closer, just enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and for a second he just looks at you — not like he’s trying to tease you anymore, not like earlier at all.
Then, quieter, and much more certain this time:
“Thank you, baby,” he says.
His fingers tighten gently around yours, not possessive now, just steady.
“Seriously,” he adds, voice softer. “For tonight… for you.”
Another breath. A small shake of his head like he still can’t fully process it.
Then, almost like it slips out before he can overthink it:
“You’re the best thing I’ve gotten in a long time.”
The words sit in the air gently, no teasing behind them this time. Just sincerity.
Your chest warms at that, something softer settling in where all the intensity had been moments before.
He leans in slightly, pressing a light kiss to your temple, then your cheek, slow and unhurried, like he’s giving you time to come back to yourself completely.
“Come on,” he murmurs after a moment, voice still low but steady. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”
He stands first, then turns back immediately, offering you his hand without hesitation.
And when you take it, he doesn’t let go.
“Then I’ll tuck you into bed,” he adds, softer this time, like it’s a promise more than a mere suggestion.
The room settles into a softer quiet now, the kind that feels heavier in the best way — like the night is finally letting go of everything it was holding. The lamp on the bedside casts a warm glow over everything, blurring the edges of the night into something gentle.
He adjusts the blanket over you without thinking twice, tugging like it matters more than he’s willing to say.
“Comfortable?” he asks quietly.
You give a small, sleepy nod that barely counts as movement.
He huffs a soft laugh under his breath. “That’s not an answer.”
His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your arm, checking if you’re still there.
“It is,” you mumble, already halfway gone.
“Mm-hm,” he replies, clearly unconvinced, but there’s no real argument in his tone. Just fondness.
You shift slightly closer anyway, like your body makes the decision before your mind does, and he immediately responds, arm slipping more securely around you like it’s an instinct of his.
“Don’t start moving around too much,” he says, voice low and warm. “You were literally seconds away from falling asleep.”
“I wasn’t,” you whisper, even though your eyes are already heavy again.
That earns him a quiet laugh, softer this time, almost affectionate.
“Right,” he says. “You’re wide awake.”
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary, softer now, like he’s memorizing this version of you.
You crack one eye open at him. “I am, silly.”
He looks down at you for a second, expression unreadable in that way that makes it feel like he’s holding back a smile.
“Okay,” he says. “Then what day is it?”
“…your birthday,” you answer after a pause.
His hand tightens just slightly around you, your answer mattering more than it should’ve.
He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Close enough. I’ll take it.”
You make a faint sound of protest, but it doesn’t have any strength behind it.
“You’re mean,” you mumble.
“I’m not mean, baby,” he corrects gently, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, slower this time. “I just pay attention and I’m a very observant person.”
That makes you fall quiet again, your head pressing more firmly into his chest.
A softer pause settles between you.
Then, quieter, more sincere:
“You’re really warm,” you admit.
He hums softly, his hand shifting just enough to pull you closer without thinking.
“Yeah?” he murmurs. “Good. Stay there then.”
You don’t argue this time.
Your breathing slows gradually, syncing with his before you even realize it, like your body already knows where it belongs.. His hand moves slowly along your back, steady and grounding, like he’s making sure you stay exactly where you are.
“You know,” he says after a while, voice low but playful again, “you can’t sleep through breakfast tomorrow.”
His voice carries a quiet smile, even if you can’t fully hear it anymore.
You let out a tiny, sleepy sigh. “I can try.”
He laughs softly. “Of course you can.”
“But you’re not winning that one, I swear.”
You don’t respond, already drifting too far into sleep to care, and he notices immediately.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, softer now, like he doesn’t want to wake you even with his voice. “You’re actually done for.”
His grip on you tightens just slightly, protective, instinctive.
He leans down and presses a slow kiss to your hair, lingering longer this time, like he’s reluctant to even pull away.
“Goodnight,” he says softly.
Then, after a beat, quieter, like a promise meant only for you:
“Don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs, quieter now — it’s less of a request, but more on something actually he needs.
And just like that, you’re asleep in his arms.
He stays awake a little longer, just watching you, thumb brushing slow circles against your back, like he’s memorizing the way you breathe when you’re finally at peace.
The night doesn’t feel loud anymore.
Like nothing else ever really mattered.
