like long term friends with benefits with charles 👀 you grew up in Monaco and are in the same group of friends and you’ve been sleeping together since you were teenagers but have never thought about a relationship
Monaco had always been your playground, but it took an entire other turn when Charles first slipped his hands underneath your shirt.
You were barely twenty when you woke up with a massive hangover and an arm across your stomach, in Charles’ flat. And it’s not like it was the first time that you found yourself in this situation, with a banging headache, completely out of the world in Charles’ bed. You’ve shared beds with Charles since you’ve been born, your mothers being friends and having raised you together. You’ve shared classrooms, friends, meals, belongings, lives and beds. It wasn’t that unusual to wake up after a wild night under Charles’ comforter.
What had been unusual, that specific morning, was that you were both as naked as the day you were born.
So naked, you instantly panicked.
The panic had been quite easily washed away when Charles woke up, screamed a little and you ended up laughing your asses off, even though they were.. pretty much full on display.
The change in your friendship didn’t take long to operate. Once you had taken the first jump, even though none of you could really remember it and often jokingly questioned its happening if it hadn’t been for the numerous proofs of it, it was easy to fall back into the bed where you first discovered things could turn interesting between the two of you. It’s not like you were overly affectionate, nor that you were in love with each other, but getting laid with each other made sense and was comfortable. There was no mess of feelings, no distraction about whether or not you’d be there the next time one of you would call, no questioning about whether you wanted more of each other.
Charles often joked he was your private dick on call. You would always retort back that he couldn’t help himself from calling you either. You were each other’s booty call and it was as easy as it could be. No mess, no feelings, no awkwardness. Just you, preferably naked, in any way he wanted to have you. And it’s not like you didn’t get to play some fantasies on him either. You got to try a bunch of shit that probably no ex-boyfriend of yours would have done, for lack of care, will or wild spirit. Charles was into anything you’d want to try, as long as he got to play as well.
And truth be told, even when you did get some boyfriends, the sex would never compare to the Earth shattering orgasms that Charles brought to the equation. No one knew your body quite like he did and no one knew what you liked more than him. You’d be damned if you ever let him go for some dumb shit like feelings, even though you did joke, once or twice, both wasted like there was no tomorrow, that if by the age of 30 you were still both single, you’d marry each other, just so you’d be able to have fun and keep on the amazing sex you had developped together. It’s not like Charles couldn’t get laid without you. The man was gorgeous and you knew it. It’s not like he didn’t get some girlfriends along the way either, because you did go through a dry spell once, while he was busy with a girl that didn’t last long, fortunately for you. The day he broke up with her, he was at your place, barely an hour later, sunken deep into your flesh and ramming his hips into yours. He had a lot of pent up frustration and shitty lays to get over with. That day, he tired you out so much you had to skip uni the day after. And it’s not like he was feeling guilty about it, because he stayed at your place and played you like his favorite instrument, catching up on lost time and relearning the curves of your body like he didn’t have a precise idea of the indents in the small of your back already.
Monaco had always been your playground, with Charles. You remembered the days you would run after each other, playing tag with your friends. You remembered the first races you watched together, the countless memories and laughs you shared with him in the old streets of the principality, the bus rides to school and the football games that you always lost because he sucked at this game so much it should have been a crime.
But you also remembered the small park where he ate your pussy at 4 in the morning after you’d left a club, telling you to stay quiet or he’d stop and leave you squirming. You remember the bar, where he railed you from behind in the bathroom, forcing you to look at yourselves through the mirror, his pants barely low enough to get his dick out of his underwear and your bra pulled over your boobs, just high enough so he could grab them and anchor himself to you. You remember the small street where he got you trapped against a brick wall, supporting your weight between the wall and his arms, going so deep you thought for one second that you were going to either pass out or scream so loudly you’d wake the entire town of Monaco up. You remember the cliff, where he parked his brand new Ferrari and where you christened the seats (and the hood), fogging up the windows and enjoying the starry skies above your heads in your blissful post-orgasm states. Monaco had seen its fair share of your bare asses and not having been caught yet turned out to be a freaking miracle.
Still, you wouldn’t trade your arrangement for the world. Still, you didn’t raise an eyebrow when you’d ear the double of your key slide into the keyhole, the door being slammed open then close, before he’d be in your lounge room, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you on his shoulder, so he’d be able to throw you on the bed before he’d ravage you in the most delicious ways. You wouldn’t trade his breathless but amused “hi”s after he’d come, nor your “happy yet?”s that you’d give back, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. You’d keep the entire afternoons spent lounging on your couch, his fingertips toying absentmindedly with your hips (or your clit, if you were lucky), nor the kisses on your temples, even though you knew them to be more friendly then romantic.
Your friendship was physical, in every way you could find, but Charles knew what it entailed and didn’t give a damn about it. Your secrets were well-guarded, no one had to know you were a slut for a few praises or degrading words, just like no one had to know he had a bit of a voyeurism kink. You were his little whore, he was occasionally your Sir. All good in the kingdom.
Why would you mess everything out and risk losing his friendship, his fingers and his amazing cock, just for a few feelings you were denying so hard you questioned whether or not they were real? Why would you lose the best sex of your life for a few missing heartbeats when he appeared? Why would you risk the banter and the dancing together in the club for a few praises that went straight to your heart and refused to leave? Were they even real? Were they even sincere? Or were they just words thrown in the heat of the moment, meant to make you clench your walls a bit tighter around his cock, while his thumb was caught between your teeth and tears were pooling at the corner of your eyes?
Why would you trade teeth-shattering make out sessions for softer kisses infused with a love you weren’t even sure of?
As much as you loved your arrangement and the constant knowledge that you had Charles wrapped around your thighs, you knew there was an issue when you found yourself loving your face in the crook of his neck and he dropped a small kiss on your forehead in response. Your heart missed a couple of beats and you wondered, for just one second, what it’d be like if you truly had Charles, and not just in a physical way. What it’d feel like to know that his heart belonged to you. What it’d be like to be his, entirely, and not just from the waist down. How amazing it’d be, if you added true love to the mix.
But then he had you writhing underneath his chest, spitting degrading words in your ear, making you pant and dig your nails in his shoulders, leaving moon shaped indents on his skin, which made him leave teeth shaped traces on your collarbone in exchange.
One day, he told you to give it to him and you wondered if he meant your orgasm or your heart.
Another day, he asked who you belonged to and you wondered if he meant your cunt or your soul.
The worst had been when you’d let him go unwrapped, just this once, because he was clean and so were you and because you’d toyed with the idea for a long time. Also because you knew that you were on the pill and not in your window for it, but as he thrusted into you at a punishing pace, he started to talk about filling you up to the brim and you surprised yourself realizing that if you were ever to get pregnant, you wouldn’t want it to be with anyone else than him.
That’s when you realized you had it bad. That’s when you knew you’d be in for a long, long time. And it’s not even like you tried to put distance between the two of you, because Charles still rang you at 3 in the morning when he couldn’t sleep and knew you were most likely struggling as well, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and crashing on your couch, watching Marvel movies with a bowl of popcorn that he was always the one to make, because you both knew that his popcorn was superior to yours. It’s not like you tried to put space between your legs, when you’d both be lying on that couch, his arms around your shoulders and your head resting on his chest. It’s not like you denied him, when the movie would end and he’d still be hyped up, trying to burn the last bit of energy he had so he could finally go to sleep, and you’d end up moaning his name, exhausted but blissful, happy to have him against your skin, his breath in your ears and his hands on your stomach.
You would have done anything to keep him longer with you.
You did everything to keep him closer to you.
And that included not telling him jackshit, not confiding in your feelings, letting him treat you like a goddess but only between the sheets, keeping the friendship you held so close and dearly in your heart without trying to explore a deeper connection. That included letting him leave after he’d got your thighs open and sore, a small smile on his face and a gentle tap on your ass, telling you he’d be back, as always. That included trying not to get caught in the way your name escaped his lips when he was about to cum, a breathless chant mixed with whines, that would go higher and higher and higher, sounding needy and hopelessly enticed with you. That included not taking the “ugh, I love you”s that he let slip by, when you’d get on your knees for him and his fingers would delicately get your hair out of your face and leaving you wondering if he really meant it or if he meant your mouth, and if he wanted to see your face or just the way your lips wrapped around his cock.
But mostly, that included watching him leave you for yet another girl, wishing, for the first time ever, that it could be you he’d come home to.
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