The thought of CM Punk wanting to put a baby in you (even though he doesn’t want kids and you can’t get pregnant) but wants to try anyway lol
YESSHHHHHH OMFGGG
He only indulges with the idea of it cos he knows youve got a little fetish — little kink for it, the idea of giving him babies, making him proud of you, that makes you undeniably sweet under him and all sorts of soft when he starts talkin about fillin you up and giving you babies.
And he admits that he gets off on the idea of you swollen with his baby all the same. Its fun to imagine and exhilarating in the bedroom — despite him getting a vasectomy some few years ago.
So sometimes you'll be on his lap in the den, cock sheathed to the hilt inside of you, fat balls pressed up against your folds as your folds flutter around the heavy girth and he'll be squeezing the plush of your ass, pulling the globes of your ass apart and rolling his hips up into yours.
And as hes kissing you, stubble from his beard tickling your soft cheeks, he'll say shit that he knows goes straight to your tight little cunt.
One thing he loves to do is wrap his big arms around you and pull you flush to his decorated chest, the soft of his tummy pressed against yours as he whispers low and sweet, "gonna make me a daddy today, huh?" He slips a hand down to rest on your hip, squeezing the soft of your tummy, his big hand and warm digits spread against your tummy spelling out: D R U G F R E E.
A = Aftercare -- just like his affection, he's got to have his hands on you after sex. he doesn't care if he has to follow you into the shower afterwards, he will literally just stand there, holding you.
B = Body part — he likes his arms, because he’s able to pick you up and pin you against anything he wants. of yours: he loves your legs, more specifically your thighs up to your ass.
C = Cum he will literally cum wherever you tell him but he’ll always want to finish either inside of you or on your stomach — something about seeing it.
D = Dirty secret — he secretly likes being older. He likes playing up the creepy old perv aspect of your relationship and is always peeking around the corner to watch you get dressed.
E = Experience He's older and while that usually works against someone in this, he's most definitely worked his way up to playboy status. He knows what he’s doing and he can make you melt within minutes.
F = Favorite position Bent the fuck over, you touching your toes.
G = Goofy have you met him? He’s always gonna crack a joke if something doesn’t rip the way he wanted or something falls in the heat of the moment.
H = Hair He keeps it maintained and trimmed up for sure.
I = Intimacy He’s whispering into your ear how perfect you are and how much he loves fucking you into oblivion.
J = Jack off He’ll send you videos of him jacking off while he’s on the road and your schedules don’t line up for a FaceTime. But he always stays up to try to get off with you watching him.
K = Kink Voyerism. He loves watching you in the shower and often makes you pleasure yourself while he watches. He loves watching you get yourself off — almost as much as he loves doing it for you.
L = Location Shower, tour bus and locker room.
M = Motivation Knowing he’s way older than you and you still picked him. Out of everybody on the roster, you want to be with him and he loves showing you that age is nothing but a number.
N = No — drunken sex.
O = Oral - our boy fucking loves feasting and is notorious for humming while down there just out of pure happiness. he’s good with his mouth on and off the television.
P = Pace He starts off fast and then eases into a rhythm that takes you for hours.
Q = Quickie Oh hell yeah, Phil’s always down for a quickie and he loves that you keep him on his toes. You’ve become his favorite pre-match ritual.
R = Risk He’s more than willing to take a risk and try something new. Especially if you came to him and asked him with those big puppy dog eyes and batted your eyelashes.
S = Stamina He can go for a few hours, easily — especially if there’s food involved. If he’s allowed to get snacks and refuel, you’re in for a wild ride.
T = Toys The only toys in the house came when you moved in and he’s slowly being introduced. He liked that cock ring thing you put on him that one time.
U = Unfair He’s got a shit eating grin for a reason. He knows how to get you going and is always making sure he tells the world how much you mean to him — fully aware that it makes you wet.
V = Volume He’s a loud mouth and he coaches you through everything. He wants you to be comfortable and is always checking on you and making sure you’re good.
W = Wild card His favorite thing you do is when you grab a handful of his hair while he’s eating you out, pulling him closer.
X = X-ray All tattoos. And you have multiple dedicated to you.
Y = Yearning He’s older so it’s not as high as it once was but that’s news to you and him. He’s usually the one who’s getting turned down because you’re tired at night but he still tries (and usually gets what he wants).
Z = Zzz He stays up and watches ESPN and sports highlights and usually waits for you to fall asleep before he turns off the television and follows suit.
a/n: I miss this little nugget on Monday Night Raw, y’know? well anyways — Phil finally has a complete alphabet. I hope you guys enjoy this side of it as well as you did the fluffy one. I’ve got a couple more to go then I’ll be updating AYLY? 💕
Thinking about 2009 CM Punk and how heavy he was... the way his tattoos weren't all finished across his chest and he still had a little pudge and that that lip ring and that pretty raven shoulder length hair...
Likeeee thinking about prone bone with him and all his weight on top of you and the cool of his lip ring pressing into your skin when he kisses your temple, cheek, and jaw.
Or or or or or him shoving one of his big tattooed arms under your chin, decorated color and sketch pressed prettily into your warm skin and you can't do anything but sob as he grinds his hips into the plush curve of your ass, telling you "yeah? S'this what you needed? Just needed someone to turn your brain off for a bit, huh."
▎A/N: not F1, but he’s been occupying my mind a lot.
𝑎 = 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒.
he’s surprisingly gentle for how brutal he fucks. he’ll scoop you up like you weigh nothing, carry you to the shower, wash your hair while kissing every mark he left. then wraps you in his hoodie and holds you against his chest.
𝑏 = 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡.
his: his arms and shoulders, the way they flex when he pins you down or flips you around like you weigh nothing. also his mouth; the man knows how to use it for biting, sucking, and filthy praise.
yours: your thighs and hips. he loves gripping them hard enough to leave fingerprints, spreading you wide, watching them shake when he’s pounding you.
𝑐 = 𝑐𝑢𝑚.
cody’s obsessed with pumping you full and then keeping you plugged with his cock or his fingers so it stays inside. he loves watching it drip down your thighs after and then pushing it back in. he’ll eat his own cum out of you sometimes.
𝑑 = 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡.
he jerks off to videos of your previous sessions in the tour bus bathroom. he also lowkey gets off on the idea of knocking you up right before a big PPV.
𝑒 = 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒.
years of wrestling means he knows exactly how to use his body to overpower you, edge you, and make you tap out from pleasure.
𝑓 = 𝑓𝑎𝜐𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
prone bone or full nelson. he enjoys pinning you completely, chest to your back, his weight crushing you into the mattress.
𝑔 = 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑓𝑦.
he can be surprisingly playful mid fuck. that cocky grin when you’re struggling to take him, teasing you with "c’mon baby, you can take more than that, I’ve seen you do harder spots."
ℎ = ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟.
his body hair is masculine and trimmed, happy trail you love licking. he keeps everything downstairs neat but not bald so it feels real when you’re face down ass up.
𝑖 = 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑐𝑦.
eye contact the entire time so he can see you cum. he makes you feel like the center of his whole universe even when he’s being filthy.
𝑗 = 𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓𝑓.
it’s frequent when he’s on the road. he sends you voice notes of him stroking, breathing heavy, telling you exactly how he’s imagining fucking you in the locker room after the show.
𝑘 = 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠.
primal play (chasing you around the house then tackling you onto the bed), wrestling inspired manhandling/pinning, biting & marking, belt spanking, breeding, creampie eating, rough but loving dirty talk, light cnc/consensual struggle.
𝑙 = 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
hotel rooms after shows, the tour bus, empty arenas late at night (fucking you in the middle of the ring), his home gym, and anywhere semi public where the adrenaline of almost getting caught hits.
𝑚 = 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝜐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
when you fight back a little: bratty, squirming, testing his strength. or when you’re soft and needy, calling his name all breathy while wearing his merch and nothing else. your mix of strength and submission drives him insane.
𝑛 = 𝑛𝑜.
anything that doesn’t feel good to either of you is an instant no. no ignoring you, no heavy degradation that doesn’t circle back to praise, no sharing. he needs the passion and connection.
𝑜 = 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙.
giving: it’s messy and greedy. he eats pussy like a starving man.
receiving: he loves when you drool on him, deepthroating while he holds your hair and praises you.
𝑝 = 𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒.
he can go from slow and deep (grinding into you while whispering dirty talk) to brutal and fast, slamming into you. always powerful.
𝑞 = 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑒.
he loves them. he’ll pull you into a bathroom during an event, hike your dress up, and fuck you hard and fast against the door, hand over your mouth.
𝑟 = 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑘.
high risk, high reward. he’ll finger you under the table at dinners, fuck you in the parking garage after press.
𝑠 = 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎.
wrestler stamina is unreal. multiple long rounds, can fuck you for hours, recover fast, and still cum buckets. you’ll be limping and he’ll be ready for round three.
𝑡 = 𝑡𝑜𝑦𝑠.
he uses his wrestling gear: belt for spanking, ropes for light bondage, even the title if you’re into it. he had a toy collection for when he wants to edge you with a vibrator pressed to your clit while he fucks you.
𝑢 = 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟.
he teases you mercilessly. he makes you beg, makes you earn it. "not yet, baby. you’re gonna cum when I say."
𝜐 = 𝜐𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑒.
he’s loud and vocal when he cums. lots of "fuck yes, baby" and "gonna fill you up so good."
𝑤 = 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑.
he once chased you through the house completely naked after a workout, caught you, threw you over his shoulder, and fucked you on the kitchen counter while still dripping sweat.
𝑥 = 𝑥 𝑟𝑎𝑦.
thick, long, veiny, with a slight upward curve that hits every spot. he gets rock hard fast and looks obscene when it’s flushed and leaking for you.
𝑦 = 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.
the man is touch starved on the road and when he gets home he’s on you immediately.
𝑧 = 𝑧𝑧𝑧.
he passes out with you tucked against him, one leg thrown over yours. sometimes he wakes up hard in the morning.
cody rhodes/reader
word count: 4.1k
character study of cody immediately after WM 41, where he wallows in his loss, is taken care of by reader, and maybe gets a little handjob :)
As his eyes landed on you, any last remnants of his “American Nightmare” façade that were hanging on fell away, and he was left with just himself. Now he was just Cody, and Cody was yours.
ao3 link (+ more tags and warnings)
Ringing reverberated in Cody’s skull as the monstrous metal doors slid shut behind him, silencing the roar of the audience. The audience of tens of thousands of people screaming someone else’s name. The whiplash of that cacophony cutting to silence made nausea rise up through his core.
He’d put on a show when he had stumbled pathetically back up the catwalk, retreating like a lame dog. Falling on the ground, cradling his head in his hands, leaning into the referee in exhaustion as he was escorted off. Giving the crowd the reaction they expected.
There was now a wall between him and that crowd, giving him solace from their eyes, and a glint of some pleasant, warm feeling bloomed in his chest for a moment. But it wilted just as soon as he started to relish it, suddenly starting to miss the bright lights and rushing adrenaline. His eyes adjusted to the dimness backstage, and he saw that crew members were whizzing past him, flitting from one task to the next. They were keeping the whole operation going: plugging in cables, whispering into headsets, packing up gear. He was doing nothing. He was done. There was nothing left for him to do.
His legs started functioning of their own volition, bringing him through the swarms of people and into the hall. A couple peers clapped him on the back to congratulate him for a good performance, and he nodded a polite affirmation to each. However, his thankful smile never quite reached his eyes, and their faces didn’t register in his brain. The only thoughts flashing through it were replays of the past half hour. Of looking into his former role model’s eyes and seeing… nothing at all. Not a glimmer of pain, nor a hint of remorse. Just emptiness.
His legs continued down the hallway, bringing him closer to the comfort of his bus.
He felt fucking stupid. This match wasn’t reality, and it wasn’t a personal attack. But he couldn’t help but feel pathetic. This outcome may have been planned, but he was feeling the consequences of it intensely. Tonight, he was no longer going home with a belt showing his accomplishment, showing the near accomplishment of his father before him. No, he was going home with just himself and his heavy shame.
That shame weighed him down as he continued to trek through the system of hallways leading to the back exit of the arena.
There was no situation in which he kept the belt forever, and he knew that. He had known from the second it was placed in his hands. Hell, he wouldn’t even want to keep the belt forever, but his guts twisted anyway as he saw it handed to his challenger. Just as his father saw it be handed to his. God, he missed his dad. He craved his advice right now, wanting to know how he would have handled this match. Would he have gotten so emotional during the promos of the past few weeks, or would he have been able to laugh it off and maintain his jovial demeanor?
Turn after turn he took, navigating through the labyrinth of sickly fluorescent lighting and walls that felt closer and closer together with each step.
He couldn’t believe he let himself get hurt like this. Physically, he was fine. Tomorrow would bring sore muscles and blossoming bruises, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Deep down, though, he felt wounded. That was the issue with Cena; he was mediocre on the mat but lethal behind a mic. All of the jabs and backhanded comments over the past few weeks had chipped away at something within Cody, something he didn’t even realize John could reach. He hated how bitter he felt about it all. He should have been thrilled to be Superman’s last WrestleMania opponent, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. No, instead he was ungrateful, egotistical, underwhelming–
He pushed through the doors before he could be sick, gasping the cool night air into his lungs. To anyone looking on, his attempts at regulating his breathing would have looked histrionic, but his head was truly spinning. His hands rested on his knees to keep his balance while he panted, feeling pathetic and weak. A bout of overwhelming thoughts shouldn’t be bringing him damn near a panic attack, but here he fucking was. He pushed away the thoughts with a shake of his head and forced himself to stand straight. One leg in front of the other, trudging the remaining fifty feet to his bus with his eyes following his boots.
With his gaze locked on his feet hitting the asphalt of the parking lot, he didn’t even perceive the outline of the two people standing outside his bus. It was only when a microphone appeared in his periphery did he realize that Cathy Kelley and her cameraman were waiting to catch an interview with him.
How engrossed in his feelings must he have been to not notice a big fucking camera in his path? Oh god, had they caught him practically hyperventilating as he rushed outside? Would they interrogate him about how he was feeling?
“Cody? Cody, can we get a word with you?” She asked, tilting the mic towards him even as his pace didn’t slow. He kept his eyes down and tried to conceive a polite enough response that would grant him an easy escape.
In his desperation for solitude, he managed to mumble out an “I’m sorry” and hold her gaze for a moment to hopefully convey that he truly was. However, just that split second of eye contact made him feel as though his mind was being flayed open and pinned for display like a sick science experiment. The possibility of her being able to get even a glimpse of the nauseating blend of emotions currently behind his eyes sent ice down his spine, and he ducked his gaze back to the ground as soon as he got the words out.
He didn’t have it in him to stay and wait for her response, so he never heard it. He had no idea if the camera continued to follow him or when it cut away. He couldn’t find space in his brain to care when all that was on his mind was you.
You, in his bus, waiting. There to greet him post-fight and offer reprieve. His lover. His saving grace.
He powered through the last few steps and swung open the door of his bus, barely closing it behind him before sweeping his eyes over the space in search of you. And there you were. Standing in front of the couch, the wall light backlighting you as a halo would for an angel.
As his eyes landed on your form, any last remnants of his “American Nightmare” façade that were hanging on fell away, and he was left with just himself. Now he was just Cody, and Cody was yours.
He stumbled to you, a mix of relief and pure exhaustion on his face, before falling to his knees at your feet. A thud resonated throughout the bus as he landed, but it didn’t faze him. All that he could focus on was you and your presence, the grounding feeling that wrapping his arms around your waist provided. His grasp around your body was tight, snug, secure, as he buried his face in your stomach and sighed.
“Oh, love,” you crooned to him, gently placing one hand in his hair and the other around the back of his neck. The feelings of inadequacy, defeat, and overwhelming fatigue radiated off of him and seeped into your skin. You could feel how deeply he was affected by the events of tonight, how it weighed on his conscience.
You could wallow with him, offer him company in his pain, but you knew that that wasn’t really what he needed. Letting him continue to sit in his feelings would pave the path to a self-deprecating spiral that would dig this hole even deeper. He needed company, yes, but he needed reassurance and direction as well. A gentle hand to guide him back to the self-confident Cody that was somewhere underneath all that torment.
Your hands moved to cradle his face. “Look at me, love,” you murmured, firm but kind.
He lifted his face to lock eyes, and the sight sucked the air out of you. His eyes were watering, the redness that was creeping into them emphasizing the blue in his irises. His usually calm and collected countenance was twisted into a frowning, pitiful expression. You felt his hands cling onto you tighter, and he rested his chin on the softness of your stomach.
Despite appearing so wrecked, he was still attempting to hang onto some semblance of composure. However, the moment he saw your reaction to his crumbling walls, they fell to dust. You could see his eyebrows slightly furrow and his lip quiver before hot tears started streaming down his face. His expression continued to crumple, and he blinked the tears out of his eyes, still keeping them staring into yours. Letting you see the emotions raging in his brain, baring his vulnerability. Allowing you to take control away from him and lead him to feel better.
Sobs started to fight their way out of him, and his grasp on you became almost painful with how desperate it was. Still, his gaze remained on you, pleading for salvation.
“Hey, hey, baby, it’s alright,” you reassured him gently, speaking softly as you bent down to place your arms under his in an effort to lead him to stand up. “We’re gonna be okay, yeah? Just let me help you.”
His legs wobbled a bit as he got up, both from the exertion of the match and the tsunami of emotions currently razing his mind. Once he stood completely, he pulled you tight against him. Safe, close, comfortable. The intensity of his embrace nearly knocked you off your feet, but you stayed standing. You chuckled quietly at his show of affection and slid your hands down his back, over his scars and freckles, to graze the waistband of his tights.
“Why don’t we get you out of your gear, angel? Clean you up and get you nice and comfy, okay?” You pulled away slowly to see him nod almost numbly in response, and you gently wiped the tear tracks off his cheeks with your thumbs.
His hand was held in yours as you led him to the bedroom at the back of the bus and shut the door behind both of you. As you turned to look at him, his eyes grabbed your attention with a pleading look.
The way he was looking at you was bordering on desperation. He was conveying such desire in his expressive eyes and slightly pouted lips, like a dog begging for a treat. But this dog knew his place. He was yearning for your undivided attention and affection, but the trust he bestowed in you was so deep that he could wait for hours and not lose his patience. He knew that through letting you have complete control, you would choose what’s best for him.
Therefore, he immediately obeyed when you gestured for him to sit at the edge of the bed. Seeing his hands in his lap and expectant but patient gaze upon you, you couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. Overcome by how sweet he looked, you stepped over to stand between his legs and indulge in a kiss to his forehead. He hummed softly at the gesture and let his eyes close, batting a few more tears out of them.
Taking control like this wasn’t a show of power for you. It was a way to care for him, to show him how important he was. To prioritize his well-being. So, you took no issue in kneeling before him to help remove his boots. On any given day, Cody would have insisted that he was perfectly capable of removing his own shoes and would squirm at the thought of you on literal hand and foot before him. But this version of Cody knew better than to fight your acts of tenderness. He was so trusting in your ability to care for him that he didn’t even consider being uncomfortable in this moment. So he wasn’t.
You were quick but intentional in removing his gear. He felt you snap open the buttons and unzip the zippers of his boots before they were slid off and placed beside the bed. Next were his socks, and a brief but loving massage to his calves. As he luxuriated in the careful attention to his abused muscles, his gaze drifted to the mirror on the back of the bedroom door.
For the first time in his life, the piercing pale blue of his own eyes caught him off guard. The way they sat in their sockets, sunken in yet wide like a shell-shocked soldier, looked so unfamiliar on him that it was almost frightening. Did he really look like that? Or was his turbulent state of mind just playing tricks on him?
God, he looked … old. Well, older than he should look. He would be the first one to admit that the lines in his face had been deepening in recent years, and that a couple of gray hairs caught his attention whenever his roots were grown out. However, anyone who looked at Cody in his constantly-wearing-a-three-piece-suit-to-any-and-every-occasion glory could tell that he took pride in his appearance and wearing his age well.
But in this moment, staring back into his own stormy eyes, they seemed to reveal torment beyond his years. The longer he stared, the more he saw – heartbreak, betrayal, success, failure, grief, years and years of hard fucking work. As his expression soured and twisted in response to the reminders of his past hardships, a chilling realization dawned on him. He was starting to look a lot like Cena.
Not yet able to tear his eyes away from his reflection, Cody blindly found your hand when it appeared in his periphery to assist him in standing up. A part of him in the back of his mind was grateful for your attempts at providing grounding affection, but the majority of his focus lingered on this potential glimpse into his future.
Despite having only a handful of years on Cody, the way Cena held himself made him seem much older. His eyes, especially in recent months, lacked the depth one would expect from a nearly 50-year-old man. They were cold, calculating, hollow. Is that what Cody would look like if he went down the same path as his former mentor? If he held onto his bitterness, stewed in his misery, and let those feelings turn into resentment for those around him, would his eyes lose their warmth too?
You found it endearing that Cody accepted your support in bringing him to his feet again, even if it was not physically necessary. However, you felt your arm supporting more weight than you’d expected, and his legs once again seemed to want to buckle. Your eyes flickered to his face in concern, but his gaze was far away. His jaw was set, and the beginnings of a frown were making another appearance on his lips.
You sighed. His mind was being quite stubborn tonight, his instinctual need to overthink persisting through your efforts to calm him.
A gentle squeeze to his hand didn’t seem to get through to him, so you murmured a soft “hey, baby” to rein his attention back in. His eyes finally landed back on your face, but they looked haunted and just short of fearful, like a prey animal accepting its fate while in the jaws of its predator.
You spoke again with renewed gentleness, not wanting to spook him further. “I’m about to take the rest of your gear off, and then we’ll get you cleaned up so you can rest.”
He once again just nodded in response. This sort of silence was rare from him, always a talker and absolute expert at putting his foot in his mouth, but you weren’t too concerned. While his lack of verbal communication tonight was indicative of something more sinister attempting to wriggle itself into his brain, you were confident in your ability to shoo it away.
As you carefully tugged the rest of his clothing down his legs, a fuzzy but pleasant look seemed to finally be making its way across his face. You paid special attention to maintaining the integrity of the gold filigree embroidered down the sides of his tights, painfully aware of the amount of money Cody liked to spend on his gear.
His attention now drifting to the relief he felt as the last of his sweaty garments were removed, Cody finished the job by unwrapping his wrist wraps and tossing them into his empty boots to be dealt with later. He looked up to find you carefully hanging up his tights in the small closet he had on the bus, mumbling to yourself about getting them laundered tomorrow.
When you turned back around, you were glad to see his eyes focused on you instead of glazed over again. While grateful that you’d been able to keep his attention, you knew he was tired. It would be a herculean effort to motivate him to take a shower while exhausted like this. Seemingly proving your point, Cody tried to stifle a yawn while you contemplated your options.
After taking a moment to appreciate just how sweet he looked in his sleepy state, you decided a quick sponge bath would have to do for tonight.
“My love,” you spoke softly as you stepped closer to caress his hair, “I’m gonna grab a warm washcloth for you and be back in just a moment.”
Despite the clarification that you wouldn’t be away for long (and the fact that the bathroom was practically within arm’s reach), he trailed behind you and crowded your space in the compact room. Like a puppy with separation anxiety, he wanted to be glued to your side for the night.
In an attempt to give yourself more room, you ushered him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet while you ran the tap warm. Your kind gaze flickering to him now and then, as you found a few washcloths and dampened them, kept him sated and patient.
“Alright, let me see your face.” You stepped between his legs, forcing his knees to bump against the wall and counter as they spread out. You cradled his chin, and the feel of the weight of his head in your hand and his soft eyes upon yours sent a warm sensation through your chest. Even when feeling at his lowest, Cody was still a charmer.
Large, warm hands found your hips as you gently wiped his face. While you moved down to clean his neck and then shoulders and arms, his hands slowly caressed up to rest on your waist. You switched to a different washcloth for his chest and stomach, and he squirmed at the sensation on the more sensitive parts of his skin.
“Aw, is it ticklish?” You questioned, sympathetic with just a hint of teasing. His lips became pursed and turned up slightly at the corners, accompanied by a subtle blush spreading across his cheeks.
“It’s alright, I’ll be quick.” You moved the cloth down to his lower stomach and hips, gauging the correct level of firmness necessary to prevent his wiggling. Dirty washcloth is again swapped for clean, and you mentally note how else his body is responding to your touch before kneeling to clean down his legs. Just a few minutes prior, when you had helped remove the last of his gear, he was flaccid. You found it cute how a short moment of physical attention now had him beginning to harden.
It was damn near impossible to navigate cleaning his feet without them kicking out of your grasp, so you did the best you could before calling it done. One last clean washcloth and one sensitive area left, you caught his eyes.
“May I?” Your eyes flicked down and back up in question, and you were met with his mildly flustered expression returning as he nodded in response.
Cody looked so sweet with his soft lashes downturned onto his reddening cheeks. Enticed by his charm, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch. As you stood, one of your hands ran through his hair down to the nape of his neck as you grabbed the last washcloth with your other hand.
You started slow and gentle, stroking the cloth into the creases of his thighs first. His hands returned to where they had been resting on your waist before, but this time they slipped underneath your shirt in search of the warmth of your skin. You let out a soft noise of content.
Moving the cloth inward, you very softly ran it across his balls next. His hands flexed, fingers digging into the tender skin of your waist for a moment before relaxing. His thumbs caressed the area in apology.
At this point, he was as clean as he was going to get without showering. There was no real hygienic benefit to continuing the path of the washcloth up his dick, gripping with just enough pressure that the drag of the cloth was stimulating but not harsh. That would be wholly unnecessary.
But he looked so darling, and he was almost completely hard now. You couldn’t resist.
As the washcloth was wrapped around him, your hand squeezing it, you heard a stuttered inhale enter Cody’s lungs. Your other hand soothed him softly, fingertips making circles in his short hair. His eyes locked with yours, and there was a sense of desperation returning within them. But not a painful one. Now the relief he craved wasn’t for peace, but for pleasure.
Your thumb slid up over the edge of the washcloth to gently skate across the head of his dick, and he fluttered his eyes closed in response. With an alluring parting of his lips, his grip around your waist tightened once again. An adoring chuckle left your lips.
“My sweet boy,” you praised as you began to remove the washcloth from his sensitive skin, “let me help you get cozy and tuck you in, hm?”
Cody’s eyes popped open and he produced a soft whine, though it was unclear if it was in reaction to you retracting your touch or to the implication that you were done pleasing him. The sound, one you rarely heard from him, was quiet but conveyed his need. He was feeling vulnerable enough not to be concerned about possibly sounding pathetic or desperate to you, and it was so very endearing.
You ditched the washcloth into the sink to be cleaned tomorrow before bringing your hands to his face, cupping his jaw affectionately. “I’ll keep touching you baby, don’t worry.” His expression lightened. “I just know you’ll be much more comfortable in bed than sitting here, isn’t that right?”
Nodding into your palms, he seemed to suddenly regain awareness of his cramped surroundings. He straightened his back with an audible crunch before standing up completely. Taking him in fully, you wished you were able to pick him up and carry him to bed, pampering him like the royalty he is. Instead, you had to settle with gently tugging him along by your hand in his and hoping it conveyed the same level of adoration.
The bed was soft, warm, and inviting. Another luxury that Cody liked to splurge on, other than his gear, was high-quality bedding. You had made the bed with clean sheets and cozy blankets earlier in the day, knowing how exhausted he would be after the show.
Peeling the covers back, you laid down and gestured for him to join you. The air was nearly knocked out of you as he flopped into bed, his head landing on your chest and limbs immediately attempting to entangle with yours. Despite his 20 years in the ring, Cody could still be a bit unaware of the power that his large frame wielded.
However, any discomfort was extinguished from your mind as another angelic whine graced your ears. The sound erupted from his lips as the head of his cock nudged your thigh, leaving a sticky string of precome connecting his tip to your skin. He bit his lip to stifle any more noises, but he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking in pursuit of more stimulation.
Satisfaction and arousal welled in your chest at his flushed face and barely restrained movements. Even though he looked so darling struggling to gain friction in the slick mess he was creating on your leg, you did want to grant him relief. Your poor baby needed it.
