a show (julian/gn!reader)
He’s utterly beautiful when he gets like this, you think.
Julian isn’t a quiet lover, never has been, he tells you, and there’s not a moment you don’t appreciate that, but it’s right now when you feel it most. He whines and moans openly into the cool night air of your shared room, moonlight filtering in through the open window behind you and glistening on his sweat-dampened skin. He is shining, ethereal, as his eyes scrunch tighter and his hips buck into your hand as it strokes him, movements slow and lazy. “Please,” he whispers, fingers which had been dug deep into the sheets suddenly releasing their hold, loosely threading themselves through your hair instead as you nibble at the inside of his thigh, “please, more, I need more, I need you, I–”
The wail that slips from his lips when you stop and draw away is delicious, too, especially when it’s followed by a near-incoherent babble of “waitnopleasepleasedont, I’ll be good, I’m being good, pleasepleaseplease–”, but you’re not gone for long, having left only to find the little bottle of oil you’d set by your feet earlier in the night. Despite the faint thread of worry settling in, he doesn’t open his eyes to search for you; after all, you told him not to, and Julian is a good boy, especially for you.
He’s still panting when he feels you again, a barely-there sensation of warmth between his legs, but he lets out a surprised yelp followed by an utterly shameless moan, loud and drawn-out, when you press a single slicked digit against the tight rim of his asshole. It takes him a moment to relax enough, but as soon as he does and you’re able to slip your finger into him, his babbling returns in full force, just an endless stream of pleased groans and whimpers with little semblance of actual language behind it. It’s not long before you’re able to slip a second finger into him, and then a third, but your breath catches in your throat as the lighting shifts and shines across his skin in a way that just mystifies you.
You’ve frozen in place but still his hips grind down onto your hand, chasing more of the pleasure that you’ve been giving to him all night, and you swear your heart skips a beat. But soon enough, your senses return to you, whispering in the back of your mind that you should do something, so you do. Right as he presses his hips down against your hand again, you curl your fingers up, brushing firmly against his prostate, and gods above, Julian does not disappoint. The noise that falls from those lips, those precious, kiss-swollen lips, is simply heavenly; his keens, you think, have been specifically tailored to make your heart race ever faster, a fact you’ll certainly remind him of later.
But not now. Now Julian looks up at you in surprise, lust and desperation still swimming in his eyes as he gasps and groans beneath your touch. His cheeks are growing even redder with embarrassment, though you didn’t think that was possible, with his face already being so red before. “Ah-hah, I’m sorry, darling, please,” he whines, voice breathy and pleading, “I didn’t realise, please forgive me–”
“Julian, love, what’s there to forgive?” you ask, inching closer to him and punctuating your question with another slight brush against his prostate that makes his eyes roll back in his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong, my dear. But now that you mention it…” You reach out to grab his cock again with your spare hand, giving it a few slow, firm strokes as he throws his head back into the pillows and his fingers dig into the bedsheets. “…Could you do it again for me? You looked awfully pretty, you know.”
“Mhmm. I only stopped for a second to look at how lovely you were, but you just kept going. Kept fucking yourself on my fingers,” you remark casually, drawing your hand out of him slowly before pushing it back into him, even slower. His breath hitches, and you feel him clench around you, but that’s all the reaction he gives now. “Do it again for me? You looked so damn pretty, darling, I’d love to see you like that again.”
With one final stroke to his cock, you sit back on your heels, hand still loosely gripping him as you await some kind of response. He gasps and pants for a good few minutes, regaining his composure while you wait for him. Before long, though, he grinds down onto your hand again, giving a soft little gasp of pleasure when you stroke his cock too. “Careful, da-haah-arling,” he warns, glancing down at you through those long lashes, “I’m not going to, mmnh, last much longer if you keep that up.”
You simply smile back at him and curl your fingers inside him again so he gasps and arches his back, still grinding down all the while. “I’m not looking for you to last, Julian,” you murmur sweetly, leaning forward until he looks up at you, still flushed and breathing hard. “I’m looking for a show. You’ll give that to me, won’t you?”
He nods quickly, no hesitation whatsoever. “Yes, yes, of course,” he babbles, hips falling onto your hand yet again, “anything for you, darling, anything, anything.”
You hum and resume your position at his waist, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the head of his cock, drawing a cry louder than you’d expected from his lips. “There’s my good boy,” you whisper, hushed in the cool night air. “Dance for me, darling.”
