Part 18 - Leon
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Part 17 -- Part 19
Pairing: Napoleon x ofc
Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral (m receiving), drug use (alcohol, weed), minor violence (someone gets punched).
Word count: 3.8k
A/N: Alright! Here we finally go! These chapters have been in the making for just over 3 months, and I sincerely hope they live up to expectations. I've written these from the 1st person perspective of the boys. It's a little experiment, and it was tougher than I initially thought it would be.
For those who don't know what the plan is: There will be a NYE chapter for each of the guys. That means I wrote the same party 8 times - which is why it took so long: the details had to align... I hope you guys enjoy ^^
@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson
I look around the room, where we’ve pretty much managed to get everything set up for the party tonight. I say ‘we’, but I’m fairly sure I’d get my ass kicked by everyone in the entire house if I ever dare say that out loud - so I don’t.
“Where have you been?” Sy asks as he closes the door behind him. I reach into my pocket right when Mike comes into the kitchen to see me toss the bag of weed on the kitchen table.
“Internet is up again,” he says. One look at the table has him grinning widely. “Nice.”
“I knew there was a reason we kept him around.” Charles appears next to me and slams a fist into Mike’s shoulder.
“Yeah, it would be so awful if you couldn’t watch porn for one night.” Charles elbows me in the arm because I laugh at what Dani said, but I can’t help it: she’s funny. And she’s good for Mikey.
“I don’t think I’ll be needing any tonight,” Charles replies dryly. He’s not even smug about it, and with good reason, but he can’t resist adding a very inappropriate wink at Dani.
“Think you can still get laid with a broken nose and a black eye, Brandon?” It’s not that Mike is threatening, per se, but he can throw a punch and he’s fast. It’s no wonder Charles backs down.
I would say it’s a miracle Charles has never been punched in the face for getting a little too friendly with one of our roommates’ girlfriends, but I’d be lying. He has in fact been punched in the face for exactly that. Repeatedly. By Geralt, of all people, so quite frankly, it’s surprising he still has a face. And all of that was after a very firm knee to the nuts from Solveig herself. Good times. Well, for us… I doubt Charles looks back on the events as fondly as we do. I turn my attention back to the goings on in the kitchen. They’re going to accuse me of not doing much, which wouldn’t be factually incorrect, per se, but since I’m paying for most of this nonsense, I figure I have a right to sit back a little. Whatever I’m not putting up, is sponsored by Charles. We don’t exactly know how rich his family is, but his father owns the house we all live in. Despite that fact, I tend to think of it as my house at least a little bit - and I know Charles agrees. It’s me and August who run this place, with Charles being more of a silent benefactor.
“Where’s Sherlock,” I ask when I notice he’s the only one who isn’t here.
“In his room,” Mike replies, “he wouldn’t last five minutes tonight if he had to deal with all of this, too.” He’s probably right, and I’d hate for our little brother - he’s too rational to hate it when we say it, but we know he doesn’t exactly like it - to miss the party, so I say nothing and help them set up the last few things to get ready for tonight.
I look in Charles’ direction a few times, but he’s too busy eye-fucking every woman in the room to notice. Even though I’m well aware of his reputation, I can’t stop myself from wondering how the hell he does this; The living room and kitchen are filled with people, most of whom I’ve never even seen, let alone spoken to. Charles was right when he said he wouldn’t need porn tonight; girls are flirting with him from every corner of the room. Of course I’m equally as lucky, but my attention goes to two ladies who just walked through the door, guided by Danielle. She introduces them to Mike, and then points out the others one by one.
“And that’s Napoleon,” she finally says when she gets to me, which I take as my cue to walk over.
“Leon!” Danielle greets me happily. “Let me introduce you to my roommates!” Her roommates, huh?
“This is Sloane and-” I stop her before she gets to her other friend.
“Ariel Ryker.” The Art History bachelor is roughly as popular as you’d expect: not at all - which is why I recognize this girl. I wouldn’t want to be dramatic by calling her ‘the bane of my existence’, but whatever counts as the non-dramatized version of that would be a perfect description.
“You two know each other?”
“Napoleon is the number two of our class,” Ariel says sweetly, flashing me a pearly white smile that makes my cock twitch for some reason that’s completely beyond me.
“Who’s the first?” Alright, so Sloane either isn’t very bright, or she likes to stir things up - and from the challenging grin on her face, I’m guessing it’s the latter.
“That would be her.” I’m hoping I manage to keep my voice polite even though the sight of her makes my blood boil. “For now.”
“Oh, and how do you plan to change that, Solo?” Her tone is annoyingly challenging and I would love to wipe that smug smile off her face.
“You’re not far ahead of me,” I say nonchalantly - I hope.
“But ahead of you nonetheless,” she says in an almost condescending tone.
I spend the next hours of the party in several heated discussions with her, among which a particularly feisty one about gothic architecture - which is unfortunate for me because architecture is far from my favorite subject within my degree - and I can’t help but notice how pretty she is, even when she is telling me off. Maybe especially when she is telling me off.
“Alright, I give up, Ryker,” I finally say, “do you want another drink?” I gesture to her empty glass and offer to refill it for her. A flash of doubt crosses her face while she contemplates whether or not she trusts me enough to let me get her a drink. Apparently, she does. It would have offended me, if it weren’t for the fact that I am very aware that men are - largely - trash, and even though some women indubitably consider me and Charles to be pretty much the bottom of the barrel, neither of us would ever resort to drugs to get a woman into bed. Of course, neither of us need to, but even if we did… Never.
“I think it’s time to get the fuck out of here.” That is definitely Charles, and everything surrounding that sentence sounds like a commotion of the violent kind. My suspicions are confirmed when I step back into the living room, where Mike has his arm wrapped around a very upset-looking Dani, and Charles stares at a guy I vaguely recognized as a member of the soccer team, who is holding his nose and making a break for the door.
“Are you alright, Dani?” Charles asks while rubbing his knuckles as inconspicuously as he possibly can. I hand the glass of wine that is intended for Ariel to her and raise my eyebrows.
“What happened?” The room is still a little quiet after this little… kerfuffle.
“Alright, folks, nothin’ to see here, back to your business,” Sy’s voice carries through the room with ease. Anyone would think twice to ignore what he is saying. For some reason, if Sy tells you to do something, you do it.
“Tony - the guy Charles punched - was getting handsy with Dani, she told him to stop, he didn’t, Charles saw, warned him - twice - and then when he still didn’t stop…”
“Where was Mike?”
“Rolling a joint, not paying attention.” Ariel scoffs and takes a big sip of her wine.
“He’s a good guy, Ariel,” I say, knowing exactly what that scoff means. Mike isn’t a bad kid, he’s just easily distracted, which Ariel would know if she’d spent more than five seconds with him, but she clearly hasn’t.
“We only met him today,” she tells me, “they’ve only been going out for… what? Two weeks?” Something like that, I confirm, I’m not exactly clear on every detail, either. Not that I care - a lot.
The clock inches closer and closer to midnight and Ariel and I spend that time bickering some more about art. Painting this time, which puts me in a much more favorable position than that lovely talk on architecture did. Now, I know Ariel Ryker is good at what she does, and she’s not one to let herself get trapped, which means that if I manage to do it, it’s going to be because she lets me - and it looks like she will let me, because she makes a mistake. The timing is absolutely perfect; we’re interrupted by the countdown and just as everyone scrambles to stick his or her tongue down someone else's throat when the clock strikes twelve, I turn to her.
“I’d kiss you if I weren’t so appalled at what you just said,” I say with a soft chuckle and watch her as she raises her eyebrows at me.
“And what did I just say that has you so appalled?” I repeat her words and she scoffs as if she fully believes she’s right.
“There’s a paper on my desk that proves you wrong,” I say. My eyes are definitely more hopeful than they should be, but who can blame me? If she takes this, I’m in.
“Show me,” she says. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and all I can think is: bingo.
We’re barely even through the door of my room or my lips are on hers and her hands are tangled into my hair. She’s a good kisser; fierce, not too sloppy. I run my tongue along her bottom lip, vaguely remembering that she was wearing lipstick when we came in, but that’s definitely already ruined. We make it to my bed without any problems, and she pushes me down.
“Easy,” I warn her. I’m not one to complain about a woman in charge, but she’ll have to earn it. She falls on top of me and crushes her lips back against mine. Her moans are loud - who am I kidding? So are mine - and every time I hear the sound, my cock twitches in my pants. She’s grinding on me, which definitely doesn’t make it better. Her hands work on the buttons of my shirt, and as looks at me while she sits up to give herself more space to undo them, she laughs.
“Your lipstick is absolutely everywhere, isn’t it?” I ask, and she nods and giggles. “Well it’s all over your face, too.” I take off my shirt while I talk; it’s a rather expensive one I’d hate to see ruined. When it’s on the floor, I give her a look, telling her it’s her turn, and she seems happy to oblige. Her fingers work deliberately slowly as she keeps grinding on my cock while taking her blouse off. It looks like she’s particularly fond of the sounds I’m making, I notice, and her own moans follow mine. I dig my fingers into her thighs and pull her tighter against me, mimicking the movements of her hips with my own.
Shortly after she kisses me again, I leave her mouth alone and focus my attention on her neck while slipping the shiny satiny material - polyester, sadly - of her blouse off her shoulders. For a moment, I pause to take in the underwear she has on.
“Just take it off,” she growls as she licks a path along my jaw to my ear. My chuckle turns into a grunt when she takes my earlobe into her mouth and sucks on it softy. It’s definitely a weak spot of mine, and I can’t express how glad I am she found it. My whole body reacts when she drags her nails down my sides and back up again, and the soft chuckle she lets out directly in my ear makes me harder than I ever even thought possible.
“What if I want to take a good look?”
“Take a good look at my tits, instead,” she says. It’s definitely an attitude I’ve never come across before. I’ve been told to slow down often enough, and I've been accused of being an insensitive asshole for going too fast more times than I can count, but a girl actively encouraging me to hurry up… Honestly, I should probably find it incredibly hot, but I’m mildly insulted, instead.
And then, as a gorgeous woman tries to get me out of the rest of my clothes, I hear myself say the words I never thought I’d say in my entire life: “Can you slow down for a second?”
I don’t know who Ariel Ryker thinks she is, but she’s messing with my head, and that’s something I’d very much like her to stop doing.
“No way,” she says, “you’re the guy who everyone always says is up for anything.” Well, ‘everyone’ isn’t wrong - usually.
“Yeah, well…” I probably should have thought about how that sentence was going to end before I started it, but I didn’t, and now we’re here. Ariel is still grinding on my lap, which makes it impossible to think, let alone talk my way out of this. The only thing I can think of is ‘I swear this never happens’, and I hate how exceptionally true it is.
“Cat’s got your tongue, Solo?” I swear to god I want to answer her, but the words are just gone. For fuck’s sake, if I don’t get laid tonight, I don’t know who I’m blaming, but it sure as hell isn’t going to be me!
“Do I make you nervous?” What? No! Obviously not! This time, my face gives away what my mouth won’t say out loud, and it makes her laugh. The sound is fantastic, for whatever backwards reason, and I can’t help but moan when I hear it. She leans over to kiss me again, and I feel like I’m frozen in place. Her lips leave mine and travel all over my chest with newfound patience, moving further down until she’s forced to get off my thighs. I growl appreciatively when she reconvenes on the floor; it’s an absolute treat to see her on her knees in front of me. It’s basic biology; men love gorgeous women on their knees. Especially when they’re covered in lipstick and clearly planning on wiping whatever is left on their faces off on your cock. Again: I’m not complaining - though my ego is pretty bruised from giving in to her so easily.
It’s quickly forgotten when she runs her hands over my crotch, and a little bit of that bruise on my pride heals when she gasps and loses a bit of her patience again. She makes quick work of the button and zipper of my pants. Her hands are small, I notice, and I chuckle softly. Small hands are a godsend. They make my dick look bigger. Not that I need it, but it’s still nice. I clench my jaw involuntarily when she wraps her hand around my shaft - not completely; she can’t make it, which makes me grin.
“Intimidated?” That I can say? The stupidest goddamn… oh well, it’s out now. She gets up and kisses me again.
“If you want me to suck you off at all, you’re probably better off keeping your mouth shut, Leon,” she says. She’s clearly amused, which means I didn’t screw up completely.
I know I’m thinking something around the time she wraps her lips around my cock, but I couldn’t tell you what it is if my life depended on it. Her mouth is wet and warm and she knows exactly what she’s doing. I somehow manage to figure out that she has her tongue pierced, and she’s more than aware of how to use that to her advantage. It’s only a matter of time before I lose control of my voice.
When the first moan slips out, I know it’s over. Best to just give in to it now, so I can actually enjoy what she’s doing. We’re talking seconds before I’m a growling, swearing mess in her hands - well, mouth, technically - which she clearly seems to enjoy quite a lot, judging from her own moaning. Her tongue, her hands; everything feels incredible, and I’m lost in the sensations like never before. This may very well be the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten.
“Oh, really?” Fuck. Apparently I said that out loud. It’s too bad that it makes her stop, other than that, I don’t think I have much of a problem with her knowing.
“Yeah, you’re a minute away from finishing me off, actually,” I say, stifling a moan when she gives me the biggest, most innocent eyes I’ve ever seen. “Half, if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Let’s not,” she says as she gets back to her feet and pulls me into another kiss. I sit on the edge of my bed and allow my hands to wander her body, pulling her close so I can finally take off that bra she’s been wanting me to take off for a while now. Her boobs were already spilling out of it, but now that it’s gone… They’re amazing. As a matter of fact, I’ve never come across a pair that wasn’t - and believe me when I say I’ve searched far and wide. She moans when I roll one of her nipples between my fingers while my mouth takes care of the other one. Her nails dig into my shoulders. It doesn’t hurt and she lets go pretty quickly - a shame on both counts, really. I take it as my cue to pull her back onto the bed, and take charge of this situation again.
When I try to go slow, she tells me to get to it again, and I look at her as I take her other breast into my mouth and slowly circle her nipple with my tongue. I take a moment to enjoy this, watch her reaction, play with her, and then I slowly start making my way down her body, only to be completely taken by surprise when she stops me.
“Leon, just… Just fuck me,” she says. I don’t get it. I’ve had women beg me to eat them out, but I can’t recall one ever asking me not to…
“Please?” I can’t believe I just asked that - especially with that uncharacteristically confused tone to my voice. It’s pathetic.
“Are you seriously asking if you can go down on me?” And now she’s mocking me?
“Yes.” I’m not about to lie. Something’s going on and I’m going to find out what. If she just wanted to remain in control, she could have allowed me to continue after I’d pretty much begged her to let me taste her.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” she says. All of a sudden, she sounds shy. This calls for a different approach.
I move to actually get my head on a pillow and hold my hand out by means of an invitation. She joins me - hesitantly, but still - and I wrap my arms around her.
“A, you don’t like the way it feels. B, no guy has ever made it feel good. C, someone told you once that your pussy looks weird and now you’re not letting anyone down there in case he was right. Am I getting at anything here?” I can be blunt if I have to, it’s just that I prefer not to be. In this case, I don’t think subtlety is going to get me anywhere, so the Walker-approach it is…
“I hate you,” she says, “but C is pretty dead on, actually.” I should have known I wasn’t going to feel triumphant about getting that right, but I hadn’t expected to feel this bad for her, either. As always, though, I think I have a solution…
“Blindfold me,”
“What?”
“You heard me,” I say plainly. From the way she looks at me, I can tell she isn’t quite getting how much I’m not messing with her right now.
“You’d do that?” She scoffs as she says it, which makes me raise my eyebrows.
“Why not? Wouldn’t be the first time.” Judging by the look on her face, she’s definitely considering it.
“Make it a new year’s resolution,” I say, “start the new year off good.”
“You really like going down on girls, don’t you?” I do, but I also have a near pathological need to help women overcome insecurities. It’s an ego thing - I have in the past tried to convince August and Charles it wasn’t. That didn’t work, and that’s probably because they were right, and it absolutely is. Of course, I’m not going to tell her that, so I just nod.
“What I think,” she says, and I immediately realize my mistake, “is that you have a pathological need to help women overcome insecurities because it’s a way for you to feel good about yourself.”
At this point, it’s fair to say that Ariel is annoying the everloving fuck out of me.
“What I think,” I throw back at her, “is that you have a pathological need to be right and to do everything on your own that’s actually getting in the way of feeling good about yourself. But I’ll cut my losses.”
“Good, are we finally going to do what we came here to do?” The way she says it honestly has me starting to think I made a huge mistake hooking up with her. Not that I can think of anyone else I’d rather be with - which is unusual, I’ll admit.
“Christ on a bike! Do you have somewhere else to be?” Ariel goes quiet; she clearly wasn’t expecting my question. I put a hand on her cheek and am about to pull her into another kiss when we’re disturbed by… a disturbance in the hallway. I’m far too curious to not check on that, so I quickly get dressed and head for the door to take a look.
“What’s going on out there?” Ariel says as she fastens the buttons of her blouse. I’m surprised she asks: she had to have heard some of it. Including Marshall telling me there was nothing to worry about, and to go back inside. It didn’t seem like he had a handle on the situation, but there was no need for me to get in the middle of that.
“Nothing important,” I say. And then it really registers what she’s doing. Is she serious? “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, “this was a mistake.” I mean, I can’t deny that, but I was still intent on actually making that mistake. Something about the way she looks at me tells me she doesn’t actually want to leave, but she actually walks out the door, and I’m left standing there alone and confused. Very, very confused.