What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go
Worship
Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader
Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.
2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.
A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.
You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.
"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.
You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.
You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.
"I can't get you outta my head."
You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.
Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."
You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.
He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.
His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.
The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.
You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.
He winks at you.
You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.
You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.
Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.
The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.
Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.
"Well what do we have here?"
You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."
You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.
"You enjoy the mass?"
You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."
He smiles. "Which parts?"
You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.
Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."
The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.
"Anything you want," you say softly.
Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.
"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."
You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."
His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."
He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.
Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."
"Why would you do that?" you whisper.
He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."
You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.
"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.
"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."
You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."
Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."
"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."
He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"
"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."
The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.
He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.
With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.
"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."
"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."
"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."
Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.
Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.
You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.
Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.
The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.
"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"
He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.
Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.
His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.
"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"
He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.
"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.
You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.
"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."
"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.
You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.
"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"
He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."
"Made it worse."
"Yeah."
"Sorry."
"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."
5.3k words. Smut. Oral (M and F receiving). Cum eating. Marking. Voyeurism. Guided masturbation. Light bondage. Orgasm delay. Fingering. Overstimulation/multiple orgasms. Daddy kink. Dirty talk & praise. Mention of shitty parents.
It's about time you come home for the weekend.
You were anxious.
Gut-wrenchingly anxious.
You had snapped awake Friday morning, laid in your bed for almost half an hour before you gave up on slipping back into sleep and rolled out of the sheets.
As you got ready and packed your bag, you had checked your phone almost minute by minute. Last weekend, the second weekend of the semester, you hadn’t even made it this far before he’d texted you:
Something came up, baby girl. Won’t be able to make it down.
Apparently there had been some family emergency; he was vague about the details. He was always cagey when it came to family matters. You didn’t care so much about that. What you cared about was that ultimately, it meant another week apart.
You missed him so much it was like a weight around your neck. You were homesick, not for your parents’ house or their cordial interest in your studies and your social life, but for his little blue craftsman. His truck. His bed. Him.
In the blink of an eye, you’d gone from his daily company through the summer to the better part of a month without seeing him. Sure, you’d spoken on the phone a dozen times, texted frequently, but it wasn’t the same. You wanted to touch him, kiss him, smell him, hold him.
You hoped he still wanted that too.
Part of you, the part that manifested phantom vibrations of your phone in your back pocket, worried that with the distance and the shortening daylight you had already begun to fade from his mind. That was absurd, of course. To think that after all it had only been a summer fling, warm nights and hot blood, a relationship of proximity. Of convenience.
Absurd, of course.
At 9:02 you texted, About to head up. Should be there around noon
You hesitated before adding, I can’t wait to see you
A sigh tumbled from your lips. You felt silly. You knew you were overreacting, being insecure, but he had been so off since you left. He was good at hiding it, adept at deflecting your tentative probing, but you heard it in his voice when you spoke on the phone. You kept thinking of the look on his face the night he drove you to campus, when he’d turned to you under the streetlamp with that blank, hollow expression and said he thought he should go. Like part of him had already gone and the rest of him was raring to follow.
The phone buzzed in your hand. Your pulse spiked.
He’d sent a photo of himself still in bed, hair mussed, one arm thrown across the empty pillow beside him. You smiled. You hadn’t seen his face for a few days. With delight, you saw he had the scruffy beginnings of a beard.
Keeping it warm for you darlin.
You could feel your heart blaze in your chest. Three hours was too long. Three hours was an eternity. With no conscious effort on your part, you were up off the couch and out the door in a matter of seconds.
Shop opens at 8, old man. Why aren’t you up?
There was an unseasonable crispness to the air already as you crossed the parking lot to your car. Autumn was just around the corner.
Shop’s closed today. Got better things to do.
You tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat and fired off a reply before pulling out of the lot. I hope I’m on that list.
He replied quickly but you waited to look until you hit a red light.
You are the list, sugar. And then: Quit texting and driving
You chuckled. It was miraculous how quickly anticipation had swallowed your anxiety. You sent him one last text before settling in for the drive.
Yes sir
-
A smile played on your lips from the second you turned onto his street and only grew as you approached the house. The front lawn was immaculate, the phlox overflowing their planters on the porch. Pulling your car around back was second nature.
He’d left the door unlocked for you. Walking in felt like coming home, brought back memories of the first time you’d spent the weekend. You tried to savor the smell of the house before you grew used to it again.
“Bo?” you called as you dropped your bag to the floor.
“Is that my baby girl?”
He stepped into view around the corner and broke into a grin, arms open wide as you barreled towards him. He caught you against his chest, squeezing you in a monstrous bear hug. He smelled so good, smoke and aftershave.
Burying his face in your hair, he mumbled low, almost to himself, “Goddamn, darlin’, I missed you.”
You craned your neck and kissed him and fuck, how many times had you caught yourself daydreaming thinking about the taste of his mouth? You locked your arms around his waist, anchoring yourself, pressing tightly against him to reacquaint yourself with all of him all at once.
Your fingers scratched through his beard. It was coarse, more salt than pepper. “I like this.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Do ya?”
“Yeah.”
He tilted your chin with one finger, looked at you appraisingly, his gaze sweeping over your face. “Pretty girl. You been doin' alright?”
"I've been really good. Busy. How about you?"
“Lonesome.” He took hold of your jaw and guided your mouth to his and kissed you long, his tongue sweeping over yours, nipping gently at your bottom lip. “Bored to tears.”
“Tears?” you exclaimed with mock horror.
Bo shook his head woefully. “’S pitiful. Spent every night sobbin’ and jerkin’ off.” He gestured for emphasis.
You snorted and thumped his chest. “Moron.”
“Can’t help it. You got my brain all scrambled.” He leaned against the arm of the couch, opened his legs, and tucked you between them. “Got me wrapped around your finger, y’fuckin’ minx.” He separated your index finger from the others, brought it to his lips and sucked on the tip.
You exhaled slowly. You wanted him now, right now, and every day for the last eighteen days.
Tugging your hands free, you pushed him backwards and sent him sprawling across the couch. His reflexes were fast and he seized you by the arms, pulling you on top of him. His hands were familiar, rough and warm, seeking out their favorite parts of you as if to make sure nothing had changed. You came alive under his touch, skin prickling, blood humming, body ecstatic.
"I missed you so much," you gasped against his lips.
"I can tell."
You squirmed out of his grasp and positioned yourself between his legs. Sliding his shirt up, you gripped his waist and slathered his stomach in kisses, dragging your mouth over his skin, working your way downwards. You licked a broad path up to his navel as you fussed at the button of his jeans and he lifted his hips so you could tug them down.
"Shit, baby, y'ain't even gonna buy me dinner first?"
"Shut up."
Delicately you brushed your lips against his half-hard shaft and were rewarded with an immediate response. Your tongue eased its way around his head and you looked up to meet his eyes. They were heartbreak blue in the light from the picture window and sharp with something two steps past lust.
“Daddy?” you said softly.
“Yeah, baby?”
Your lips were pressed against the cleft on the underside of his cock. “I missed you so much….”
The corner of his mouth quirked in a faint smirk. “Yeah? Y’been thinkin’ ‘bout this?”
“Mmhmm.” You lapped almost lazily at that sensitive spot, your hand wrapped snugly around his growing shaft.
Bo shifted, his eyes locked on your lips. “G’on, darlin’, it’s all yours. Show me you can handle it.”
You slipped just the head of his cock into your mouth, cradling him with your tongue, finally dropping your gaze so you could slide half his length in and back out, in and out, deeper this time, until your lips met his pelvis and he allowed himself a low groan. The leather upholstery squealed as he gripped the couch cushion in his hand.
“That’s it, baby girl, just like that.” His other hand dropped from the back of the couch to fist the hair at the base of your skull. You whimpered, readjusting yourself, cognizant of the gentle throb between your legs. Drool filled your mouth and coated his shaft, dribbled over your thumb as you tugged on his balls. “Y’like havin’ somethin’ in your mouth, don’tcha baby.”
With a strangled sound, you relaxed your throat and focused hard on breathing through your nose, letting him guide your head back and forth at the pace he wanted. Your nails dug into the skin of his thigh. The heat pooling in your panties was unbearable. You needed him everywhere at once, all over you, inside of you, wanted to make him shake, wanted his hand around your neck.
He pushed himself deeper and you suppressed a gag. “’Atta girl,” he murmured. “Good fuckin’ girl.” The muscles of his abdomen rolled and his grip tightened on your hair. “Gonna cum for you, yeah?” he breathed. “You’re gonna take it.” It wasn’t a question.
You whined, bracing yourself against his hips.
“Fuck – ” Bo gasped through clenched teeth, let slip a strangled moan, faltered in his rhythm as he spilled in hot spurts down your throat.
You fought another gag and slid him carefully out of your mouth, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him on the back of your tongue. A few thin tears toppled over your lashes as you lifted your head and wiped your lips with your wrist. He was flushed and panting, you noted with satisfaction.
“Mm…y’alright, darlin’?” Bo refocused on your face, reached out and brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Oh – shit.” He drew his hand back quickly.
You furrowed your brow. “I’m fine, Bo – ”
“No, ‘s not that.” He flipped his hand and to your surprise, his knuckles were bleeding.
“Jesus,” you exclaimed. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he huffed. He stood up and tugged his boxers back on, kicking his jeans off on the rug. “I split my damn knuckles a couple days ago.”
You rose from the couch and followed him to the kitchen sink, brow knit with concern. “Doing what?”
“Scraped ‘em on the concrete while I was under a Ford. Stupid.” He turned on the faucet and winced as the water hit the wounds. “Didn’t get any on ya, did I?”
You checked yourself over and shook your head. “Do you need a band-aid?”
He scoffed. “Nah, I’m no pussy.”
You rolled your eyes. “If they don’t stop bleeding I’m getting you a band-aid.” You watched as he gingerly dried his hand with a paper towel. “Let me see.”
“Quit makin’ a fuss over nothin’,” Bo grumbled, but he held out his hand for you to examine. Two short but deep gashes split the crests of his first and second knuckles and the skin around them was bruised and swollen.
“The concrete did that?” you frowned.
“That’s what I said.”
“You need me to kiss them better?”
Bo scowled. “I’m not a damn child.” You pressed a careful kiss to the backs of his fingers anyway and his expression softened in spite of himself. “Bit my lip too, y’know. While you were suckin’ out my soul over there.”
“Oh, poor baby,” you said, pulling him close.
“Been playin’ too rough, mama.”
“Thought you liked it rough.”
He kissed you, slow and open-mouthed, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. His grip was firm and possessive. When he pulled away he took your breath with him. His lips grazed your cheekbone and he murmured in your ear, “Take your clothes off and I’ll show you how I like it.”
You looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. He flashed you that heartthrob grin. “Forgot how easy it is to get you riled up.” He gestured over your shoulder with a nod. “Get your ass into that bed, sugar.”
He stepped back to let you slip past him and you felt his eyes on the switch of your hips. Something about the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, his very proximity made you feel sordid, like you were meant for him, body and blood.
“Clothes off, darlin’,” he called after you.
You pulled your shirt up over your head and dropped it on the floor without looking back at him, undid the button on your jeans and wrangled them down your legs. Your bra and panties were devil red, mostly mesh, leaving only the bare minimum to the imagination. You’d described them to him in excruciating detail over the phone, but he’d never seen them in person until now. Coyly you tucked your thumbs into the waistband and tugged at it.
His low whistle of admiration made you grin. “Changed my mind. Leave them things on.”
His bedroom was familiar and comfortable and you climbed onto the bed, lolling across the mattress, luxuriating in the sensation and smell of his sheets. You’d slept like shit the first week without him. Bo sauntered through the door and pinned his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of you sprawled in his bed.
“Goddamn. Hope you’re comfy, baby girl, ‘cause you ain’t leavin’ that bed ‘til Monday.”
You opened your mouth to reply and he shushed you, leaning down to cup your chin. “Not a word outta those pretty lips unless it’s yes sir or no sir, y’understand?”
“Yes sir,” you said, already captivated.
He kissed your nose, and then your forehead. “I’m gonna tie you up, sugar, s’that alright?” You nodded immediately and a smile crept across his face. “Good.”
You ogled him shamelessly as he tugged a leather strap out from under each corner at the foot end of the mattress. He fastened cuffs lined with soft fabric around both of your ankles and clipped just the left one to the restraint, taking a seat on the mattress between your legs and resting your right foot on his shoulder, nuzzling his nose against your shin.
“Gonna remind you who you belong to, pretty thing. Been gone so long…you forget who your man is?”
His teeth pinched at your skin and you inhaled sharply. “No sir.”
“Hmm.” His beard was scratchy as he let his mouth wander up your leg. “Think I better make sure o’ that.” He sucked hard on the flesh of your calf, leaving a sultry purple bruise. “You wear those cute lil things while you’re on the phone with me?” The way he rested his cheek against your leg was sweet, almost demure. “Playin’ with that pussy while I’m talkin’ to you?”
The sheet was bunched tight in your hands already and he’d just gotten started. “Yes sir,” you breathed.
His hand slid dangerously far past your knee and back again, goosebumps springing up in its wake. “Show me.”
You pouted. You’d had about enough of your own fingers; you wanted his. “But – ”
Bo pinched your thigh and you squeaked. “Ah-ah, baby girl. Show me what I’ve been missin’. Promise I’ll take care o’ you.”
You let your hand creep down to stroke lightly over the fabric covering your sex, already damp between your legs. A slow, shaky breath snuck through your lips as he ran his fingers up and down your thigh.
"Pretty thing," he crooned. "Missed you so bad…."
You tucked your fingers into your panties and fumbled for the right spot, whining when you found it, hot and throbbing. You’d had a fair amount of practice in the last few weeks, cheap orgasms with your hand or your vibe, occasionally made better and worse by the sound of his voice tinny through your phone. Having him here and touching you set you on fire.
"Baby girl," he moaned, watching you feel yourself up, trailing sidelong kisses past your knee. "Beautiful girl."
Chest heaving, breasts straining against your bra, you ground against your fingers with your gaze locked on him. He was leaving marks on the inside of your thigh like rose petals, soft and stinging. You were mere steps from collapse, body electric with his touch, the taste of him still sweet in the back of your throat. Easy, it was so easy, it was so easy with him.
"Slow down, sugar." He took hold of your wrist and halted your methodical motions, lips lifting in a smirk at the look on your face. "You ain't cummin' 'til I say."
"Okay," you breathed.
He raised a brow. "'Scuse me?"
"Yes sir."
"Good girl." Bo gently lowered your foot from his shoulder to the bed and slid your panties down your thighs, guiding your right leg free only to clip the cuff to the strap and leave you spread wide open. You hesitated, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and he splayed his hands on your thighs. "G'on, angel, I wanna see." His voice was feather-soft but his gaze was piercing.
With a whimper you slipped one fingertip down the center of your slit and back up around your clit, abdomen clenching, everything honey-sweet and sugary. There was no hiding from the sensation, pulled open like this, nothing to soften your touch. You were so wet you could feel it, splayed out for him to watch.
"Damn, baby, look at you. Makin' that little pussy feel so good. Puttin' on a show for me, dirty fuckin' girl."
You made a strangled sound, trapping your clit between two fingers, increasing your pace just a little, just enough.
Bo gripped your thighs. "Slow, baby, slow." His voice was low and thick with lust. "Wanna remember how you look for the next time we're on the phone and I'm touchin' myself without you."
You gasped, choked on it, squirming. Reflexively you fought against the restraints, desperate to escape the friction of your own hand.
“Poor pretty thing,” he murmured. “Can you fuck yourself for me?”
Rushing to obey, your fingers abandoned your clit to push all the way inside you, nice and easy, and you moaned like a whore.
He dug his nails into your skin. “Goddammit, angel.”
You gave him a pleading look, mouth opening to offer him something, anything, if he would just help you. If he’d just let you. But you said nothing, because that was against the rules. Fuck, you could feel yourself quivering.
He was all but salivating watching you pump your fingers in and out. "Just like that, baby, you like that?”
“Y-yes sir.”
“Y'want my fingers?" You nodded frantically. "Ask me nice.”
“Please,” you gasped. “Please, can I – can I have your fingers? Sir?”
“’Course, baby. My girl gets what she wants."
Bo urged your hand out of the way with a nudge of your wrist and for a moment, you were horribly, heartbreakingly empty. He ran one fingertip down across your clit and you whined, squeezed your eyes shut, and when he breached your hole with two thick fingers and no resistance your hips bucked, cunt clenching. Nothing could compare to him, the way he owned you so easily.
"Not yet, baby girl, c'mon. Be good for me. Makin' me wait so long for this, now it's your turn."
"I – I can't – "
“Yes you can. I know you can.” He fucked you with long, slow thrusts, head tilted to the side as he watched you writhe, hands furled into fists pressing helplessly against the mattress. “I fuckin’ own this pussy, don’t I.”
“Yes,” you managed. “Yes…sir….” You were pulsing, head to toe, glowing gold, fighting every second to keep it from pulling you under. His thumb found your clit and you let loose a sound like a sob.
“You close, baby?” he asked, as if he couldn’t feel your cunt clutching at him in the throes of deprivation.
“S-so…so close, Daddy, please….”
You heard him huff as though you were the one denying him. “Gonna count for you, alright?” A hopeless protest wrung itself out on your tongue. “Gonna give you ten.”
“Okay, okay, okay….”
“Ten…nine….”
He hit the angle, the perfect flawless made-for-you angle that made your blood tingle like it was full of moonshine, and you cried out at the injustice of it all.
“Eight…seven…six….”
He maintained his rhythm, his pressure, his practiced manipulation of your nerve endings even as you heaved and fought to make it stop, make it worse, make it end.
“Doin’ so good, baby girl…five…four….”
Your legs were shaking out of control, breath coming in spurts, heart roaring in your ears, and everything was electric. He was drawing out his count now, sadistic, remorseless.
“Three…eyes on me, baby girl, eyes on me…two…look at me, pretty girl, that’s it…one.”
It crashed over you and you were ended and you were everything and you keened like it hurt when really, you could live on it, on him, on anything he would give you. His name teetered off your lips and the look in his eyes…you’d do anything for him, so long as he kept looking at you like that.
He waited until the flicker of your walls stalled before sliding his fingers out of you. The ceiling was soft like a dream and you were weightless, half-aware of him shifting on the mattress. When you felt his breath hot between your thighs, you had only a split second to come back to yourself before his tongue made a pass between your lips and you let out a yelp.
“Bo!”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinkin’ that’s all I’m gonna give you.” You stumbled over your protests and he shushed you with another slow stroke of his tongue. “Been missin’ the way you taste,” he mumbled. “Nothin’ like it, baby girl.” He peered at you over the plane of your stomach. “You’re gonna cum in my mouth, angel, hope you’re ready.”
“I – ohh.”
He captured your clit between his lips and tongue and it was over for you in a matter of petty minutes, quick and dirty, and then again not long after, and this time it simply didn’t stop until you were incoherent and twitching, moaning his name like a litany, at the unremitting mercy of wave after blissful wave.
The gentle press of his lips to your forehead coaxed you back to your senses after what may as well have been an eternity. Your mouth was dry from your constant gasping for air. A muscle in your face was quivering out of control. You were soaked through with sweat, the sheets hot beneath your body. You weren’t sure you’d be able to move again, and why would you want to?
The thrum of his thumb across your nipple sent sparks shooting through you and you flinched and moaned.
"I know, I know. Fuckin' hell, baby, I can't leave you alone." He gripped your jaw gently but firmly and kissed your temple, your cheek, your throat. "Y'know you're all mine. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm – ah." He bit the swell of your breast, sucking hard, stoking the persistent glow smoldering between your thighs, making your abdomen heave. You stroked his hair and tried to catch your breath. "I'm yours. All yours."
He guided your lips to his and kissed you one more time. "You miss me?"
"You know I did."
“Let me get you a drink and turn you loose."
He left and came back with a glass of water, an orange, and a cigarette smoldering between his lips. You watched him over the rim of the glass as he busied himself with your restraints, massaging your ankles with his calloused hands.
"Since when do you smoke in the house?"
He rolled the cigarette to the corner of his mouth. "Picked up a few bad habits since you been gone."
You rolled the orange in your hands and watched him crack open the window, blow a lungful of smoke outside. "Can I try?" you asked. "You know, I've never smoked before."
"Nah." He tapped the ash into the track of the window. "It'll kill ya." You gave him a look and he returned it. "I got one foot in the grave already, leave me be."
You rolled your eyes and set about peeling the orange. "You wanna hear about school?"
He took a long drag, blew it out slow, focused on something or nothing out the window. "'Course, darlin'."
You filled him in on your classes, your friends, the way this semester already felt like a slog. He listened, responded in all the right places, but he seemed far away all of the sudden; uncomfortable, even. You could imagine it wasn’t so interesting to hear about people and things he couldn’t care less about, but rather than disinterest, it was more like unease. Even once his cigarette had burnt to the filter, he stayed at the window, his attention vacillating between you and the world outside.
Eventually you rose from the bed and slipped your arms around his waist from behind. “What are you thinking about?” You didn’t expect the truth, but you wanted to hear his answer anyway.
"When do classes end?"
You sighed. "Thirteen more weeks."
He groaned in complaint and muttered a curse. "Then what?"
"What do you mean, then what?"
"You gonna move across the whole damn country for work or somethin'? Decide you gotta do more school? Or you gonna come back home where you belong?"
"Well…I don't know.” You’d been thinking about that. “I don't really want to live with my parents."
His fingertip traced the veins in the back of your hand. "Don't, then.” He cleared his throat, looked back out the window, and said with absolute nonchalance, “Move in with me."
You furrowed your brow, considering the ramifications. The neighbors would be insufferable. You grew up here. You imagined running into your mother at the grocery store. "How the hell would we keep that a secret?"
"Who gives a shit?" he said. "If people wanna judge let ‘em judge."
"What about my parents?"
Bo turned around, looped his arms around you. "Well, baby girl, they're gonna be pissed. Might be funny."
You chewed your lip. "My dad's kinda scary when he gets mad."
Bo’s expression plummeted. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. "He yell at you?"
Not for a long time, not since you were little. "He used to." You thought back to when you were a teenager, when you could do no right. “My mom can be a piece of work too.”
The cold intensity of his gaze surprised you, unsettled you a little bit. Immediately you backtracked. “I didn’t mean – ”
"You let me tell 'em," he said quietly.
"No, they're my parents, I can do – "
"I'm not askin' permission."
"We're not even…we don't even need to tell them yet." The prospect of telling them at all made your gut twist with anxiety. The thought that the time for that conversation may be on the horizon was nauseating. The look on his face was in no way helpful.
"Hey." In the blink of an eye his knife-edge expression became a warm and genuine smile. "'S alright, darlin'. Don't fret about it."
You frowned. His immediate transformation puzzled you, left you a little uneasy. "You're not gonna tell them yet, right?"
"No." He shook his head and kissed you gently. "Forget all about it, baby girl. I wouldn’t want to put you in a position like that.”
You looked up at him, searching for words. “I…I would love to move in with you, I just – ”
“I know, baby. Don't worry yourself none. Thirteen weeks,” he said with a smile tinged sad. “We got time.”
You buried your face in his chest, held him tightly to you. "I'm sorry."
"Y'ain't got a thing to be sorry for." He pinched your ass. “How ‘bout you cover up the important bits and we sit on the porch like reasonable people? Enjoy the weather while we got it.”
“I’d like that.”
-
You cuddled up to him in the big chair on the back porch while the sun was still visible over the privacy fence, playing with his beard. It was just long enough to drag your nails through. It softened his jawline, made him look older than he was. He was so handsome, golden in the sunlight, his thumb tracing the marks left by his mouth on your skin. He gave you a squeeze and you smiled up at him, happy just to be here and be his.
“I been meanin’ to ask you something, pretty girl.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I got a hobby I ain’t really told you about…I mostly just do it for me.”
You cocked your head, interested. Revelations of this sort were few and far between. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, hesitant. “I take pictures. Kinda artsy ones. I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a photographer, but…been doin’ it for a long time.”
You beamed up at him. “That doesn’t surprise me. You take really good…nudes.”
Bo let out a nervous chuckle. “Thank you, darlin’. Vince got all the creative genes, y’know? I can’t draw for shit, or sculpt, or paint. But any idiot can press a button.”
You elbowed him. “Press a button, sure. There’s more to it than that though.”
“I guess you’re right. Anyway, point is, I…I’d really like to take some of you, baby girl. ‘Specially with you bein’ so far away, it got me thinkin’, I’d really like to have…a little bit o’ you here.”
You were flattered, suddenly self-conscious. “You want me to model for you?”
He looked at you hopefully. “Yeah. Would you?”
You nodded with enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course I will. I’d love to.”
He broke into a grin and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got all sorts of ideas, you know my jacket you like? I was thinkin’ maybe that, plus those panties you got with the little bows on the front, or I got this like…leather thing, I’ll have to show you, but your tits would look so damn good in that and we gotta….”
The floodgates opened and you sat back and listened to him describe his many visions, everything from the avant-garde to the outright pornographic, and underneath it all, what you really heard was admiration. Inspiration. Devotion.
He was bad at telling you how he felt and good at lying about it. He was selfish sometimes, without meaning to be. Or maybe he did mean it, and that was okay; you weren't perfect either. He was defensive and secretive and sometimes you felt like you had only scratched the surface, like there was so much more to him underneath.
But all you could think about as he described how he saw you, how he wanted to see you, was how much you loved him.
God, did you love him.
Taglist: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers, @pina-chan, @frogggilles, @ethanhoewke, @im-bout-to-pass-otut, @wolftitaness, @ladysybilchronicles, @sinclairbrosbathmat, @zaras-really-dreamless, @sketchy-rosewitch. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!
1.2k words. Graphic depictions of violence, specifically strangulation. Very obsessive behavior from Bo (man's got an attachment disorder obvi). Brief mention of suicide in an extremely hypothetical context. Light dose of angst.
Bo figured he'd sleep better with you beside him again, but he's got too much to think about.
Bo hadn’t felt contentment like this in a long time.
He stared up at the flat darkness of the ceiling, listening to your breathing on the pillow beside him. It put him at ease, having you back in his bed, and it keyed him up at the same time. You were all softness and sugar and he had a mighty need, an addict’s itch, a hunger for every smile and giggle and sweet sultry stare.
Being without you was miserable. Hearing your voice over the phone, seeing your face in selfies and FaceTime was torturous. This was where you belonged, within arm’s reach. Where he could touch you and smell you and hear you for real, not through the phone.
His foot burrowed through the covers until it found your leg, the pocket of warmth where you were curled up safe and sleeping. You brought him the kind of peace he realized he’d been chasing his whole life. A sense of security, a sense of belonging. He thought he’d found it here in suburbia, far from loss and legacy, but he was wrong. He was lonely. He had nothing, until he had you.
But even then…something had been missing. He had something restless in him with nowhere to go. Bo was selfish, had always been selfish. Love was selfish. So was death.
He flexed his hand, felt the sting and pull of the scabs on his knuckles. Stupid. Would’ve been healed by now if he didn’t keep splitting them back open at work. Concrete, he told you. Scuffed it on concrete. A small lie, all things considered.
The guy had been much younger than him, a little older than you. Fit, strong. A hair taller than Bo. There had been a girl keeping pace with him when he walked into the woods, and Bo figured they were together. He was more than ready to snap her neck too. But half a mile in, she’d suddenly come back around the bend alone, heading back toward the trailhead. Maybe she forgot something. Maybe she hadn’t been with the man after all.
She flashed him a courtesy smile, barely looked at him. And then she was gone, and he let her go. Eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable. Some people have all the luck.
You stirred next to him, breathed in deep and let it out slow. He looked over at you, face half-buried in the pillow, hair mussed by sex and sleep. He made a mental note to remind you not to walk around alone. You’d roll your eyes and wave him off, but he’d be stubborn about it. You never knew who was out there.
He’d caught up to the man in minutes.
He could’ve started and ended it quick, but where was the fun in that? He struck up a friendly conversation, kept pace half a step ahead of the guy. When the moment came, it slid over his skin like a ghost, set his hair on end. He turned, stepped in front of him, put a hand up to stop him.
“Say man, what kinda car you drive?”
The guy gave him a funny look. Who could blame him? “A Ford.”
He moved to pass Bo, who didn’t give him the chance. He threw a hell of a right hook and caught the man right in the teeth and now everyone was bleeding.
“What the fuck?!”
Bo hit the guy again, keeping him off balance. Before he could take off or strike back, Bo barreled into him, hit him low, knocking him off the trail and into the undergrowth. There was a small slope and the man tumbled backwards, Bo skidding down the hill right behind him.
The guy scrambled to his feet, but he was disoriented, tried to run, staggered to a stop against a tree. He turned and swung wide, missed Bo completely. With desperation in his eyes, he opened his mouth and started to shout for help.
He barely got the first syllable out before Bo had his big hands clamped around his throat. The guy was stronger than him and put up a hell of a fight. He seized Bo’s wrists and tore himself free.
Bo took advantage of the hopeful moment and headbutted the guy in the nose with such force he bit his own tongue. The man made a sound like a nail being wrenched out of a two-by-four and this time, when Bo seized him around the neck, he snapped his head sharply against a nearby tree and then forced him to the ground, gritting his teeth so hard he swore he could hear them groaning, watching the man turn red and then purple and then blue and all the while he was squeezing, squeezing, squeezing….
“Bo?”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. You were propped up on your elbows, peering at him in the dark, brows knit together with concern. No one ever looked at him like that, no one but you.
“Are you okay?” you asked.
Bo exhaled heavily, realized he was tensed up head to toe. “’M fine, baby. Just havin’ trouble sleepin’ is all.”
You frowned. “You were breathing really hard…freaked me out.” He pulled you to his chest, wrapped you in his arms maybe a little too tight. “Your heart is pounding.”
“Well, you scared the hell outta me.”
You snuggled into him and yawned and he smiled in spite of it all. “I thought you were having a heart attack or something.”
He snorted. “Baby girl, how old you think I am?”
“It’s not that.” You snaked your arm around him without a thought, like it was nothing, like it didn’t fill him with so much tenderness it threatened to rip him apart. “I have anxiety,” you mumbled.
Bo hmmed thoughtfully. “Well for one, nothin’s gonna happen to me, and for two, when it does, I’m takin’ you with me, so you got nothin’ to worry about.”
You made a sleepy sound in response and he was ready to explode with the sheer force of devotion lodged between his lungs. It pissed him off, kinda. In a good way, maybe. You’d wormed your little way through his ribs with that body, that laugh, the way you reached for his hand for no reason except to hold it. The way you looked at him like he made the sun shine – it made him feel like maybe he did, or at least maybe he could.
When he’d left home, he swore to himself he would never be beholden to anyone else or their wants or wishes again. He’d be his own man, live for himself. No ties, no attachments. Not even to Lester. Not even to Vincent.
But he’d put a bullet in his brain if you asked him to. Crawl over broken glass, cut off a hand. All the lovey-dovey shit. Maybe he was just like that, just needed someone to live for. Die for. Kill for.
You were fast asleep, pretty eyes restless beneath their lids. Hopefully your dreams were better than his. They had to be. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head.
“You got nothin’ to worry about,” he murmured again. “You just got me.”
Taglist: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers, @pina-chan, @frogggilles, @ethanhoewke, @im-bout-to-pass-otut, @wolftitaness, @ladysybilchronicles, @sinclairbrosbathmat, @zaras-really-dreamless, @sketchy-rosewitch, @lovely-cryptid. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!
This past week Fireworks, my original dilf Bo fic, surpassed 1k notes. I am absolutely blown away. I stumbled completely by accident into this community and met so many creative, thoughtful, wonderful people who are down so bad for this bullshit mechanic and his recluse brothers. Thank you thank you thank you for all of the support and sweet words and reblogs and discussions. I really, truly have so much love for you guys.
So here is a little thank you: 1800 words about what Mr. Sinclair likes in bed. And although there are some references to events in past updates, the majority is self-contained and gender neutral.
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Bo has long been accustomed to low-stakes hookups with acquaintances (or dubious trysts with unfortunate victims), so he's not particularly snuggly after sex. He likes to sit with you and smoke, outside or in bed with the window open. The exception: if your activities were particularly…strenuous, especially for you, he can’t leave you alone. Wants to clean you up, wrap you up, hold you close and press kisses to your forehead. He’s so proud of you for trusting him. If he feels like he got too aggressive, he’ll get moody and you have to shower him with praise and reassurance.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He likes his face including that killer jawline; it’s proven time and again to be one of his greatest assets. He also likes his hands, likes to see them wrapped around your neck or wrists or his fingers laced through yours. He likes your hands too, and he’s an ass man through and through. Squeezing, spanking, biting, he’s a nuisance.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Really likes the way you taste. Will happily lick you off his fingers. Doesn’t mind the way the two of you taste together either, the kinky bastard. His favorite place to cum is inside you hands down, but if you’re not comfortable with that, he’s happy just to aim in your general direction.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He’s waiting for the right time to ask you to peg him. He’s a power bottom, but not for everyone. He almost trusts you enough to suggest it, but not quite. Not just anyone gets a piece of that ass.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
You know he knows what he’s doing. He knows what he likes and he’s got some tricks up his sleeve. However, he’s patient with you if you’re less experienced, and in fact, he kind of likes it. He likes expanding your horizons, wants to be your first and only in some respects, but he’ll never turn down a worthy counterpart who knows a few tricks of their own. Sometimes he assumes you’re more innocent than you are because in his mind, he’s corrupting you beyond saving (and he’s so into it).
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
He’s a sweetheart, he likes missionary so he can be as close to you as possible, full body contact, your pretty lips right by his ear. He does have a soft spot for letting you be on top though. He likes watching you think you’re in charge.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He’s a goofball in the leadup, likes teasing and flirting with you, but he’s all business once you get down to business. He takes himself kind of seriously and is focused on making sure you’re both having a good time. Funny enough, the more intense the scenario (strapping you hand and foot into a chair as a random, non-specific example), the more jokes he’s got.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Keeps everything below the bellybutton at least trimmed if not completely shaved. He’s not naturally very hairy aside from his chest. All his hair, including on his head, has lightened some with age from that lovely dark walnut to a softer, more golden brown.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
God, he’s so into you. You’re the only thing in the room. He cannot take his eyes off you, and why would he want to? He doesn’t want to miss a moment, not one microexpression. He’s obsessed. He’s never been so enamored with someone before. Sex he’s familiar with, but intimacy? Intimacy is new to him and he can’t get enough of it.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Once a day keeps the urologist away. Really likes thinking about you, especially if your relationship is still a secret and it’s the middle of the week and he’s not going to get to spend any quality time with you for a few more days. He will never tell you this, but he also has a library of previous experiences that he pulls from regularly, ones that are a little less soft and sweet than you are. Ones that involve tears and screaming and desperate bids for mercy. He burned most of the polaroids, but you can’t burn memories.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
That daddy kink tho. He did not know he had a daddy kink until he met you. When you sprung it on him at the farmer's market, he was so focused on the fuckboy hitting on you that it was like walking into a clothesline. He played it cool but hearing you call him Daddy gave him butterflies. Enjoys enacting bondage on his partner; it’s a hard limit for himself. He’s less about shibari (that’s Vincent’s territory 😉) and more about harnesses and cuffs. Loves edging you, especially if it gets you to plead for him in explicit detail about what you need from him.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Is it on planet Earth? He loves it. He beat you there and his pants are gone. The world is his bedroom. The thrill of maybe getting caught never gets old for him.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
When you show any amount of skin. When you do something thoughtful for him. When there's a chance someone might catch you or see you doing dirty things to each other. When you show him you trust him, that you’re not put off by his age or his scars or his proclivities or the fact that sometimes he gets gruff and stormy. Also loves when you beg for anything in any context. Even just saying his name in the right tone of voice riles him up.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
As previously stated, you will never be able to tie him up. Has zero interest in sharing you with anyone else; you’re all his and only his. He likes pushing you out of your comfort zone, maybe even overwhelming you a little, but he does not want to push you to the point of tears because part of him would be absolutely wrecked by this and part of him would be so into it that it genuinely scares him.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He’s a giver, darlin’. Loves that he can reduce you to nothing but nerves with just his mouth. Genuinely enjoys giving head and is damn good at it. Also will never turn down a blow job, especially in a semi-public place.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Bo really likes taking his time with you. He’s in no rush for the moment to end. He likes a slow build, kisses and touches while shedding one article of clothing at a time. That’s not to say he’s opposed to impromptu fucking on the kitchen table or a ride in his truck on the way home. Just that he considers you more of a meal than a snack.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He’ll take what he can get, especially when you have to keep things a secret and often don’t have a lot of alone time. There’s something terribly appealing about taking you hard and fast on his lunch break or in the last few minutes before your parents get home.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Bo’s taken enough risks for several lifetimes and he really thought he’d grown out of it until you came home for the summer. Being with you, being anything to you is a huge risk to the life he’s built. But he loves it; you reminded him how much fun it is to lay it all on the line. Especially when the reward is something so worthwhile. He took a serious gamble when he hit on you at the block party, even moreso when he followed you up to your bedroom, and it’s paid off more than he could’ve imagined.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
He’s got one, maybe two rounds a day in the tank. He’s not quite as hot-blooded as he used to be. But that’s okay, he’s creative and he never gets tired of making you squirm. He’s got great stamina (unless you whine too pretty too soon).
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
You don’t even gotta ask, you already know. 😈
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Bo is a horrible tease, but he always delivers. He only enjoys withholding what you want long enough to make it that much sweeter when he finally lets you have it. He gets no pleasure from actually denying you, but it sure is fun to torture you.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Muttered curses under his breath. Filthy expressions of desire that barely make it off his tongue. Grunts that transform midway into helpless whines. Terms of endearment that he whispers like prayers for absolution.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Would love to do a boudoir photoshoot of you. Thinks about it a lot, actually. Has plans in his head for pictures of you in various states of undress, in his clothes, in lingerie or fetish gear he chooses for you. His concepts range from classy shots with a digital camera to grainy polaroids of you with him in your mouth. He’s gonna turn the idea over in his head for a while longer before he suggests it to you. He really hopes you say yes.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Bo’s dick is as pretty as his face. He’s a solid six inches, straight as an arrow, circumcised. He boasts a fair few scars on his body from the first two-thirds of his life, but nothing compares to the glowering pink bands around his wrists and ankles. He’s active and in decent shape but he’s got that middle-aged-man dad bod that makes him good to cuddle.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
He’s always had a high sex drive and even if it started tapering off as he got older, you’ve reawakened something in him. More than just sex drive though; physical touch is a love language he is particularly receptive to and he communicates his feelings for you in the way that he always has a hand on you any chance he gets.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
So fast. Bo works hard and plays hard and his conscience is just clean enough that he passes right out. Of course, the bed is too big on the nights you don’t stay. He most definitely sleeps better with you beside him.
If you enjoyed this and want more sweet and sexy Southern goodness, there's about 22,000 more words where these came from (linked below) and many more to come! Please note the regular fic updates feature an AFAB reader. Up until now, this fic hasn't had a title, but from here on out I'll be calling it A Gentleman and a Scoundrel.
6.4k. Smut & drama. Some angst (I know I know, you'll be okay, he just cares about you so much baby girl). Bo's shitty attitude makes an appearance and he snaps at Reader. Oral (Fem!receiving), PnV sex. So soft and tender near the end omg. Bittersweet ending (this is NOT the final update!).
The time has come for you to go back to college. Bo does his best to be supportive. Unfortunately, his best in this case is not very good.
For you, a return to campus for the start of a new semester was bittersweet. It meant new classes, new routines, the combined relief and anxiety of a return to independence. It would be exciting for a week if you were lucky, and then the mundanity of homework and midterms would set back in for another four months.
For your parents, it was merely the change of the seasons. With you out of the nest, they had become snowbirds, spending most of the fall and winter months on a beach or a boat. In fact, they had left for Cancun last week. They no longer felt the need for tearful goodbyes, knew you were capable of packing yourself up, moving yourself in. Adults all around.
As far as Bo was concerned, it may as well have been your last day on earth. He was so anxious you would’ve thought he was the one moving 200 miles away. For the last few days he had hardly let you out of his sight, staying over every night, sleeping pressed tightly against you in your childhood bed. Truth be told, it melted your heart, the way he followed you around like a puppy as you packed up your things.
“I think that’s everything,” you said as you locked the front door of your parents’ house.
“Y’didn’t forget anything at my place, did ya?”
“No, I’m leaving a bunch of stuff there, remember?” He hmmed in response, hands on his hips. “Even if I forget something, it’s okay. I’ll be up here in two weeks and I can get it then.”
“Well what if you need it?”
You slipped your arms around his waist. “Then I guess you’ll just have to bring it down to me right away.”
That almost got a smile out of him, but only almost. He appraised the mountain of your belongings packed securely in the bed of his truck. “Y’sure that’s everything? Thought you had more shit.”
You smiled up at him. “This is not my first rodeo. It’s like, my seventh. I promise, we’re good to go.”
He sighed. “If you say so, darlin’. Just lemme check the hitch real quick and then we can go.”
Rather than letting you drive your car down, he insisted on towing the damn thing behind his truck. He had already checked the trailer hitch at least once if not twice. If it gave him some sense of control over the situation, you supposed you could humor him.
You meandered over to the driver’s side and leaned against the door. When he was absolutely sure the hitch was secure, he came around the side of the truck, frowned when he saw you.
“What d’you think you’re doin’, baby girl?”
“Figured I’d drive down since you’re going to have to drive back,” you said.
He snorted. “Oh, y’got jokes now?” You grinned and he swatted at you. “Get your ass in the passenger’s seat.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bo shot you a glare and you scurried away around the front of the truck.
His hand was on your leg before you’d even left the driveway. You put your hand on top of his, fingertips caressing the scars on his wrist. He turned a faint smile in your direction; said nothing. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet all morning.
For the last couple weeks, he had pestered you with questions, made you recount your weekly schedule to him five times, insisted you provide him with the names and numbers of your roommate and a few other friends. You talked about visiting each other on the weekends, phone calls in the evenings, meeting somewhere in the middle. To be sure, it would be an adjustment, but he seemed to be handling the transition as well as could be expected.
However, the silence in the truck this morning was stifling, taking up all the extra space in the cab. You glanced at him a few times. He did not look back at you, eyes fixed firmly on the road. Once he pulled onto the freeway, he turned on the radio at a volume that was not conducive to conversation. You chewed your lip and decided let him be for a while. It was a long drive; he couldn’t ice you out forever.
“We could stop for lunch at that cute place by the river,” you said when you couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Maybe walk around a little bit?”
“Sounds good, baby girl."
You frowned. He sounded apathetic. "I thought maybe I could take you around campus after we unload. Show you a couple of my favorite places," you tried.
"Whatever you want."
He seemed detached. “You okay?” you asked.
“’M just fine, darlin’.” He squeezed your leg.
Evidently this was not the case. “Do you…want to talk about it?”
“No I do not, thank you.” The sharpness of his tone surprised you. He was never short with you. You watched as he took his hand off your leg to turn the radio up.
You frowned. “Bo.”
He turned the radio up two more clicks.
You sat up straight, turned it off. “Bo.”
“Don’t touch my radio while I’m drivin’, girl,” he snapped. He turned it back on.
You stared at him, taken aback. “Are you upset with me?” you asked loudly over the wail of Bon Jovi. He hated Bon Jovi; he wasn’t even listening to the damn radio.
“’M not upset with you.”
“Well then will you please just talk to me?”
He didn’t respond.
You smashed the power button on the radio with more force than intended. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“We’re not fightin’.”
You weren’t sure how to respond. It sure felt like you were fighting. The two of you had never fought before. He didn’t turn the radio back on, but he didn’t say anything either. You folded your hands in your lap and looked out the window.
You knew today was going to be hard, but you’d expected a sort of mutual sadness, not this abrupt hostility. You couldn’t fathom why he was lashing out at you; as far as you knew, he approved of you going back to school.
A defensive sort of anger flared in your chest. Whether he approved or not, it’s what you were doing. You weren’t about to abandon three years’ worth of hard work just because he didn’t want to have to drive a few hours to see you.
If he wanted to pass the next ninety minutes in animosity, that was fine with you. You reached over and turned the radio back on, scrolled the volume up even higher for emphasis, crossed your arms over your chest. He shot you a glance; you ignored him.
Streetlights flew by. Bo was taking his aggravation out on the gas pedal. The damn radio was so loud your ears were ringing. The fight went out of you fast. This was not how you wanted to spend this drive, this last day together for the next two weeks, this time with him that was now a precious commodity.
You looked over at him. His expression was blank. It hurt to know he was hurting. There wasn’t much you could do to fix it, but you badly wanted to try.
“Hey,” you said too softly to be heard above the music. Your fingers found the dial and turned the radio way down. “Hey, Bo.”
“Yes, darlin’,” he said, eyes on the road.
“Would you look at me please?”
He obliged, and his mask of stoicism slipped into a guilty expression at the forlorn look on your face.
All the sudden your throat was thick, eyes stinging. “Can you pull over?”
He did, and you stared twin holes in the roof of the cab, refusing to cry. You felt his gaze on you as you rubbed at your tear ducts, looked down, looked outside, anywhere but at him. He was patient, waiting for you to speak first; it was so unlike him it made you feel worse.
You cleared your throat and when you spoke, your voice was almost steady. “Look, I’m sorry that I have to go.” Despite your best efforts, the tears welled up and you made a frustrated sound as the dashboard blurred. “I-I’m sorry that—”
“No no no.” You heard the sound of his seatbelt coming undone, his seat sliding backwards, and then he unfastened your seatbelt and took you by the arm and by the knee and pulled you toward him. “C’mere, baby girl, don’t cry.”
You offered no resistance, straddling his lap and burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressed kiss after kiss to your head. “Y’got nothin’ to apologize for, sweetness, don’t do that.”
“But I am sorry, I—”
“Stop it, darlin’. I’m the one should be apologizin’ for gettin’ snippy with you.” His hold on you tightened. “’M better than that.”
You nestled into him, hands tucked beneath your chin. His heart pounded against your ear. With every deep breath your nose filled with the smell of his aftershave, the indelible musk of cigarette smoke ingrained in the fabric of his clothes beneath the scent of laundry detergent. You’d joked about bringing your laundry with you on the weekends so it would smell like his house. At least, it had been a joke. Now it seemed like a desperate and necessary way to keep him with you.
“Hey. Baby girl.” Bo nudged you, curled his finger beneath your chin to direct your gaze to him. “I’m sorry I took a tone with you. If I do that again you flip me the bird and tell me I’m makin’ an ass of myself.”
You almost smiled, sniffled instead. “I just…I thought you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” he said. You furrowed your brow and he grimaced. “Alright, I been better.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” You put your hand over his heart. “We don’t have to talk about it, I just want to know.” He started to shake his head and you stopped him with delicate fingertips on his jaw. “Bo. Please. It matters to me.”
He looked pained for a moment before he masked it with a smile not quite free of sadness. His pretty eyes flitted over the features of your face one at a time and all at once. “I want you to go. I’m excited for you, I am. ‘S just….” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“Just what?” you urged.
Bo sighed, staring intently out the window. “I feel like I’m losin’ you and I just don’t know how to be alright with that.” He furrowed his brow, met your gaze with an expression bordering on desperation. “I’m tryin’, baby, I promise I am. I’ve just never been good at lettin’ go of things.”
You frowned, took hold of his face. “Bo, we talked about this.”
“I know we did.”
“You don’t have to let me go. You’re not losing me. You couldn’t.”
There it was again, that careworn look in his eyes. The one that made you feel like he knew something you didn’t. That heavy thing he held onto and wouldn’t let you see.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” you prompted gently, uncertain, not wanting to push him too far.
He said nothing, just looked at you for a long moment—too long. You searched his face, trying to transmute a growing anxiety into patience.
Finally he leaned in to kiss your forehead and said, “No, darlin’. Just wonderin’ how a grumpy ol’ fuck like me ended up with this angel right here.”
You offered a furtive smile. “You give really good head,” you said. That caught him off guard and a laugh burst from his chest. He had a smooth, booming genuine laugh and in spite of it all, it made you feel better.
“It’s going to be fine, baby,” you said, fiddling with his shirt. The fabric was soft in your fingers. “It’s just medium-distance for just a few months. We can do that.”
“We can do that,” he repeated like he was trying to convince himself.
“We’re gonna have an obscene amount of phone sex,” you reminded him. “Just a gross amount.”
“And you’re gonna show me how to use Snatchchat or whatever.”
“Fuck you’re old.”
Bo cracked a smile. “Nah I’m just playin’, I know what it’s called. C’mere.”
He pulled you close and kissed you, achingly sweet and hungry, his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear to have you anywhere but pressed against him. “If it was up to me I’d lock you up,” he murmured. “Never let you go.”
“I know you would.”
“I mean it, baby.” He slipped his tongue in your mouth, trying to memorize your taste, squeezing the air from your lungs. “Alright, darlin',” he said breathlessly when he released your lips at last. “I think I can drive like this but you gotta stay real still.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” you said, grinding slowly against his fly. He groaned and shut his eyes. “I really don’t think I can.”
“I s’pose if we crash and die you ain’t leavin’ for college.” He leaned his head back against the seat. “Think your daddy will let ‘em bury me next to you?”
“I doubt it.”
“Damn. Ain’t worth it then.” You felt his dick flex in his jeans and he smacked your ass. “You best knock it off before I haul you outta here and bend you over the hood.”
You scoffed. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
He chuckled, something like wonder in the way he looked at you. “Dammit, baby girl, I—” The words seemed to crowd one another in his throat and he just shook his head. “Get back in your seat, g'on.”
You kissed him one more time before disentangling yourself and struggling back into your seat. “You know, if you need me to, I could give you—”
He held up a hand to stop you. “Do not make me an offer I can’t refuse. I need you to sit there and look pretty, that’s all. You’re doin’ a great job.”
Beaming at him, you buckled up and switched the radio back on at a civil volume as he signaled back into traffic. Bon Jovi was playing again. Bo scowled.
“Anythin’ else, please.”
Hours later, after a stop for lunch and a walk by the river and kisses not stolen but eagerly shared on the bridge, you finally reached your destination. Bo pulled up to the row of brownstone buildings on the edge of campus where your apartment was tucked away.
"This it?" he said, scrutinizing the building with a critical eye.
"This is it. We should be fine to park here for a minute. I want you to come up and see the place first."
"'S this a sketchy neighborhood?" Bo asked apprehensively.
You rolled your eyes. "No, it's fine. Come on."
“Are you sure? Looks sketchy,” he said, locking the truck.
“I’ve lived here for two years, I promise it’s fine. The building’s just old.”
He shook his head ruefully. “We had all summer. I shoulda given you a gun and taught you how to use it.”
“Jesus, Bo, I don’t need a gun.”
“Everyone needs a gun.”
“Your redneck is showing.” He swatted your ass and you squeaked. “Do you have a gun? Besides the one above the fireplace?”
He smiled grimly. “Never you mind.”
You tugged on his hand. “What kind of answer is that?”
“The only one you’re gettin’, sweetness. I don't want you comin' home late in the dark," he persisted as you led him up the steps.
"I am absolutely going to be coming home late in the dark sometimes."
"Darlin'," he said sharply.
"Bo, I can take care of myself, I promise. Look, the front door is always locked and we keep the apartment locked too." You flipped through your keyring for the right key.
Bo grabbed the handle and rattled the door. "I could break into this in thirty seconds."
"Well then it's a good thing you don't have to do that because I have a key, you animal."
You unlocked the door and flung it open. Bo caught and held it, gestured for you to go in first. You led him up one flight of stairs to your second-floor apartment halfway down the hall.
"Your roommate's name is Sammy?" Bo confirmed.
"Yeah."
"And we like her fine."
You giggled. "Yes, we like her. We've been roommates for a year. She's great."
He grunted in response. You unlocked the door but didn't open it, turned around to face him instead. "This guard dog thing you have going on is really sweet, okay? It's very sexy. But I need you to trust me a little bit. You don't have to interrogate Sammy or anyone else down here. I'm a pretty good judge of character."
Bo snorted and shook his head. "Sure, darlin'."
"Just please be nice? I know you can be nice."
“I don’t think you know shit.”
You took half a step towards him, pressing your body against his front. “Daddy,” you whined, and he snapped to attention. “If you be nice right now, maybe I’ll be nice to you later,” you said softly.
"I can be so nice," he said. He almost managed to suppress the patronizing tone.
“Prove it.” You turned away from him and opened the door. “Hey Sammy!” you said brightly as you barged in with Bo on your heels. “How was your summer?”
Sammy, a dark-haired girl sprawled on the couch in a cloud of vape smoke that reeked of cannabis, swore and scrambled to sit up straight and shove the vape under a pillow. “Dude, you didn’t tell me you were bringing your dad!”
Bo rolled his eyes and scowled as you cackled. “I didn’t, this is my boyfriend. Bo, meet Sammy.”
“Pleasure,” he said dryly.
“Oo, a foreigner,” Sammy said.
“He’s from Louisiana.”
“Where’d you guys meet, Mardi Gras?”
“We met back home over the summer. He’s, uh…a friend of my dad’s,” you said at the same time Bo grumbled, “Mardi Gras is in February.”
“That’s kinky as fuck,” Sammy said, digging the vape back out from under the pillow. “Bet your mom is thrilled.”
“My parents do not know and it’s going to stay that way so some discretion would be much appreciated,” you said.
“Gotchu.” The vape hissed. “I’m all about discretion.”
You grinned. “I’m going to show him my room and then we’re going to bring my stuff up, so don’t mind us.”
“I won’t.” Sammy flopped back on the couch, flashed a peace sign. “Nice to meet you, Mardi Gras.”
“Charmed, Samantha,” he said as he followed you down the hall. "She seems fun,” Bo muttered. “She always high off her ass?”
“Since when do you have a problem with recreational drug use?" you shot back.
"I don't, I just–"
"Maybe Sammy will give you a hit off her vape and that'll chill you out." You pushed open the door to your bedroom. “Here we are.”
The air was stale from months of stagnation, but it was comforting to be back in your own space. You watched Bo meander around the room, looking at the photos of you and your friends stuck on the wall, the knickknacks on your desk, your closet overstuffed with clothes despite the fact you had packed a full summer’s wardrobe back home with you.
“’S cute,” he said. “Nice and cozy. Feels like you.”
You wrenched the ancient window open to air the space out. “I really like it here. It’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, but it’s cheap and has good parking.”
Bo came over beside you. “This window lock?”
“Yes, it locks,” you sighed.
He put his hand on the small of your back. “Just makin’ sure my baby girl’s gonna be safe without me, that’s all.”
You leaned against the windowsill and slid your arms around his waist. His brow was lined with concern and you couldn’t help but be a little touched. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it,” he said. “I’d have to beat the shit outta anyone who laid a finger on you and I’m real attached to my clean criminal record.”
“You're a selfish bastard.”
“I know it, darlin’.” He kissed your lips but didn’t linger, tilting your chin delicately to the side so he could work his way down your neck.
“Once we bring some things in I can put clean sheets on the bed,” you said.
“Don’t need sheets,” Bo murmured. “Hell, don’t need a bed.”
You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We do need to unload though so you can move the truck before it gets towed.”
He froze. “Before it what?”
“It’s only thirty-minute parking out front.”
“Well what the fuck are we waitin’ for?” He was out of your room so fast he all but left a cloud of dust in his wake.
The two of you made short work of carting your belongings inside and backing your car off the trailer. Unpacking could wait. Instead, you took Bo around campus and the surrounding neighborhood, pointing out your classroom buildings, the library, the patch of trees on the hill. If he couldn’t be there, if he couldn’t be a part of your everyday, you at least wanted to show him what it was like.
The tour ended at your favorite dive restaurant for dinner. By the time you walked out, the sun had begun its descent behind the trees.
Bo’s hand slipped out of yours and he paced a few steps away. He gazed down the road at the streetlights as they lit up all at once. “Well darlin’…think I better get goin’.”
You frowned, slowed to a stop, confused and caught off guard. “I thought you were staying over.”
“Yeah…thinkin’ maybe I should get home though.” He was not looking at you, looking instead at the part of your world unfamiliar to him, mouth set in a line, hands shoved in his pockets.
I feel like I’m losin’ you and I just don’t know how to be alright with that. Who was losing who?
Your heart sank. “You said you’d stay.”
He turned to you, met your sad eyes, and the furrow of his brow cracked his aloof expression. A quiet, resigned sigh slipped from his nose and he conjured up the ghost of a smile. “Dunno, y’think that bed of yours is big enough for two?” His hands found your hips and pulled you toward him. “I could sleep on the couch I guess.”
You shook your head. “Don’t be an ass. You’re staying the weekend. You said you would.”
“Did I?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes!” You thumped your hand on his chest.
Bo chuckled, wrapped you in his arms. “I know I did. Just wanted to be sure you ain’t changed your mind. I know you got a lot to get done before classes start.”
“No.” You squeezed him tightly. “Stay with me.”
“You sure?”
“Bo!”
“Alright, alright, y’got me.”
Tucked under his arm, you wandered home, clinging to him for fear he might disappear into the twilight like cigarette smoke if given half the chance.
Back at your apartment, he helped you make your bed and put away a few essentials and afterwards you curled up together in front of some early 2000s horror movie. Bo changed into sweatpants; you also changed into a pair of Bo's sweatpants. He spooned you on the couch, your back flush to his chest and his fingers moving lightly down the skin of your arms, over the curve of your thighs. His lips found the nape of your neck again and again.
"Can I help you?" you laughed as his teeth grazed your skin.
"Mm-mm," he said. "You just keep watchin' the movie."
"What about you?"
"Don't worry 'bout me, I'm entertainin' myself."
“We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” you said.
“I’m perfectly happy, darlin’.” His hand snuck beneath your shirt, cupped your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.
You arched your back and pressed your ass against his groin. "You sure, Daddy? You don't wanna go fool around a little?" You craned your neck to steal a lopsided kiss.
"I just want you to relax, baby girl. You been so busy." His fingers trailed back and forth over the exposed flesh of your stomach. After a minute, he shot you a sidelong glance. "Y'mind if I have a snack?"
"We just ate," you laughed as he sat up and scooted down the couch.
"I know, I just got a particular craving is all."
"Go for it, I don't know what we have in the pantry though."
"That's alright, me neither," Bo said as he tucked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and slid them and your panties all the way down your thighs in one fluid motion.
You jerked in surprise. "Baby!"
He shushed you, looping his arms under your legs and nestling in so close you felt the heat of his words on your skin. "Watch the movie, darlin'."
Grinning, you repositioned yourself against the pillow behind your head. "What if Sammy comes back?"
"Door's locked. I set the deadbolt."
You laughed. "You son of a bitch."
His eyes gleamed over the crest of your hips. "You know I get what I want, baby girl."
Biting your lip, you turned your attention back to the TV. A vocal sigh slipped from your throat at the first solicitous pass of his tongue. He lapped at your sex, teasing the breach of your slit.
You snuck a glance at him and smiled. His eyes were closed, his thumbs stroking your hips, his brow furrowed slightly as he devoured you with absolute devotion. He looked up at you through his lashes and slowly raised one eyebrow.
“You’re awfully distracting,” you said.
“Speak for yourself,” he murmured. He swirled his tongue around your clit and sucked pointedly and you threw your head back on the pillow with a groan.
He was relentless. You tangled your fingers in the hair at the base of his skull, squeezed it in your fist. Your hips lurched involuntarily against his face time and again and it only made him shift his weight to pin your legs down so he could redouble his efforts.
“Please,” you gasped, legs trembling. “It's so much…it’s too much.”
Bo trailed kisses down the inside of your thigh, letting you catch your breath. “C’mon, baby girl, Daddy ain’t done yet.” He licked a matching path up your other thigh. You whined and squirmed and he lifted his head, fixed his smoldering stare on you. "You want me to stop?"
"Uh-uh." You pulled his head back to you and he chuckled.
“You’re doin’ so well, sweetness. Just a little more.”
He caressed you with his tongue, slick and silky, slipped two fingers into you and adored you from the inside out. You were floating, bliss incarnate, twisting your hand in his hair and grinding on his tongue until at last something primal and powerful snapped deep in your core and you arched your back and melted on his lips, moaning, hot and sticky and sweet.
"That's my girl." He nipped the flesh of your thigh, made you jerk and whimper. "Goddamn, I love makin' a mess of you."
"Come here," you sighed, reaching for him. He sat up and took your hand and kissed first your fingers, then your wrist, leaning in to let you hang your arms around his neck and meet his lips. The combined taste of his mouth and your lingering pleasure was delectable, smooth and sharp.
You gazed up at him, the lines worn into his brow and the corners of his eyes, those lips, the scar on his chin. Something was tangled in your heartstrings, tugging at your diaphragm, words sitting precarious in your mouth.
"Bo…."
The knob of the front door rattled furiously and someone pounded at the door only seconds later. "What the hell?" Sammy yelled, muffled. "Are you guys fucking or something?"
Bo was off you and out of the room in mere seconds. Hastily you hiked your pants back up and tripped over yourself on the way to the door. The deadbolt was crusted in fifty years' worth of paint and you had to really throw your weight behind it to get it open.
"Hey Sammy, so sorry," you panted. "Bo's just, like…super paranoid."
"I would be too if I was whipping my dick out in the common living area," Sammy said without a hint of malice.
You bit back a laugh and felt your face heat up. "That is…not what was happening."
"Get it girl, why do you think I walked to Taco Bell instead of DoorDashing like a sensible person? I figured you had designs on that old man. I'm glad you locked the door. I don't need to know you like that." She took a hit off her vape. "Good for you, babe. 'Bout time you found yourself a man worth a damn. Bradley sucked ass."
"Bradley did suck ass, you're right."
"Baby girl, you get abducted?" Bo called from your room.
"No," you called back.
Sammy winked at you. "You better get back to it, I bet he gets real bossy when he's horny."
"How'd you know?" You rolled your eyes and retreated down the hall.
"I'll be out here minding my own business with headphones on," she grinned.
You ducked into your room and shut the door behind you. The string of lights hanging around the perimeter of the ceiling shone gentle and golden and Bo was tucked in your bed, reclining bare chested on your pillows. Goddamn gorgeous. You wanted to wrap yourself around him, map every inch of him with your mouth and hands.
"I missed you," he said with a crooked smile. He beckoned you with two fingers. “C'mere."
You shed your clothes as you crossed the room and crawled into bed. Straddling him, you nudged his half-hard cock with your pubic bone, pressing him between your skin and the palm of your hand.
"Pretty thing," he said. "Wanna take a ride?"
"Yes sir." His shaft was velvety soft between your lips, slippery with a mixture of your arousal, the gentle friction against your clit verging on overstimulation.
Bo made a contented sound. "Think I'd like to sit back and watch you fuck me, darlin', how d'you feel about that?"
With a hitch of your hips you took half his length, eliciting a startled, satisfied grunt from his pretty mouth. Another thrust and you groaned in tandem as he found his place inside you.
"Feels good," you murmured. "I feel good about that."
Ecstasy rolled through you with every rock of your pelvis. Bo pinned his lip between his teeth, glazed-over gaze fixed on the joining of your bodies. You splayed your hands on his stomach and reveled in each clench of his abdomen as you worked him in and out.
Arching your spine, flexing around him, you felt a flash of satisfaction when he threw his head back and inhaled sharply, face flushed. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs when you sighed his name.
“Darlin’,” he mumbled, “angel, beautiful, fuck.” With gentle hands on your waist he stabilized you so he could rut up into you, meeting each sway of your body with a rise of his own. “I adore you, baby girl, you know that?”
Your nails pressed into his skin. You met his eyes, pupils blown and glassy. “I know that.”
“Nah, you got no idea,” he said breathlessly, with a small shake of his head.
Your hands found his wrists, fingers wrapping loosely around them. “Then tell me.”
Bo licked his lips desperately. “Best thing I ever had. Y’hear me? Best thing that—shit—that ever happened to me.” The snap of his hips grew frenetic, his grip on you tightening. “I’d do anything for you, anything you want.”
His scars were smooth and uneven under the delicate caress of your thumbs. Your head lolled to the side and you graced him with a sultry smile. “Come for me?”
He moaned. “Hell, baby girl—”
You moved like the tide, steady, relentless. “C’mon, Bo, come for me.”
A grunt escaped his throat in pieces as he bucked beneath you, wringing your name out on his lips, clawing down your sides. His climax resolved into a low whine and he stared up at you with that heartrending astonishment you always hoped for, like he couldn’t believe a sweet thing like you could make him feel like that.
Goosebumps flared across his skin as you ran your hands up his arms to meet in the middle of his chest, bending over him to press a kiss between his eyes. The words came quickly, unbidden, all your thinking over and done with. “I love you, you know?”
You felt the air catch in his lungs. “I…I know.” He was holding onto you like a lifeline, something bewildered and exultant blooming in his expression. “…I love you too, darlin’.”
You smiled. The phrase was foreign to him; you could hear it in the way his tongue touched each syllable like he was afraid he might break it. “Say it again,” you whispered.
His hand came to your cheek and he grazed your lips. “I love you,” he said carefully, like maybe you might tell him he was doing it wrong.
You kissed the pad of his thumb. “One more time?”
Those blue eyes seized you, held you, intense and ardent, and quietly he said, “I’m in love with you, baby girl. ‘Course I am. You’re everything to me.”
He pulled your mouth to his and kissed you with an unexpected tenderness. It made you shake inside. It wiped everything from your mind but thoughts of him, thoughts of his rare laughter and that damn smirk, the thought that you wanted to commit to memory the way he tasted so you could never, ever forget it.
He rolled onto his side, taking you with him, strong arms wrapped tightly around you. You could feel a peculiar tension in his body even in the wake of his orgasm and you tried to soothe him with caresses on his chest and collarbones. He pressed his lips to your brow and held you to him for a long time, breathing slowly, like he thought maybe if he let you go you might slip away.
You had to wonder, curled up with his heart pounding under your hands, if he had ever given it to anyone else. You were almost certain the answer was no, and this gave you a secret sort of satisfaction. You knew he had never been married, and he’d been a bachelor as long as he’d known your father.
Now that you thought about it, was it odd that he’d never settled down? That a charming, charismatic man with a James Dean jawline and a steady job hadn’t ever found himself a long-term partner?
And were you certain that was even the case? He didn’t talk about his past, about his younger years, about Louisiana. There was trauma there, a time when the scars on his wrists were fresh, a time when his brothers had been his whole world. Maybe there had been a time when he hadn’t been alone.
It occurred to you suddenly that you knew almost nothing about his life before he moved to your town. That was odd, wasn’t it? Or was he just protecting himself, the part of himself that was painful and private? And if so, did you have any right to go poking at it?
Bo hmmed softly. “Why so quiet, darlin’? Thinkin’ some big thoughts?”
You tilted your head back and met his gaze. The way he looked at you—with hunger, with reverence—no one had ever looked at you the way he did. Like he wanted to dismantle you piece by piece and then lovingly put you back together just so he could become intimately familiar with every last part of you. Most people lived their whole lives without someone looking at them like that.
What did it matter that he was a mystery? He was yours, and you were his.
You smiled and kissed his chin. “Just thinking about you.”
A faint smirk settled on his lips. “Well now, ain’tcha always?”
Your fingers wandered through his hair, brushing it back off his brow. “Yes,” you answered truthfully.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Good.”
He left Sunday evening, hours after the sun had set and the roads were dark.
You knew he needed to get home, had a long drive ahead of him, but every attempt you made at a goodbye was casually but firmly shut down. Bo would not be leaving until he decided to leave.
You sensed he was struggling; you could see it in fits and starts of alternating detachment and clinginess. But he shrugged you off if you tried to pursue it, and so you stopped pressing him. Everything would be fine once he adjusted to the change, once he realized you weren’t going to forget about him just because you didn’t see him every day.
Finally, he let you walk him down to his truck. He took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, possessive, almost aggressive. It left you flushed and gasping. "I'll see you in a couple weeks, baby girl," he said, drawing his thumb across your cheekbone.
“Just a couple weeks. Text me when you get home?" you asked pleadingly.
"Sure thing, but you best be sleepin'."
"I will."
"Good girl."
You embraced him tightly. "I'll miss you."
"I know,” he said. “Miss you already."
You tugged him close for one last kiss. "I love you."
His eyes moved over your face like he was searching for something. You wished you knew what it was he was looking for. You believed—you hoped—when he was ready, he would tell you.
"Love you too."
With one final peck on your forehead, he pulled away and climbed into the truck, and then he was gone.
Taglist at the bottom bc this is a monster post already: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!
For those who would like to minimize their dilf Bo angst intake, I present a solution! Any updates labelled with a .5 are intermediary chapters that do not need to be read to stay up-to-date on the main plot of the story. The majority of the angst taking place along the way will be relegated to these half-chapters. Eventually everything will resolve, but until that time, feel free to skip these side pieces if you don't want to wallow in the dark part of Bo's brain.
Bo has an eventful drive home from your campus apartment.
Bo was on the road for less than an hour before he pulled over.
His blue eyes bore through the windshield. There was a buzzing in the back of his skull, getting stronger by the second. He undid his seatbelt. His hands patted his pockets reflexively until he found both his lighter and a mostly empty pack of Reds, smashed and misshapen from its stint in his jacket. He couldn't remember how long ago he'd tucked it there. There had been a time when he was lucky if a pack of smokes lasted him a day.
Of course, that was before you.
Before a lot of things.
Rolling down the window, he lit up and took a long drag, held the smoke in the balloons of his lungs and let it ease out slowly into the night. It burned. Felt good.
He knew he should be something like happy, even if that happiness was tarnished and lonely. You said you loved him. And he'd said it back and meant it. He was sure he did, because the way he felt about you was wholly foreign to him. So that was love, right? And love was supposed to bridge all the gaps and fill all the empty places, right? So why weren't you sitting here beside him?
There were snakes writhing in his stomach and he couldn't name them, wasn't sure yet if they were venomous. It frustrated him, leaving you behind, the way it hollowed him out. He was accustomed to his own greed and familiar with deprivation; the hard part was being in between. Having you and losing you, keeping and letting go. Bo was not a man comfortable in middle spaces.
There was a hollow inside of him. Grimly he considered what he might fill it with, what appetite was unsated. Not food. Not sex. Maybe self-destruction.
You wouldn't like that. But you weren't here. And little did you know he had been self-destructing his whole life. Little did you know him at all.
What would you say if he showed you the rest of his scars, the ones that weren't physical? Would it scare you, all the blood on his hands? He scoffed at himself. Of course it would. How far was your love capable of stretching before it broke? He was too scared to test it.
And did any of that matter? What were the chances of you moving on with your life without him? That would do him in. It would end him. What if he had just lost you entirely, to your peers and your bright future and some guy who never lied to you? Someone younger, softer, better, who gave you what you needed and learned what you liked and touched you—
The static in his brain reached a fever pitch and he winced, curled his lip, flung the cigarette out the window and into the road. Bo clenched and unclenched his hands into fists, staring blankly into the dark.
He felt himself splintering like a bottle against a skull. He had half a mind to turn around and get you, get you into the truck, take you with him. Take you. Keep you. He was better now. Better than that. Better for you. But he could do it. He knew he could.
And you'd slip away from him forever in the process.
His teeth sank into his lip hard. The pain was a pointed flash like a slap across the face. The familiar cloy of shame washed over him. He would never do that to you. Could never hurt you like that. The fact that the thought had even occurred to him was proof he didn't deserve to have you. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white.
Maybe two weeks apart would be good for him. Give him time to get his head right. He felt muddled. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what you needed. Life had been simple when those things were the same.
Bo shook his head. The buzzing began to fade. He was sick of sitting here thinking in circles, and he needed to get home. He had work bright and early. A sharp pang of sadness reverberated through his chest. The shop would be silent without you.
A pair of headlights reflected brightly in his rearview mirror, didn't whip past, only grew brighter. He squinted into the reflection and watched as the vehicle pulled over and parked behind him.
Bo sat motionless as the driver got out and approached his truck on the passenger side. He waited until there was a rap on the glass before he rolled the window down and met the gaze of a young man somewhere around your age.
"Hey man, you need help?"
Bo flicked on a sheepish grin as easy as flipping a switch. Some things you never forget how to do. "Thank y'kindly, but I'll be alright."
"Got some kind of car trouble?" the kid persisted.
The static flared. That sucking hollow space inside him groaned.
"Yeah," Bo replied. "Think I've got a flat in the makin' but wouldn't y'know it, I don't have a jack."
"No problem, I've got one. I can go grab it."
Bo's smile widened. "That'd be great."
"No problem, man."
Bo waited until the kid was two steps from the window before he got out of the truck. He opened the rear door, felt under the backseat, wrapped his hand around the cold metal of the lug wrench.
He fell into step behind the young man, his boots preternaturally silent on the dirt. He hadn’t done this in years, but his pulse was steady. Peering against the glare of the headlights, he made sure the kid's car was devoid of passengers. He was alone.
As soon as the kid stepped even with the passenger door, shielded from the view of any passersby, Bo swung the wrench almost lazily and bludgeoned him across the back of the head.
The sound of the impact was thick and wet. The man dropped like a stone. Without a moment's hesitation, Bo slammed the wrench into the cracked melon of his skull again, and again, and gripped the weapon with both hands and brought it down like a sledgehammer two, three, four more times.
Some things you never forget how to do.
When he finally stopped swinging, the whole head and face and mind and brain of the man was little more than liquid seeping into the dirt. Bo was breathing heavily, face and front spattered with red. He pushed his hair back off his brow, licked the droplets of blood off his lips, let the wrench hang loose in his hand, and stared dispassionately at what he had wrought.
It had been over a decade since he'd fed this particular addiction. It sang in his veins, the violence, the release. Fuck, he felt better. He felt high. The smell and taste of the night on his tongue was impeccable, exquisite, tinged copper.
Hiding the crime was second nature. He didn't have a town and a hollow at his disposal, but he would make do. He worked fast, dragging the body into the tall grass off the shoulder, pulling the car up onto the trailer to offload somewhere down the road. He was an expert at appearances and efficiency. He was just a mechanic. Nobody else stopped.
The static in his brain had faded to a low, almost negligible hum by the time he was back behind the wheel. For the rest of the drive, Bo thought of Ambrose. He thought of Vincent. He almost called him, just to tell him he was right. They shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have left.
It wasn’t until much later, as he stepped into the shower and watched the blood run pink down the drain, that he thought of you.
Taglist at the bottom bc this is a monster post already: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!
