vivid dreams — albatross x reader
you have a wet dream about fucking your best friend. in line with your expectations, it ruins your friendship — though unexpectedly; only in the best way possible.
wc: 6.6k ⁕⃰ crossposted on ao3 ⁕⃰ vgen ⁕⃰
It's not unusual for you to have vivid dreams.
While you sometimes sleep like someone pulled your plug after your battery has been drained, just a void — a whole lot of nothingness between the time you put your head on your pillow at night to the time you start feeling around your nightstand to shut your alarm off in the morning, most nights, you dream of elaborate scenarios.
Sometimes, it's influenced by whatever show you've last watched, weaseling yourself into the story and navigating through the setting freely. Other times, it's simply you playing saviour in different contexts, no matter big or small, like handling a horde of zombies on your own, saving a distracted citizen from getting run over by a car attempting to speed past an obvious yellow light, being the only one who knows how to lock-pick in a pinch, the whole package.
There is the occasional embarrassing moment like becoming the laughingstock of the class one way or the other — wardrobe malfunction, bodily functions, whatever other issue that can have you cringing for days on end after, mouth curling into a snarl when you remember it.
Still, your dreams are mostly pleasant, and surprisingly consistent. Ignoring the occasional out of pocket elements, it's almost like most of your dreams follow a pre-written storyline.
It's fascinating how you remember it well, too, instead of your mind being wiped the moment the dream is ripped from your consciousness when you wake, like your mind stubbornly clings to whatever fiction it managed to cook up while you were resting, as if not to waste its hard work.
Even though you can mostly influence it, it's not like you can control what you dream about.
Albatross is fully naked above you, his dick lined up with your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit as he leans down to mouth at your neck.
Your arms wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer, and both of you flinch when his sunglasses dig into your skin as he tries nuzzling against your neck.
He pulls back in confusion, a puzzled expression painted black by the tint of the glasses sitting crooked on his face mirroring your own before he chuckles — his sunglasses are such a signature look on him that you and him both forgot to take them off even during sex, which became the butt of the joke more often than not — reaching up to gently toss them aside, and the frames clatter against the nightstand as he leans back down, this time to brush his lips against yours before his tongue juts out to flatten against your mouth playfully.
He doesn't have to do anything for your mouth to part willingly, but he is quick to take the invitation, tongue sliding into your mouth while his hands caress up your sides.
Then, he's thrusting into you, supporting himself on his elbows, pulling out almost fully before rolling his hips forward again and again. Your back arches off the mattress, your toes curl, your body tensing before the relief of an orgasm washes over you. There is some kind of music in the background, getting progressively louder, and you feel his lips on your temple—
It's your alarm.
It's not a violent startle like it's mostly depicted in movies — both in the case of a nightmare and a wet dream; and currently, you cannot discern between the two. Taking a deep breath, you feel around your nightstand to shut off your alarm, dragging a hand down your face, taking as much time as you can to force the contents of your unnecessarily vivid dream into the closet. Under the rug. Wherever it can be out of sight, out of mind.
Albatross is your best friend.
You get along great, you trust him, feel safe around him. He brings you unprecedented joy, and despite how different yet similar you are, you don't want to have to maneuver the potentially awkward stage of trying to find your footing and forcing your relationship back to platonic after one confessed to harbouring unreciprocated romantic feelings towards the other, even if you desire him more than you've desired anything in your life.
Being on the side doing the rejection was so much easier. Considering how maturely you previously handled such affairs, you can only hope fate will have some mercy on you if push comes to shove on account of the grace you've given your unwanted suitors.
Though it's not like you to take chances.
Maybe you're better off yearning to the grave.
It really doesn't help that the insufferable blond is everything you want in a man and more, now that you think about it. He is always the first one you would rant to when a male specimen wrongs you, and his facial expressions alone would validate his position as your ideal man, let alone his verbal support and how attuned he is to your emotions.
Like that one time when you were meeting up with a friend from high school at a café close enough to your home, but it was still about half an hour's walk. Both Albatross and Chuuya made sure to check up on you at least once after you sent a blurry elevator pic in the group chat, the ginger even nudging you to keep everyone updated when your friend went to the bathroom as if it was a date.
Which it was not, so you just rolled your eyes at them being overprotective over some old acquaintance like this.
Time passed by quickly as the two of you caught up, occasionally exchanging new gossip about people you knew from back then. By the time the conversation had lulled to a comfortable silence, the café staff were going from table to table to ask if there was anything else the customers would like before they closed up the kitchen, which you took as your cue to leave.
While walking down to wait for his taxi by the lights, you chat a little, and at least he has enough manners to ask how you will get home. With a shrug, you casually reply that you will walk back since your house is close enough.
What you don't expect is for your friend to simply nod, give you a half-assed hug that borders on a shoulder ram, jump into his taxi, and leave without looking back.
Stupefied, you can only stare at the plate of said taxi growing smaller in the distance.
It's fine. It's a bit of a long walk for midnight, especially when the number of people have dwindled to the extremes yet with some large groups suspiciously loitering around, but it's a safe neighbourhood. You'll be fine.
As if on cue, your screen lights up with a notification from Albatross.
Tross <3: heyyyy its gettin late did the cafe not kick you out yet lmao You: They kinda did, actually Said the kitchen was closing in a little so we left Friend went home already I'm walking home now, so omw Tross <3: ???? [Incoming call from: Tross <3]
Your finger slides over the green button easily, even though you know what he's going to say. "'Sup?"
"Why are you walking home?! By yourself, no less!" The familiar sound of a billiard ball hitting another echoes in the background, and you're able to pinpoint his exact location from the noise alone. The buzz of pleasant chatter in the room comes to a screeching halt at his words.
"Don't even ask," you spit out, pinching the bridge of your nose, cold wind whipping at your cheeks. "The more I think about it, the angrier I get."
"I'm on my way." You hear clothes rustling, which you assume is him putting on his jacket. "Go back into the café for a little while. I'll be right there."
"'Tross, it's fine, really—" You're quick to protest, though Albatross is just as quicker to cut you off before you can go about your usual tirade of how you don't want to trouble him, or be a burden, or other stupid thoughts about how you have it handled.
"Don't be stupid. It's not fine, first of all, and it's no trouble.... Oh, is it cold outside? Should I take the car? I'd arrive faster by bike, but if you're wearing a skirt it might be a little... y'know."
"The bike is fine." It takes active effort not to tear up at how considerate he's being. "Think of it as bail."
"The only bail around will be the bail money needed to get me outta jail after I'm done with your fuckass friend." He chuckles, though the humour feels a bit forced. "Stay on the line, will ya? Tell me all about your day."
You can tell he's just as mad you've been left stranded by someone whom you consider an old friend with no regards to your safety, but is trying to lighten the mood by being silly. You don't have the words to describe how much you appreciate it. Appreciate him.
True to his word, Albatross arrives soon after. Concerningly soon, even, before you're able to wrap up recounting your entire day, and how the last round of coffees arrived oddly cold despite your table being inside.
He gives you a short honk in greeting, lifting his visor to give you a wink paired with a cheeky grin, flipping — or trying to flip — his hair like he's some Prince Charming. Only, his braid pathetically swats against the inside of his helmet, not a single flow of luscious golden locks in sight.
"How many red lights did you run?" you chuckle, jogging down the stairs as fast as your shoes allow to meet him as soon as possible.
"Dunno," he shrugs, successfully dodging your hand lazily swatting at him scoldingly, "Haven't bothered to check."
"You're impossible." You bow your head slightly on instinct the moment you spot your matching red helmet in his hands so he can put it on for you, ".... Thanks for coming to pick me up."
"Always, babe." He chirps, tone breezy, unaware of how the casual petname makes your heart ache with want.
After checking whether everything is in order, he gives your helmet a bump with his own, almost like a ritual, a signal that you're good to go, which he makes clear by fixing his posture and grip so you can climb behind him. "I've gotcha."
Arms wrapped around his waist, visor flush against his shoulderblade, watching the city lights morph from twinkling dots to bright streaks in the night sky, your mind wanders. Your heart beating against his back in a flurry of emotions, you think it might have been the first time you acknowledged you might be feeling something more than just friendship for the irresistible wheelman after all.
The dream haunts you.
It doesn't help that you have bodily reactions every time you think about it, which might as well be every passing second. Squirming in place, taking a deep breath or sighing to ground yourself, pacing around the room, anything to get your mind off of the unnecessarily detailed dream of fucking your best friend your brain decided to present you on a random weekday like a cat bringing its owner a dead mouse.
It's even worse when you remember you promised Albatross to hang out today, having planned out a cosy movie night last week with great enthusiasm, no less. Bailing now would raise suspicion in more than just Albatross, honestly, and you would rather not be subjected to Lippmann's all-knowing smile a second more than necessary.
You can do this. You've pretended way worse things than feeling normal about someone.
Everything goes as planned after Albatross arrives. Snacks arranged, pillows in place, and blanket shared, the remote never leaving your greedy paws until the loading screen is displayed on the large screen. It's a movie from your favourite studio you haven't had the time to watch yet, animated yet handling mature elements in an engaging story and offering gorgeous visuals, perfectly in character choice for you.
Also, the perfect opportunity for you to fix your eyes somewhere and overthink everything involving the man who's sprawled on the couch right next to you, having the audacity to yawn at your carefully chosen pick.
Not even half an hour into the movie, Albatross speaks up.
"...... So. Are ya gonna tell me what's got you actin' all weird, or..?" He murmurs, pointedly keeping his eyes on the TV to make it feel more like a casual conversation rather than aggressive prodding that would put you on defense, shoveling some popcorn in his mouth.
Of course he would notice. You didn't expect anything less.
"I had a dream." You reply, a cryptic sigh leaving you. Lying is useless against him, especially with how well he knows you. It's better to withhold the truth as much as possible.
That's how being close with someone works, unfortunately. Quite inconvenient when you have something to hide.
Maybe you should've picked a movie that's more action centric to keep Albatross engaged so he would be distracted enough to not pick up on your predicament. Contrary to popular belief, he is scarily perceptive when it matters, able to sniff out details he cares for like a bloodhound, and of course, that applies to the cause of your iffy behaviour.
"It was about me, wasn't it?" He speaks up after a moment of silence, finally turning to look at you, shifting on the couch to face you fully for good measure, propping up an elbow on the back of the couch, and resting his cheek against his fist. "You're only actin' odd around me; like you want to avoid me, but also to avoid avoiding me at the same time, kinda."
You give him a non-committal hum to fill the silence while you think about how to go about this, though Albatross takes it as his cue to elaborate.
"What did I do, hm?" He scoots close, gently digging a finger in your side with his free hand, his other arm flattening against the back of the couch, fingertips brushing against your shoulder. "Did I use you as zombie bait in the apocalypse?" Cocking his head to the side not unlike a cat, he adds, "Oh! Did I point out that you wore your shirt inside out in front of a bunch of people instead of whispering it in your ear?" Then, taking on a mischievous tone, he cozies up to you, teasingly batting his lashes, "Or what, did you have a wet dream about me?"
He likely offered up such a ridiculous excuse to lighten the mood, not knowing he'd hit the nail right on the head. You cannot stop the way breath lodges in your throat, making only the slightest noise, the gasp itself barely louder than an inhale, but the split-second pause is all he needs for an answer.
"You did." He blinks, "You had a wet dream about me?"
Simply closing your eyes in surrender, you let your head fall back against the back of the couch with a muted thud.
You wish the impact would kill you somehow, just to avoid the following conversation, but the padding of the couch aside, his arm cushions the force in which you hit your head.
The silence is deafening, and in a moment of bravery, you crack open an eye to assess the damage.
".... Hey." Albatross prompts, lower lip sagging, "Was it like, bad, or something..?"
".... What?" Your face scrunches at the sheer idiocy coming out of his mouth. Which is nothing new, but the context has you distressed.
"Did I not manage to get it up?" He blurts out, the hand over your shoulders closing into a fist, lips tightly pressed together as if he's bracing for an impact. On his ego, probably.
"No!! What the fuck, 'tross—"
"Oh-kay, sheesh," he visibly relaxes, waving his fist in a victorious motion akin to a fist bump in the air, "Gave me a real scare there. That'd be embarrassing," he beams, the grin stretching his lips almost splitting his face in half. Then, much like the Golden Retriever puppies you've seen Chuuya eyeing on adoption websites, he all but pounces on you, excitement wafting off him in waves. "Babe, you gotta tell me all about it!!" Toppling you over successfully when you're unguarded and still trying to digest the situation, he effectively traps you beneath him with his arms framing your head, your shoulders digging into the armrest with the awkward position halfway between sitting up and lying down. "Was I any good, then? Oh, tell me I rocked your world!"
"I—" you blink, trying to find the words, "Huh..?"
"I need details. Now."
"Sorry, what exactly is happening right now?" You squint, trying to stabilize your spiking pulse, trying to sit up a bit more as if it will make you focus better. "You're not upset?"
"Far from it, really." Albatross shrugs, mouth curled into an easygoing smile, "Hyped would be one way to describe it, I guess. I mean, guess that's because the feeling is mutual. I had a dream or two or five about you myself, so..." he trails off, leaning in closer to your face, he whispers, "'m just curious about yours. Very curious. Don't you dare leave anything out."
He looks unfairly handsome with the lights from the colourful scenes of the movie reflecting from his face.
"You also dreamt of—"
"Yeah, yeah, I also dreamt of fucking my best friend. Total shocker, I know." Albatross waves you off without a care in the world, as if you're having trouble understanding the simplest concept in the world. "My turn now. Your turn later. I want details."
"I—" you swallow thickly, "Are you sure..?"
"Duh, why wouldn't I be?" A brief look of terror crosses his face as he asks, "I made you cum, right?"
You burst into laughter, a hand coming up to cover your mouth, "Yeah—" you shoot an exaggerated look at his crotch hovering over yours, "It was performing as intended, I assure you." You manage to choke out between giggles, melting further into the cushions once the laughter dies down. Albatross follows your movement, leaning down further into your space.
One of your hands reaches up to card your fingers through his hair before you can stop yourself, the gesture somehow feeling more intimate than any other that preceded it. "You were buck naked, for one."
"Right off the bat?" His mouth drops open. "No sexy foreplay, no strip teasing?" He looks awfully adorable when flabbergasted.
"Shut up," you half-heartedly kick at him, acutely aware of despite how close he is, breath fanning your face and all, he's still making sure you have a comfortable space between the two of you, as if he's giving you the opportunity to wriggle away if you don't want him crowding you. While you appreciate it, it also feels insulting, somehow.
"It started off with you thrusting into me." The memory of the motion alone is enough to fan the flames of arousal in your core, a familiar warmth blooming in your abdomen. In a feeble attempt to turn the tables even a tiny bit, you reach behind him, shoving a hand in his back pocket and pressing down, so his hips are flush against yours.
The strangled sound that rips from his throat counts as your victory.
"I cannot believe this," He clicks his tongue, chewing on his lip. "You animal." Albatross laughs, "Getting right to the good stuff."
"Gee, my apologies," you roll your eyes, sarcasm bleeding from your tone, "It's almost like I was dreaming rather than directing a porn clip."
A contemplative hum leaves his lips before he rolls his hips against yours gently, as if testing the waters; "Like this?"
"Harder," You gasp before you can stop yourself, mouth hanging open as a shiver runs down your spine. Albatross is quick to pick up on the cue, increasing the pressure with which he grinds against you, each movement feeling more intentional than the next. It's a struggle to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head. Pulling him as close as possible with the intention of burying your face in the crook of his neck so he can't see all the embarrassing expressions you cannot control, though he doesn't let you, brushing his nose against yours and pulling back a bit to drive his point home.
The next moment you find your voice, "You had your sunglasses on, by the way," you tack on.
"The sunglasses stay on during sex?" he snickers at the absurdity, his honey brown eyes start shimmering in the low light with unshed tears from how hard he's holding back from full-on bursting into laughter.
"They're an iconic part of your look, okay?" you chuckle, a hint of defensiveness in your voice, "I remember the sunglasses because you tried sucking a hickey on my neck and it dug into my skin, and got crooked on your face."
"Good thing I don't have them on right now, then." His lips are on your neck halfway through your sentence, mumbling against your skin in between open-mouthed kisses with the occasional graze of teeth; "Not like they would've stopped me."
"Heh, figures," Sliding a hand through his hair, you grab a fistful of the blond locks, some gelled strands digging into your palm in a rougher texture compared to the rest as you crane your head to the side to give him more room to explore, guiding him over your pulse. "We just giggled about it before you chucked them at the nightstand and dived in to kiss me."
As if the hazy memories from the dream you recount are a direct order, plush lips press against yours, a low groan mixing in with a soft mewl. Your back arches off the couch to press yourself impossibly close to him as if there was any space left between you in the first place, and apparently, the feeling is mutual, judging by how you feel an arm sneaking under you, pulling you closer by the small of your waist.
"Did I use tongue?" Albatross doesn't bother fully pulling back to speak, voice low and raspy with desire, though it's not like you mind, only humming affirmatively.
"Huzzah," he huffs in triumph, tongue flattening against your mouth teasingly, his lips curling up when your lips part in invitation for him, and he wastes no time sneaking his tongue in your mouth.
It feels infinitely better than your imagination, to the point you cannot pinpoint where to focus.
His tongue is warm and wet, gliding against yours. His grip on your hip is firm and heavy like an anchor keeping you grounded, as if he's not pinning you to the cushions already. Heat pools in your stomach, slick coating your underwear and clinging to your inner thighs, and you absentmindedly curse both him and yourself for wearing light coloured bottoms. With how uncomfortable the wetness between your legs is getting — either due to lack of actual stimulation or because your underwear is sopping wet — you haven't a sliver of a doubt that there is a dark streak on both of your sweatpants putting your arousal on display.
Albatross pulls back, tongue lolling out with a string of saliva connecting you, and like any normal person, decides to cut it off with another, less sloppy kiss.
"... I think we might have to improv a bit," He swallows thickly, waving his fingers suggestively, "Gotta prep, right?"
An indignant whine leaves your mouth when he brings said hand towards his face — because how dare he take away the opportunity to keep your mouth busy with his fingers away from you — and you latch onto his wrist quicker than you thought possible, bringing his hand down to your mouth to take his middle and ring finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits, the cool metal of his rings against your chin a welcome change from the heat threatening to swallow you whole.
He rewards you with an audible gasp.
Keeping your hand on his wrist, right over his thunderous pulse, you meet his gaze fixated on you. Through half-lidded eyes and your foggy thoughts, you get your first clear look at him.
His hair is in even more of a disarray than usual from all the times your hands have messed up the strands. His braid is loose, hanging on for dear life to keep even the semblance of the shape it was in when he first arrived. You're not sure whether you pulled off his hair tie or if the elastic snapped off somewhere down the line. His face is flushed with a rosy tint, his baggy shirt halfway off his shoulders, the tent in his pants resting against your thigh, his chest rising and falling with his erratic breathing as doe brown eyes look at you with overwhelming affection, obvious even through the layer of lust.
Making sure to give his joints a gentle nip before letting his fingers out of your mouth, you smirk, "That good enough prep for you?"
"More than," he chuckles breathlessly, pointing below you with his eyes, "Can I?"
Despite the urge to give a smartass reply or tease him as you thought you would many times, the only word you manage to get out is a simple, raw, "Yes."
Albatross must be equally as eager, if not more, judging by the way he dives forward, mouth latching onto your collarbone and working down your chest as his hands trail down your body, fingers drawing soothing circles before you feel them toying with the elastic of your waistband, tugging and pulling before letting it snap back against your skin.
Craning his head up from your sternum, he shoots you a pleading look which you cannot quite decipher, though you answer nonetheless.
"What, getting cold feet?"
"Excuse you," Something akin to an offended squawk leaves his mouth, and he places a defiant bite on the curve of your breast. "You're so mean to me sometimes." He sighs, looking briefly like a soggy, dejected cat before he perks back up again, "Kinda into it, though."
"Wasn't the point of this to see if you can hold a candle to my imagination or something?" Tone taking on a teasing sneer, you raise an eyebrow, "I say you're falling behind on performance, 'Tross. I would've been a puddle on the bed five times over by now in my dream."
"Oh, yeah?" A rough hand sneaks past your underwear, giving your clit a light flick, sending a jolt through your entire body. "No prep, no foreplay, straight to penetration— I think you're missing a few pages in the scenario, sweetheart. That's not how this works." Two fingers dip between your folds, making sure to coat the digits in your arousal before prodding at your entrance, "Dream me fuckin' sucks. Can't believe I didn't even eat you out."
As if to solidify his point, he slides a finger in, pumping it in and out to test the waters before adding in another finger, curling them just right that your back arches off the cushions as if on command.
"Ah, 'Tross—" you choke, hips jerking into his hand on reflex, "Fuck—"
"We need to work on my image in your subconscious," he pouts, though he's not fully sulking, a mischievous glint ever so present in his eyes. "I'll stick to the script for now, but you better let me between your thighs and squeeze my skull 'till it cracks later."
"Mhm," you nod feverishly, the words alone sending a pang of pleasure to your core. "Please—" you grab his shoulder, clawing to get support so you can sit up.
Albatross, ever perceptive, picks up on what you want, and your eyes widen comically when he pulls you up effortlessly, stopping you from headbutting him with a hand on your neck, though not without sneaking in a short kiss.
As if that will be enough.
Mirroring his pose, you splay a palm on his nape to support yourself, crashing your lips into his, nipping and biting whenever you see fit, shuffling on his lap so you can sneak your other hand between your bodies to palm his dick through his pants, earning yourself a high-pitched whine.
"Whoa, aggressive much—" Albatross chirps jokingly, though he jolts in place when you give him a soft squeeze in retaliation, whatever other teasing quips he had in mind flying out the window before he could voice them. His fingers in you twitch along with his entire body, drawing a soft noise from your throat.
"We've already improvised so much," you start, catching his lower lip between your teeth, pulling back slightly before releasing it, "I'm sure it's fine if we take some other artistic liberties. Deviating from the source material isn't a crime, is it?" Hooking a finger in his waistband, you drag your finger down until his hip bone is visible, looking at him for any sign of discomfort or protest.
Instead, Albatross gently lifts you up by the hips so you can pull his pants down without struggle, setting you back down when you leave the fabric bunched up around his thighs.
Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his hard cock resting against his belly button, the tip flushed and leaking with precum — many thoughts buzzing in your head. About how much you want to taste the pearlescent drops from his tip on your tongue, about how much you want to close your lips around his tip and suck him off until he becomes a whining, whimpering mess even though the position you're currently in is not so ideal to execute your heinous plans, and how much you want to feel him one way or the other; whether it's his girth stretching your throat or your walls pulsing with need, or his tip tickling the back of your throat or your—
"Like what you see?" Albatross gives you a crooked grin, all boisterous confidence, leaning back on his hand to give you more room to stare.
Realising you have to swallow before you speak lest you drool all over him like a salivating dog, you do so. Quite audibly, too.
No, really. The noise itself is quite cartoonish.
Albatross throws his head back with a loud laugh, equal parts entertained and flabbergasted as he points to his erection with his chin, "'m guessin' that means I live up to your expectations?"
Pressing your lips in a thin line, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. It really can't get any worse, and you doubt Albatross would hold you being absolutely smitten with him against you. "... Down to the curve, really."
"Perv," he chuckles fondly, cupping your cheek tenderly and placing a kiss on your lips, then your jaw, then under your ear. You're beginning to think of him as an opportunist, given how frequently he's kissing you all over. You can't quite place whether it's because he has been holding back for so long, or because he's having some odd ideas like not being able to do this once this whole ordeal blows over.
"We don't have to go all the way, y'know?" He catches the soft skin of your neck between his teeth, playfully grinding his teeth before suckling hard enough to leave a mark.
In all your enthusiasm, you're most upset about both of you not having marked each other as thoroughly as you wanted to, but alas. Next time it is.
"I want to," you crane your head to press your lips against his temple before pulling back to meet his eyes, the vulnerable look in his gaze catching you by surprise. "And I want you to know this isn't a— I don't know. A fling, or a one-time thing." Despite being more exposed physically than you have ever been in front of someone, you've never felt more naked emotionally. "I know this," gesturing vaguely at the space between you, "...happened because of a wet dream, but I do have genuine feelings for you. Beyond lust."
"Me too." He blurts out all too quickly in a flurry of emotions ranging from relief to exasperation. "You're surprisingly dense when it comes to romance, you know?" He sighs, the tension in his shoulders bleeding from his frame with the exhale, "I mean, I get it. We've been close friends for so long on top of your romance receptors being busted, so I can't really fault you for not getting any of the hints I've been dropping, but still." a brief moment of silence later, "Though I think this is a conversation for when we're not half naked and on the verge of fucking."
"Looks like we got ourselves a subject of discussion for the pillow talk, then."
"I should go get a condom if we're gonna commit," Albatross nudges your cheek with his nose before setting you down on the couch, waddling away to his backpack thrown somewhere around the shoe rack in the entrance before you can fix him with an incredulous glare for the implications, though you try to refrain from overthinking it.
"Yes, men are all animals." The way he casually tears open the packaging with his teeth shouldn't be this attractive, nor should the way he rolls the condom down on himself in practiced motions be this distracting. "Yes, I've been carrying these around just in case, with you in mind, in case I get lucky— or to be a bro in case one of my buds needed it—"
"Shut up, 'Tross."
Locking lips once more, you finally, finally manage to sink yourself down on his cock with him guiding your hips, both your mouths dropping open with silent moans as you take a moment to still and bask in the feeling. It's a relief how easily he slides into you even without lube — you've been agonising over how you were going to compensate for the lack of it in case there was any need, though with how aroused and relaxed you are, combined with the prep Albatross insisted on providing with his deft fingers, it's not completely unexpected that you make the slide more than slippery.
Hesitantly, carefully pushing yourself up, you find that you still have full feeling in your legs, though you're sure it won't last long. Sinking back down just as slowly to get used to the feeling — and maybe to be a bit of a bully to both him and yourself, but whose business is that?
His, apparently.
"Don't edge me," Albatross whines, lower lip sagging in a pout, "I'll burst, I mean it."
"You're making it, nngh— really hard not to," you pant, picking up the pace despite yourself, losing yourself in the zaps of electrifying pleasure shooting up your spine with every thrust. "Feels so good—"
"Yeah?" Albatross seems to be dead set on egging you on, distinctly aware of the way you tighten around him whenever he speaks up. "I'll see how you'll beg me for help when you can't hold yourself up anymore." Even with the half-joking threat, he keeps a firm grip on your hip to assist in keeping you balanced, ever so benevolent.
"I can—" your voice wavers, "I can fuck myself on you just fine—" Contrary to your words, your muscles are already screaming in protest, threatening to give out even while chasing your high in a frenzy.
You're close, *so close*, but you can't be sure if you'll hold as well as you keep talking big.
"Your thighs are shaking already." Albatross' smile is all teeth, almost predatory in nature, bordering on feral as he leans in, nothing like the soft smiles or boyish grins he's been giving you up until now, "I might consider taking over now if you ask nicely."
On one hand, you want to be stubborn, to see your words through, to emerge victorious. On the other, the opportunity to lie back without a burning pain tearing through your muscles, melting into the pillows while Albatross rams into you relentlessly until you see stars, is being presented to you on a silver platter by the man himself.
The selfish side of the princess inside you that wants to be tended to and taken care of weighs heavier than the prideful side of you that only wants to rely on yourself.
The tears blurring your sight is the perfect tool to utilise to deal the final blow.
Reaching out, you cup his face gingerly with both hands, looking at him through your damp lashes, mustering up your best pleading expression, and, "Please make me cum, 'Tross."
Albatross looks like the cat that caught the canary.
Suddenly, the wind is knocked out of your lungs. You find your gaze on the ceiling, your back flush against the cushions as Albatross pins you down, and you barely realise the hand at the back of your hand to soften the impact by the time it pulls away in favour of throwing one of your legs over his shoulder.
"See, was that so hard?" A single thrust from him shakes you in place, tearing a pathetic mewl from your throat as tears of pleasure rush to your eyes, and you grab whatever is within your reach to ground yourself, which happens to be the blanket bunched up and abandoned a while back. "I've gotcha."
The worst part of it all is how he doesn't sound the slightest bit strained, even with how vigorously he's drilling you into the couch, curse him and his ridiculous stamina.
"'Tross—" you pant, blinking the tears away, hips twitching uselessly under his hold as he sets the pace at his discretion, loving kisses peppered along your neck, your fingers tangling in messy blond hair. Albatross seems to be happy just the way things are, judging by how loudly he is moaning in your ear. "I'm— ah, mmh— Albatross!"
"I've gotcha," he repeats, the hand on your hip tightening its hold reassuringly, nuzzling your neck, and somehow, that's what tips you over the edge.
With a choked cry, you throw your head back as the coil in your abdomen snaps in a haze of molten desire, white spots dancing in your vision as your nails dig into Albatross' shoulders, walls pulsing around his length and thighs trembling around his hips.
Albatross is not too far behind, judging by how his pace stutters, his breath growing more ragged by the minute.
While your legs feel nothing short of jelly, you let one drop from over Albatross' shoulder in favour of wrapping both legs around his waist tightly, rolling your hips into his to the best of your abilities, "Need you, 'Tross," pecking at his jawline, "Please—"
With a broken groan, he spills into you, riding out his high until he no longer can, his body settling on top of yours, going lax in your arms. His pull weight on you feels comforting, rather than suffocating. Even with his now soft dick still inside you, you can feel his cum dripping out of your cunt and onto the couch, though you cannot bring yourself to care about the details of how you're going to clean everything up.
The room is dimmer than you remember. A look to the side tells you that the TV has shut itself off after a long time of inactivity.
"We should clean up," Pressing your lips on his sweat-slicked brow, huffing when you're met with a resistant whine.
"Don' wanna," Albatross mumbles, pointedly burying his face in your neck.
"'Tross, we're sticky," You sigh, "The couch is sticky, everything is sticky."
No response.
"We can cuddle in bed more comfortably after we clean up," you tack on in a hopeful attempt at coaxing him out, "Pillow talk and all that."
It's funny how you can physically see him perk up at that. It's like you can see an imaginary tail wagging behind him.
"... Fine. Only if we shower together."