#fm39 blurb

[wannabehockeygf]

dry humping with fraser minten please😮‍💨 also both inexperienced 🙏

NSFW blurb below

the bed creaks beneath you, every frantic shift of your hips sending another high-pitched whimper from fraser’s lips straight into your mouth. he’s trembling, every muscle strung tight, his fingers twitching where they clutch at your waist like he’s afraid to grip too hard, like he doesn’t trust himself. but he can’t stop. won’t stop. neither of you can.

you’re straddling him, pressed flush against his lap, nothing but thin, useless fabric between you—his boxers soaked through, your panties sticking wetly to you both, making every grind slicker, messier, hotter. his cock is so hard it’s practically pulsing, the thick shape of it dragging right against your clit with every desperate, impatient roll of your hips.

“fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—” fraser gasps, head tilting back, exposing his throat. his voice is wrecked, high and thin and utterly ruined. “why—why the fuck are we—why do we have to—oh, fuck—”

you have no answer. no reason. just a stubborn, stupid promise you made to each other in a moment of willpower neither of you can even comprehend right now. it’s not about waiting for marriage, or for some grand special moment—it’s just… just because. because neither of you wants to be the one to break first.

but god, it’s hell.

his hands flex at your hips, fingertips digging in just enough to make you shiver, make you move faster, make him cry out so prettily beneath you. you can feel everything. every twitch of his cock, every flutter of his stomach against yours, every little convulsion that rocks through him when you drag yourself forward just right.

he’s a mess beneath you—eyes clenched shut, face flushed deep pink, his chest heaving, his mouth falling open to let out the sweetest, breathiest little moans, each one sharper, more desperate, more broken than the last. you’re not any better. you can barely breathe, can barely think. every inch of your body is lit up with need, every nerve sparking, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up the relentless grind.

“y-you—” his voice catches on a whimper when you shift, pressing down just right, and his cock jerks between you. “you’re—oh my god—oh my god, you’re so—so fucking wet, i can feel it—”

you bite your lip, try to hold back the needy little sob that threatens to spill free. “you—y-you’re so hard, fraser, i can f-feel you fucking throbbing—”

he practically wails at that, fingers spasming against your hips, and for a second—just a second—his hips buck up, grinding up into you just a little harder than before.

and oh, that does it. your breath punches out of you, a strangled, trembling moan ripping from your throat, your thighs clamping down around his waist as another hot, overwhelming pulse of arousal gushes between you.

his eyes snap open, glassy and desperate, pupils so blown out they’re almost black. his lips are slick, bitten red, spit shining at the corners. “oh fuck—fuck, don’t make me cum, don’t make me—i can’t, i c-can’t—”

you shake your head, forehead dropping to his, breaths mingling, hands fisting weakly into his hair. “me neither, me neither, i d-don’t wanna—i don’t wanna yet, i wanna keep going—”

“but i c-can’t stop—”

“don’t stop, don’t stop, i need it—”

you’re both breaking, completely unraveling, and neither of you can stop it. the friction is too much, too perfect, every drag of his cock against you making you tremble, making you arch, making you gasp his name into the heat between you.

“i—i think i’m g-gonna—” he chokes out, back arching beneath you, a full-body shudder wracking through him.

you let out a strangled noise, gripping his face, forcing his gaze to stay locked onto yours. “n-not yet, fraser, please, please not yet, i wanna cum too, please wait—”

his mouth crashes into yours, swallowing the rest of your pleading words, and for a moment, the two of you are nothing but gasping, panting, desperate motion, clinging to each other like you might fall apart if you let go.

you don’t know who loses first. maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you. maybe it doesn’t even matter. all you know is that one second, you’re grinding against him like you’re trying to fuse yourselves together, and the next, pleasure is swallowing you whole, dragging you under, a messy, breathless, utterly helpless wreck against each other.

[wannabehockeygf]

fraser has such a sweet face but i know he’s a freak like have you seen his abs and arms

you don’t mean to stare. really, you don’t. but how could you not?

fraser is sitting across from you, lounging back against the couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world, one arm slung over the back, the other holding a book he’s barely paying attention to. he looks soft like this—like a dream. his fluffy brown hair is an unruly halo, his blue eyes bright even behind his round-rimmed glasses. he’s got the kind of face that makes people stop in the street—so pretty it’s almost unfair. kind, too. the type to make strangers trust him, the type to make your heart trip over itself.

but you know better than anyone else that beneath all that sweetness, he’s built like a god.

he catches you looking. of course he does.

his lips curl into the faintest smile. not teasing, not smug. just knowing. he shifts, stretching his arms over his head, and the hem of his shirt rides up, just a little, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of carved abs, of the deep grooves that lead lower, of the way his body flexes so effortlessly.

“something on your mind?” his voice is so soft, so sweet, but there’s amusement there too. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

you swallow hard, your hands already twitching in your lap, already itching to reach for him. because that’s the thing about fraser—he loves to be touched. loves when you drag your hands over his chest, loves when you press your fingers into the hard muscle of his arms, loves when you get lost in the feel of him.

and god, you do.

“just admiring the view,” you murmur, and you swear you see his eyes darken behind those lenses.

“yeah?” he shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees now, closing the space between you just enough to make your breath catch. his voice drops, just a little. “you like what you see?”

your throat is dry. your fingers tighten in your lap. “you already know i do.”

he hums, pleased, and then—slowly, deliberately—he reaches for your hand. guides it to his forearm first, lets your fingers sink into firm muscle.

“go on,” he murmurs. “i know you want to.”

your stomach flips. your fingers move on their own, trailing up, over the swell of his bicep, over the thick curve of his shoulder. you feel him flex beneath your touch, just barely, just enough to let you know he’s doing it for you.

your breath hitches. he smiles.

“you always get so shy about it,” he says, like he’s just endlessly fond of you, like he could kiss you for it. “but you love it, don’t you?”

your fingers trace the dip between his pecs, then down, over the hard ridges of his stomach. you’re staring now, your whole face warm, but you don’t stop.

he watches you like he could devour you.

“so perfect,” you whisper, and his smile softens, but there’s heat in his gaze now.

he reaches up, tucks a finger under your chin, tilts your face toward his. “you are,” he says, and then he leans in, and you swear you stop breathing.

his lips brush yours, the softest thing in the world. but his hands on you? firm, solid, strong. and when he kisses you again—slow, deep, unbearably sweet—you feel his lips quirk against yours.

he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. and he loves it.