24x24
Plot: Dylan's always up for a challenge. He likes the sense of accomplishment that comes along with success 😈
Tags: Filth, Dylan O'Brien x Reader, Orgasms (a lot of 'em)
Authors Note: Enjoy this rare reader 'fic'. It's not even a fic. It's a filthy lil' smutball. It's been burning a hole in my brain for a while now, and now it can torture you all too! Much love everyone! - Trashy
Challenges are fun. He’s always liked them. You’re just happy to be included this time. You’re not even sure where he got the hair-brained idea, but there’s no chance you’d try dissuading him, not after hearing what he has in store:
‘Twenty-Four Orgasms in Twenty-Four Hours’
[8:47 am]: He doesn’t waste any time. Challenge announced, challenge accepted. He’s between your thighs and the day’s only just begun. You’re writhing against the pillows and he’s humming into your core, satisfied with himself when he easily pulls your first from you with only his tongue.
[8:53 am]: The second one is even easier to coax out of you when you’re still keyed up from the first, but this time his tongue has some assistance from his talented fingers. He’s curling them inside you while you’re curling your toes and calling his name.
[9:20 am]: The steaming water from the showerhead is striking Dylan in the back, but some of it makes it past his broad shoulders and is speckling your skin with little flecks of heat. His mouth is on your throat and he’s nosing at your jawline. His arm is wrapped around your waist and his hand is teasing you through the beginnings of your third. You can feel it building inside you and you can feel how hard he is pressing against your lower back. When he whispers into your ear that he’s going to fuck you through the next one, you’re rolling through another.
[9:32 am]: It’s all pants, moans, and heat. The glass of the shower is steamed up and streaked with your handprints. He’s got you bent over and grabbing desperately to the handrail you’d told him you weren’t sure you needed. You were wrong. He’s fucking you hard, desperate to finally get a chance to get off himself. It’s just deep enough that you know he can go a touch deeper at just the right time, and that’s exactly what he does. He’s stuttering a warning with his hips and lips before you’re both coming undone.
[11:03 am]: He gave you a break, and he needed time himself. You’d had coffee and breakfast. Sat down on the couch for a little weekend binge of your favorite show, but a challenge is a challenge, after all. He tells you not to pause it, tells you to watch, he’s seen it before and he’s got other priorities. You don’t register a thing after the title sequence because he’s got you writhing through number five under him on the couch, his hand in your pants and a smirk on his face.
[11:45 am]: This one is lazy, but he’s not complaining, and neither are you. He’s just lazily circling your clit with his thumb, watching the show and not really paying attention when you’re suddenly feeling that familiar tingle. He’s not stupid, he notices the way you twitch, the hitch in your breathing. He knows you. He’s grinning and he’s pushing you down onto the couch to mouth at your chest as he easily pulls your sixth from you along with his name from your lips.
[1:12 pm]: The pool is always more fun when you’re naked, but it’s the middle of the day and neighbours are an unfortunate reality. Under the surface, you can hide enough. You can conceal the desperate way you’re pulling the strings of his swim trunks so you can get your hands in them. The way he’s got your bikini top pulled down enough that he can seal his mouth over your skin and nip a moan from you before his capable hands are teasing and flicking you through another incredible climax.
[1:23 pm]: Who gives a fuck about the neighbours? Because he’s got you prone and pinned under him beside the pool—bathing suits shoved out of the way just enough—ready to up his ratio and finish inside you for a second time today. He’s covering your mouth with his palm because he knows he’s going to make you scream. And you do, all muffled and wet into his palm. You’re coming down from your high when he’s grunting through his own, his fingers that are covering your lips trembling as he chalks one up for the home team.
[2:41 pm]: You’re washing the chlorine and his sweat from your skin when he climbs in the shower behind you, kissing your shoulders, his hands gripping your upper arms before he’s got you leaning back against him. He doesn’t have to work too hard this time, not with how sensitive he’s made you all morning. The water trickling down your body pools near the hand he has cupped between your legs. He rubs this one from you with a couple of lazy fingers while he mouths at your throat.
[4:05 pm]: A nap was almost a necessity, and as you laid air drying on the bed, you fell into a short one before he was waking you with a flick of his tongue. It’s all hazy and dreamy. The late afternoon sun filtering in through the sheer curtains. He’s smiling up at you, his honey eyes gleaming with pride when you flood his mouth with number ten.
[4:15 pm]: This one is as surprising to you as it is to him. He’s just resting his cheek on your inner thigh, his fingers tracing circles on your skin. You know he’s not done—that he’ll have you keening again before he lets you get dressed—but when he wets his lips and hoists your leg up over his shoulder, one swipe of his tongue is all it really takes. His brows are raised, and the almost despicable smirk he’s wearing makes you want to slap him, but he kind of deserves to be proud.
[4:24 pm]: He’s spurred on by how easy you’d made the last one, and this time he wants to feel the way you squeeze around him when you’re panting his name. So he uses his hands. His perfect hands. His long fingers. He knows how much you love the way he touches you and he’s propped up enough to watch you tip your chin to the ceiling pleading mercy—even though you both know that’s not what you want—when the angle and rhythm are just right.
[5:46 pm]: You’re in public for Christ’s sake. Well close to. It’s a parking lot, but you don’t have tinted windows, and it’s not even dark. He doesn’t seem to care. He’s on the clock and he’s not a quitter. He’s being as subtle as he can though, leaning over you to hide the way he’s got your pants pulled down over your thighs. He has you squeezing around his fingers and biting your own hand to muffle the moans as your eyes roll back.
[6:15 pm]: You’d protested a bit when he’d flashed you a devilish grin before you went inside for your reservation, when he’d convinced you to let him place a little remote-controlled vibrator against your clit, pinning it there with your tight little underwear. He doesn’t turn it on until your drinks are sitting in front of you and you've ordered your meals. When your glass is on your lips, his own are twisting into a smirk before you feel the little bullet buzz to life. He’s watching you with hungry eyes as he shifts the modes and drives you wild. You whisper that he’s cheating if he gets you off like this, and ‘cheater’ is not a label he’s willing to accept. He grabs your wrist and pulls you to the bathroom. Bent over the counter in the family washroom—with a questionable lock—he quickly fucks you to satisfaction, not holding back or dragging it out.
[8:13 pm]: You’ve only been home long enough to get your shoes off before he’s shoving you against the entryway wall, his hands roaming your body before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you. He’s practically worshiping you. He’s praising and pleading. You cave to his supplication, letting him remove your shoes and your pants before he’s pulling your underwear down with his teeth. The way he laps and nips at the skin he’s teased into a frenzy all day, has you grasping at his hair, clawing for purchase as you stumble across the finish line yet again.
[9:02 pm]: You can see it in the way he looks at you, in the way it feels. He doesn’t quite have the same speed he had when he fingered you to completion for the first time today, but that doesn’t make it any less incredible. His hands were still more skilled than they had any right to be. You’re sure his forearms must be burning, that he must be starting to regret what he’d tasked himself with, but he’s always been determined. Driven. So it’s no surprise that he’s got you coming again bent over the arm of the couch, not really anyway...
[10:40 pm]: Outside under the stars. It’s a nice night. There’s a slight breeze, but that’s beside the point, really. You’re glad he talked you into the large outdoor sofa. It certainly had its merits, especially tonight. He’d put on some music, and it all started out innocent enough. He got you to lay down on your stomach so that he could rub your neck and shoulders. Pretense. All a ploy. Because he was reaching around your body and teasing you through your shirt before he’d manage to ease a single ounce of tension from your back. His naughty whispers and hot breath on the back of your neck before he flips you over—so he can look into your eyes when he buries two fingers deep inside you—has you practically coming before he can pump his hand a single time.
[10:46 pm]: So it’s no surprise, not really, that you’re quick to give him another. You cave so easily for him when he’s looming over you looking down at what he’s doing to you, when he looks so proud of himself and when he’s telling you how good it feels to make you feel good. This was supposed to be a challenge, but he made it seem so easy.
[11:32 pm]: You’re exhausted. You both are. You’ve got every reason to be. He’s been toying with you all day. You’re not teenagers anymore, after all. So when you’re laying in bed next to one another and his fingers are tracing lazy shapes on the skin over your ribs, his lips peppering your arm and shoulder with small kisses, you can understand why he’s taking his time, why he’s not pinning you down like he might have that morning. You’re the one that grows impatient, it’s you that takes his hand and places it where you want him to touch you, but he still doesn’t rush. He kisses you slowly, ghosts his lips across your skin, and breathes his love for you out in soft whispers. It’s nearly as tender as it was the very first time and just as satisfying.
[11:51 pm]: He’s earned a free ride, surely, at least metaphorically. So when you lay him out under you and climb into his lap, you smile at the relief you can see spread across his features. His bent arm is holding his head above the pillows when you slide down over him. He lets you take the reins until your trembling thighs reveal your waning strength. Then he’s clasping your hips and holding you above him while he thrusts up into you until you’re collapsing against his chest, spent and panting.
[12:03 am]: He holds you as you quiver through the aftershocks, still buried inside you but unmoving. He’s running his hands through your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead before he holds you close to his chest and turns you over onto your back. He’s smiling down at you, holding himself up on his curled fist when he starts to move inside you again. It’s slow at first, he’s rolling his hips in that sinful way he does. His muscles are pulled taught under his skin, and it’s not long before he’s pounding you through the throes of another incredible climax.
[12:04 am] He doesn’t slow down this time when your overstimulated body is quivering around him. He’s chasing down his own end, his eyes are unfocused and his rhythm unsteady. He’s close and you want to finish with him. You grind against him so that he rubs against you just right on the last few strokes it takes him to finish so that you’re coming with him.
[8:32 am] You don’t remember falling asleep, but the sun filtering into the room was a pretty clear sign that you must have. Though, you couldn’t be certain that you weren’t dreaming, not when the way he was touching you felt so surreal. His mouth is what you feel first as you blink away the sleep from your eyes. It’s clasped to your breast, his hot tongue swirling against your skin and peaking your nipple. He greets you with a smile when he feels you stir and kisses you softly before he glides down over your body and starts your day just the way he had yesterday.
[8:42 am] The last one. Number twenty-four. You had to know he was going to make it special. How very unlike him it would be for this to be par for the course? How out of character would it be for him to allow an occasion such as this to be an anti-climatic disappointment. No. You’re sure he’d been planning this since number one. He gets you in the position he knows drives you wild, and one he’d deprived you of the entire time. He was making this last one so easy for himself and you couldn’t help but respect it. Why not ensure success? And that’s just what it was. You were screaming his name and you’re sure he’d never looked so proud of himself in his entire life.
He’d done it. And with five minutes to spare... The fucking overachiever.
