the stone roses self titled is so beautiful and absolutely for the girls because anytime girls are mentioned/the song is about a girl, they're described as something beautiful almost whimsical and not as something to be lusted over and i'm a huge fan of that
a/n: ohhhh his big brown eyes.. this is rlly soft and short sorry i can’t be rough with him he’s my darling
You wake before Ian—rare, but not startlingly so—one leg thrown lazily over his, head resting on the pillow beside his shoulder. Groggily, you stretch out, eyes half-opening to watch the way that the eager sunlight catches on the dust in the air and casts shadows over his cheekbones. The sheets are warm and smell of his washing powder, or maybe that’s just him beside you.
With a soft yawn, you push yourself up and ignore that clawing sensation somewhere in your chest that’s just trying to drag you right back into his arms. You’ve got plenty of time for that later. There’s a lighter and an empty pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, right beside an overflowing ashtray and two half-finished mugs of tea from the night before. You curse, shaking the box like a cigarette might have been hiding there just to play tricks on you.
The carpet is soft under your feet as you get up, casting a backward glance at Ian; still soft with sleep, hair knotted, lips parted just slightly, sunlight catching on the lashes fanned out on his cheeks. Perfect. Your heart aches with it, but you force your gaze away. If you kept looking, you’d never be able to walk away.
The coldness in the kitchen hits you hard—biting at your exposed skin—and you briefly consider abandoning getting a brew and instead crawling back into bed; into warm blankets and warmer arms. But it would be nice to wake Ian up with a cup of tea and some only half-burnt toast.
So that’s what you do, humming soft under your breath as you shuffle around the kitchen. Anything to give him a sweet morning.
-ˋˏ𖤓ˎˊ-
The toast ends up a little more than half-burnt—but the tea is perfect—sweet and warm—so when you nudge him and murmur his name, Ian still smiles sleepily and sits up to press a kiss to your cheek. He takes the plate into his lap, duvet creasing under the weight.
“You havin’ one?” His voice is scratchy and hoarse, still half-gone from too much drunken karaoke late last night and too many cigarettes and pints afterwards. He nudges a buttery piece of toast, eyes scanning across your face.
When you shake your head no he just huffs a sigh and shakes his head, murmuring something fondly under his breath about you being bloody difficult.
You get up to put a record on while he silently chews the charred bread. It’s an easy choice to settle on something slow and sweet—probably not his own first pick, but he didn’t like complaining much. Not to you, anyways.
The smell of him makes you sigh as you curl into his side, soothed by the warmth. Your legs tuck up onto his thighs, and his arm falls over your shoulders thoughtlessly. You smile at the familiarity of it all, how really nothing has changed between you in years.
It isn’t very long before you grow restless with boredom. And he looked so pretty then and there, hair somehow more askew and messy than normal, eyes still hazy with sleep. An unconscious smile was curled on his lips, like he couldn’t stop it—or just didn’t want to. It’s completely impossible to resist him when he looks like that.
Only slightly clumsily, you clamber into his lap. He huffs a fond laugh at the familiar weight, big hands cradling your hips like you’re something sacred—worthy of his adoration. The warmth of his palms seeps through the fabric of your clothes, and you shift to press a kiss to that mole above his lips.
“Don’t you start, love.” Ian murmurs, trying to sound stern. It didn’t work much when he was looking at you with those big brown eyes, teeth peeking out from between his lips as they curled into a grin.
“Not starting anything.” You pout, brows pinching together. But you both knew that wasn’t true. You shifted deliberately, grinding down subtly against him. You looked at him innocently, like you hadn’t even noticed you’d done it.
Eyelashes fluttering, his lips part sweetly on a gasp that got lost somewhere in his throat. He couldn’t even act unaffected—not when it was you. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, thumb pressing harsh into your stomach. “Fuckin’ cheeky, you are.”
You laugh, light and warm, eyes twinkling with it. Your hips roll down again, more certain this time, breath catching as the damp cotton dragged against your cunt. A sharp shudder runs down your spine, a hushed noise muffled by you biting down on your lip hard.
He watches you like he can’t believe you’re there—like he can’t believe the heat of your body isn’t just in a dream. It makes you feel all hot and funny, and you squeeze your eyes shut, a little overwhelmed by it.
You roll your hips again, unable to help the soft moan that slipped from your lips. The drag is just right, hot friction against the perfect spot—exactly where you craved it. The pleasure claws deliciously at the base of your spine and you feel it extend through every nerve ending in your body.
When you blink your eyes open again, Ian’s still enraptured by you. The way he’s looking at you is somewhat adjacent to worship, like he could fall to his knees and pray at your feet and think nothing of it. Like he was doing so in his head anyways. It makes your head swim and your heart catch in your chest.
You push yourself up, hands scrambling to push down his worn, tartan pyjama bottoms and boxers in one swoop. They get caught on his knees, but that’s good enough for you. Even just the sight of him, flushed and hard and no doubt aching, has something familiar stirring in your stomach.
“You gonna be good for me?” You murmur, tracing your thumb slowly along his bottom lip, already wet from his tongue tracing along it absentmindedly. He nods, looking up at you with wide eyes.
And you know it’s true. Know he’d never be anything other than good for you. So you quickly slip your knickers off, and settle back into his lap. His hands hesitate over your waist like he can’t work out if you’re really, solidly there—if his hand won’t fall through into nothing.
Your fingers curl around him, and a whimper escapes him before he can stop it. You hum, half-way between amused and condescending. You guide the head of his cock slowly, teasingly, through your folds. He moans loudly—properly moans, straight from somewhere deep in his chest—brows furrowed like it was taking everything in him to not come right then and there.
“So hard for me, baby, aren’t you?” You coo, and the words go straight to his head. His pout deepens and his eyes flutter closed. He drags them back open to look at you with aching fondness when you drag your thumb across the smooth planes of his cheek. “Stay with me, babe.”
“M’not going nowhere.” Ian whispered, voice strained and startlingly honest. His eyes twinkle when they catch onto yours, pupils blown wide against his golden irises. You smile, more than a little pleased by that answer.
“That’s my good boy.” You breathe, pausing for a second before sinking down onto him intoxicatingly slow. He whimpers, hands darting to grab reverently—almost gratefully—at you. You let out a soft gasp when his cock nudges something deep inside of you. Your name pours softly from his lips like a tart wine.
You stay there, unmoving, full of Ian—hot and thick. His hips twitch slightly, like he can’t decide if he needs you bad enough to disobey you. His eyes are pleading, long lashes caught in the sun, and the sight makes your heart thump furiously.
“Please.” He whimpers breathily, the words sounding like they were punched straight from his chest. His lips are parted, wet, and it makes something hot claw at your chest. “Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven.”
You soften immensely at that, because how could you not? Your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, finding some leverage so you can roll your hips nice and deep into him, crying out when it somehow pushed him even deeper into you. His lips part on a groan, but it only comes out as a whine.
“So fuckin’… god.” Ian breathes, chest heaving harshly to catch up with the sudden lack of oxygen going to his brain. His hands guide you, the roll of your hips comes easy now with a rhythm like the tide—push, pull.
The pleasure curls in your stomach, licks up your spine like hot flames. He groans, breathy and low, eyes fluttering as you rock down on him. He looks as fucked out as you feel, cheeks flushed and hands gripping you tight like he needs you even closer.
“So fucking needy.” You breathe, words hushed like a secret. You lean in to mouth messily at the warm skin of his neck. He moans, loud and open—straight from the chest. Your movements are clumsy now, growing more desperate as your thighs begin to ache from the effort of grinding down on him.
“Please, babe. Needa come so fuckin’ bad.” He babbles, eyes half-lidded and beginning to look a little damp. He looks so ruined that you’re not sure if he could ever return to normal afterwards, and it’s practically impossible not to cave at that.
“I know, darling. You gonna come for me?” Your gaze softens, hips snapping clumsily against his, the room hot and full of the sound of skin slapping against each other. You reach up, tangle your fingers into his hair and tug softly. He whines, desperate and high and needy.
“Yeah, please. Need it so...” Ian pants, breath ragged and quick. He moans loudly, cock twitching deep inside of you as he comes. He collapses forward into you, head rested on your shoulder, breath hot and shallow against you. His hips rock upwards instinctively as you clench around him, chasing every wave of pleasure he could.
Your hips slow, but don’t stop—you can’t stop chasing it, can’t help the need for relief, only worsened by his shaky whines. Despite yourself, the overwhelming curl of heat in your stomach distracts you from everything else.
His hand snakes between you, fingers finding your clit and circling it tight. You cry out, hips stuttering messily and losing the pace you’d set. An orgasm creeps up on you, then the pleasure crashes over you; hot and sudden. You gasp out, thighs shaking and cunt fluttering around him. Your blood rushes loud in your ears, teeth digging hard into your bottom lip. Messy and high, he lets out a moan—like it ruined him more than you.
“Ian, fuck—” You breathe out, voice ragged, feeling raw from it. You cradle his head to your shoulder, fingers curling into his soft hair. With a wince, you shift so that he slips out. You still feel shaky, sensitive, and your words are punched from you. “Fuckin’ good boy, shit.”
He hums contently, melting into you, hand falling aside to your thigh. With gentle hands, he holds you tight. Murmurs something so soft you can’t hear—but you don’t need to. You just shush him, letting him collapse gratefully into your arms like it’s everywhere he’ll ever need to be.
