Good Boy - Kinktober day 3 - Handjobs
Fandom: Future Man
Pairing: Josh Futturman x Reader (fem!reader)
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, praise kink, handjob, riding, creampie.
18+ only. MINORS DNI
Word count: ~850
Summary: On the run from one apocalypse to the next, you and Josh hole up in a dingy motel room. With the world on pause for once, you take your time unraveling him, praising every desperate whimper until he's yours completely.
The dim glow of the motel lamp casts long shadows across the rumpled sheets, turning Josh's skin into a canvas of soft gold and sharp edges. He's sprawled out beneath you, chest heaving like he's just run from one apocalypse to the next, which, let's be real, he probably has. His eyes, those wide, desperate brown pools, lock onto yours, pleading without a single word. Sweat beads on his forehead, trickling down the side of his face, and you can't help but think how fucking pretty he looks like this...undone, waiting, yours.
"Josh," you murmur, your voice low and teasing as you trail your fingers down his chest, nails scraping just enough to make him arch. His breath hitches, a little whine escaping his lips that sends heat pooling low in your belly. He's hard already, straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, but you're not rushing this. Not when he looks at you like you're the only thing keeping the world from ending.
"P-please," he stammers, his hands fisting the sheets like they're his lifeline. His voice is wrecked, all gravel and need, and god, it does things to you. "I..I need you. Fuck, just… tell me I'm good. Please."
You lean down, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, close enough that he shudders against you. "You're such a good boy for me, Josh. Look at you, laying here all sweet and desperate, just waiting for me to take care of you." The words hit him like a spark to dry tinder. His hips buck up involuntarily, a soft moan tearing from his throat as his head tips back, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck. You press a kiss there, teeth grazing just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming him in the quiet way that makes his whole body go pliant.
He whimpers again, louder this time, his hands reaching for you tentatively, like he's afraid you'll vanish if he holds on too tight. But you guide them to your hips, letting him grip as you slide your hand lower, palming him through the cotton until he's gasping, twitching under your touch. "That's it," you whisper, your free hand tangling in his messy curls, tugging just enough to make his eyes flutter shut. "My good boy. So eager to please. You gonna let me make you feel good? Gonna take it all for me?"
"Y-yes," he breathes, the word breaking on a sob as you finally push his boxers down, freeing him. He's flushed and leaking already, sensitive in that way that makes every stroke feel like fire. You wrap your hand around him, slow and deliberate, watching his face contort, brows furrowing, lips parting in that perfect O of bliss and agony. His thighs tremble, muscles jumping under your other hand as you steady him, keeping him grounded while you unravel him thread by thread.
You work him like that for what feels like hours, teasing strokes, thumb circling the tip until he's babbling nonsense, praises spilling from your lips like honey. "So pretty when you beg. Fuck, Josh, you're perfect. My perfect little savior." Each word draws another sound from him, whines, gasps, those broken little "please"s that make your core ache with want. He's close, you can tell by the way his breaths come in sharp pants, the way his fingers dig into your skin like he's afraid to let go.
But you slow, just enough to edge him, drawing a frustrated groan from deep in his chest. "Not yet," you say, nipping at his jaw. "Wanna feel you inside me first. Wanna ride my good boy until he can't think straight."
His eyes snap open, dark and dilated, and he nods frantically, all submission and fire. You shift, straddling him, guiding him to your entrance, wet and ready from watching him fall apart. He slides in easy, filling you with a stretch that makes you both moan, his hands flying to your waist like anchors. You rock your hips, setting a rhythm that's slow at first, torturous, letting him feel every inch, every clench.
"Fuck..oh god," he chokes out, head falling back against the pillow as you pick up speed, grinding down hard enough to make stars burst behind your eyelids. His thrusts meet yours, clumsy but fervent, like he's pouring every ounce of his chaotic life into this moment. You lean forward, bracing on his chest, whispering filthy praises right into his ear "That's my boy, so deep, so good for me" until he's trembling, right on the edge again.
"Come for me, Josh," you finally command, your own release coiling tight as you chase it with him. "Be a good boy and come."
He cums, with a cry that's half-sob, half-prayer spilling hot inside you, his whole body seizing as waves crash over him. You follow seconds later, clenching around him, riding it out until you're both spent, collapsing in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slick skin.
For a long moment, there's just the sound of your mingled breaths, the world outside this dingy room fading to nothing. Josh's arms wrap around you, pulling you close, his face buried in your neck like he never wants to let go. "Love you," he mumbles, voice soft and sated, the words muffled against your skin.
You smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Love you too, good boy." And in the quiet after, with the fate of the world hanging by a thread somewhere far away, it feels like enough.
