A featured publication from the Fluffuary / Kinkuary editorial event.
Prompt Assignment: First Time
Overview: A movie night turns into the moment you’ve both been waiting for.
Warnings: established relationship, smut no plot, soft dom, praise, aftercare, protected sex, p in v, oral both receiving, grinding, making out
The movie’s still playing, but neither of you could say what it’s about anymore.
Joaquin’s mouth is warm and familiar against yours, and when you grind down onto him, he sucks in a breath like you’ve caught him off guard.
His hands slide to your hips, steadying you there immediately. Not stopping you. Not entirely. Just… holding you.
“We don’t have to,” he says quietly, forehead resting against yours. “I’m serious. I’m good either way.”
You smile, breathless. “I know.”
You’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and he’s been a perfect gentleman, which is almost the problem. Because you want him. Because you need him. Because this is happening tonight.
His eyes search your face, softer now. “This is our first time. I just want it to be right.”
You lean in again. “This is perfect, Joaquin, just—”
You guide his hands back, a little lower, a little more deliberate, before pulling him into another kiss.
And this time, his hands tighten, squeezing, helping you move against him like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this just as much as you do.
You keep kissing, moving together in a slow rhythm. Soft sounds slip from both of you, swallowed between mouths, until Joaquin pulls back just enough to look at you.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low.
“Yes,” you breathe, already chasing his lips again, but he stops you gently.
He lifts you easily, leaning in to kiss you again as he walks you down the hallway. You giggle against his mouth, bumping into walls, tangled up in each other in a way that feels reckless and right all at once.
He sets you down in front of your bed, and the kisses barely pause, just long enough for shirts to be pulled away and forgotten. Hands fumble, laughing softly as you help each other with buttons and waistbands, mouths finding skin whenever they can, like neither of you wants to lose contact for too long.
You tug him back into another kiss and fall onto the bed, breathless, the mattress dipping under your weight. Joaquin follows you down, catching himself just in time, braced above you.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you.
His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, like he’s committing this moment to memory. His hands stay planted on either side of you, grounding himself, breathing a little heavier than before.
“God,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then, softer, “You’re unreal.”
His thumb brushes your side, feather-light, like he’s asking permission again without words.
“I’ve wanted this,” he admits quietly, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Wanted you. I just… wanted to do it right.”
He leans in, forehead resting against yours, breath warm.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, voice low, intimate. “But don’t,” a faint smile curves his mouth, “don’t be surprised if I don’t want to.”
That’s when his lips find yours again, slower this time. Intentional. Like he’s done waiting.
He kisses down your neck, then your chest, and you arch into him as his hand reaches behind you, fingers deft as he unclips your bra. It’s gone a second later, replaced by his mouth and hands, kisses pressed reverently across your breasts, palms warm and sure as they massage you.
“Yeah?” he murmurs softly, like he’s checking in even as his thumbs move, lightly brushing your nipples. “That feel okay?”
Your breath catches, head tipping back in answer.
“Good,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I just wanna make you feel good.”
His hands trail lower, following the path of his lips as he kisses down your stomach, slow and deliberate, making you feel every inch of the distance. He pauses there, right above your waistband, and looks up at you.
“Still with me?” he asks, steady and grounding.
You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you can’t look away. “Yes,” you breathe. “God—yes.”
The tension in his shoulders eases immediately.
“Okay,” he says, voice warm. “Tell me if anything feels too much. Or not enough.”
He presses a kiss right where you need him most, and you bite your lip, failing to keep the sound in. Joaquin huffs a quiet laugh, glancing up at you as he slides your panties down your legs.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Just like that. I love the sounds you make.”
He kisses back up your body from your ankle, hooking one leg over his shoulder, taking his time as his mouth trails over your calf, your knee, your thigh, lingering, teasing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“How’s that?” he asks softly, thumb brushing your skin. “You okay?”
Your answer comes out shaky, his name falling from your lips.
“I thought so,” he mutters, and then his tongue finally drags a slow stripe where you want him most.
You moan and instinctively try to shut your thighs, but his hand comes up immediately, firm, holding you open.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Let me. I’ve got you.”
Your other leg stays hooked over his shoulder, heel digging into his back as he keeps going, working you with slow, deliberate movements, checking in with quiet murmurs,“Right there?” “Feels good?” each one pulling another sound from you.
When he groans, the vibration sends you over the edge, and you come apart with his name on your lips.
He doesn’t rush away. He presses soft kisses into your inner thigh, then higher, hands smoothing over you as he makes his way back up your body.
“You did so good,” he whispers, brushing his nose against your jaw. “Feel okay?”
“Mmm, yes,” you murmur, pulling him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. It turns sloppy fast, all open mouths and breathless sounds as you press into him, chest to chest. Your hardened nipples brush his skin and the sensation pulls a soft moan from you, swallowed by the kiss.
He makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat, hands gripping your sides like he’s trying to ground himself.
You shift, rolling him onto his back until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed and you’re straddling him. Now it’s your turn. You kiss down his neck, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his breath stutters as your hands explore his chest, his abs, lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear.
“Yeah,” he breathes, voice already rough. “Fuck… just like that.”
You glance up at him. “Can I?”
His answer is immediate. “Yes.”
You cup him through the fabric, moving slowly, deliberately, and his head tips back with a quiet groan. “Feels—” he exhales sharply, eyes dropping to watch your hand. “God, that feels so good.”
You free him from his underwear and start to lower yourself between his knees. His hands come out automatically, stopping you, not pushing, just steady.
“You don’t have to—” he starts.
“I want to,” you cut in softly, looking up at him. “Please. I want to make you feel good too.”
The word please does him in. His breath catches. “Okay,” he manages, voice strained. “Yeah. Okay.”
You look up at him as you lick a slow stripe along the underside of him, watching the way his expression falls open before you take him fully into your mouth. He lets out a broken sound, one hand threading into your hair, resting there, present, never pushing.
“Just—yeah,” he murmurs, breath going ragged. “You’re doing so good. Feels incredible.”
You move with him, slow and steady, and his encouragement turns quieter, more breathless, until he gently pulls you up by the hair.
“I don’t want to finish like this,” he says, clearly fighting for control. “I want…I want to be with you.”
You crawl back up his body, licking a path over his stomach before pulling him into a deep, messy kiss. It’s more intimate now, less teasing, and when he stands to grab a condom, he moves like he knows exactly what he wants.
You adjust yourself on the bed, heart racing, and when he joins you again, he kisses you, slower, sweeter, like he’s resetting the moment.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
His hand squeezes yours once, grounding. “Okay,” he murmurs, and then he finally pushes in.
You moan together as he pushes in deeper, the sound torn from both of you at once.
“God,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel so good, tell me you’re okay.”
You nod, breathless, fingers tightening on his shoulders. “I’m okay. I’m…I’m really good.”
The tension in his body eases just a fraction. He stays there for a second longer, like he needs to feel you around him, like he’s grounding both of you in the moment before he pulls back slowly and presses back in again. His movements are unhurried, every thrust intentional like he’s memorizing the way you fit together.
After all the dates, all the almosts, this is your first time together, and it feels heavy in the best way. Like something settling into place.
“I’ve been wanting this,” you gasp, “I’ve been needing this.” The truth spilling out of you as he keeps moving.
That earns you a soft, breathless laugh against your jaw. “Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing there, then your lips. “Me too. Wanted it, but wanted to make sure it was right.”
His pace picks up just slightly, still deep, still careful.
“I’ve been wanting this since I met you,” he admits quietly. “Since you’d get all dressed up for our dates and pretend you weren’t nervous.” A smile curves into his voice. “You were so cute.”
Your moans start to break, less controlled now, and he groans at the sound, hips moving more urgently.
“I tried to be good,” he says, breath coming faster. “Tried to keep my hands to myself.” His thrusts grow harder, more deliberate, hitting that spot that makes your thoughts scatter. “But you wanted this. Wanted me.”
And you did. God, you do.
His name spills out of you like it’s all you can say, and he keeps talking, soft, wrecked praise murmured between breaths. Asking if you feel good. Telling you how perfect you feel, how much he loves the sounds you’re making, how right this feels with you.
“Still okay?” he checks again, slowing just a little even as his thrusts stay deep.
“Yes,” you whimper. “Don’t stop.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, like a promise.
His hand slides down your side, grounding, before his fingers press to your clit and the pleasure hits you sharp and sudden. You cry out, body tightening, and he groans at the way you flutter around him.
“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing you hard. “Just like that. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
You’re so aware of him, of the weight of his body, the warmth, the way this isn’t just sex but him, finally, completely. Your first time together, and it feels like something you’ll remember forever.
“You’re close,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Fuck…I can feel it. Tell me when—”
“I’m gonna cum,” you choke out. “Joaquin—please.”
His pace stutters, then picks up just enough. “Me too,” he admits softly, breaking as he hits that perfect spot again, tipping you over the edge.
You come undone around him, and he stills for a heartbeat before moving again, slow and deep as he follows you, kissing you through it like he doesn’t want to let go. When he finally collapses to your side, he keeps you close, breath uneven, forehead resting against yours.
“You okay?” he whispers one last time.
This time, your smile answers before your words do.
For a minute, neither of you says anything.
You’re both breathing hard, limbs tangled, skin still warm where he hasn’t let go of you yet. Joaquin shifts first, careful even now, tugging you closer until you’re tucked against his chest like it’s the most natural place in the world.
“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your arm. “You okay?”
You hum, sleepy already, smiling into his skin. “More than okay.”
That makes him laugh, soft, breathy, a little disbelieving, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, then another, then one more just because. You tilt your face up and he meets you halfway, kissing you slow and lazy this time, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.
“C’mere,” he whispers, pulling the blanket up around you both. “You’re warm.”
You tangle your legs with his, bare skin everywhere, and he keeps kissing you, your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, like he can’t stop. You giggle, a little embarrassed, a little blissed out.
He shrugs, smiling all soft and stupid. “Just… happy.”
That does something to your chest.
You trace lazy shapes on his skin, listening to his heartbeat slow under your ear, and he absently plays with your hair, fingers gentle, unhurried. Every so often he leans down to press another kiss into your hair, your shoulder, your temple, quiet reminders that he’s there.
At some point, the room goes quiet except for your breathing.
You’re half-asleep when you feel him shift, adjusting so you’re more comfortably tucked against him, arms wrapped fully around you now. He presses one last kiss to your forehead.
“Stay,” he mutters, already drifting.
You smile, eyes closed. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
He hums, satisfied, tightening his hold just a little, and that’s how you fall asleep. Naked, wrapped up in each other, warm and spent and safe, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
