There, Right There (revised)
Original request: “a virgin B and the reader basically is teaching him and praising him. helping him learn. i can’t remember all of what i said but basically molding him into the man he is today 😉” COMBINED WITH: “Okay but like can you do a oneshot where the reader’s parents don’t know she’s dating Brendon and they decide to stop by and visit, but when they open the door they find them messing around on the couch and that’s how the find out and they have to have an awkward dinner together afterwards.”
Brendon x reader
Notes: we’re in some bizarre parallel universe where vices!B is a virgin. I know, it doesn’t make sense to me either. Suspend your disbelief. Roll with it.
Warnings: dirty talk, language in general, oral sex for both, basic sex—pretty vanilla.
Word Count: 4.9k ➡️ 9.6k
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“No, it’s fine, my parents aren’t going to be home for hours. Let’s make out,” you whisper against his lips, tugging at his belt.
Brendon’s still hesitant; you can see the look in his eyes. “Sugar, you brought me here for Thanksgiving dinner and to meet your parents…we shouldn’t—in their house, on their couch—because what if they walk in?”
You kiss him hard as you undo the buckle, and you’re able to slip a hand down inside his jeans. He gasps into your mouth as his hips buck forward into your touch, and you know he wants to be convinced. “They won’t. They’re grocery shopping. And besides, we’re not gonna mess around on their couch. We can go back upstairs to my childhood bedroom. We can make out on a twin-size bed in front of all my participation trophies and boy band posters. I know you want to,” you purr in his ear, and he groans—it’s deep and reverberates through his chest against you; just the sound of it makes you want to get naked, drag him to the nearest horizontal surface, and see all the different ways you can get him to make that sound again.
That being said, it would be the first time you had him fully naked, first time you’d gotten to do much of anything with him, and as much as you’d enjoy seeing him sprawled on the plush, black leather couch of the living room, one hand clutching the cushions and the other pulling your hair as you blow him eagerly, you know your original plan of getting him upstairs is better. And besides, you don’t really want the first time you suck his cock to be in your parents’ living room. Tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth a little before releasing it, you grin and pull hard at the edges of his belt in your hands. “Let’s go.”
You guide him up the stairs, and he must regain some confidence along the way, because he pushes you into your room and onto your bed. You shriek and bounce a little, giggling as he crawls on top of you and slots a thigh between yours. “Well, hello there,” you murmur into his mouth, rubbing against him.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers, and you push his hair out of his face so you can meet his eyes. He cups your face and kisses you gently; you’ve found a great pace on his thigh but his soft kisses, while lovely, aren’t going to get you where you’re trying to go. So you deepen the kiss, one hand tangled in the back of his hair to keep his mouth crushed to yours, while the other grips his shoulder to keep him down against you.
You’ve been together for about six months now, and you’ve each spent nights in the other’s bed, but it’s never gone further than urgent, deep makeout sessions and some over-the-clothes touching—and you haven’t had a chance to go further, because you’ve both always had most of your clothes on. You’re not upset by it exactly; it just feels odd that things are progressing so well emotionally, yet moving so slowly physically.
Part of you wonders if the emotional side is going well because you two haven’t had sex, but you push this idea away. You love him, you know that, but you also want him. You want him under you, over you, deep inside you—all of it. And you know the desire is mutual too.
“I just,” Brendon murmured against your neck one night last week, “want you to know that I do want to.” You were half-asleep and not quite sure what he meant until he continued talking. “I’m not sure why I’m waiting or holding back; I want you so damn badly.” You’d honestly expected something to happen then, but he just held you firmly against his body, fingers tracing your stomach idly until you both fell asleep.
You also know he’s a virgin. He’s always called it a choice, not a ‘waiting for the one’ thing exactly, but a ‘mindful abstinence’ scenario. Either way you look at it, you’re positive you’re going to be his first, and you’d really like to be his only.
Even though he’s not sensitive or shy about his virginity, you’re still reluctant to push him. You don’t want him to think that you’re only interested in him sexually, despite the fact that his touch absolutely electrifies you, and every time you so much as look at him, your body tenses with desire. But you’re starting to think you’ll need to make the first move here after all; Brendon has always been such a gentleman with you that he’s probably afraid of inadvertently pushing you. He knows you’ve had sexual partners in the past and knows about your, in your own words, ‘voracious sexual appetite.’ It’s because of all this that you suspect he’s afraid to initiate anything more, just because he doesn’t want you to think he expects it of you.
Now that you think about it though, you’re not sure he’d have any real expectations. He’s openly admitted to being a virgin, but he hasn’t gotten into the specifics. That lack of information gives you the distinct impression that he hasn’t done anything past what you’re doing right now: making out and grinding, rubbing, rocking on each other. It might be time to push him along, just a bit.
Making up your mind, you lean down and murmur, “I want to be on top of you,” in his ear, and he groans a little, nodding.
“Want that too,” Brendon manages, and you roll over him and press him into the mattress, your thighs spread over his hips. You go back to your earlier movement, but stop after a moment. Your jeans are bothering you, and you said it yourself; your parents shouldn’t be home for hours. You slip off of him and, laying flat on your back, wiggle out of your pants, kicking them off the edge of the bed. For good measure, you squirm out of your shirt as well.
He’s a little wide-eyed at the sight of your underwear, and the desire on his face is so plain that you just have to be on him again. Whenever you’ve spent the night, he’s preemptively given you a pair of his boxers and an oversized tee to sleep in. He’s always turned away to be respectful and ‘give you your privacy as you change,’ even though you’ve gently teased that you don’t mind him looking.
Brendon’s definitely looking now, and you can see how hard he is. You need to feel him. Gripping both of his shoulders, you settle back down, and he pulls your face down to kiss you. “So damn hot,” Brendon mumbles; you can feel his cock straining through his jeans, and it makes you wonder if he can feel how wet you are.
“You’ve seen me in a swimsuit; this is basically the same,” you murmur through the embrace.
“No,” Brendon groans, “because swimsuits are for… swimming… and we are not swimming.”
“Very astute,” you tease, and he laughs a little sheepishly. “You feel so good,” you tell him as you circle over his erection. But as nice as the friction from his jeans is on your clit, it probably isn’t great for him—or not as great as you could make it. “But you should take your pants off,” you tell him after a moment and you think his eyes get wider as you slide out of his lap. “Only if you want to, though. It’s fine if you don’t want to.” You really hope he wants to.
Brendon scrambles up and unzips his jeans, almost hissing in relief when his dick is fully free of its denim prison. He hasn’t even gotten his pants fully off, but you’ve grabbed him and pulled him back down to the bed. “Sugar, I don’t—oh fuck,” he groans when you pounce, lips attaching to his neck while you work on getting his shirt off. He’s shoving at his jeans under you, and you realize it may have been faster to let him strip before dragging him into your bed. However, this way is more fun for you both.
“There.” You feel him kick his pants off. Now that he’s down to just his boxer briefs, you seek his hardness against your heat; just two thin layers of fabric are keeping you two apart. This is as close as you’ve ever been to something significantly physical happening. You need him; you can’t fight the breathy moan that slips from your mouth when he starts rocking tentatively up against you.
“Fuck,” Brendon groans, his thrusts erratic and his breathing a little heavier; you nod in agreement. “Will you…?” The question trails off and he looks uncertain, flushing a little. “This feels so good. Does it feel good for you too? Can you—will you come like this?” You nod quickly, and he smiles so radiantly, so happily, that you want to come for him right then. “I’ve never…I’ve never made anyone come before.”
This makes you kiss him hard. “Maybe you haven’t in person,” you tell him with a small smile, “but I promise I’ve definitely fantasized about you while touching myself. The mere thought of you touching me has made me come.”
“Fuck.”
“And I’m close now,” you add, bearing down on him and picking up your pace, alternating between circles and rocking strokes, feeling everything inside you coil tightly. “God, feeling your cock press right against my clit is making me so wet, getting me so close. I’m gonna come from this, B, gonna come all over you—wait, hang on.” You reach back and unclasp your bra, flinging it in the same direction as his shirt.
“Fuck,” Brendon groans again, and you grab his hands, bringing them up to your bare chest. “Your tits are fucking phenomenal.” He’s felt you up over your clothes, but only when you’ve had a bra on. At night, when you’re covered by just a t-shirt, he doesn’t let his hands stray from your stomach.
“I know, right?” You’re teasing him, but you’re still happy to see him so in awe of you. “Gonna go back to grinding on your dick; need you to play with my nipples, okay?”
“Play?” His eyes are glazed over with longing, and his hands move over you reverently.
“Play,” you confirm, moving again. “Roll, pinch, tug, lick your fingers and tease, you know. Play.”
“You’re incredible.”
“I’m close,” you correct breathlessly. “Need you to just—yeah, that’s so good, baby, fuck yes!”
Brendon’s quickly licked his thumbs and he’s moving them over your nipples in quick circles, lightly pinching and tugging a little. You’re moving faster, moaning low in the back of your throat as he pinches a bit more firmly at your urging.
He’s biting his lip, and you’re working yourself down hard against him; your orgasm is right around the corner. You’re so close—if he’d just—
“Damn, I love you,” Brendon whispers, and you gasp, your first spreading and rolling through you. That wasn’t what you had in mind, but it’s effective; it’s fireworks in your brain and sparks through your entire body, hearing him say that. You keep rocking against him, riding him through it, all the while murmuring how much you love him too. He’s gazing up at you longingly with his hands down on your hips now—not guiding or moving you, just feeling you roll and press over him.
“You’re so hot; god, watching you come like this and feeling you against me; I fucking love you—I didn’t mean to tell you like this but, fuck,” he groans, and you lean forward to kiss him. His tongue swipes across your lips, and you readily yield, letting him explore your mouth while you come back to full awareness. His hand is on your face again, cupping your cheek, and you can’t stop kissing him. It’s the frenzied bliss of confessing your love that’s fueling you, but the pool of lust in your stomach is helping too.
“I love you too. Now put your hand in my hair,” you whisper against his lips. He does as he’s told, and you sigh happily at the feeling of his fingertips massaging your scalp. “Now pull,” you instruct, and Brendon hesitates. You smile a little reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby. You won’t hurt me.”
He gives your hair a soft pull, and you shriek immediately. “Ow, fuck!” He looks so upset when you yelp in faux-pain that you can’t even commit to teasing him. “Oh B, I’m sorry. I was kidding. Just messing with you. It felt good. Really.”
He gives you a playfully dirty look. “That wasn’t nice, Sugar.” He’s teasing you now too, but you take the opportunity.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, love. Wanna see how nice I can really be?”
He swallows hard, and you grin, crawling backwards down his body, resting your chin on his thigh and tipping your head to one side. “Because,” you purr, running two fingers along the length of his covered erection, “I can be really nice. If you wanted me to be. Do you want me to be nice, Brendon?” You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lower lip, knowing what it must be doing to him. He presses his head back into the pillow with a groan and nods. “Thank god,” you murmur, and you caress him through his boxers before you pull back and tug them at them.
You’ve never seen him naked, but you’ve drawn some conclusions from feeling him. You’re guessing that his cock is a good length—not so big that you’d hesitate to take him entirely, yet not so small that you’d wish he’d be able to get a little deeper—you’re confident he’ll fill you perfectly, and that he’s thick too. You’ve spent many nights home alone fingering yourself to the idea of his cock; putting aside your guesses and theories, you love him and crave this intimacy with him. All the same, you’re still hoping your fantasies are accurate. Now, you’re about to find out. You guide his boxers down eagerly, and you have to catch your breath.
“Oh, fuck yes,” you whisper when you find your words. He looks confused and a bit self-conscious, so you settle in between his legs, spit into your hand, and start stroking him. “I love being right.”
“What do you me—oh shit,” Brendon hisses when you lick up his length and close your mouth over the tip, letting your tongue swirl and circle before sliding the rest of him into your mouth. You shift up on one elbow to get slightly above him, but you’re pleased; your accuracy regarding his size did make you a bit worried in this particular area. You’ve got a sensitive gag reflex; you’ve never been able to blow a guy without watering eyes and burning in the back of your throat, and that’s even on smaller than average-sized dicks—which is not the case here. However, what you lack in deep-throating capability, you more than make up for in enthusiasm; you know you’re going to make it good for him.
Maybe it’s just because it’s been a long time since you’ve had a dick in your mouth, or it’s because you’re so focused on what you’re doing, but it takes you a moment to realize Brendon is being really quiet. You look up at him through your lashes, letting him slip from your mouth so that the head of his cock rests against your lips. He’s looking back down at you, breathing hard and biting his lower lip.
The look in his eyes is a mixture of wild lust and extreme self-control, so you lick him a few times, letting your tongue curve around him. “Bren, this is okay, right? Me doing this?” You slide one hand up his thigh to grasp one of his, and he takes it, lacing your fingers together. He nods eagerly, and you sigh in relief. “Okay, you’re just being really quiet…I like hearing how I’m making you feel,” you tell him with a small smile, and he squeezes your hand.
“It’s great. You’re great —no, you’re fucking fantastic — it’s just — no one has ever — you’re the first to —” and he cuts himself off with a sharp gasp when you stroke him firmly with your free hand. As your hand works, forming a circle with your fingers and squeezing and flexing around the base of his cock, you move your mouth down his shaft, moaning happily when he twitches against your tongue.
You pull back off him completely after a moment, switching back to jacking him now that you’ve gotten him slick with spit. “You’re telling me,” and you pause to breathe, because you can feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his cock in your hand, “that no one has ever gone down on you before?” Brendon shakes his head, bucking his hips a little into your hand. “What the fuck. Seriously?” You’re perhaps exaggerating your disbelief a tad, because you’re secretly satisfied you’re his first, but you know it’s making him feel better.
He shrugs a little sheepishly, and you sputter in indignation. “You’ve got the perfect cock. They’ve been missing out. I’m about to set the bar of comparison high for you, B, but only if you’ll make some noise to let me know how I’m doing.” He nods weakly and you grin, turning back to his dick in your grasp and letting your lips open and spread around the tip.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” he sighs, and he puts his free hand, the one not holding yours, in your hair, just caressing. “Don’t ever want to compare; want you to be the only—oh god, baby, fuck— don’t stop!”
You let your grip loosen and your tongue run over the underside; you can’t help but moan a little when he pulses in your mouth and you taste the tiniest bit of precum. You’ve registered what he’s said about not wanting to compare and you being the only one who ever blows him, and it makes your heart lurch in happiness.
Brendon must take your moan as permission to let some of his own slip out. Most are wordless, just pleasure, but a few are laced with some of your favorite phrases, such as, “God, Sugar, your mouth,” and “so fucking good, holy fuck,” being among them. You feel a thrill go through you; they sound even better coming from him. There’s other things he could say that would practically make you come on the spot, but you’ll teach him those later.
Now, you must do something he really likes, because his hand tightens in your hair and he pulls lightly with a “fuck yes, baby.” You smile internally, pleased with yourself. More importantly, you’re proud of him for loosening up and giving in to the feelings.
You let your cheeks hollow out as you suck hard around him once and then go back to working him with both your hand and tongue, tracing his frenulum and teasing the vein running the underside of his cock. “God,” Brendon whispers, pulling your hair again with a broken moan. The combination sends a wave of hot lust through you, and you know if you let your other fingers press between your thighs, you’d come just from getting him off and hearing him react to you. “Think I might come.”
“That’s my plan,” you tell him when you pull back again. “Wanna feel you come, want it in my mouth,” you whisper, hand flying over him. “Want to make you feel so good; want you to come.” He meets your eyes and you can feel him tense in your grip.
“Sugar, I’m gonna—” but you don’t let him finish; you take him again, just the tip, your hand still encouraging, and suck hard. He seems to think about guiding you away, given the way his hand in your hair pulls back, but you tighten your lips around him. Brendon’s back arches a little, and he’s breathing hard. “Sug, I’m right there—you really don’t have to—”
“You can come in my mouth or you can come all over my tits,” you tell him, staring up at him intently. “Which do you want?” He moans that he can’t decide, your mouth is too good, he can’t think clearly, and you grin. He’s made his choice.
You lick your way down again, squeeze tightly with your hand, and hum a little. It pushes him over the edge, and Brendon swears loudly. He’s throbbing and pulsing his release over your tongue, and you moan because he actually tastes good to you.
His head is thrown back, and he’s just letting the words fall from his mouth. “Fuck, your mouth, making me come; letting me come in your mouth, sweet Christ you’re incredible oh god, baby yes, fuck, so wet and tight, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, fuck me that’s good…”
You keep sucking, and he keeps giving you more, and when he’s finally spent, he lets out a low moan, shuddering and pulling his hips back gently. You sit up, wiping idly at your lower lip and letting him see you swallow with satisfaction. He felt you swallow during, but you want him to see it too.
“Shit, you swallowed for me,” Brendon murmurs. “That’s so damn hot.” You crawl up over him, kissing his neck and jaw, whispering how much you love him. He groans, cups your face, and kisses you hard. “I love you. Your fucking mouth, baby…you’re incredible.”
“You know, I’ve got something other than my mouth that’s incredible, wet, tight, and all for you, if you want it,” you murmur against his lips with a smile, and he makes that strangled half-whimper, half-moan sound again. You roll off of him and onto your side, bringing him with you so you’re face to face. Your hands are still laced, so you release his fingers and curl your own around his wrist, guiding his hand down to your underwear. “Feel what you do to me, Bren? God, I’m so worked up, so wet for you. I fucking love sucking your cock; it makes me wanna come so hard,” you whisper.
Brendon groans your name. “Holy shit, can I touch you?” He strokes you tentatively through your panties, marveling at how they’re soaked through.
“Please,” and you don’t even mind that it comes out as a sharp, desperate plea. Brendon nudges your underwear aside, and he runs three fingers through your wetness, groaning to himself. He makes small circles over your clit and entrance, touching you so gently. When he looks up at you again, middle finger pressing into you, his eyes are dark, his lips parted as he breathes hard.
You want to live in this moment forever; his fingers on and in you, his face flushed post-orgasm, his eyes heavy with desire. “Sugar, I wanna make you feel good,” he whispers.
You grind against his fingers, making a small happy sound. “You are making me feel good.”
Brendon shakes his head a little, pulling his fingers out of your panties and slipping all three in his mouth. He groans a little and swears under his breath when he tastes you for the first time, and you do too; you can’t help it. “No,” he finally says, letting his fingers free. “You taste so fucking good. I wanna make you feel good with my mouth.”
“Oh god. Fuck Bren, please.” You didn’t know, didn’t really know, how badly you wanted it until he said it. Of course, you’ve thought about him eating you out—often—but it hasn’t been your primary focus right now. He makes his way down between your legs, and you sigh contentedly; his eyes are so bright and eager.
“You’ll, you know, help me? ‘Cause. Well. You know I haven’t—before. You do know that, right? I haven’t—” he cuts himself off and kisses the inside of your thigh, his eyes still on yours.
“Of course, Bren. I’ll help if you need it, but that’s a good start right there.” He smiles before kissing your other thigh, his lips warm and suckling gently while his hands reach up to slide your underwear off. “Why don’t you just do what feels right to you, and I’ll guide you along if I think you need it?”
Brendon nods, a little hesitant, and you run a hand through his hair, moaning softly when he presses forward. You want to be sure that you’re extra responsive for him, and not just to reinforce what you like, but because you know it’ll make him feel more confident.
His mouth on you is everything—it feels like he’s kissing you, so gentle and sweet. The way his tongue dips and caresses has you writhing happily, and you hope he can hear every whimper of pleasure. You know you’re dripping wet from the grinding and then blowing him, and he must like the taste, because he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and pushes closer while tugging at your hips to keep you rubbing against him.
His tongue is working between your thighs while his thumbs massage your hips. Occasionally, his hands move inward to tease you a little before moving back up to lift and cup your breasts, rolling your nipples in his wet fingers. “Yeah baby, that feels so good,” you whisper, and you can tell he’s smiling from the playful sparkle in his eyes.
You tug his hair and spread your legs more; he groans for a moment and crawls back up over you, bringing his face close but pauses, unsure. You’re pretty sure you know what he’s thinking, so you pull him in, kissing him deeply. “I like tasting myself on your tongue,” you whisper against his lips, and his cock twitches against your thigh.
“Good. I really wanted to kiss you,” he tells you, breathing heavily.
“Kiss me anytime you want,” you reply, and he lets one hand linger between your thighs, just stroking as he kisses you again.
“Want you to feel good, my love,” he murmurs, lips moving from yours to your jaw before settling just under your ear. “Want you to feel like I felt, coming hard.”
“You’re doing so well, baby; licking and kissing my clit, eating my pussy so good. I fucking love it. Love you. Want your tongue back on me, need it. Can I have your tongue, Brendon, please? Please, B, lick my clit just a little more, suck on it—god, please.”
His breathing hitches, and he pulls back to look at you. “Are you...are you begging me?” His voice is a blend of awe and confusion, like he can’t believe he’s hearing you correctly.
“Yes. Do you like it?”
“Fuck yeah.”
He kisses your neck, fingers thrusting gently. “I wanna hear more,” he tells you, and you grin, biting your lip.
“You’ll hear more when I get what I originally asked for.” You love him, but you don’t beg often; you don’t want him getting too used to it.
“Fuck, you’re so damn hot,” he groans, tugging your hair and moving back down your body, suckling at each nipple and rubbing your clit with one finger when you moan. “Want my mouth all over you, taste every inch of you, my girl.”
“You sure you’re a virgin?” You tease. “Because you’re doing a damn good job at this. It feels amazing, Bren; I don’t want you to stop.”
He smiles wide, kissing your stomach, letting his tongue graze your skin. “I’ve just thought about this, with you, for a while.” Before you can do more than ‘awwww,’ he’s back between your thighs, and his tongue is rolling and teasing while his fingers spread you. You wince a little and move down to bring his fingers closer together, and he murmurs an apology against you.
“S’okay baby, just keep using that tongue and those lips; goddamn, you were made for this.” He quirks an eyebrow, his amusement evident. “I mean—your mouth. Your mouth was made for this.”
He laughs, nuzzling your inner thigh with his nose. “Nice save, Sug; I know why you keep me around now.” You go to protest, and he shakes his head, grinning. “Kidding. Good to know you like it.”
“Fucking love it,” you moan, and with a hand in his hair, you guide him back where you need him. His tongue darts out and licks you softly, and he closes his eyes for a moment, just relishing the moment and you sigh, perfectly content. This is what heaven must be, you think. A hot guy between your legs, eating you out well and looking fucking ecstatic to be doing it.
He’s really into it now, and he groans, slipping a hand under the small of your back to grab your ass and raise you up a little, so he can lick with broader, longer strokes. You whimper and adjust, wanting more attention on your clit. He takes the hint after another bit of shifting on your part, and he murmurs another apology.
“No, it feels so good,” you tell him breathlessly. “I just wanna come for you.”
He pauses, eyes wide. “You’re gonna come?”
You laugh affectionately, stroking his hair. “Well I could try not to, if you’d prefer.”
“No! I just—I didn’t think—I mean…yeah, I don’t know.” He fumbles for the words before giving up, and you giggle.
“You didn’t think you’d be so damn good at eating pussy?”
He nods, his smile mirroring yours now. “You really like it?” God, his face doesn’t match his words at all; he sounds so insecure, and part of you just wants to take him in your arms, kiss him, play with his hair, and tell him how good he is to you and how sweet he is. The other part of you really wants his face between your thighs, finishing what he’s started.
“Hell yeah, Bren, you’re great at this. But I’ve known since we first made out that you’d be damn good at eating me out. It’s just been a matter of time. No one who basically fucks my mouth slowly and deeply when he kisses me is going to be bad at oral.”
Brendon smiles and runs his fingers along you before picking up the pace that he used prior to this most recent praise interlude. “Thank you. I don’t want to get cheesy or sappy, but I’m so glad this is happening with you. I’m so glad it’s you. I want you to come,” he murmurs, letting his tongue slip back and slide over you messily. “Can I have you, sweet baby? Can I taste how sweet you really are when you come for me?”
“Fuck,” you groan, feeling everything within you tighten and shift towards your climax. “Just, god, tongue on my clit; oh fuck yeah, just suck it baby, yes, Brendon, just like that, eat it, eat my cunt, fuck, I’m gonna—oh god—there, right there, baby don’t stop, oh fuck, now!” You dissolve into a wordless squeal and he echoes you with a low groan, slipping two fingers inside you so you have something to squeeze around while his tongue rocks back and forth rapidly over your clit as he sucks. Your grasp on his hair is tight; you’re tugging hard, and you really hope his neck is okay, but you can’t stop.
He’s making these sinful noises against you, and he’s moved from your clit to wide, long strokes to gather your taste. When he pulls back, his lips are swollen and shining, he can’t stop smiling, and you whimper as you reach for him.
“Commere, baby,” you whisper, reaching a hand down. He takes it and moves back up your body and settles over you, his erection resting heavily in the valley of your hip bone and pelvis. “B, I want more. Think you can give me more?” You rock your hips a little and he moans, dipping his head down to kiss you. You tangle your fingers in his hair, moaning into the embrace and shifting so you can really rub against the base of his cock.
Brendon sinks down on top of you; you can feel his cock throb against your clit. You wrap your legs around his waist, tug his hair, and smile when he lets out a sharp sound of satisfaction and pulls away to stare down at you.
“What did you have in mind, pretty girl?” He’s breathing hard, beads of precum are teasing your hip and stomach, and you want him so badly that your entire body is aching. You give him a meaningful look instead of saying anything. You can see the thought process play out over his face: he looks confused, then shocked, and finally excited, though he’s trying to restrain himself. “Wait—really?”
You nod, biting your lip, and he inhales sharply as he subtly rocks his hips. You want him inside you. You need him inside you. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. I don’t want to push you, though; I know this is a big deal for you. So if you don’t want t—”
“No no, I do want to. I mean, only if you’re sure,” he murmurs, trying not to look too eager.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you tell him, squeezing his hand and kissing him again. “I love you.”
“You love me,” he whispers when he pulls back. He looks at you so softly, so tenderly. “I promise, I’m never going to get tired of hearing that. I love you too, sweet girl. So much.” He brushes a hand down the side of your face. “And I want this. I want you.”
You’re grinning at each other, and it finally clicks; you reach out and fumble in your bedside drawer, hopeful you’ll find a condom. On your back like this, you can’t fully explore the drawer, so you roll over onto your stomach to search more thoroughly. Turning under him seems to be an even bigger tease for Brendon; he buries his face in the curve of your neck and rubs his cock against you desperately.
“My god, that’s good,” you gasp, rocking your hips back against him. “Feeling your hard cock right against my ass; fuck, I want you so badly. If I don’t find a condom in the next thirty seconds, I need you to just...grab my hips and fill my pussy up with your cock— oh my god, fucking take me, okay?” Brendon lets out an unintelligible groan, but from how he clutches at you and grinds more urgently, you think he’s agreeing. Your fingers stretch further into the back of the drawer, and you find what you’re looking for. “Got it.”
You pluck the one remaining foil packet from the box and bring it up to your face to examine it. “I’m not sure how long that box has been in there…” you mumble, more to yourself than him, as you do mental math. “At least six years. These are probably expired. It’s not a good sign when the expiration date on the foil is faded…”
You shift to face him and you can see Brendon looks conflicted. For his benefit, you weigh the options aloud. “Technically any condom is better than no condom, but…” you shrug a little. “I’ve got an IUD and a clean bill of health. You want to be a little reckless and fuck without a condom?”
His eyes go wide, and you kiss him, grinning against his mouth. “You look worried, B. Don’t stress. It’s not really that bad of a choice in our specific situation. We can still use this if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t really think we need to. Also, there’s only one, so when we want to go again, you’ll end up in me without a condom anyway.”
Brendon pulls back and stares at you. You can’t quite read his face, but it seems like he’s grappling with some decision in his head. Finally, he asks, “what happens if you get pregnant?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. Not the right time, and I’ve got an IUD anyway.”
“Accidents happen,” he points out, and you tug his mouth back to yours for a deep kiss.
When you part, you stare up at him with a small smile. “Then my devious, elaborate plan to trap you with a baby is complete, and my father will be waiting with various firearms to force you into making an honest woman of me.”
He laughs now, because he can tell you’re kidding. “You promise you’re okay with it?”
You nod, stroking his hair. “Definitely. I’m not worried at all, and I want your first time to be incredible. You’d feel me and only me; you’d get to come in me and feel my wet cunt take everything you can give. I need your cock. You wanna give it to me, B?” you murmur, grinning when he groans your name under his breath.
“Fine, you’ve convinced me. But because,” and his face and voice get very serious, “there’s just the one condom, and I would totally marry you if I knocked you up.”
“…Is this a proposal?”
“God no, this would be a terrible proposal,” Brendon laughs, and you relax, laughing too. “I’m going to do so much better, so much more romantic and meaningful than that, whenever we get to that point.”
“Oh, good. Just know I would’ve said yes, but I also would’ve teased you mercilessly about that for the rest of our lives, because it was pretty bad. Now, I need you inside me, please. I’m out of lube too, but we don’t need it—you’ve got me so damn wet for you. Just touch me; use my wet pussy to get your cock nice and slick.” You guide his hand down, rocking your wetness over his open palm.
Brendon sighs your name happily, smooths his hand over his length, and strokes a few times before looking at you with some anxiety. “What if I’m…bad?” He looks as though this question has been weighing on him, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close.
“Oh, my love. First of all, I’m confident you won’t be, but also please know I’m also not expecting the best sex of our lives. We will get there eventually, but this right now,” and you gesture between the two of you, “isn’t about pleasure. Not really. This is about connection. Intimacy. We’re in love, so you can’t be bad at that, and the pleasure will come from the intimacy.” Brendon smiles in relief, and you see some of the tension leave his body.
“And,” you continue, now nuzzling a path along his jawline, “Don’t forget that, as of today, I’m obsessed with your dick.” You capture his earlobe in your teeth, tugging lightly so his cock twitches against you. “It’s truly phenomenal. Should’ve gotten you naked way sooner,” you murmur. “Want your cock in me all the time now. In my mouth, in my pussy, in my hand. You’ve turned me into your personal cockslut. Going to quit my job and follow you around on tour now, just so I can get more access to your dick.” Brendon laughs, and you bite his earlobe a little harder. “Not kidding,” you tease. “You’re gonna have to forcibly lift me off of your cock in order to go on stage each night and I’ll be waiting in your dressing room after, ready to go again. Now, kiss me with your perfect mouth and let me have your perfect cock. We can sort out the tour fucking schedule later.” You roll, so you’re on your back with your knees bent and legs spread. You can see his breath catch in his throat, and you smile, closing a hand around his erection as he hovers over you. “I love you, Brendon.”
He murmurs it back to you, and you guide his cock close enough to touch you. You can feel the warm pressure; you know he can feel how wet you are from the way his eyes close briefly in bliss and his lips part. “Right there, B. Let me feel you. Want you to feel me.”
He presses forward, and you both gasp at the sensation as your body adjusts to him. It’s been a while for you; your toys and your fingers can’t compare to how full he’s making you feel right now. And, on top of that, he’s just filling you—he hasn’t even started moving yet. Still, you’re certain now that he doesn’t have to worry about being bad. Just being in you is making your body tense in anticipation; it’s like you two were physically made for each other.
“God, you feel so good,” Brendon manages in a ragged voice. “So fucking tight and wet and hot, oh my god—this feels so right. You’re mine,” he continues, and you grin, cupping his face in one hand and moving the other to his back.
“Yours, baby. Try moving,” you coax. “You can go slow if you want, but you don’t have to.” At your words, his hips rock forward, and you cry out with pleasure. You didn’t think he could get any deeper, but he has, and you whisper how good it feels, how good he is, as you cling to him. Brendon’s eyes roll back a little at the feeling of bottoming out in you, and his breath is coming in short spurts as he thrusts.
“Did it hurt?” He looks down at you, concern in his eyes.
“What? N—”
“When you fell from heaven, I mean. Because it feels like there’s an angel on my dick.”
You stare at him, trying not to laugh. “Shit, Brendon. You were doing so well. Now I’m sure you were a virgin before this moment, saying something like that. That doesn’t make any sense. What would fucking an angel even feel like?”
“Feels like this,” he teases, and you groan, smacking his shoulder. “You don’t like my lines?” He pretends to look hurt, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.
“Honestly? That may have been the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Worst thing you’ve ever heard so far, Sugar,” he corrects, rocking against you at a slightly different angle.
You’re about to reply, but you cut yourself off with a sharp moan when the head of his cock rubs against your G-spot mid-thrust. “Ah, fuck yes! Shit! Just like that—God, B, you’re perfect, fucking perfect.” And he really is; he instinctively knows how to fuck you just the way you like, with his hips angling his cock up against you and his hands roaming.
“Perfect, huh? So am I forgiven for the line?”
You laugh a little breathlessly, digging your nails into his shoulders as he picks up his pace. “Forgiven, but definitely not forgotten. That’s gonna stay with me forever. That’s gonna haunt me.”
He laughs too, and you rock up into him, sighing happily. “Bren, baby, seriously it’s so good, but can you—” you take his hand and place it on your stomach before moving it lower, resting on your pelvis. “Just press a little, oh, a little lighter—fuck—yes,” you sigh, and he leans over to kiss you desperately. It’s during this urgent embrace that you manage, “Remember how I said—oh fuck that’s good—this wasn’t about pleasure? I meant that mostly—holy shit, do it just like that, god I fucking love your cock — in terms of orgasms for me. It’s gonna be really hard for me to come again; I’ve come hard twice, and that’s my limit,” you tell him. “So I definitely want you to come again, but don’t be upset or feel bad about anything when I don’t. I’m doing great; you feel amazing, and I’m loving just feeling you—goddamn, your cock is the best— being with you.”
He shakes his head a little and pauses in his thrusts, frowning. “No, Sugar, you should come again too.”
You shrug, scratching his back affectionately. “I’m just telling you what I know, B. I’ve never come again after two, even on my own. I’ve tried, believe me, but it’s like my body just refuses. It’ll feel incredible, I’ll love how good you make me feel, and you’re making me feel so damn good now, but I won’t be able to come. It’s okay, baby. Promise.”
He considers this, dropping down to his forearms to be closer to you. “And what if I can get you to a third?”
You stare at him longingly. “Then you’ll be stuck with me forever, because I’m not losing a man who can get me to three, especially his first time.”
“Watch me,” he tells you, and you honestly think he might succeed; he sounds confident now, and you’ve always loved that about him. You know it’s only a matter of time before he’s as confident in bed as he is on stage. That thought, paired with the mental image of his fingers flying over his guitar and how that translated to his effortless teasing of your clit and nipples, makes you arch under him and cling to him desperately.
Brendon’s thrusts are slow and steady, and he’s gathered you in his arms to kiss you deeply. “Sug, you’re fucking incredible,” he murmurs against your lips. “Can’t believe how amazing you feel, can’t believe how deep I am in you, can’t believe I get to come inside you—fuck, I’m close.”
You contort yourself around him, a leg high around his waist and the other wrapped around his thighs. Your arms are flung around his neck, and you’re pressing yourself up into him, whimpering when he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly. “Oh god,” you moan, and it’s deep and guttural. That’s what surprises you most—you’ve only ever made that sound right before a mind-blowing orgasm. Sometimes you squeal or shriek right before you come undone, and sometimes it’s like this; a moan of pleasure and bliss that echoes up from your core.
Just the feeling of his hands on your hips, holding you as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm, is driving you wild. You know you’re probably being louder than you should be, so you try to channel the energy into clawing at his back and biting down on his shoulder.
Brendon groans your name as your nails rake across his back, and you feel his cock throb inside you. “Gonna come in you, Sug, gonna fucking fill you up with my cum, love you so much, gonna give you everything,” he gasps in your ear. You beg him to do it; you moan how badly you want to feel him come inside you. His thrusts are growing frantic and less refined; your headboard knocks against the wall violently, your bed frame is squeaking in protest as he picks up his pace, and you spread your legs under him.
“Rub my clit and come in me, oh fuck Brendon, yes, fuck me hard, fuck me just like that— really take me, oh god, oh fuck—come in me, fill me up with your cum — c’mon Bren, give it to me, fuck me, fuck me, come in my wet pussy— oh shit, take me baby, yeah, fuck, like that! I’m yours, I’m fucking yours, claim me, claim my cunt, come in me,” you beg, and Brendon makes a low, desperate sound as his thumb teases your clit. You writhe under him, gasping how much you love him, and he pushes in once more, groaning in ecstasy as he comes.
Knowing and feeling that he just came in you is what unravels you completely. You can feel his cock pulsing; you bite his shoulder again, moaning as your body tenses and you come for him. This orgasm, fueled by the feeling of his cum deep in you, is like stars exploding. Every inch of you is trembling, your back is arched, your vision is black and sparkling, and you think you might be shrieking his name as you tremble. You can feel how hard you’ve just come, but the fact that you came at all surprises you.
“My god, you’re fucking incredible,” Brendon mumbles, burying his face in your neck and breathing hard. “Sugar, feeling you come on my cock just now after coming in you —that was everything. And it was your third orgasm.” He looks up and gives you a playful smile. “Consider me stuck.”
“So stuck,” you agree; you can barely find the words to express how good it was. You’re breathing hard, still clutching him, reveling in the feeling of him deep in you, and he drops down to kiss you longingly. You’re both sticky with sweat and smeared cum, and you know you’ve got to somehow get down the hall to your old bathroom. It’s right when you’re about to explain this to him—how he has to pull out of you, and both of you have to get out of this twin bed and take a shower to get presentable before your parents get home—that there’s a knock at your door.
You both freeze, and your mother’s voice rings through the room. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, you two.” You hear her turn from the door and walk down the hall, then turn back. “We’re all looking forward to meeting you, Brendon.”
“Fuck,” you mumble, mostly because your plan for a lazy shower with lots of touching has been foiled. Brendon’s pulled out of you, and you groan, before closing your eyes. “Well, I guess we should go shower,” and you stretch lazily in your bed, missing his cock but loving the feeling of his cum in you. He doesn’t know it yet, but you have no intention of ever using a condom if that’s how being filled by him feels.
“How in trouble are we?”
You open one eye to look at him, and you can see the concern all over his face.
“Not much trouble, honestly. It could be way worse. She didn’t sound mad. I would know if she was pissed. She might not have even heard anything.”
Brendon looks at you dubiously as you say this, and you laugh a little; you recognize the unlikelihood of her not hearing any of it. She obviously knew he was in the room with you, and she’s also obviously been home for a while cooking; she’d have to be either deaf or an idiot to not know what was happening upstairs. Your mom is many things, but she’s neither deaf nor an idiot.
“Now what?” Brendon’s starting to look a little panicked, and you sit up to kiss him softly.
“Now we walk down the hall to the bathroom and take a quick shower.”
“We’re just going to—”
“Well the other option is we go downstairs to meet my family without showering.” You grab his hand and bring it between your thighs, letting him feel. “But I don’t think that’s the best plan, all things considered.”
Brendon’s fingers trace you tenderly, and he kisses you again. “I know this is not at all the point right now, but I fucking love feeling your pussy after I’ve come in you. Feeling us together. So sexy, knowing I came in you.”
“Mmm,” you agree, nibbling down his neck. “Love it. Love being full of your cum, love feeling you come in me. And when we’re not at my parents’ house, we can lay in bed as long as we want, touching and feeling as much as we want.”
He takes your hint, laughing a little as he shifts to stand up. At your curious look, he explains. “Oh, I’m just thinking about how you said you were my cockslut. Pretty sure I’m your pussyslut now. Want to live with my tongue, fingers, or cock buried in you.”
“I can get on board with that,” you tell him with a small grin, slipping into an old bathrobe and tossing him his boxers. “Let’s go shower, B. I’ll try to not drop to my knees and suck your cock clean if you’ll try to not fuck me against a wall.”
-||-
“Where’s your ring?”
You blink at your father in confusion, since this is the first he’s spoken all night, and he looks between you and Brendon, who’s seated beside you. He calmly takes another bite of turkey, chews slowly with his eyes on you, then swallows. His attention is now fixated on Brendon.
“It’s my understanding that the two of you were…spending some time together upstairs. If it was loud enough to distract my wife and my mother from making cranberry sauce, then you must be intent on marrying my daughter.”
“Oh, Paul,” your grandmother protests. “Now is hardly the—” but she falls silent when your father raises a hand. Your mother is flushed, your aunts and uncles all look bewildered and embarrassed at this turn in conversation, while your younger cousins try to hide their smirks by shoveling stuffing into their mouths.
“Dad,” you hiss, wishing you could kick him under the table. Brendon looks pale, and his fingers flex on your thigh. “Can we not?
“Yes, I’d certainly rather you not,” your father comments, eyes locked on Brendon. He’s starting to stammer out an apology, but you silence him gently. Your irritation with your father is boiling over, but you won’t let that transfer to anyone else. “No, don't stop him,” your father continues. “I think I’d like to hear the apology from the boy who thinks he can do whatever he pleases with my daughter in my home.”
Your mother must kick him, because he flinches a little and gives her a dirty look. He turns back to Brendon. “Well?”
The condescending tone and chilly look are the last straws for you. You throw down your napkin. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Dad. Obviously I wish we hadn’t been overheard, but I’m not going to apologize for…being…with the man I love. I’m an adult; you can’t bully me or Brendon like this. I'm sorry you feel disrespected; that wasn’t our intent. I can promise you, neither of us were even thinking about anyone else. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pack.”
You push back from the table and grab Brendon’s hand; your mother is standing now too, asking why on earth you’re packing, and your father is silently stabbing green beans one at a time and chewing viciously. Everyone else is just watching in fascinated horror.
“I’m packing because I’m leaving,” you snap. At the crestfallen look on your grandmother’s face, you cross to her and kneel by her chair. “Just to a hotel for the rest of my stay. I wouldn’t miss tomorrow,” you promise her in a much softer voice. Eyes still on hers, you stretch a hand out to Brendon behind you. He takes it, and you bring him down beside you. “Every year,” you explain, “on Black Friday, my grandmother and I watch reruns of the Macy’s parade, bake the first batch of gingerbread of the season, and I help her do her online shopping. We used to drive around, but this is easier, and we can stay in our pajamas.”
“That sounds great,” Brendon murmurs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I can drive you in the morning.” You smile at him gratefully, and your grandmother pats his hand.
“You should stay and help,” she tells him. She must see the surprise in your eyes, and she shrugs. “He’s cute and you apparently like him very much. I should get to know him.” She gives you a sly smile, and you laugh, nodding. You’re secretly pleased; Brendon is the first boyfriend she’s shown any interest in actually knowing.
Meanwhile, your mother has sat back down and is shaking her head in amused silence, your father is staring stonily at his plate, and your cousins are working on sculpting their mashed potatoes into a volcano with a gravy core.
“We good?” You direct this at your mom, who rolls her eyes affectionately and nods. She’s always been far more tolerant of your behavior, calling you her ‘wild child,’ and you secretly suspect she was a bit of a wild child herself.
“You two don’t have to go, you know. He’ll get over it.” She gestures at your father, who lets out an indignant snort. “Ignore him. You’re more than welcome to stay here.”
“No,” you tell her with a small laugh as you guide Brendon back upstairs. “We really should go to a hotel. We’re far from being done.”