✶ ﹕ NERD!CHRIS STURNIOLO ⊹ 𓈒 physics is hard for chris to concentrate on when you’re grinding on him until he’s a complete mess ʬʬ ⊹ׂ eighteen plus content ◌ ˖ ⋮ 💬
The desk lamp cast a warm, uneven glow over Chris’s physics textbook, pages open to dense blocks of equations and diagrams that looked more like alien script than science. His glasses were fogged at the edges from how intently he’d been staring, breath steady and quiet as he traced a finger along a line of text, mumbling fragments under his breath: “...compactified dimensions... Calabi-Yau... yeah, that tracks.” His hair stuck up in soft, chaotic tufts where he’d run his hands through it too many times, and the faint scent of his vanilla body wash lingered on his hoodie.
You’d slipped in quietly, heart already thudding at how focused he looked, so lost in his own head, so unfairly pretty when he was trying hard. Without asking, you stepped between his knees, then lifted one leg over, settling onto his lap until your thighs bracketed his hips and your chest brushed his. The chair gave a small creak.
Chris blinked fast, startled. "Baby—hey—" His voice cracked immediately, cheeks flushing a deep, instant pink that spread down his neck. He clutched the textbook tighter, like it was a lifeline. “I—I’m kinda in the weeds with string theory right now. The quiz is tomorrow, and I still don’t get the holographic—”
You didn’t let him finish. You leaned in and pressed your lips to the warm spot just below his ear, soft and slow. His breath hitched hard. You rolled your hips in deliberate, lazy circles that dragged the heat of you right over the sudden, thickening hardness in his sweatpants.
The book shook in his grip. "Fuck—wait—sweetheart—" He sounded wrecked already, his voice pitching up. “I need to finish this chapter, or I’m screwed—” but you still deliver another kiss to his throat that's open-mouthed, lingering. Your fingers slid into his messy hair and tugged lightly, tilting his head back. A quiet, broken whimper slipped out of him. The textbook slipped from his fingers and thudded to the carpet.
His hands flew to your waist, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d disappear. His hips jerked up once—sharp, helpless—chasing the friction. “Shit—sorry—I didn’t mean—” He shoved his glasses higher with shaky fingers, lenses still fogged, eyes wide and glassy “You just feel so fucking good—I can’t—”
You kissed him properly then, deep and filthy, tongue sliding against his in slow, wet drags that made his whole body shudder. He opened for you like he was starving mouth soft and desperate, sucking at your tongue with needy little pulls, kissing back as if this single moment was the only thing he’d ever truly wanted. His hips jerked again in all short, frantic and helpless little thrusts that rocked the chair beneath you both, the wood creaking in time with his ragged breathing. Through the thin layers of fabric you could feel every thick, throbbing inch of him—hot and leaking, the damp spot already spreading across his sweatpants, so hard it had to be painful, twitching against your core with every grind.
“I’m sorry—fuck, baby, I’m trying so hard—” he gasped between messy kisses, voice cracking and splintering like he was coming apart at the seams. “Your hip god, the way you move—please, please don’t stop, I can’t—I need—”
You rolled down harder, slower, and deliberately, dragging your soaked heat over the rigid length of him until the friction made his eyes roll back behind fogged glasses. His grip on your waist turned frantic—fingers digging in, then flexing open like he didn’t know whether to hold you still or beg you to ruin him more. High, broken whimpers poured from his throat—pathetically sweet, climbing higher and more desperate with every slow circle of your hips. His thighs trembled under you; his breath hitched into soft, sobbing moans he couldn’t swallow down.
Then his whole body locked, spine arching, head dropping hard to your shoulder, glasses sliding crooked down his nose as a choked, wrecked sound tore out of him. Heat bloomed sudden and filthy between you—thick pulses of cum soaking through his boxers in hot, messy spurts, seeping warm and slick against your bare thighs, drenching the front of his sweats until the fabric clung obscenely. His hips stuttered through it, grinding up into you in shallow, helpless jerks, milking every last tremor while he clung like he’d shatter if he let go.
Afterward he didn’t move, just wrapped his arms tight around your middle, face buried deep in the crook of your neck, chest heaving as he breathed you in like oxygen. His lips brushed your skin in tiny, trembling kisses, soft and reverent even as his body still twitched with aftershocks. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glassy and dazed, pupils blown wide behind smudged lenses, cheeks flushed a deep, humiliated scarlet that only made him look more wrecked.
“Sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse and small, barely audible. “That was… so fucking fast.. I couldn't even hold it."
You slid your fingers into his damp hair, brushing it back from his forehead slowly and gently. He leaned into the touch like a kitten starving for affection, eyes fluttering shut, a tiny, shaky exhale slipping past his swollen lips. “Worth it?” you murmured, thumb tracing the curve of his flushed cheek.
He huffed the softest, breathiest laugh—still trembling—and pressed the tenderest kiss to the corner of your jaw, lingering there like he was afraid to pull away. “Worth failing every class I’ve got,” he breathed, thumbs stroking slow, worshipful circles over your sides. “Worth anything if it means you keep touching me like that.”
꒰ 甘い 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💬
@luvs4matt @whore4chris
