WC| A/N: 914 | from this tweet woops!
You suppose you’ve been a little cruel to him.
Dex, with his sweatslicked skin and fluttering lashes, stares at you with nothing short of devotion, and yet you keep torturing him. Well, not torturing, he wants this, you both do. But you did promise if he was good he could come, and he has been so good…You just enjoy seeing him like this.
“Baby,” he rasps, and his fingers ball into his fists where hes tied to the headboard. “P-please.”
“Please what Dex?” You hum, and you press your naked core to his bare thigh, rubbing your clit against his skin. A delicious spark runs up your spine and you sigh, stroking him again, and even as you close your eyes you know his head is lulling to the side in overstimulation.
Dex whimpers, a soft, broken sound, his hips jerking uselessly against the restraints. The ropes creak slightly with each tiny twitch of his muscles, and his breath comes in shallow puffs against your shoulder.
“Please… please let me touch you,” he begs, voice trembling like he’s about to cry. His thighs are slick with sweat and arousal both, warm skin flushed pink, and when you grind down again he actually shakes, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle a moan.
He’s so far gone already, and you haven’t even kissed him yet.
“You’re just so pretty like this,” you murmur, eyes opening to take him in. “Don’t you think?”
He doesn’t respond, but he swallows, the muscles in his neck thickening. You’re slick, your wetness dripping to his thigh as you move your hips and hand in tandem, moaning softly.
“If you’re done,” you remind him gently. “You can say the magic word.”
By magic word, you mean you’re safe word, arrow. It’s always up to him when he wants to stop, when he can’t take it anymore, and as your thumb swipes over the head of his cock his hips jerk again.
The words shoot out of his mouth fast, like he hadn’t meant to say them. You blink at him, and judging from his expression, he hadn’t. His cheeks, already pink, become a deep red, and you stop grinding on him. You release your hold, pulling back your hand slowly before sliding to the side, sitting on your haunches.
The room goes quiet except for the sound of your breathing, Dex’s uneven, panicked hitches and yours, suddenly slow with surprise. He stares at the ceiling now, jaw clenched tight like he could hide behind his eyelids if he tried hard enough. There’s no explanation. No softening it with a joke or deflection. Only Dex, flustered, exposed, tied up both physically and emotionally by something far more dangerous than rope.
His throat works again as he swallows once, still refusing to look at you.
“I’m sorry,” he cuts in, and his knuckles are white. You move off the bed and pull on your tshirt. “I just- it was a lot. I got distracted. I’m sorry.”
You exhale slowly before leaning over him, and untying his restraints. He lets his arms full, sitting up quickly to grab the blanket and tugging it over his exposed lower half.
“Dex,” you say his name slowly, softly. You need him to know you aren’t upset. “S’okay. People say all sorts of things when they’re overstimulated like that.”
Dex nods stiffly, clutching the blanket like it’s armor. He won’t meet your eyes still, too busy staring at his own hands, flexing them now that they’re free. The silence stretches, thick and awkward.
You can see him spiraling in real time, the way his shoulders tense with each breath, how he bites down on his lip to stop it from trembling. He didn’t mean to ruin things, that much is obvious.
When you sit beside him again and gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead, he always gets messy when he’s hot, he flinches but doesn’t pull away.
His voice comes out small when he finally speaks: “…I didn't say that on purpose.”
“I know,” you nod. “It’s okay.”
“No I-” he swallows, and finally he looks at you. “I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t mean to say it like that.”
Your hands pause, and you feel your heart working overtime in your chest. “You…”
Dex holds your gaze, his dark eyes wide. His breath hitches again when you don’t finish your sentence. The blanket has slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of it, smooth skin still warm from exertion, and he doesn’t fix it.
“I love you,” he says again, clearer this time, and then immediately after. “…If that’s okay.”
You chest expands and for some reason, you laugh. “You…now? That’s when you realized it? As I’m edging you?”
Dex snorts, shaking his head and you lean forward, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. “No. I’ve known. It just…slipped out.”
Dex’s arms hesitantly come up around you, one hand settling carefully on your back like he’s afraid to press too hard. He laughs again, quiet, and rests his chin on top of your head.
“Kinda stupid timing,” he admits softly. The warmth of him seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt and blanket both, grounding and familiar. “You’re not mad?”
You move your face so you can look at him, and you smile. “No. I’m not mad,” leaning forward, you press your mouth to his cheek. “How could I be? I love you too.”
