scissoring w/ afab!driver ˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙— afab!gn!reader
my right hand man in this idea my beloved @larsandthewritergirl <3
The room is dim, the only light—a warm yellow spill from the parking lot lamps through your curtains. Driver has you on the bed, your legs spread, his body angled over yours. He's shed his jacket, his scorpion-embroidered signature, down to a thin undershirt that clings to the subtle swell of his chest.
He settles between your thighs, his own pressing against yours, skin to skin. He's already worked up in his boxers, a damp spot darkening at the front. His breath hitches when your knee brushes against him.
"Easy.." he mutters, more to himself than you.
He pushes your legs wider, guides your calf over his hip, and then he's sliding against you—not completely smothering, not yet, just against. The wet heat of eachother meeting through the fabric causes a deep shudder, a sharp exhale through his teeth, and his forehead drops to your shoulder.
He's barely moved and he's already trembling. The tip of his clit, sensitive, swollen—catches on your own clit through the thin cotton of his boxers, and he makes a sound like you've punched the air out of him. High in his throat, almost a whine.
You slip your hand between you, push his boxers down his thighs and slip them off, and he groans, long and low, as his bare cunt slides against your slick folds. He's wet, too—soaking, actually, the head of him glistening in the dim light.
"Like that," he breathes. "Just—like that."
He rocks his hips, slow at first, experimental. The head of his tdick drags through your slit, catches on your clit, and he gasps. His hips stutter, and he has to stop, breathing hard, his whole body tense.
"Sensitive—" he grunts, almost apologetic.
You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, grinding up against him, and he moans—a raw, broken sound that's all split and needy. He buries his face in your neck and fucks against you, messy and desperate, he's sliding through your wetness, the lips of your cunts pressing together, his clit rubbing against yours with every thrust.
He's loud. So loud. Every slide of him against your cunt pulls a whimper from you both. Every grind of your hips makes him gasp and jolt. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, and he fucks you with a frantic rhythm, his breath hot and ragged against your throat.
"Gonna!–" he chokes, and you feel his clit pulse against you, hot and wet, his squirt spilling onto your stomach, your thighs, as he cries out, a broken, shuddering moan that trails off into a whimper.
He doesn't stop. He keeps grinding, oversensitive, his body twitching and writhing. His whole body lurching with determination, and he whines, high and desperate, into your skin.
"Don't stop," he begs. "Please. Don't—fuck—"
He's a mess above you, trembling, whimpering, coming again in a hot rush, and he sobs, hiding his face, his hips still rocking against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, until he's spent and limp, collapsed on top of you, shaking.
He's quiet now, except for the ragged breaths. His hand is still tangled in yours.
After a long moment, he presses a kiss to your collarbone, soft, almost shy.
I REALLY HOPE THIS WASNT BUTT IM LEARNING THE ROPES OF WRITING MORE FOR AFAB RYGOS :D..
