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“ yeah, you're in love with me. “ with Santi pretty please??? 🥺🥺🥺 also if you’d do one of your fluffy smut ones? But I’m gonna leave that up to you 💖

Shut up and kiss me Santiago "Pope" Garcia X F!Reader Rating : E / 18+ Wordcount : 7k Warnings: Mentions of casual sex/FWB, Language, Angst, Fluff, Smut, PIV, unprotected sex, Oral f- receiving, fingering, edging, lil bit of hair pulling, feral Santi comes with his own warning. (Idk if I should warn this but he does refer to the reader as a brat a few times…affectionately), generally pretty soft. Summary: Santiago is your friend, your best friend. Your best friend that you are in love with. Which is exactly why you shouldn't be entertaining the idea of sleeping with him…

A/N: I am so sorry for how long it took me to write this! Also it's way longer than intended. I am however not sorry about that.

Un-beta'd because chaos is life.

Gif banner made by the lovely Salome-C

*******

It had started as something of a joke, that you and Santiago hadn't been laid in months and maybe you should deal with that together. You'd both laughed it off but after a few drinks, somewhere along the line, the joke had turned into a discussion, which turned into a reality.

"I mean we could?" Santiago had shrugged, watching the boys from the booth in which you'd both hidden, neither of you particularly wanting to be associated with the dance off that seemed to be happening.

"Yeah, I mean, it's just sex right? People do this all the time," you had nodded, sipping your drink in distraction and contemplating how much of a terrible idea it might be to have sex with the man you're hopelessly in love with, who is not hopelessly in love with you.

"Absolutely! Just sex. No strings attached. Just friends taking care of friends, right?" He had confirmed seriously, his hand already dropping to your thigh, fingers cautiously caressing your leg.

"Yeah, just friends taking care of friends," You'd breathed unsteadily as his fingers crept higher.

After that it was a short goodbye to the boys and a longer drunken walk to his apartment.

Which is exactly where you find yourself now, pressed against his front door, his mouth hot on yours, the taste of whisky on his tongue as he kisses you and fumbles opening the lock.

You tumble through the door, laughing against his mouth as you trip and stumble, desperate hands pushing jackets off shoulders, uncaring where they fall.

His tongue is hot and slick in your mouth, distractingly wiping away all questions and rational thoughts about the fact you should not be doing this. But any hesitation you might have had slipped away about three drinks ago, and the heat coursing through your veins has already burned out any thoughts of stopping.

When he presses you against the wall, too impatient to make it to the couch, you can't help but moan into his mouth, feeling his arousal pressing into your thigh through his jeans. His lips move down across your neck, peppering kisses and bites to the sensitive flesh.

You groan, tilting your head back to allow him better access.

"Pope," you give a soft pleasured sigh, bringing a hand up to tangle in his hair and hold his mouth to your flesh.

"Use my name, please," he rasps between kisses.

"Santiago," you whisper softly. This isn't how it should be — It's too intimate, too close to your heart, but you can't stop it. His name tumbles from your lips so easily despite that it's so foreign on your tongue. Rarely used, a secret kept hidden away.

He groans, pressing himself hard against you as his lips capture yours in another messy kiss.

Dragging you away from the wall he walks you backwards to the couch, breaking your kiss only to let you throw yourself down on it, before his mouth is back on yours. He presses you backwards into the soft cushions, pinning you with his body as his hands push up your dress, fingers gliding over exposed flesh of your thighs.

Questions and alarm bells suddenly trigger in your mind as his fingers creep across your hips. Are you really going to do this? It won't be enough. You know it won't be enough. Yet you're still here, pressed into the couch by his weight, your tongue lapping against his.

It won't ever be enough, but it's all you can have.

"Santi," you whimper against his lips, pressing your hips up against his. He groans, grinding down against your clothed core, making your own moan gasp up through your throat. You meet his gaze as he lifts his head to watch you, his eyes dark and predatory, before something flickers behind them, as though he sees you suddenly, as though he had forgotten who you were.

His whole body language changes in an instant, he stiffens, holding his body up away from yours, his jaw clenched, eyes shining with a sudden fear.

"Santi? You ok?"

"I..I… I'm sorry I can't do this," he mumbles, shaking his head as he climbs off you. It takes a few seconds for you to process his words and you stare at him blankly for a moment as he sits at the edge of the couch, dropping his head into his hands. Shuffling to sit up you reach for him, confused hurt piercing your chest when he pulls away from the brush of your fingers against his shoulder.

"Hey, talk to me. What just happened?" You hate the fact your voice sounds so lost, so small, so scared. You don't understand his sudden change. You don't understand what you've done and your desperate for him to explain.

"I just— fuck." He gets to his feet, running a hand through his greying curls as he turns away from you, pacing across the room.

"Did I do something?"

"No. No. I'm sorry, I just can't do this. Not with you," he sighs and then slams his hands on the wall with a growl.

"Oh. Okay."

He must hear the hurt in your voice because he lets out a sigh and shakes his head, barely giving a glance in your direction, as though he can't even look at you anymore.

"I didn't mean...I mean… it's not you. You're beautiful, you're perfect. You're just you. And I'm me, and I just...can't."

You'd dreamt once or twice of him saying words so similar to you. Whispering against your skin how perfect he thinks you are, how beautiful. But never like this, never with confusion and heartache.

"Yeah, I get it," you nod, swallowing hard and still trying to make sense of his jumbled broken explanations combined with the fact he still won't even look at you. That hurts worse than any of his words.

"It's never...it's just…" he starts and trails off before he shakes his head. "I can't do this with you," He repeats quietly, his back to you, running his hands down his face as you try and process what he's saying. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

Pain splinters up through your chest, a deep wound to your heart. He was asking you to leave, after all this.

Getting to your feet you straighten your clothes and brush a shaking hand through your hair, "I'll walk myself, it's ok."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you back here. This was a terrible idea. You're my friend." He finally turns to face you, his expression hard to place. He looks sad, disappointed, lost. You want to reach for him and pull him into your arms, to help him through whatever has suddenly happened, but he feels so far away now that you can't make the move. Suddenly an ocean has appeared between you, and neither of you seem sure of how to cross it.

"I'm so sorry for this," he mumbles again softly.

You shake your head and give him what you hope comes off as a reassuring smile, desperate to rescue whatever tatters of your friendship are left.

"No, it's not your fault. We're friends and we shouldn't be putting that at risk just to get off. I get it and it's totally fine," you shrug with a wave of your hand, swallowing down the crushing disappointment. "We are way too drunk to make rational decisions right?"

You aren't drunk, not really, not anymore. You'd sobered up pretty quickly, and you know Santiago well enough to know the alcohol in his system isn't to blame either. At some point you both wanted this, just because you wanted each other. But the regret in his eyes sears straight through you. Whatever was there between you, he'd burned to ashes now.

"Let me at least call a cab. You can't walk back alone."

You shake your head at his offer, "It's a few blocks. I'll text you soon as I'm back."

He opens his mouth to protest but you beat him to it, quickly gathering up your things.

"I'll be fine I promise." You kiss his cheek, more out of habit and a desperate need to go back to normal, before you rush out of the door, ensuring he has no chance to stop you.

You get as far as the next block before the rejection fully hits you and tears burn your eyes. You knew there was no chance for certain now.

I can't do this with you.

~

Are you still awake? - Message sent

No reply. Your last message had been answered with a simple ok. A stark difference to the usual slew of emojis and hearts he would send you.

But it's been hours since you left. Hours since he'd broken your heart without even knowing he was doing it. Hours for you to calm down, to rationalise, to hope you could move on and forget about this, to hope you could both chalk it up to too many drinks, a momentary lapse of judgement.

Of course though it would still hurt — a keen sharp pain that's edges you wished you could dull. And perhaps over time you would. Perhaps the pain would eventually disappear and make way for brighter things. Perhaps.

You wonder if he knew, or at least guessed. Perhaps he'd seen it in your face, or tasted it in your kisses — the desperate need for more than he was offering. It was for the best, you'd reasoned with yourself. One night would never have been enough. Maybe this was the kindest way of ending before it began.

Sorry for earlier. We can just forget about it. It was a stupid decision. Never drinking again right? - Message sent

Still no response. Your messages stay unread.

Are we ok? - Message sent.

Okay, that was needy and you instantly regret sending it. Maybe you could just delete all of the messages before he even read them. At least then you could pretend it was nothing. You could pretend it didn't hurt at all. You could pretend you were just friends.

But even as your fingers hover over the keys again, the screen lights up with a photograph of the two of you, Santiago’s name on the caller ID as the phone vibrates impatiently in your hand.

Fuck.

You consider not answering but your thumb is automatically swiping the answer button before you even have a chance to stop it.

"Hey, San-Pope," you correct yourself quickly.

"Open the door." He pants down the phone.

"Why? Wait, what are you doing? Why’s it sound like — nope I'm not even gonna say it." You stop yourself before you can let that image get too far into your mind. The last thing you need is to think about that.

"Just come open the door, it's fucking freezing out here," he complains in a breathless tone. What follows is a loud banging on your door that makes you yelp in surprise.

Dropping the phone onto the coffee table you bolt out into the hallway and wrench open the door, fear twisting sharp in your veins about what must be wrong.

Santiago's cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing heavily, sweat damp in his curls despite the sharp winter air. You manage to take a quick recon of him, making sure he's still in one piece before he suddenly grabs you, pulling you into his arms and pressing his lips against yours.

It's so unexpected, and your mind is still catching up, that you can't even consider kissing him back.

"W-what are you doing?" You stutter out as he pulls away, frowning at your lack of response.

"Explaining I'm hopelessly in love with you. I couldn't have sex with you because I'd never let you go if I did. Honestly I thought it would be romantic to come tell you this now but fuck, i forgot how far it is to your house. I shouldn't have run. My knees are killing me." He babbles out quickly, leaning down with his hands on his knees, catching his breath while you stand frozen in the doorway. "Why didn't you let me let you walk home?"

You stare at him blankly for a long moment, trying to ignore the burning desire re-igniting itself in your belly at the mere memory of the way his hands had slid down your thighs, his tongue hot in your mouth. No, you're not going to think about that. Not even a little bit.

"Are you - are you fucking serious right now?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? I just ran all the way to your house to kiss you again. I swear this is the last time I do anything romantic if this is your reaction," he complains, standing up to stretch out his back. No matter how confused, how surprised, how angry you are, you still can't help but catch the way his shirt lifts just slightly with his moment, exposing the tiny patch of skin above his pants.

When he drops his hand and gives you an expectant look, you can't help but laugh from the shock. The noise tears itself from your throat before you have a chance to stop it, earning you a glare from the man as you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Santiago's frown deepens and you see the flicker of worry in his eyes.

"I can't tell if this is a good reaction?"

"I-I'm a bit surprised," you stammer, getting a hold on yourself. "You turned me down a couple of hours ago, and now you're all about romantic gestures and running to my house telling me you're in love with me?" It has more of a bite of anger behind it than you really mean it too, the hurt still too sharp in your chest.

"I know. I'm sorry," he sighs quietly, dropping his eyes from yours and looking everywhere but at you as he tries to find the words to explain his actions. It makes your heart physically ache for him. You've rarely seen him look so lost. Not since his sudden reappearance in your life. Not since they lost Tom.

"I thought I could just have you for one night and that would be enough. But I realised it would never be enough. I just… panicked and I thought I could fix it. I thought this…this would fix it."

There's a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you want to confess, but the words never come and the silence stretches out uncomfortably.

Santiago is the first to break it, his voice unsure.

"This was a stupid idea. I'll just go and we can pretend I was still drunk, ok?"

"I don't want you to go." The words escape, much like your earlier laughter, before you have a chance to stop them. They hang suspended in the air between you for a long moment, both of you lapsing back into a silence you still can't seem to fill.

"I just wanted you to know my feelings. I wanted to tell you for months. You're the first girl that knows everything about me and hasn't run a mile. Every time I had the chance to tell you how I felt I just…couldn't. And then tonight I just thought… fuck, I don't know what I was thinking. But I've always -"

"Stop. Stop. Just stop talking," you interrupt before you sigh, your tone softening as you take everything in. He'd pulled away from you out of fear of his own desires, because he cared for you too. Because he did want you, and he didn't know you wanted him. The urge to laugh at the entire situation bubbles up again but this time you bite it down.

Explaining I'm hopelessly in love with you.

You barely have time to catch up with his confessions and your own thoughts before he starts rambling again.

"I can go and we can talk about this tomorrow. Or not at all. I don't want to make things akw-"

"Will you just shut up and kiss me?" You cut him off sharply, finally meeting his worried gaze. It isn't eloquent, it isn't a sweet romantic gesture, or any bold declaration of love, but you hope it's enough for now. Enough to explain your feelings.

It takes him a second, a pause in his movements, waiting for you to take back your comment, and when you don't he steps up close to you. Wrapping one arm around your waist, holding you tightly against him, the other hand comes up to tangle in your hair, his thumb resting against your jaw as he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is so much different to the giggling sloppy kisses you had shared earlier in the night as you stumbled into his apartment, or the rushed desperate kiss he had given you when you opened the door. This kiss is gentle, slow, and passionate, though no less insistent.

When his tongue licks into your mouth, you swear the fire that courses through your veins should burn you. The arm around your waist tightens as you press your body against his, tangling your hands in his curls as he familiarises himself with every inch of your mouth.

Neither of you pull away until the beep of a passing car pulls you back into reality.

Giggling you keep yourself pressed close against his chest, the heat from his body making you forget about the cold winter air surrounding you as you stand in the open doorway.

His hands slide down your back, cupping your ass to pull you impossibly closer to him as he steals another lingering kiss, one laced with suggestion.

"I know it's late, and maybe you've changed your mind about what you want tonight, so I don't have to, but can I come in for a while?"

You nod mutely, still too distracted by the tingling in your kiss swollen lips and the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

~

The lock is barely clicked into place before his hands are on your waist, spinning you to face him, pressing you back against the door and pinning you there with his body.

He holds your chin in a gentle grip as his lips find yours again, his other hand dropping down to smooth across your waist.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind. Not for months." he sighs, placing a row of soft kisses across your jaw.

"Wish you'd told me before tonight," you manage to mumble in response, distracted by the movement of his lips down your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse point.

He lets out a soft laugh of "me too" against your skin as the fingers which had been gripping your hip slowly start to slide up towards your ribs, capturing the edge of your t-shirt on their way, exposing your skin to his still chilled hand.

You gasp as cold fingertips sweep across your ribs, cooling your burning skin.

"I told you it was cold out," he grins, lifting his head and pausing to kiss your lips softly before he switches sides, his mouth going back to exploring your neck.

When he finds a particular spot that makes you give a breathy moan you can feel him smirk against your skin, making a mental note of it.

You know what he's doing — he's surveying you, completing perimeter checks, mapping out every weak point so he can take you apart piece by piece.

His other hand joins the wandering against your skin, drawing another hiss from you at the cold intrusion.

You open your mouth to complain but an incessant high pitched beeping interrupts you. It takes longer than it should for your desire-addled mind to realise what the noise is.

"Is that an alarm clock?" Santi frowns at you, looking around for the source of the noise.

"Timer. Cookies." You duck out of his arms, straightening your shirt as you run through to the kitchen, switching off the beeping timer before you open the oven to save the cookies.

"Are you seriously baking? It's like 2am?" Santiago laughs from behind you as he follows you into the kitchen.

"You seriously running over to a girls house at 2am to declare your undying love?" You defend yourself, turning the oven off and putting the cookies onto a cooling rack. "Baking helps me think."

Putting everything else into the sink you turn around in time to catch his yelp of pain as he picks up a cookie, immediately dropping it again when it burns his fingers.

"You literally just watched me get those out of the oven. How the hell did you ever stay alive?" You sigh, rolling your eyes and watching him shake his hand with a frown. "Let me see."

When he places his injured hand in yours you look it over carefully, seeing that no actual damage has been done before you give him a mischievous grin.

"I think you'll survive but just in case I'll kiss it better." You softly press your lips to his fingers, keeping your eyes on his face. Your action brings the quirk of a smile to the corner of his mouth, which is quickly replaced by a wide eyed look of surprise when you wrap your lips around his fingers, drawing them into your mouth.

You can't help but be proud of the way his mouth falls open, or the shaky exhale of breath he gives as you swirl your tongue around his digits, gifting him a soft moan before you withdraw, intentionally slowly.

"Better?" You raise an eyebrow with a grin, pleased at the power you have over him when it takes him a moment to react. But react, he does. When he moves he's on you before you have time to blink, his hands gripping your waist, pulling your hips hard against him as his lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue hot in your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, after your breathless and practically panting with need, he continues to hold you close, dipping his head to whisper sinfully in your ear.

"I've imagined fucking you in every room of this house, shall I let you pick where to start?"

Hard, pure desire surges upwards through you and you let out a soft moan of need, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the building ache between them as your pussy clenches.

Santiago lets you go, taking half a step back to look you over — heavily breathing and practically shaking with arousal from his words and kisses alone. You see the flicker of pride across his face at what he's done to you already with so very little. But you aren't going to let him win so easily. The battle for power is only just beginning.

Biting your lip you take another step back from him, taking a breath to gather yourself before you give him a smirk. He raises an eyebrow in question as you take another step, then another, slowly backing up until your ass is pressed against the edge of the kitchen table.

You pause, reaching down to grip the edges of your shirt before you pull it up and over your head, tossing it out of the way before you shimmy out of your bottoms and kicking them to join your shirt. He makes no move towards you but his eyes take their time roaming your exposed skin all the way to your toes before coming back to meet yours.

Your bra is the next to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and you don't miss the way his tongue darts out to lick at his lips as he eyes the newly exposed flesh.

"Going to stand there and let me take care of myself?" You tease, watching his eyes narrow. "Or are you just still tired out from your run, old man?"

That earns you a low growl that shoots straight to your core as he strides over to you, hands slamming down on either side of you, pinning you against the table.

"You're gonna apologise for that comment," He warns in a low tone, dropping his forehead to rest against yours.

"Oh will I now?" You grin, teasingly licking his lips.

His reaction is instantaneous, lips crashing into yours, one hand leaving the table to tangle in your hair.

When you nip his bottom lip with your teeth he lets out a low growl, and using the hand in your hair he tugs, gentle enough not to hurt you, but firm enough to tilt your head back, exposing the column of your neck to his kisses.

"You're such a brat," he complains against your skin, nipping your pulse point with his teeth. There's something in the tone of his voice that makes your pussy clench around nothing.

His lips work their way back up your neck, across your jaw to capture your lips again, his tongue licking into your mouth, hot and slick. He lets go of your hair to allow his hand to wander down across your chest, taking your peaked nipple in his fingers and rolling it slowly as you gasp.

Your own hands tug at his shirt, needing the barrier between you gone, but Santiago pushes your hands away, breaking your kiss.

"No, we are going to deal with the apology you owe me first." The way he speaks sounds like both a promise and a threat, making goosebumps break out across your skin and your breath hitch in anticipation.

He keeps you pinned to the table with his body, only moving back just enough to allow his hand to slide between you, brushing his fingers over the cloth still covering your core, and you hear him give a soft groan as his fingers meet the wetness already soaking through the thin material.

"Baby," he groans, pressing his fingers against your clit through the fabric, causing you to let out a shaky breath, a quiet moan catching in the back of your throat as his lips move across your jaw, placing gentle kisses in a row down your neck.

"Oh, we can do better than that," he whispers, as tugs the material to the side, allowing his fingers to drag through your wet folds. "Hmm so wet for me. I could slide straight into you right now."

To hammer home his point he presses two fingers deep into you, and this time you don't hold back the loud moan that tears from your throat.

"That's better," he smirks, removing his fingers to drag them up, circling your clit, spreading your slick. "Don't hold back, I want the neighbours to hear you."

You hiss out a curse, your hands flying to hold his arms as your hips buck against him, desperately chasing the friction you've been craving since he first kissed you so many hours ago.

He teases you in the best possible way, alternating between pressing his fingers into you, curling them slowly against your walls, and drawing them out to glide across your clit. It takes no time at all for you to feel the beginning of your climax swelling in your belly.

But then he stops suddenly, making you frown. You open your mouth to ask, to protest about why he stopped, but your words get stuck when he holds his fingers up to his mouth, licking each clean with a satisfied hum.

"I need to taste more of that,"

You want to make a coherent reply. You want to be cocky and cute and take back the power, but the predatory look in his eyes quells your tongue, and you find all you can do is watch.

He kneels down slowly, pressing kisses down between your breasts, across your stomach and down to the edge of your panties. He playfully licks a line following your waistband making you wriggle with ticklishness.

Santi lets out a soft laugh against your skin as his hands ghost up your thighs. Biting the edge of your panties he tugs downward, which does nothing. His second try budges them no further and only makes you giggle.

"Stop laughing," He grumbles but you can see the smile hiding at the corner of his lips. "This was supposed to be hot"

"Let me help a little bit," you giggle, hooking your thumbs into the material and pushing them down over your hips.

Taking the edge of your panties back in his teeth he tugs a few more times, eventually managing to get them far enough loose that they slide down your legs. For all the trouble it's caused him it is worth it, and you can't help but bite your lip at the sight of him at your feet, your underwear in his teeth.

As he kneels in front of you, his pupils blown wide, watching your every reaction, you realise while he holds a power over you, you hold just as much over him. This game of trading places, trading power, neither of you were going to win, because one would always give way to the other. You need him just as much as he needs you.

He lifts one of your legs, then the other, removing the offending material of your panties. He pushes your legs apart as you lean against the table, your fingers digging into the wood with anticipation.

His breath is hot against your skin as he runs his nose up your thigh, before placing soft kisses against your skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he mumbles softly, more to himself than to you. It's a strangely soft sentiment given the way he's been so far, and more than any of his other words, his soft statement makes you tremble the most. "And so fucking delicious."

He licks a hot flat stripe the full length of you before swirling his tongue around your clit, drawing a high pitched moan from you, your hips bucking against his face.

He gives a pleased hum at your reaction which vibrates through your core, before he devours you. He alternates between slow laps of his tongue against your clit, to pressing the hot muscle deep inside your core, tasting as much of you as he can.

Your fingers wrap in his short curls, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp as you hold him to you, high pitched needy moans freely escaping from your throat as his tongue brings you steadily closer to the edge.

You feel the familiar tendrils of heat snaking up through your belly, your legs trembling as he pushes you ever closer to the edge, the blissful edges of a climax just out of reach.

Your hips arch, chasing his mouth as he pulls back, a broken whimper tearing from your throat.

"Fuck, don't stop," you whimper as his lips move to your thighs, placing soft kisses there as though you arn't trembling in need. He takes your hands in his and gently presses them to the table, a silent command for you to keep them to yourself now.

"Hmm are you going to apologise for what you said?" He presses a soft kiss to your thigh as he looks up at you, waiting for your answer. You're momentarily confused before you remember your comment about him being an old man. If he's expecting you to apologise he has another thing coming. You blink at him, tight lipped and stubborn.

Santiago gives you a shrug, a mutter of "brat" and then goes straight back to lapping at your sensitive folds.

He brings you to the edge twice more, each time pulling away from you just before your climax hits, asking if you're ready to apologise as he goes back to peppering soft kisses against your thighs while you tremble.

Every time you ignore his question, determined that eventually he'll give in. But he's more stubborn than that and by the fourth time he pulls away, you're ready to tell him anything he wants to hear if only he'll let you cum.

"Fuck I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whimper, legs trembling, your nails digging into the edge of the table. He raises an eyebrow at your apology, the glimmer of a smirk on his lips, before dipping his head back to your heated core, dragging his tongue achingly slowly across your clit. "I'm s-sorry. Please don't stop. Please, please."

Just a few more moments and you'd be over the edge. You'd apologised. He had to give in this time. He had to let you cum now. He had to.

You almost sob when he pulls away from you, the whimper of his name on your lips in a shaky plea.

"Santi,"

"I know, baby," he soothes softly, getting to his feet, "I know you wanna cum, but the first time I make you cum it's going to be on my cock."

Fuck. You're almost lost at his words alone, another needy whimper tearing itself from your throat. You almost don't mind that he stopped your climax yet again. Almost.

"Up," he breathes, tapping the edge of the table, a gentle command. You jump onto the kitchen table, sitting with your legs dangling over the edge.

"Off." You give your own demand, tugging at his shirt as he slots himself between your still trembling thighs. He allows you to this time, helping you pull it off before unbuttoning his pants, shoving them down, exposing his weeping cock.

"Of course you go commando," you giggle breathlessly, rolling your eyes as he grins at you. Really you shouldn't be surprised, it's exactly the sort of thing you should have expected. Your mind can't help but slip into memories of every time you've playfully sat on his lap.

"Easy access, baby," he shrugs. Wrapping his hands around your thighs he gives a sharp tug, dragging you to the edge of the table, and out of your thoughts. Your giggles cut off abruptly at the feel of his hard cock against your folds, coating him in your slick.

He holds your waist in a gentle grip as his lips ghost across yours, his eyes flicking across your body, drinking in the sight of your naked bodies pressed together.

"Please," you whisper softly, winding your arms around his neck, desperate need still sparking through your veins, "Don't make me wait any longer."

He captures your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, swallowing down your moan as he presses himself inside you devastatingly slowly, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein as you adjust to the stretch.

You're expecting him to go to town, to rail you into the table until stars to explode across your vision. You don't expect him to still, drawing your body close against his chest, dropping his head to capture your lips, teasing them open to dip his tongue into your mouth.

His hands explore your flesh, ghosting gently along your back, caressing the curve of your hip, fingers tiptoeing down your thighs as he kisses you, slowly, as though he isn't buried deep inside you, as though he has all the time in the world to savour this moment. As though he hasn't brought you to the edge only to drag you back, a maddening number of times.

"Santi," you whimper in a plea against his mouth, your walls pulsing around him as he holds still.

Pulling back he takes your lower lip in his teeth and tugs gently, a rogue smile blooming across his face when you let out another soft moan.

"I"ve always loved the way you say my name. I can't wait to hear how you scream it."

He uses that exact moment, as your eyes go wide at his words to pull almost all the way out of you before thrusting deep, punching the air from your lungs.

It's blissful and euphoric. It's better than anything you could have imagined. Each thrust sends sparks scattering across your vision, pulling gasps and moans from you, each louder than the last. It takes him no time at all to drag you back to the edge, to hold you over the precipice of oblivion once more.

Your nails dig into his back as you bury your face in his neck, kissing and biting his shoulder as you tremble, heat blooming out across your body, desperate to feel more of him, to taste more of him, to chase the impending high that he's kept from you.

"You're close aren't you?" He groans, another deep thrust tearing a cry from your lips, "I can feel it."

"Yes," you whimper, wrapping your legs more firmly around his waist, trying to draw him deeper into you.

Wrapping his fingers around your leg beneath your knee he tugs your leg upwards sharply, high above his hip, causing his next thrust to hit the spot within you that makes you wail in pleasure.

"Fuck, right there," you whine, clinging onto him. He groans, his own stuttered curses mumbled against your neck as he pulls your body closer, barely leaving your wet heat with each deep thrust, rutting against you, desperate to be as close to you as possible.

It's almost too much. The pressure and tension threading through your limbs makes you tremble with need. Practically sobbing, delirious with pleasure you drop your head to his shoulder, nails digging into his back as the tension builds and coils inside you.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with lust.

You lift your head to meet his eyes, dark with lust, intense, soft and hard. It's the same look he gave you earlier, only this time he doesn't pull away, he drags you impossibly closer to him. Somewhere in your pleasure clouded mind, you register the noise of the neighbours banging on the wall and you let out a shaky laugh, Santiago's face breaking into a grin. But then he shifts just slightly, dragging your leg a little higher, thrusting a little harder, his hand slipping between your bodies to press against your clit, and the tension that had been building inside you snaps. The release washes over you in trembling waves as you hurtle over the edge into oblivion, a scream of his name tearing from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut, unable to keep his gaze as you fall apart around him.

"Fuck. Fuck, baby. That's it, let me hear it." His arm tightens around your back, holding you up against his chest as your body convulses and trembles, his fingers still working against your clit as incoherent words and moans tear themselves from your throat, riding the high for as long as you can.

He groans at the feel of your cunt pulsing and squeezing around him, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, working to his own climax.

"Santi, Santi," you whimper his name over and over, your whole body trembling with the overstimulation. His muscles flex under your fingers as his hips stutter, plunging him deep into you with a low groan of your name muffled against your neck as he cums.

There's a long suspended moment where neither of you move, where you still feel the tremors of your climaxes, where nothing else exists in the world. It seems to drag on forever, and yet all too quickly Santiago is letting down your leg slowly, running his palm up your thigh and around your waist, holding you to him as his forehead drops to yours. You allow your eyes to flutter closed, still trying to catch your breath.

"You ok, baby?" He whispers softly, allowing his hands to roam across your damp skin, brushing across your back and hips, coming up to gently brush his thumb against your jaw. You manage to hum in assurance, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close.

"Yeah," you whisper softly, as your fingers soothingly trace the scar at the base of his neck. "San, do you want to stay here tonight?"

"I'll stay until you kick me out," he promises, brushing his lips against yours, his hands continuing to explore your skin, as though memorising how it feels to touch you. He captures your lips sweetly in gentle kisses, over and over, as though he can't taste enough of you.

"So, does this mean you're in love with me?" He finally whispers softly against your mouth. The question is quiet and soft, so different from his lustful growls that had filled your ears only moments earlier. There is such a hopeful edge to his tone that it makes your heart soften, any hurt that may have been caused by earlier events evaporated.

Opening your eyes you regard him for a moment — His flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his brow, his eyes hopeful yet concerned.

Even in the softest of moments you can't help but tease him, just a little.

"Santiago, I like you a lot. But," you sigh, raising your hand to cup his cheek gently as he frowns, "I once saw you eat pineapple on your pizza and I could never love someone who -"

"Ok, enough. Mala. You're such a brat," he complains, cutting you off. But he can't keep the grin from his face, relief bright in his eyes.

Giggling you frame his face with your hands, softly brushing your thumbs against his stubble as you bring your lips to his in a slow kiss. You pour your feelings into it, allowing him to see your heart without speaking.

"Yeah, you're in love with me," He breathes with a relieved smile as you pull apart.

"Yes," you admit with a soft smile, watching his face light up, "I'm in love with you. Now will you -"

"Shut up and kiss you?" He cuts in with a smug grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

"Actually I was going to ask if you'd shut up and bring me a cookie. I'm gonna need the sugar before we pick another room," you pause to give him a teasing smile, knowing exactly how to get what you want now, "well, that's if your knees can handle it."

Santi's knees survive the next round, but your bed is less fortunate.

****

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