Single room. One bed trope.
First person POV, unnamed (I) character x Vessel (Sleep Token)
Summary:
I’d thought Sleep Token had grown to be a big enough group that we’d all deserve our own decent rooms on tour. Management didn’t seem to think the same, leaving Vessel and I in the worst room possible. He’s a gentleman, but I refuse to take the bed.
Warnings + Themes - Somnophilia (sexual advances with a sleeping person), dominance/submissive dynamics, gspot stim, p in v, condom sex.
==============
“Dont sleep on the fucking couch, look at it!” Vessel gestures to the lumpy, run down sofa and glares.
I can’t tell exactly what its original color was meant to be, but the design was questionable. I sighed and let my duffle bag fall to the floor. At this point, it didn’t matter the format of the horizontal position. I needed five minutes of quiet and I’d be dead to the world.
Disgusting couch or not, I was sleeping there. Vessel could have the bed, he was more critical to the band’s success. All because of him, the group had gone from partially filled concert halls to sold out legitimate venues.
With as big as Sleep Token was getting, you’d think management would have had enough sense to book a room for everyone.
Nope. Doubles. Vessel and I had both lost in the rock paper scissors tournament, and there was no losers bracket in a five player standoff. I hadn’t thought about how weird the arrangement would be until we were at the door of the room.
I’d been friends with all of them for a long time, but something about my friendship with Vessel always felt… strange, like there was something left out - something neither of us wanted to admit or risk losing what we had.
“It’s fine, I'll deal.” I brush off his concerns and start laying out the extra bedding on top of the ruined upholstery.
“It’s got cum stains!” he practically growls. He acts like this is an unforgivable act, to be sleeping on this couch. I can’t help but smile at his protectiveness. Since they’d insisted on me being their only photographer, they were all sort of protective over me. I never complained, not genuinely anyway. I could chat shit right back at them, and they loved it. I got the princess treatment, most of the time.
I’d been with the group since they’d started playing live shows. As a fan at first, then I’d humbly snuck my camera into the shows and they liked what I’d captured so much that they had approached me about the opportunity.
Now I had to deal with thousands of notifications with thirsty fans. You win some, you lose some.
I brush off his concerns and dramatically lay a blanket down over the cushions. Vessel is strangely extra protective tonight. He’s already upset with management for not booking enough rooms, so I try to play it cool and not get him more worked up.
“Just relax, it’ll be fine. You need to focus on getting rest for the show tomorrow. Now go to bed.” I grumble back at him. He unzips his bag while I pull a hoodie from mine, the room is freezing. The AC is at full blast and although now it feels amazing, I know I'll be frozen once I relax. I try turning the AC up but the numbers won’t change no matter how hard I press. I roll my eyes, at least we have blankets.
He doesn’t argue more but I can tell he is still upset. Not with me, but with the situation. Maybe a little with my stubbornness. But I can't let him sleep on the lumpy couch, not when he’s the frontman and he couldn’t be sore for a show.
I’m relieved when he actually listens. He washes up and returns to the living area with nothing but sweats on. I may or may not sneak a few extra glances over while he sets alarms on his phone, then climbs into bed.
I change in the bathroom as well. Maybe or maybe not slipping on a skin-tight cami to get back at him. I ignore the hopelessness that bleeds through the sentiment. Someone like Vessel would never want me. Never in the way I wanted him at least.
He was the exact thing I did want, too. Someone who was smart and confident and yearning. Someone who wanted and put effort into their partners, because they truly wanted them.
It was the same as what I had to give. I’d give anything for someone like that. I’d change my DNA if I could if it meant I would be loved right.
I don't care if it sounds pathetic. Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone wants to be truly seen for who they are, and who I am is a giver. I’d do anything to make a partner happy.
Never had someone love me the same amount I was willing to love them, though. Probably never would. Besides, Vessel deserved someone on his level. He was way out of my league. We’re good friends sure but he was every box checked off and a walking green flag. He could pull any woman he wanted easily.
Instead of being down on myself, I take comfort in knowing that hey - at least I’m honest. And I’m still hot, too, so it doesn't matter that I’m self-deprecating now.
I brush away my self loathing and open the bathroom door back to the freezing room, already excited for the night’s rest. Sleeping in the cold with a nice blanket was one of life’s small joys. I see Vessel already face down, head covered with a pillow. Totally out. I flick off the light he’d left on for me and head to my coffin-er, couch for the night.
Only my blanket wasn’t nearly as thick as I thought it was. I try to push through for a few minutes, figuring that the blanket would trap my heat but the room is actually freezing. The AC is stuck at 62. I go for the hoodie I pulled out earlier, but it reeks like my gym socks. For my own sanity, I refuse to wear it.
Shit.
I fight the urge to groan and throw a fit. The front desk would be a pain to get to right now, and stressful going alone. This hotel was located at the borderline of skeeze city. I quietly get up and search the closet for any more blankets, and come up empty.
Eventually, I settle in with a pair of semi-clean leggings wrapped around my torso, and the blanket folded atop me. It is decent enough for me to fall asleep for a little while, even though my fingers are numb.
+
Vessel’s wakes to a strange chattering sound.
First he checks the bathroom, then the fridge. Something still clicks strangely even after he’d quietly thumped on the side of the thing. He checks the AC, which is still blasting fresh arctic air that feels good against his hot skin.
Then he passed where she rested on the couch. The sound emitted louder here. He stutter stepped, and stopped. His jaw clenched watching her teeth chatter. The silver moonlight that slipped through the sheer blinds made the scene look even colder. He brings the small blanket up over her shoulder and tries to fix the AC again, but the numbers won’t budge. With bleary eyes he swears under his breath.
He sees the way her jaw softly chatters and he’s enraged briefly. Before he thinks, he’s acting on instinct. He gently pushes his arms beneath her and lifts, her solid weight feeling strangely familiar in his arms. Was this as much as he warmed up with at the gym? He had no idea how much she actually weighed, but wondered if he could find out somehow. It would bother him if he didn't.
Suddenly, new lifting goals were set in his mind.
“Stubborn woman.” He scolds quietly to himself. He can’t deny that he admires her determination, though. That much willpower makes someone a force to be reckoned with in every aspect. It was something he revered, and she served as an inspiration for him. The way he saw her drive for things made him question why he wasn’t doing the same for his own goals. And it pushed him.
He set her down gently in the bed, then pulled the thick blanket up over her soft shoulders. He couldn’t help the small graze of his knuckle against the skin there. It is all done in a soft, quiet way that barely disturbed her. He knows better than to do that. Too many screaming matches on the bus over the years have made the entire band know better than to start making coffee too early.
The biggest annoyance she seems to have is the second he puts her down. She clings to his arm with a sour look on your face that breaks his heart, but makes him soar at the same time. Could she want him this close?
“Dont worry-” He whispers, more to himself than anything. There’s so much he wants to say. So much he wishes he could say, but he won't sacrifice anything about their friendship.
So, he settles in the bed beside her- keeping as much distance as he can even though it’s a queen bed. There’s not much more he can do when he lays flat and their arms brush against each other. He wants to turn, to face her and wrap her in his arms so badly it makes him ache. His chest hurts from the want.
Those desires can never be acted upon. He locks those feelings up and shoves them away, stilling himself against the mattress. He can’t move. Not when he already has to hold himself on such a tight leash around her. To not be too flirty. To keep his hands to himself. To hide his admiration.
He was caught for a moment, watching the way her breathing made the hair slip from her shoulder. The small freckles he could see that ran away, hiding up under the too big t-shirt she wore. He was frozen with infatuation.
Eventually, he snapped back to himself, to how strange this was. How he didn’t have a right to be looking at her this way. But how could he not? How could he act like she was just another crew member when he cared so much? When his chest felt like it was being clawed open by some fiery beast every time he looked at her and knew it was something he would never attain?
How would anyone be normal under such agonizing?
He was torn. His mind whirred for a solution to his aching. He wanted to run from this burning pain, but couldn’t imagine voluntarily leaving. He was sure it’d hurt much worse than the euphoria of being here. No, he couldn’t leave. Not when she was so close - not when he was so lucky just to have her in his life. Not just a random photographer now, but their exclusive photographer. And bound by contract for the next six months while on tour. How could he pass up the exclusive time he was guaranteed together?
Even if their relationship was meant to be strictly professional in the beginning… they’d become friends. The reminder of how they worked together hung in his mind like a black cloud.
He wouldn’t risk losing this closeness. But he couldn't tell her how much he cared, how badly he wanted her to be his. Not when-
Her hand reached back, at first he thought she was batting him away and he flinched - but the slender fingers weakly tugged at his wrist. She said something, mumbled, and he sat up, moving closer to hear. He leaned over her body, relishing the shared warmth, using every last ounce of willpower to not pull her to his chest.
She was still cold, her fingers felt like ice wrapped around his wrist. He’d been so wrapped up in his own aching he hadn’t noticed. He scolded himself and tucked the blanket tighter around both of them, shifting the portion that covered him over, not sure of what else he could do.
He knew what he wanted to do. But what would that do to him? What would it mean to him to pull her close in a weak excuse to keep warm?
Because what would this do to him later? Would he spiral after? Would he never be the same?
He didn’t want to find out. He decided it with finality, thought he had anyway.
Then she was shifting. With tired, lazy movements. He was terrified for a moment, that she was unhappy with him with how her brow creased above her closed eyes, but then her head pressed to his chest.
And he melted through the mattress, the floorboards, down to the hell he was surely going to.
The smell of her hair had him trying to figure out what candles he’d smelled that would be anything close. Anything as euphoric. He was so overwhelmed for that initial moment he’d almost forgotten how this worked. Cuddling.
Then he moved his arm, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulled closer. Instinctual. Easy. Once he remembered how to do it.
Once he allowed himself this supreme pleasure.
What had he done to deserve this?
Such exquisite happiness dug its claws in him now, but what would the cost be later? When he knew that he’d never have this again? Was it better to push her away now and not even allow the pleasure in the first place?
To have this beauty for even a moment was better than never having it. That was indisputable. He came to the conclusion quickly. At least he had now. Right now with her in his arms. Her warm weight on his chest. Pride swelled at the now lack of chattering coming from her teeth.
He used that as fuel for his sin. His small justification. He was helping. It was selfless, really. He lied to himself easily for the sake of refusing such a delicate self betrayal.
He wanted to live in this singular moment for the rest of his days. This was more rewarding than any stage or paycheck.
Let him rot here. He’d die euphorically with her freckled arm slung around him like this.
Let the grass and bugs and vultures consume them both here if it meant he could stay in her embrace. The weeds and wildflowers would weave through the gaps in his ribs, and maybe grow a little taller where his heart had once been.
His breathing evens out eventually, timing with hers until he was dragged into unconsciousness.
+
Coffee.
It's the first thing on my mind every morning. I don't care if it’s a drug or immoral or inhumane or whatever, I need coffee.
It’s an addiction, yes I understand. But it’s better than meth.
I rub my face, trying to save some dignity when facing Vessel. He’s seen me plenty of times half-asleep but something about sharing a room is different somehow.
I carefully roll to the side, and realize that I’m not where I should be.
The white sheets and duvet are much warmer than the spare blanket I had to work with on the couch.
I sat up quickly, searching the room in a haze when my eyes caught Vessel flicking through TV channels, sat up on what should have been my bed.
“Didn’t you say that thing had cum stains?” I accuse. How had we swapped places?
“Yeah, and aren’t you glad for the bed?” He smirks and decides on a random channel showing internet clips.
“How did I get here? Did I sleeptalk too?” I can feel the anxiety creeping in, this felt like being too drunk and waking up not being able to remember the previous night.
“You didn’t sleepwalk or talk. Calm down. There’s coffee-” He gestures with the remote to the bedside table and winks at me.
He winks at me. Thankfully he turns back to the TV before he can see how red my face gets.
“I carried you. You were freezing and practically falling off the couch.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“Beside you.” He says it simply, as if it were nothing more than checking the time.
“You shouldn't have done that. I would have been fine.” I scold. How had we slept beside each other? The man was huge, there was no way that we fit on the bed side by side. My cheeks burn, and I’m glad he seems distracted with the TV and not staring at me for this conversation.
“I think your legging scarf would disagree. They’re not very in-fasion right now.” He teases. It all feels so natural, so okay that I barely have a protest. Had we been wrapped together? How had we both managed to get a -what felt like to me- fantastic night sleep on this small bed?
“I’ll get an extra blanket from the lobby tonight.” I promise. I won’t be a hindrance to this tour. To this exquisitely fine man that somehow showed care to everyone he was around.
He hums in some kind of approval, and I use the lull to get up and get ready for the day in the bathroom.
When I return to the living area, he’s using the thin blanket to try to cover the AC vents. I grab my coffee from the table and take a sip of the perfectly mixed brew.
“Ah, you know what I like.” I hum, wrapping my freezing hands around the warm cup.
He startles slightly, not hearing me approach while I watch his struggle. Then he lights up, grinning at me like I’d told him he’d won the lottery. “I’d hope so after so many obsessive brews in the morning. I thought you and II were going to kill each other the other day.”
“We’re still getting used to tour life, alright. Leave me alone.” I hold the corner of the blanket for him so he can attempt to hold down the other side with the remote. There’s not much else to use, so I grab the ice bucket and try to get it to hold down the bulk of the middle.
It slides off the second we let go, and he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it.
“I’ll get us a new room. A different hotel.”
I like the way he says ‘us’. That he includes me when it doesn’t necessarily involve me at all, considering that I know he’d be calling hotels and booking things without my help.
“It’s just one more night.” I try to talk him down from spending extra money unnecessarily.
He shoots me a look while he pulls out his phone and starts tapping away. The “Dont start this with me now.” Look that I’ve become familiar with. I perch on the edge of the bed while he types then calls several hotels nearby, and when he curses under his breath after the third I have to protest.
“Ves, one more night. Then we’ll be somewhere else entirely. New city, new hotel, all of it.”
He seems staggered for a moment, and when he opens his mouth to protest I cut him off. “You hated sleeping with me so much that you’re going to waste our day figuring out how to avoid it again?” I challenge before he can start.
He’s really stunned this time. He reels, his cheeks getting red.
“Now let’s go before we get yelled at for being late to lunch.” I grab his sleeve and drag him towards the door, slipping on my shoes.
+
Vessel is a wreck during the show. Not in a bad way.
He sings his soul out, vomiting all the wanton desire out on the stage so vigorously his voice is a little raw afterwards. He butchered himself on stage, leaving him a sensitive mess. IV gave him a look, but didn't say anything and passed him the honeyed cup of tea he had made for himself. Vessel blinks away the teary sentiment for his friend.
He’d sang Dangerous and Provider with more vigor than ever. He clutched the mic like an anchor to keep him from descending off the stage straight to the subject of his aching.
All the while, she watched through a lens, seemingly oblivious to the message he was literally screaming at her. The whole time she didn’t flinch, just smiled proudly up at him when he did gesture towards her and she captured it.
She had no idea that it wasn’t for the camera though.
He wanted her to feel this, to have this same chest-aching desire but she seemed totally unaffected. He belted lyrics into the mic and it helped alleviate some of the want.
But he knew he’d have to go back to that room at the end of the night. That he’d have to try to sleep while she surely would place herself on the couch again. And maybe she’d have a proper hoodie this time, and he wouldn’t have an excuse to bring her close again.
Maybe last night had been a fluke. Maybe she hadn’t seen how much he did enjoy her presence.
The doubt and the want for understanding - the desire to tell her exactly how he felt crushed him.
+
He doesn’t see her again until he’s finally back at the room after a few drinks with the rest of the crew.
He toes his shoes off and freezes in place when he sees the couch is empty. Adrenaline surges through him. How had she not made it back?
He whips out his phone but sees the slight movement in the bed, and steps closer.
A grin spreads across his face.
He was surprised at her boldness. She’d made it to the room far earlier than he had and had commandeered one of his hoodies he’d left hanging up for herself. With the hood up, she looked totally at peace covered with the duvet, the pillows cradling her.
He wished it wasn’t weird for him to take a picture of how adorable she looked. Her lower lip jutted out slightly in a pout, her brow creased like she was thinking too much even in her sleep. It wouldnt’ surprise him if she was.
He quickly washed himself clean from the nights activities then found himself frozen before the bed.
Would it be too much to slip beside her? She was obviously warm tonight, wrapped in his hoodie and sleeping peacefully. What if she didn’t want him here tonight? If she had expected him to take the couch?
Why was he so nervous about this now? He’d just… acted last night. He’d taken control and just done it and she hadn’t been upset with him then.
Doing. That was the solution to anxiety. Do something or else you’ll spiral.
So he slid beneath the covers and faced her. Smiling to himself at how simple this was, and at how much of a high it gave him. He knew this would destroy him when she was no longer so close. He knew he would fall from this euphoria like Icarus plummeting to the sea. He would be grateful for the drowning despair later, because this fleeting pleasure was worth it.
He didnt’ care, he decided. Not anymore. He’d already broken so many rules, he’d developed feelings far deeper than he initially thought. He was entirely, thoroughly fucked - so what was one more tally on his score?
Her nose twitched, and the crease in her brow deepened for a second. His heart hammered in his chest, blood surging in his ears.
Then, she was scooting closer to him, her hands wandering - not far - to find him.
Relief washed over him like a cool tidal wave. He pulled her close, both of them clinging to each other. One of her hands tucked in between them, the other found its way to his waistband, which had him tensing for a moment.
Then her fingers hooked beneath his waistband, and rested on his hipbone. Her fingers pinned there between his skin and the elastic of his sweats.
He was tense, but she settled quickly after that.
What was this placement? It had him panicking. Was this just… chance? Was it a hint at something more?
He re assessed.
He was much bigger than her. Like… over a foot taller. He towered over her but it never really seemed to make a difference to either of them in any way. He’d led them though large crowed before, and she’d done a similar thing with hooking a finger in his belt loop.
Her arm barely wrapped around him. This had to be for stability, so her arm wouldnt just fall back to her side.
Maybe the contact was nice for her too.
He settled himself again, taking slow, deep breaths to not think about how close her hand was to his now hopeful cock.
It was nothing sexual, he told himself. His body didn’t care though.
+
I’m warm.
Fuzzy, melt in your couch with soup warm.
It feels incredible. I nuzzle into the warmth, smiling. I’m not sure if I make a sound, but someone responds.
“Morning.” Vessel’s voice is groggy, rough with sleep still and incredibly cute. I groan, refusing to open my eyes just yet. I push into the warmth more and feel his soundless laugh.
My cheeks go red, and panic sends my heart racing.
I feel his laugh because I’m stuck to him like glue. My leg is hiked up over his hip and im plastered to him like we did this all the time. And my hand is - oh god.
I gasp and attempt to pull my hand free of his waistband - but im clammy and it stays stuck for a few seconds too long while i panic. “I am so sorry-” I stammer, but he still holds me. It limits how far away I can pull, and I’m glad for it secretly.
“Nothing I’m complaining about.” He says with that gruff voice and a wicked grin. My blood heats, a thrum of excitement going through me at his lazy, casualness at how he’d enjoyed my touch.
I bite my lip, feeling my cheeks go warm at his insinuation.
“Yeah?” I tease, and flick one of his nipples playfully. I intend to get up and get ready after, but Vessel caught my finger as I pulled away. He then placed my hand back on his hip, right where it’d been before, just not tucked so intimately.
“Just stay for a second.” He sighs, sounding strange. I try to look up and see his expression but he seems almost asleep.
Then, I notice his breathing. He is asleep.
I shake my head and grin, but I do enjoy resting on him. He’s warmth embodied and it feels so good to have a personal space heater fighting for me against the cold of the room.
My fingers tentatively leave his hip to trace along his waistband, tracing soft touches that i can see leave goosebumps behind. My stomach flutters when i notice his body responding in other ways as well.
I’m honry. So fucking horny ever since seeing him on the bus without a shirt on a few days ago. He’d been fresh out of the shower and smelling amazing - and i hadn’t had time alone to take care of my needs since then.
I was a victim, really.
His hips roll achingly softly upwards to my touch, and my mouth falls open at how gorgeous he is. How the outline of his cock is growing more and more beneath the sweats. I wonder what it would feel like, how the weight of him would feel so right in my hand - in my mouth. I wonder if he’s just as freaky as I think he is.
He exudes dominance in his everyday life. From the way he slams food in front of me while im too busy editing to eat, to the way he guides the group places when no one else will take the lead. His bands whole motto is ‘worship’ - how’s a frontman of a band like that not into body worship? I envy his previous partners.
My fingers accidentally brush over the tip of his cock when i reach up to pin my hair behind my ear, and i grin when a small, almost inaudible sound comes from him.
I watch for a long moment while his body flexes in different ways, his hips rolling so sweetly, so slowly into the air. Searching for stimulation. He is mouth watering sexy, and i want him badly.
I nearly choke when he sighs and adjusts, propping a hand behind his head and the other going directly down his sweats. I nearly lose it. His wrist forces his sweats down, revealing the soft skin of his cock - the tip jutting out over the waistband.
I can’t help myself. My own body is practically vibrating with the erotic scene before me. I circle the tip with a finger, earning a soft sigh from him. I do this a few more times before he’s shifting again, and his hand moves more intentionally for a beat.
“Having fun?” He asks groggily, and I’m not surprised he’s awake now.
“Qutie a bit.” I answer in a husky voice.
He pulls himself free of the sweats, on full display for me. He strokes himself slowly, thoroughly while I watch. I trace a finger from his base to tip, and a breathless laugh leaves him.
“Been driving me crazy.” He says idly. “Watching you try to change quick in the bus, seeing your bag open and those panties inside.”
I look up at him with an innocent smile. “Didn’t know you’d be bothered, my deepest apologies.”
“Yeah you will be sorry.” He grins, and suddenly sits upright. He grabs the wrist of my hand that’d been playing with him and pulls me to him, crashing our lips together.
There is nothing gentle or tender about this kiss. It is full of need from both of us. Immediately we’re on the same page. I lap at his lower lip and his tongue joins mine, not fast or demanding but deep and rhythmic - making me imagine what it would feel like elsewhere. I am lit from inside, my very blood burning with how fucking hot this is.
I arch into him, pressing my torso to his. I want him everywhere. One of his hands goes to squeeze one of my breasts, and he practically growls when he grips a hip.
I don’t think its anything specific, i think its just him that turns me on. Him in general. How he is, how he’s touching me like he’s afraid he’s going to lose me. With every twitch of his fingers, every violent kiss there’s something unsaid lingering behind it.
“So fucking perfect.” He mutters, giving the hip hand a shake - admiring how i feel beneath his grasp. His hands are huge. They encompass me with warmth everywhere he touches and it sets me on fire. There’s so much feeling behind everything - every graze of his skin against mine feels scared. I melt to his touch, pilant like I wanted to prove how good I could be for him.
My hands graze over every part of him, from his hair to his neck and to trace his cheekbones with my thumbs.
He tangles a hand in the back of my hair and pulls me down to him so he can kiss and lick my neck. “I want you.” A kiss just below my ear. “I want to fuck you in every way possible right now.” A long firm lick down to circle where my pulse frenzies. He’s driving me insane with just the way his mouth feels on me, not to mention what he’s saying.
His hands trail over my ass and and sqeueze, reverent in just feeling me it seemed. “Tell me we can, that we will.” He bites the base of my neck, near my collarbone and i grind down on top of him. With the shorts I wear, the heat of his cock brushes the inside of my thigh and i groan.
One of his hands trails from my ass and comes back around, pressing me back by the hip so there’s a bit of distance between out bodies and he can- oh.. God. His thumb finds my clit through the shorts immideately, and rubs firmly just a few times.
“We will. We will-” I nod, curling my body to his. I am so needy, so hot for him that I just want to feel something inside me. I don’t care if it’s his fingers or his tongue or his cock - but I would prefer one of the three. I can feel my shorts inner lining sticking to me with how soaked i am.
“That’s right.” He hums, watching me with an intense stare while he toys with me. “That’s right we will.”
My thighs close around his hand but it doesn’t stop him. He just works harder, increasing his pressure but not the exquisite pace. I feel his cock twitch a few times beneath me, and i want to touch him the same - make him as crazy as he’s making me.
The second I go to reach for him, he takes the wrist of that hand and pulls me forward again, so we’re kissing. His fingers leave my clit, and I hear a thud to the side. These kisses are lazy, heated and patient - and i realize he’s pulling a condom over himself.
“Let me taste you-” I whine,
“You agreed we’d get to that.” He says devilishly, his fingers returning to my psusy- only they’re exploring my entrance now, coating himself with my wetness before pushfing two fingers in slowly, pulling them out again and repeating until he has me whining and needy for more than just the two.
When he pulls them out, he raises them to his mouth and stares at me while he laps at them, lickign them clean.
I’m hypnotized, but not enough to keep me distracted for long. I reach down and line him up with me, then lower deliciously slowly onto him.
It takes a few minutes, but once he’s fully hilted we sit like that for a moment. My mouth presses kisses to his shoulder, rocking gently while my body adjusts to the sweet stretch of him.
“So fucking good.” He groans, guiding me up slightly, then back down.
He seats an easy pace at first, gentle. When I start really grinding against him, he gets the message. I want more. He flips us gently, and shoves a pillow under my loewe back. His hands roam over my stomach, my breasts and chest - the way his eyes drag over me is the most erotic part though. Like he’s trying to memorize every piece. He rocks his hips slowly into me at first in the new position.
“I’d trade being a singer for being a painter, if it meant I could capture you like this.” he says - his eyes wandering all over me.
Then he’s snapping into me, hard and fast and completely relentless while he grips my hips to hold me exactly how he wants me.
And I love it. I whimper and moan like a submissive bitch because god for him I am. I am completely without him having to even do anything to prove his dominance.
Normally, I’d fight this - tell him to fuck off and make a partner work to fuck me, but he’s different. He’s new but he’s already shown me that he wants me - as a friend, and now as a lover. He doesn’t need to work to show me that he cares, he’s already shown up and done it long before I started toying with him in bed.
He fucks me until my legs tremble and my thighs beg to coles together for friction - and when he notices it, he slows. He drags his thrusts out, making them slower, more targeted and I nearly whine and complain until he brushes against something exquisite inside me.
I gasp and tense, gripping his forearms with surprise at what he’d done. My nails bite into his skin and he seems to enjoy it, his own fingers tensing on my hips. No one had ever bothered to try to find my g-spot before, but he’d done it woutht even needing me to guide him.
“Fuck-” my eyes are wide, I can feel it so when he looks at me with a knowing, smug grin I shake my head. “You’re going to make me cum.” I warn.
He’s not shocked. “Good.”
He continues thrusting slow, deliberate movements that bring me closer and closer to that edge. Everything tingles and seems so fast with how he’s getting me there with such ease.
My toes curl and pop, and he groans encouragingly. “That’s right love.”
He seems to be in no rush for himself, erasing any guilt at ruining his orgasm. I teeter on the brink, almost stuck there for a second.
Then he thumbs over my clit, just the pressure alone sends me twitching and curling while my body milks his cock. My legs tremble and he’s leaning down so i have something to latch onto, holding me close while tremors wrack my body. His cock continues its easy pace inside me and he’s moaning and laughing. “So fucking good, so good.”
He presses kisses to my temple, my forehead and my nose while I pant, coming down from the peak. He sets a bit of a faster pace, and his abs flex while he chases his own orgasm. “So good for me.” He praises, his hands gripping my breast or my hip. He bites his lip and his brows pull together - his breathing becoming ragged and labored.
I grip his back, nails digging into his skin. I want to see him finish. More than that, I need it.
“Cum for me.” I demand. It’s through teeth and with flushed cheeks and wild hair, and he can’t resist.
On one last thrust, he holds himself deep inside me - his hips stuttering small movements. He breathes a string of curses while he cums, resting his forehead against mine. I feel his cock twitching, releasing inside me. I am upset I cant feel all of him, that the condom’s in the way of this being as filthy as I want it to be.
“No condom next time.” I breathe hard. “I’m clean.”
He grins and pulls me to lay on my side with him as my big spoon. “Yeah, me too. Birth control?”
“Yes.” I confirm, biting my lip. “So what part did you mean I was going to regret?” I ask, propping myself up on an elbow.
“The part when you’re too sore to walk after I’m done with you.” He says, and ducks beneath the covers. His lips find every part of my skin delicious, apparently.
