SUMMARY: Mitch comes home early from a long road trip and catches you already touching yourself. Instead of joining right away, he sits in the chair across from the bed, strokes himself, and tells you exactly how he wants you to come. After you both finish from watching each other, he takes you slow and deep, savoring every second of finally being home.
WC: 1.4k
WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content (detailed), Consensual voyeurism & mutual masturbation, Dirty talk / commanding instructions during masturbation, Slow, and intimate penetrative sex, MDNI
Requested: Mitch Marner + He comes home from a long road trip and finds you already touching yourself. He doesn’t let you stop—just sits in the chair across from the bed and strokes himself while he watches, telling you exactly how he wants you to come.
You were already lost in it.
The house had been too quiet for too long. Mitch’s road trip had stretched into ten days, and every night without him left you aching. Tonight you’d finally given in. Fresh out of the shower, skin still warm and damp, you’d climbed into the middle of your shared bed completely naked, pillows propped behind you, legs spread. One hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing your nipple, while the other slid down between your thighs.
You were soaked. Two fingers circled your clit in lazy, wet strokes while you pictured him — his voice in your ear, his weight pinning you down, the way he always groaned when he first pushed inside you. Your hips rolled up to meet your own hand. A soft, needy sound slipped out of your throat “Fuck, Mitch…”
You didn’t hear the front door. Didn’t hear his suitcase drop in the hallway.
You only realized he was home when the bedroom door creaked open and his low, rough voice cut through the quiet “Well, shit.”
Your eyes flew open. Mitch stood in the doorway, still in his travel hoodie and joggers, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, staring at you like he’d just been punched in the chest. His gaze dropped straight to where your fingers were buried between your legs.
You froze, heart hammering, face burning “Mitch— you’re— you’re home early, I—”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop.”
His voice was gravel and heat. He dropped the bag, kicked the door shut, and crossed the room in three strides. But instead of climbing onto the bed, he dragged the big armchair from the corner and planted it at the foot of the mattress, facing you. He sat down, legs spread wide, and never once looked away from your hand.
“Keep touching yourself, baby. I want to watch.”
You whimpered, equal parts mortified and desperately turned on. Your fingers twitched against your clit.
“Wider,” he ordered, voice low. “Let me see.”
You obeyed, knees falling open. Mitch’s eyes darkened. He shoved his joggers and briefs down just far enough to free his cock — already thick and half-hard — and wrapped a big hand around it. He stroked once, slow and deliberate, thumb swiping over the head.
“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he muttered. “Couldn’t even wait for me to get home, huh? Had to get that pretty pussy all worked up thinking about me?”
You nodded, breathless. “Missed you.”
“I can tell.” His fist moved again, lazy. “Two fingers. Inside. Now.” You slid them in with a wet sound that made him groan. His cock jerked in his grip.
“Fuck, that’s it. Curl them. Just like I do when I’ve got my mouth on you.” He watched your wrist move, watched your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Now your clit with your thumb. Slow circles. Don’t rush it.”
You followed every instruction, hips twitching, soft little moans falling from your lips. Mitch matched your rhythm with his own hand, eyes locked on the slick shine of your fingers every time they pulled out.
“Pinch your nipple,” he said. “Harder. Yeah, just like that. I know how sensitive you get when you’re this worked up.”
You gasped, back arching. The dual sensation — your own fingers inside you and the sharp tug on your nipple — had you shaking “Mitch— I’m close—”
“Not yet.” His voice was firm but fond. “Take your fingers out. Just rub your clit. Light. Tease it.”
You whined but obeyed, circling the swollen bud with barely any pressure. Your thighs trembled “Look at me,” he said.
You did. His eyes were black with heat, jaw tight as he stroked himself faster. “You have any idea how many times I jerked off in hotel bathrooms thinking about this? About coming home and finding you just like this?”
You moaned his name again, desperate.
“Put your fingers back in,” he ordered. “Three this time. Fuck yourself with them while you rub your clit. I want to hear how wet you are.”
The stretch made you cry out. You were so close it hurt “Please—”
“Come for me.” His voice cracked with want. “Right now. Eyes on me. Let me see you fall apart.”
You shattered with a broken sob, thighs clamping around your own hand, fingers buried deep as your walls fluttered and pulsed. Mitch’s hand sped up on his cock, eyes glued to your face, to the way your body bowed off the bed.
“Fuck— fuck, baby—” He came with a low, guttural groan, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach and the hem of his hoodie. His head tipped back for a second, throat working, before his gaze found yours again, softer now but still burning.
For a moment the only sound was both of you breathing hard.
Then Mitch stood.
He stripped the rest of the way in seconds — hoodie, joggers, everything — and crawled onto the bed like a man starved. He caught your wrists gently, pulling your wet fingers from between your legs and bringing them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours.
“Missed you so fucking much,” he whispered against your skin.
You reached for him, still trembling from the aftershocks. He came down over you, caging you in, and kissed you deep and slow — the kind of kiss that said he’d been counting days too. His cock, still hard, dragged against your thigh, hot and slick.
He didn’t rush.
One big hand slid under your knee, hitching your leg up and open as he settled between your thighs. The blunt head of his cock nudged your entrance, still sensitive and fluttering. He pushed in slowly — inch by careful inch — until he bottomed out with a shared, shaky exhale.
“God, you feel good,” he breathed against your mouth. “So warm. So fucking tight around me.”
He didn’t thrust. Not at first. He just stayed buried deep, rolling his hips in tiny, grinding circles that dragged the head of his cock against that spot inside you with devastating precision. His forehead pressed to yours. One hand cradled the back of your neck while the other stroked slow lines up and down your side.
“Missed this,” he murmured. “Missed being inside you. Missed the way you look at me when I’m this deep.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, and he started to move — long, slow, deliberate strokes that let you feel every ridge, every vein. The wet sound of him sliding in and out filled the room, filthy and perfect. He kissed you between every thrust — your mouth, your jaw, the corner of your eye when it fluttered shut.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered. “Want to watch you.”
You did. The intimacy of it — the eye contact, the unhurried pace, the way he kept murmuring how much he’d missed you, how good you felt, how he never wanted to leave again — had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He kissed them away.
He built you up slowly, patiently, until your second orgasm crept up on you like a tide. Your walls tightened around him in rhythmic pulses. Mitch groaned, hips stuttering for the first time.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “Come on my cock. Just like that. Fuck— I’ve got you.”
You came with a soft, broken cry, clinging to him. He followed you over seconds later, burying his face in your neck as he spilled deep inside you with a low, shaking moan. His hips kept moving through it — tiny, shallow thrusts — drawing it out for both of you until you were both oversensitive and trembling.
When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull out. He just shifted enough to take some of his weight off you, one hand stroking your hair back from your damp forehead.
“Hi,” he said softly, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “Surprise.”
You laughed, weak and breathless, and pulled him down for another slow kiss “Welcome home.”
Mitch hummed against your lips, hips giving one last lazy roll that made you both shiver “Best welcome I’ve ever had.”
