the first time you hugged him, he had frozen in place. his hands hovered in the air like he wasn't sure what to do with them, like touching you would break some unspoken rule. you had been flirting for weeks. he always deflected with the same tired lines; ‘i'm your dad's friend’ or ‘i'm old enough to be your father’ or ‘this isn't appropriate’ which all sounded like blah, blah, blah to you.
but when you wrapped your arms around him after he helped you move a heavy box, your body pressing against his chest, he stopped complaining. his hands slowly, reluctantly, landed on your back and you felt his breath catch. that was the crack in the armor. bingo.
after that, you pushed harder. a kiss on his cheek when you said goodbye, a touch to his neck when you reached past him and so on. each time, he would stiffen, clear his throat and pretend like nothing had happened. but he never pulled away.
then came the night you ‘conveniently’ missed the last bus home. it was late, cold, and his house was closest. he sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and said you could crash on the couch. you thanked him with a smile, as polite as ever.
but the couch was not your goal. you waited until the house went dark, then you padded barefoot across the hardwood, turned the knob slowly, and slipped into his bed.
he woke with a jolt. "hey- kid, what are you-"
"shh." you pressed a finger to his lips. "i'm scared of the dark… can't i just lie here for a minute?"
even if you were too old to be scared of the dark. you were an adult, even if the man in front of you refused to see that.
he hesitated. "you can't... this isn't-"
"please?" your voice was small and innocent.
he let out a long breath. "fine. just... stay on your side."
you nodded, but you didn't. you curled up, then slowly, inch by inch, scooted closer until your back pressed against his side. he didn't push you away and after a long minute, his arm came around you, settling on your waist so he was spooning you.
his body was warm, solid and you could feel the thrum of his heartbeat on your back. his breath stirred the hair at the back of your neck.
but you just had to be a brat. you always did.
you started small. just a little, teeny tiny shift of your hips, like you were adjusting yourself. your ass brushed against his crotch and he tensed. you did it again, a little more deliberate. back and forth. a slow, gentle grind, like you were just getting comfortable.
"hey", he whispered, his voice strained. "stop that."
you didn't answer. you kept moving. back and forth. and through the thin cotton of his pajama pants, you felt the growing pressure of his cock hardening against the cleft of your ass.
he groaned, and his hand on your waist tightened.
"kid-" his voice cracked.
back and forth. the tip of his cock nestled between your cheeks, the fabric of your shorts damp with your own warmth. you could feel every inch of him, the rigid length pressing harder with each sway.
another groan, deeper this time and his hips twitched, starting to move with you. his breath came hot and ragged against your neck.
then you stopped. you went completely still, let your breathing even out into the slow rhythm of sleep. your body relaxed against his, your ass firmly pressed against his aching cock.
"hey", he whispered. "hey-"
nothing. you didn't move. you didn't answer.
he laid there, rigid, his erection trapped between your cheeks and you could feel his pulse through the length of him.
a minute passed. two. his hand slid from your waist down to your hip, then back up. he was fighting himself. you could feel it in the tension of his muscles in the way his fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt.
finally, he let out a shaky breath. his hips gave one involuntary thrust against your ass, and then he forced himself still.
you smiled into the pillow and let yourself drift, knowing there would be no more complaints in the morning.
