⧠bsf chris!, friends to lovers, dom!chris, teasing, clit stimulation, unprotected sex
⧠summary: you're sexually frustrated after months without sex and during a seemingly innocent hangout with chris, tensions and casual touches escalate until he offers to "help you out," finally satisfying your needs.
⧠authors note: i need to go to horny jail bc why have i been writing nonstop. also sue me im a sucker for friends to lovers. (also also if u saw this posted earlier no u didnt that was an accident.)
it's been three months. three long months since your last hookup, and your body was making you pay for it. you felt exposed, every casual touch from a stranger felt like a jolt. it was hell.
so when chris texted you, "come over? we can chill. i'm tired," you almost cried with relief. you needed the comfort, the platonic intimacy, the distraction from the constant arousal that had become your every day.
he answers the door in gray sweatpants and a worn out band tee, looking soft and domestic and completely harmless.
you hand him the takeout you brought, and he grins, pulling you into a quick, one armed hug.
"missed you," he says, his voice warm in your ear. it's a normal thing to say, but it sends a shiver down your spine.
you settle on the couch, a decent amount of space between you. he puts on some dumb action movie you've both seen a dozen times and you dig into the food.
for a while, it's fine. it's normal. you're laughing, yelling at the screen, arguing about which character has the most ridiculous death scene.
but then he leans forward to grab the remote, and his arm brushes against your breast. it's nothing. a quick touch. but your entire body reacts. you feel your nipples stiffen instantly, a familiar heat pooling in your gut. you shift, pressing your thighs together under the blanket you'd pulled over your lap.
he flops back against the cushions, slinging his arm up along the back of the sofa behind you. "god, i'm exhausted," he sighs, letting his head fall back.
you can see the pulse ticking in his neck and the way his shirt's pulled tight across his chest. he's just laid out for you like that, all long and tall and unfairly hot.
"long week?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
"you have no idea." his eyes are closed. he looks vulnerable. "just⌠wanna relax."
you nod, then hesitate. "scoot down a bit."
he cracks an eye open. "why?"
"just⌠come here." you pat the space between your legs. "you look like you're about to fall over."
he considers it for a second, then shrugs, shifting so he's lying with his cheek against your chest, you wrap your arms around his back, pulling the blanket up over both of you.
it's better. it's worse. the solid weight of him against you is comforting, but it's also igniting every frustrated cell in your body. you can feel the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
you can smell his shampoo, something clean and woodsy. your fingers start to twitch against his back, itching to tangle in his hair.
this is chris. your chris. your best friend. get a fucking grip.
you try to focus on the movie. you really do. but then he shifts, settling in deeper, and he presses right against your core. a tiny, involuntary gasp escapes your lips. you freeze, hoping he didn't hear.
he didn't seem to. but a few minutes later, he does it again, a subtle roll of his hips as he gets comfortable. it's innocent. it means nothing. but to your desperate body, it does.
you can feel yourself getting wet, a slick warmth spreading between your thighs. you press them together harder, a useless attempt to calm down the ache.
"you okay?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your chest. "you're all tense."
"fine," you squeak. "just⌠cold."
he hums, a low, skeptical sound.
his hand comes up to cover yours where it's resting on his side.
"your hands are freezing," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.
"told you," you manage, your voice tight.
he chuckles, a soft, breathy sound that vibrates right through you. he brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth, blowing warm air onto your fingers.
it's an act of simple kindness, but his lips are so close to your skin, and all you can think about is them somewhere else.
"better?" he asks, his eyes still closed.
"mhm," you lie. you're burning up.
the movie ends, and the menu screen starts looping, the annoying theme music filling the silence.
neither of you moves to turn it off. the air in the room feels thick, heavy.
then, he shifts again. it's not subtle this time. it's a deliberate, slow roll of his hips against you. and you feel it. the hard, thick line of his cock pressing firmly against you.
your entire body goes rigid. your breath catches in your throat. he's hard. he's hard, and he's pressed against you, and he knows.
"chris?" your voice is barely a whisper.
he doesn't answer. he just does it again, a slower, more deliberate grind. a low groan rumbles in his chest, a sound you feel more than hear.
"you're squirming," he says, his voice thick and husky. "have been all night."
"shhh," he murmurs, finally turning his head to look at you. his eyes are fucked out already, blown wide and black with it, lashes low and heavy like he's halfway to wrecked just from looking at you. "just⌠feel it."
his hair's all fucked up from the couch, lips parted and pink, and he looks wrecked and hungry and hard, the line of his jaw tight, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he's barely holding himself back.
he rolls his hips again, a perfect, filthy pressure against your clit. a whimper tears from your throat. it's embarrassing, how responsive you are, how little it takes.
"yeah," he breathes, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "that's what i thought."
he lets go of your hand, bringing his up to cup your jaw. his thumb strokes your cheek, his touch gentle. "how long has it been?"
you know what he's asking. your face flames with shame. "too long."
"poor thing," he coos, and it should be condescending, but it just sounds hot. "all wound up with no one to help you."
his knee slides between your legs, pressing right up against your soaked leggings. you gasp, your hips jolting forward involuntarily.
"so eager," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "tell me what you need. let me help you out, baby..."
you shake your head, burying your face in his neck. you can't say it. admitting it out loud would make it real, would cross the boundary you've been clinging to.
he chuckles, a low, dark sound. "no? okay. i'll guess."
his hand slides down your side, over your hip, and comes to rest on your ass, squeezing the flesh through your leggings. you moan, a broken, needy sound.
"need someone to touch you?" he whispers, his other hand coming up to tangle in your hair, tugging your head towards him gently. "need someone to take care of this tight little pussy?"
you can only nod, your eyes squeezed shut.
"look at me," he commands. you force your eyes open. his gaze is intense, boring into you. "i've been right here this whole time. all you had to do was ask."
he leans in, and for a heart stopping second, you think he's going to kiss you.
but he stops, his lips hovering a breath away from yours.
"beg for it," he whispers. "tell me how much you need it."
something inside you snaps. the frustration, the desperation, the weeks of pent up need.
"please," you choke out, the word ragged. "chris, please. i need it. i need you."
that's all he was waiting for. his mouth is on yours, hungry and demanding.
it's a kiss of starvation, his tongue is in your mouth, claiming you, and you kiss him back with equal desperation, your hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer.
his hand slides from your ass around to the front, pushing between your legs. he groans into your mouth when he feels the wetness seeping through your leggings.
"fuck," he pants, breaking the kiss. "you're soaked. god, you really needed this, didn't you?"
he doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes your leggings down, his fingers finding your slick, swollen folds. you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as he circles your clit.
"so sensitive," he murmurs, watching your face as he slides a finger inside you. "gonna come just from this? just from my fingers?"
you can't form words, just babble his name as he adds a second finger, curling them just right.
his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing in tight, circles as his fingers pump inside you.
you're grinding down on his hand, shameless in your desperation, chasing the release that's been building for months.
"look at you," he breathes, his voice thick with awe and satisfaction. "so fucking beautiful."
you can feel the orgasm building, your thighs starting to shake. "chrisâŚi'm gonnaâŚ"
"no," he says, pulling his hand away completely.
the loss is so sudden, you cry out a wounded, frustrated sound. your eyes fly open, glaring at him. "what the fuck?"
he just smirks, a slow curve of his lips. he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he licks them clean (which was hotter than you wanted to admit). "not yet. you don't get to come that easy."
he shifts, kneeling between your legs, taking off his shirt in one smooth motion.
mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, the lean muscle dusted with hair that trails down into his sweatpants. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband, pausing.
"you want this?" he asks, palming his hard cock through the fabric. it looks thick, heavy, and your whimper in response.
you nod, eyes wide, transfixed by the movement of his hand.
"use your words," he commands, his voice dropping to that low and rumbly tone. "tell me what you want."
you swallow past the lump in your throat. "i want you to fuck me."
"how?" he presses, dragging his sweatpants down just enough to free himself. your breath hitches. he's bigger than you expected, thick and flushed, curving up towards his stomach. he wraps a hand around it, giving it a slow, lazy stroke. "tell me how you want me to fuck you."
"hard," you whisper, then say it louder, with more conviction. "i want you to fuck me hard."
his eyes flash with desire. "that's my girl."
he leans over you, bracing his hands on either side of your head. he doesn't enter you, just lets the head of his cock drag through your wet folds, bumping against your clit. you whimper, lifting your hips, trying to take him in, but he pulls back, teasing you.
"so impatient," he tuts, but he's smiling. "been thinking about this, haven't you? lying in your bed at night, touching yourself, wanting to be fucked like this?"
"yes," you admit, the word a breathy confession. "god, yes."
he lines himself up then, pressing just the tip inside. you gasp at the stretch. he pauses there, torturing you.
"who gets to make you feel like this?" he asks, his voice a low growl.
"you," you moan, trying to push your hips up and take more of him.
with one smooth, powerful thrust, he buries himself in you. you cry out, your back arching off the couch. it's a painfully good stretch, the feeling of being completely full. he stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.
"fuck," he groans, his voice broken. "so tight. feels like you were made for me."
then he starts to move. it's exactly what you asked for. hard, deep strokes that make you gasp. the couch is creaking with every snap of his hips.
his hands are gripping your thighs, holding you open as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
"this what you needed?" he grunts, his rhythm brutal. "to be fucked like a little slut? is that why you've been so tense?"
you can only moan in response, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. the pleasure is overwhelming.
"chris⌠please," you beg.
"come on," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic. "come for me."
he shifts his angle, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your vision go white.
"that's it, that's it," he groans, fucking you until you're a whimpering, oversensitive mess.
he pulls out suddenly, and you whine at the loss. he flips you over with surprising strength, maneuvering you onto your hands and knees. he grabs your hips, pulling your ass up in the air, and slides back into you from behind.
the new angle is devastating. he's hitting even deeper now, letting out little grunts with every thrust. one of his hands leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back.
"look at me," he commands, his voice rough. you twist, looking back at him over your shoulder. his face is flushed, his eyes dark. "who's fucking you this good?"
"you are," you gasp, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain down your spine. "you're fucking me so good."
"damn right i am," he grunts, his rhythm faltering. "gonna fill this little pussy up. you want that? want me to come inside you?"
"yes," you sob, pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. "please, chris. come in me."
with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself deep and stills. you feel him pulse inside you, a warm flood filling you up as he groans your name, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
he collapses against your back, his weight pinning you to the couch cushions, both of you breathing heavily in the sudden silence. for a long moment, neither of you move.
finally, he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder.
"so," he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. "still tense?"
