Pairing: Xavier x MC
Rate: Explicit
Word count: 3.8k
CW/Tags: office AU; face-sitting; awkward talks; virgin!mc; insecurity; bad past experiences; cunnilingus; body worship; dirty talk; teasing; plot what plot
Read on AO3
"Please. Please sit on my face."
This was not the conversation you thought you'd be having on a Tuesday night. With your work colleague no less.
But alas, this was what life had thrown at you.
It all started with a truth or dare game, in the middle of an unassuming gathering at your place. Tara's idea, for the record, both the gathering and the damn game.
Everything was going well up until your other coworkers had to leave – either because it was late or they had someone waiting, or kids, or an early meeting... One by one, they went home.
That had left you with a drunk Tara and a spacing out Xavier.
Which of your wine bottles she had raided was unknown, but Tara was clearly done for the night, words slurred and breath too heavy with alcohol to be safe.
Xavier was apparently invested in analyzing your wall, his eyes fixed on a random spot, eyebrows furrowed in unusual concentration.
'One drunk at a time,' you think, getting up with a sigh.
"Come, Tara. Let's get you to bed."
"Noooooo," she looks up at you, sporting a big pout on her flushed face. "I want to keep celebrating!"
"You will. My bedroom has amazing celebration tools." pulling her up, you make sure to get her phone from the coffee table before heading to your room.
"Oh my gosh," she giggles, almost falling down as she tries to look at your face, eyebrows wiggling. "Didn't think we were that close, tee-he."
"You will love them,” you promise as you open your bedroom door, turning the side lamp on. “The first one is called Mr. Duvet. The second is Mr. Pillow. And," you let her stumble into your bed, pulling the blanket up to cover her legs, "the third one is called Ms. Aspirin. You'll fancy her tomorrow."
She starts grumbling something about unfairness, but by the time you reach your door, Tara is already fast asleep, hands clutching the fake bottle of one of your plushies.
You return to your living room, eyes falling on the figure of your neighbor. Well, work colleague who you had happened to have grown quite close to and who also happened to be your neighbor, but who was keeping tabs, really?
His eyes stay fixed on the wall for a few more seconds before he slowly turns them to you, sky blue now aimed at your figure, his usual hard-to-read face now scrunched to fit furrowing eyebrows and a pout.
You fidget with the hem of your skirt, trying to assess whether this is another drunk friend or just an upset Xavier.
"What you told Tara earlier, was it true?" He is the first to break the silence, voice even despite his pout.
It takes you another second to understand his question, "What... I told Tara?"
"During the game. When we left to get snacks," he elaborates, one finger pointing at the table in front of him. "About your ex-boyfriend."
"I–," you can't help but flush, eyes widening in embarrassment. "You heard that?"
Xavier sighs, letting his head bounce back against the couch, his lower lip juts out as he looks back at you. You have a strange feeling of deja vu – you're pretty sure you've seen him make this exact face when the office's vending machine ended up with all the instant noodles sold out.
“I heard… But,” he adds after a few seconds “I was the only one. Everyone else was still coming up.”
You let out a relieved breath. Xavier overhearing Tara and your conversation was not ideal, but it was definitely not the worst case scenario. God forbid your entire team had heard you, after all you both had been discussing…
“Sex,” he says, and your eyes snap back to his face, the slight redness of his ears contrasting with his monotone voice. “Oral sex, to be more specific.”
Embarrassed, you wince at his words. Of course, leave it to Xavier to be as blunt as possible.
From the couch Xavier keeps his eyes on you, the side lamp casting a shadow on his face. Yet again you feel like you could drown in his gaze – as if he knew you inside out, even though you were closer to strangers than to friends.
“Alright,” you concede, plopping down beside him. “What about it?”
Silence follows for a short while as he studies your face. You let him look.
It was already past midnight, the kind of odd hour where everything feels slightly unreal. A car speeds up downstairs and a neighbor flushes their toilet. You notice Xavier’s necktie is gone, and his first button is undone. Once more, you wonder if this is a drunken tantrum of his.
“Were you… serious, when you said that–”
“That Marcus from Finance was a terrible boyfriend who didn't go down on me even once?”
Xavier's pout deepens, “Yeah.”
“Well…” you sigh, looking up to the ceiling light, “I was.”
When he doesn't say anything, you fail to control your impulse to tell him more. Blame it on the mystery of the late night talk or whatever. “He… Wasn't a great boyfriend. In a lot of aspects.”
Feeling Xavier’s gaze on the side of your face, you continue, “We never got to… That. We dated for three months, he asked me to suck him off once, I did it. But…” you bite your lower lip, even the odd hour wasn't enough to subdue the shyness that came with the subject. “But when I asked him to do the same, he told me no. Said it was gross, unsanitary.” After another pause, you tell him, “So it is true. I've never had anyone do that for me. Not even him.”
When Xavier doesn't respond, you look back at him, his expression back to the furrowed brows and angry pout.
“Should I fire Marcus from Finance?”
A beat of silence passes as you look at him wide-eyed, processing his words.
“Pfft– you're ridiculous.”
“I’ve never been more serious”
“Oh come on,” you can't help but laugh at his tone. “Mr. Team Manager, you cannot fire people that are not under your jurisdiction.”
“I… can take over the Finance team.”
“And now you're planning a coup.”
“The French do that all the time.”
Giggling, you give him a small slap on the arm, “Stop that. You can't get him fired for refusing to go down on his girlfriend.”
Xavier turns his face to you, still sporting the same pout, “Ex-girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” you smile at him, “Ex-girlfriend.”
He lets his head rest back against the cushions, silver hair sprawling behind him as he, once again, stares at you, “But… Why would he be the first? To do that, I mean.”
Your ears grow hotter again, “Well… I haven't really had a lot of partners. Just small flings? Nothing that lasted long enough to build trust,” embarrassed, you divert your eyes to the coffee table. “He would be the first, first, actually.”
Xavier’s eyes widen just slightly before he closes them with a sigh, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“What a poor excuse of a man.”
You let out an awkward laugh. Truthfully, you'd probably regret this entire conversation in the morning. Xavier was your neighbor, sure, and yeah, you had developed a one-sided office crush on him, but talking about something this intimate was probably taking a step too far. Still, you can’t find it in yourself to stop talking, Xavier’s eyes lacking the usual judgment you’d expect from any man hearing your story.
“I mean… Can you blame him?” you fiddle with the hem of your skirt again, “Wouldn't it be like licking loose skin? There's nothing in it for the person giving.”
Xavier’s expression turns into one of disbelief, he looks at you with wide eyes, before a hint of pain flashes in them, “Is that what he told you?”
Once again, you look to the side.
“Should I kill him instead?”
“I could put laxative on that damn iced tea he buys every d–”
“Is he wrong?”, you ask, lower lip jutting out on a pout.
“What?!” your neck snaps back at him, eyebrows threatening to reach your hairline, “What–, Xavier, are you drunk?”
“I didn't drink a single drop. Sit on my face.”
“You–, stop saying that!”
“Then,” Xavier straightens his back, fully turning his body towards you, “Sit on my face.”
“Please. Please sit on my face.”
Powerless against such straight forward irrationality, you bring your hands up to cover your crimson face, head falling back against the couch. Behind your fingers, you mumble, “What are you even saying…”
“Stop!” you move to cover his mouth instead, “I get it, stop repeating that.”
When you don’t move to uncover his mouth, Xavier brings both of his hands to hold your wrists, eyes turning into two pleading azure orbs. “We can say it's a drunken mistake.”, he mumbles behind your fingers.
“... You said you're not drunk.”
You feel his lips against your palms, pushing up just so, as if mimicking a peck, “You aren't either.”
Something hot burns low on your belly at the way he looks at you. You had always had a soft spot for his eyes, and now that they were directly entirely at you, you could sense your reasoning slowly crumbling.
Xavier moves your hands, only to bring his lips closer, kissing the pulse point on your wrist. The little hairs on your arms raise at the gesture and you're suddenly too aware of the way your heartbeat is speeding up.
“Please,” he asks again, rubbing his cheek where his lips had just been, “I really want to.”
“I–,” but you can't form a coherent thought. The rational part of your brain repeats ‘coworkers’ over and over again, while the less rational part keeps feeding you the image of gorgeous blue eyes in between your legs.
‘Fuck this’, the less rational part supplies, ‘You've wanted this for so long, he is offering you a nice ride’.
“What if,” you start, ignoring the horny demon invading your conscience and watching the way he keeps rubbing his face against your palm, “I am too heavy?”
Xavier smiles, a hint of a predatory gaze behind his lust. “Only one way to find out”, he nibbles at your thumb.
“What if you can't breathe?”
Xavier's eyes darken and he moans into your palm, the sound sending sparks down your spine, “Promise?”
You fidget where you are seated, arousal licking at you like the slow dance of a small flame, you feel wetness start to pool on your underwear, body asking you to take this chance. Xavier's gaze drops to your hips, and you think you can actually see the way he maps your waist and the curve of your thighs.
“If,” he whispers, voice strained, “You don't want to,” he looks up, eyes meeting yours, “Then I'll stop. I'll help you clean up and go home.”
With a breath, your mind makes up itself, “I… want to.”
As the words leave your mouth, Xavier wastes no time, he releases your hands and slides down the couch, sitting on the floor with his head propped up by the cushions, eyes shining up at you with .
You hesitate for one last second, before getting up and going to him.
Crossing a leg over his body and standing over him, you look down to find his eyes watching you back. The position has you deeply aware of your choice of skirt – of how, if you were to put the thick jeans fabric away, you would need to either roll it up or take it completely off, both of which sounded depraved to do in front of a work colleague.
When you nod, Xavier holds your gaze, then moves his hands, letting his fingers brush slowly against your calves and the hem of your socks, your muscles contract on instinct.
“I am too.” he confesses, voice lower than usual, fingers coming up to brush against your leg.
“You don't look nervous,” you point out, and it is true, Xavier looks… like Xavier. Red ears and eyes slightly glossier than usual, but still, Xavier. Not that you had seen Xavier sat at your feet before, but still.
He tilts his head, left hand sliding down on your leg once again. You feel his fingers holding your ankle, before pulling gently – you're not sure what he wants, but you let him raise your foot, then place it over his chest. Under the sole, you feel his heartbeat. Fast wouldn't really cut it, Xavier’s heart is creating a rhythm of its own, thundering against you.
Surprised, you try to pull your foot back, but Xavier holds your ankle tighter, keeping you there. Gaze back on yours, he bows his head, lips coming down to brush against your leg.
You feel a shiver running up your body when he continues, still holding your ankle against his chest, Xavier moves to leave kisses on your knee, then right above it, then to its side…
“I've… Wanted to do this for so long,” he confesses amid pecks, “You have a dress you wear to work sometimes… A blue one.”
You jump when he bites slightly into the skin of your inner thigh, shooting the place with a kiss right after, “I fight the urge to get on my knees every… single… time.”
A whine leaves your mouth when he doesn't stop the small bites, and you feel the leg he is holding trembling. The closer he gets to the hem of your skirt, the more your body gives little involuntary jumps.
He hums, changing his kisses into a nuzzle against your knee. Looking back up, his eyes fall back into your face. This time, you can see it, the uneven breathing, the lowered eyelids and the flushed cheeks – Xavier screams desire, hot, molten want.
“Take this off for me,” he instructs, nose pointing to your skirt.
You move your leg back down when he releases your ankle, although he keeps his fingers close to your skin, soft brushes of his fingertips as he watches you unbuckle your belt.
“Pull it down for me?” you ask as soon as the belt is undone, fabric now loose against your waist.
Xavier slides his hands up your legs, pads gently pressing against the skin and squeezing softly when he gets to the plump of your tights. He lets his hands grab your skirt, then pulls.
You might be imagining it, but you see his breath quickening when the fabric catches at your hips, asking for a bit of a tug to properly go down.
When you finally step out of the skirt, Xavier throws it to the side, eyes fixed on your navel, mouth hanging slightly open. Curious, you look down, flushing a shade darker when you realize you had been wearing the only pair of lacy panties you owned – a black, thin thing that you had bought on a whim a few months back.
“Oh, God,” your hands come down to cover yourself, embarrassment high on your cheeks, “I–, it's not… Today is laundry day,” you mumble, “I think I only had these to wear.”
Xavier groans, eyebrows scrunching up before he hugs your legs and presses his face on your knees. To avoid a fall, you move your hands to brace down on his shoulders.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he mumbles against your knees, hugging your legs tighter.
You give him a nervous laugh, “Not on my list.”
He groans again, moving to grab handfuls of your tights. Xavier looks up, face now a deep red, lips forming a pout you were starting to grow used to, “Too bad. You'd be doing a damn good job.”
Before you can answer, he is back to kissing your skin, this time aided by the squeeze of his fingers against the back of your legs, coming dangerously close to your ass. You can only tighten your grip on his shoulders, feeling the way his hot breath contrasts with the wetness of his lips.
Feeling a pang of arousal as your pussy clenches around nothing, you fight the need to squeeze your legs together, slick coating that poor excuse of an underwear you had on.
“Xavi– ngh,” his name comes broken out of your lips when he pushes his nose up, right against your clothed sex. His hands finally find their way to your rear, grabbing at the plump skin. You grip his shirt tighter when you feel the moist warmth of his tongue pressing up against the seam right in the middle of your panties.
You feel his next groan when his lips try, and fail, to close around you. “How much do you like these?” he breathes against you.
“Huh?” Your brain grows hazy, blood flowing down too fast for it to process whatever question Xavier had thrown at you.
“Fuck it… I'll buy you as many more as you want.”
With a gasp, you feel the cooler air of the room hitting you when his hands move to tear the lace away. Another call of his name is broken by the feeling of his tongue fully pressing against you, this time, with no fabric in between.
Your back arches, and your weight shifts to the balls of your feet, a surprised whine echoing around your living room when he licks a broad stripe over your cunt.
Xavier moans as he tastes you, hands back to grabbing your thighs, neck curved to give him as much access as the position allows.
“Xav–,” but he licks over you again, and then again, fingers digging into your skin. He kisses over your mound, sucking gently at the swell of your lips, it feels desperate, anxious even.
Xavier lets his head fall back against the cushion, pulling you further above him. Your knees hit the couch and you stumble, but he steadies you.
“Sit,” he says, breath coming in quick puffs. When you don't move, he adds, “Knees on the couch.”
Embarrassment hits you again, but you follow his instructions, releasing his shoulders to brace yourself on your cushions, knees coming up to frame his face. You feel exposed, suddenly aware of the way you're probably coated in slick, but Xavier doesn't seem to care, he brings his arms up to pull on your waist.
“Lower. More… That's it,” he squeezes supple skin, “Rub down on me, ride my tongue, squeeze my head, I don't care.”
Your fingers tighten against the cushions, “Xavie…”
“Please,” he bites the junction of your tight, “Use me to feel good, let me do that.”
You nod weakly, head swimming at his words, and you keen when you feel the heat of his tongue back on you. The sound of your wetness meeting his mouth is filthy, loud squelches fill the room as Xavier licks over you. You try to suppress a moan when the tip of his tongue swipes over your hole and you give up caring when he brings his lips to suck on your clit.
Xavier sucks on you in between broad messy stripes of his tongue around your pussy, the widest part of it brushes almost constantly over your clit, while the rest of his tongue licks up and down, all the way from your hole to your mound.
Your body curves around his face, spine bowing back for short seconds every time the tip of his tongue threatens to enter you.
“Hah… Ngh, that's good, it's good Xavie–”
Arousal creeps up your spine, you want… You need to feel more of him, you need…
“Tongue,” you gasp, “Let me ride your tongue.”
Xavier moans into you, quickly sticking his tongue all the way out, letting you start your pace over it as his fingers come around to press against your lower back.
‘It's insane’ you think to yourself, mouth hanging open while you create a rhythm over his face, ‘how good this feels’. All those late nights rutting against a pillow couldn't even compare, not when his lips created such a perfect surface for you to rub over, slick mixing with saliva to allow you to roll effortlessly against his tongue.
You pant over him, grip threatening to tear the fabric of your couch as your hips paint a messy masterpiece over your neighbor's face.
“More,” you whine, “More, Xavie, please…”
He groans again, bringing his hands down. With a handful of your ass, he opens you up for his fingers, two of them pressing against your hole. His tongue retreats and you almost mourn the feeling, but he is back at kissing your lips, sucking on your clit with rhythmic pumps.
Your hands fly to his hair, silver strands spilling between your fingers, “Xavier!”
His eyes roll back when you pull, and he moans around your clit, fingers still teasing your entrance, barely pushing in.
Your spine curves and you find yourself fully seated on him, waist rutting short, constant thrusts against his mouth and fingers. Your orgasm creeps up on you, heat spreading from your belly, “Wanna… Fuck, I want to cum, please, Xavie, pl–,”
He sucks harder, tongue thumping against you on the same rhythm as his fingers do over your hole, and something snaps. Your toes curl, muscles on your belly contracting at the eminence of your orgasm. You're not sure if you make any sound, head buzzing too loud as your hips go erratic over his mouth, thighs clamping down on his face, fingers pulling his head up against you. You cum over his tongue, heart beating loud and fast beneath your ribcage.
You feel the way his own whines vibrate against your cunt, prolonging the feeling of the best orgasm you had ever had in your life.
After a few seconds, you regain enough control over your muscles to release him from the grip of your legs and hands, mumbling a small ‘Sorry’ as Xavier pulls back for air.
His face is tinted a deep red and there's slick and spit coating his nose all the way down to his jaw. Xavier looks up at you with a blissed out expression, a small smile gracing his features as he tries to catch his breath.
“Date me,” he pants, hands squeezing your thighs, “I like you,” then, after a beat, “Sit on my face again.”
You snort at the absurdity of it, still trying to regain enough feeling on your legs to be able to get off him.
“I think… You got the order wrong.”
His eyes fall close under you, but he's still smiling, “I mean it.”
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