... in which 𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 wants a bonus present while he's driving
It was late, the streets mostly empty, pools of yellow streetlight sliding over the hood as Chris drove. One hand rested on the wheel, the other loose on his thigh, and that smug little grin hadn’t left his face since dinner.
You’d taken him out, bought him drinks, listened to him brag about how “lucky” you were to have him. Now he kept glancing at you between checking the road, like he was thinking something he didn’t dare say out loud yet.
“So…” he drawled, easing the car through a turn, “what’d you get me for my birthday?”
You glanced at him. “You already got your gift.”
“Pretty sure there’s still time for… bonus presents.” His eyes flicked down to his lap for half a second before locking back on the road, mouth curling into a smirk.
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but you were already unbuckling your seatbelt.
That earned you a quick look—half cocky, half curious—before his attention jerked back to the empty street ahead. “That’s a yes.”
You slid over, your knee bumping the gear shift, the console pressing into your hip. Your hand landed on his thigh, heat radiating through the denim. He was already hard, and you saw his grip on the wheel tighten before he flexed his fingers like nothing happened.
“Little eager, birthday boy?” you teased, nails grazing up toward his belt.
His jaw shifted, eyes locked forward. “Been thinking about it since you picked me up.” The turn signal clicked, the car drifting into the left lane as his thumb tapped the wheel, the only sign he wasn’t as steady as he wanted you to think.
Your fingers toyed with his belt buckle, slow and deliberate. The metal clinked, and he let out a sharp breath through his nose.
“Yeah?” you asked, sliding the leather free with one hand.
“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now, shoulders sinking just a little as your hand pressed firmer into his thigh. “Could barely sit still at the table.”
The zipper slid down, the sound cutting through the hum of the engine. He exhaled hard, his right hand shifting on the wheel like he needed something to ground himself.
You slipped your hand into the heat of his boxers, fingers curling around him. His head tipped back for a split second before he caught himself, knuckles whitening just enough to betray him.
“Fuck…” he muttered, not even trying to hide how good it felt.
You stroked him slow, enough to make his breathing change, his shoulders tensing every time your thumb grazed over his tip.
“Eyes on the road,” you murmured, smirking when his gaze flicked back to you almost instantly.
“Don’t—” he swallowed hard, smirk twitching “—don’t start acting like you’re not trying to make me crash.”
Your grip shifted, stroking him just a little firmer, and the low sound he let out was almost a groan. His jaw worked, teeth gritted like that might help him hold on.
“God… you’re insane,” he muttered, but it didn’t sound like an insult—it sounded like he was seconds from begging.
The next red light caught him off guard, and he braked harder than necessary. His chest rose and fell fast, and you felt the tension radiating off him.
“Pull over,” you said softly.
He hesitated, eyes locked on the light like maybe he could tough it out. But the second it turned green, he jerked the wheel toward an empty side street, parking with a sharp twist of the key.
Before you could even move, he was shoving the seat back and looking at you like he couldn’t believe you were making him wait this long. “C’mere,” he said, voice rough, the faintest crack running through it.
When you leaned in, his hand found your hair immediately, threading through it—not to guide, but to keep you there, like he was afraid you’d pull away. “Please,” he added, quieter now, and it wasn’t cocky anymore.
You sank down on him without warning, taking him deep enough that his hips jerked in surprise. The noise that tore out of his throat was halfway between a gasp and a broken moan, his head snapping back against the seat.
“F–fuck—” he stuttered, hand tightening in your hair. The bravado was gone now, stripped clean by the wet heat of your mouth. His thighs trembled, and every time you sucked harder, a shaky whimper slipped past his clenched teeth.
You set a rhythm—messy, unhurried, letting your tongue drag along the sensitive underside just to hear the way his breath caught. Spit slid down your chin, coating him, and you felt his grip twitch like he wanted to push you deeper but didn’t trust himself not to lose it instantly.
“God, you—” his voice cracked hard, turning into a desperate whine when you swallowed around him. “—baby, please, don’t stop—”
You pulled back just enough to smirk up at him, your hand stroking where your mouth had just been. His lips were parted, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with need. The tiniest, rawest sound slipped out of him when you took him into your mouth again, messy and deep, and it went straight to your core.
You pulled off him with a wet pop, not giving him a chance to breathe before wrapping your slick hand around him. His whole body jolted, a desperate little whimper spilling from his lips as you started stroking fast and tight.
“F–fuck, fuck—” he gasped, hips jerking helplessly into your fist. His head dropped forward, forehead resting against the top of the seat, like he couldn’t hold himself upright under the weight of it.
Your thumb swiped over his leaking tip, smearing it down his length, and he let out a strangled sound—half gasp, half moan. “I’m gonna—shit, I’m gonna—” His voice cracked, high and desperate, and you felt him twitch hard in your hand.
You didn’t slow down. If anything, you went faster, watching his thighs tense and his mouth fall open as the pleasure crashed over him. He broke completely—whimpering your name, chest heaving, legs trembling as ropes of heat spilled over your hand.
You kept stroking him through it, not letting up until he was shuddering so hard he had to grab your wrist, mumbling a shaky, “Stop, stop—too much—” even as his hips twitched like they wanted more.
When you finally let go, he slumped back in the seat, utterly wrecked—cheeks flushed, lips parted, hair a mess, still catching his breath. You leaned in to kiss his jaw, and he gave a low, breathless laugh.
“Fuck,” he panted, eyes still closed. “Best… birthday… ever.”
idk, hope u busted! fluff soon for my fluff luvers
