awaytogo

[awaytogo]

gif credit @pedropascals​

heuristic function (Nathan Bateman/m!Reader) (sequel to optimal control theory) Rating: explicit Word Count: 5.6K Warnings: smut, anal sex, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, hypersensitivity, praise kink, pit licking, dubious science

For your six month anniversary — that is to say, six months since he’s been railing you on the regular — Nathan asks you over dinner, “How would you like to be bred?”

You think he waits specifically for a moment you’re taking a drink for the satisfaction of your reaction, but it’s more tempered than he probably would’ve liked. Of course, he doesn’t look disappointed; he has that serious, expectant look on his face, the same look he had when he first asked if you would fuck him, the same look he had when he asked if you wanted him to build a model of himself so the two of them could spitroast you. He anticipates an actual conversation about it, because he is not kidding in the slightest.

You clear your throat after you swallow the mouthful of wine you had and then consider your options. “Care to expand on that?” you ask.

“Breeding, like you’re in heat,” Nathan says, like it’s a normal thing to say. “And you, y’know, need my cock and aren’t satisfied ’til I breed you.” He pauses, then adds, “With my cum.”

“Right,” you say, “no, of course. So like a roleplaying thing?”

“No, not a roleplaying thing,” Nathan snaps back impatiently, unamused, “a real thing — a primal drive. A physical imperative for my dick.”

“One could argue that I already have a physical imperative for your dick.”

“Don’t get cute.” You grin, but you can tell you’re riling him up. He concedes the argument for now, popping a piece of unagi in his mouth. This is how these discussions work: he introduces the subject, you resist, he relents, you submit. It’s almost exciting, how clearly he had you pegged, how badly he knew you needed to be fucked. Though your resistance is only out of a sense of caution, you can tell by the tension in his jaw and the way he’s eating that he’s frustrated — embarrassed, almost. It’s sweet.

“So you want to breed me,” you press, and his eyes flash up at you, brow furrowing. “How?”

“Well, essentially, it’s a poison.” You have no choice but to nod because, technically, you asked. “And the cure is in my dick.”

“Now who’s getting cute,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “So you take the antidote or whatever and it transfers—”

“Through my cum, yeah,” Nathan responds. “Totally nonlethal, by the way: hypersensitivity, fever, part aphrodisiac. And some pheromone shit going on. And I take the antidote, which is also like viagra, so I can, you know, really dump a few loads in you.”

“I don’t know if viagra really—”

“It makes me virile, is the point. So what do you think?” He almost looks hopeful.

“I think you aren’t a biochemical engineer, and as a hobby, it feels pretty dangerous.” You take a sip of your wine. “What’re the side effects? What if it never wears off? Then, what, I’m physically dependent on your cum for the foreseeable future?” He smirks at that. “Yeah, I know. And what about you — I mean, what do you know about what it does to you?”

“Man, you are constantly busting my balls,” Nathan grouses, and you don’t feel the need to point out that it’s technically your job to bust his balls. “Can you just trust me on this? I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t feel confident in what I would put in our bodies. Okay?” And even though he looks disgruntled, as though you dared to question his genius, there’s an off-putting edge of sincerity in his tone. Do you trust him?

“Okay,” you say then, your voice soft, “okay, let’s do it.” He stares at you for a moment, waiting for the catch. “How do we take it?”

Nathan grins. “Dessert.”

—-

Dessert is, of course, green juice. Bastard’s always trying to get you to try one of his green juices, and you’re finally at his mercy. He seems inordinately pleased with himself as he sets them before you, yours a tinge darker than his. You stare at it; it seems rather unfriendly, as far as juices go.

“You gonna pussy out on me now?” he asks, not touching his own. He probably has to sync this perfectly. You wonder whether or not he took into consideration the differences in metabolism, the amount of food you’d both eaten, the amount of alcohol consumed. You almost ask him, even as these logistics branch off into dozens of more questions, and then you set your jaw. You are making the decision to trust him. God help you.

His hand touches yours when you grab the glass. You look up and meet his steady gaze. “I want you flat on your back,” he tells you, and though the line catches you off guard, there’s a warmth to his tone too. He’s trying to tell you something, in his own bizarre way.

As disgusting as it looks, the green juice mostly tastes like apples and kale. You drink it steadily, all in one go, and he doesn’t look away from you. When you set the glass back on the table, he smiles.

—-

The fire is almost dead by the time you feel tired enough to go to bed, your own hyperawareness of every minute change in your body exhausting in its own right. You’re with him on the couch, though the only part of you touching him is your foot touching his thigh. You’d never thought of yourself as a particularly cuddly person, nor Nathan, but before you’d moved to the couch he said you should refrain from touching him for “the best possible result.” Your foot was an acceptable enough infraction; he’d rested his hand on your ankle a couple of times, just for a few moments, before remembering himself.

It was only during this time that you thought about the nights you’d spent reading separate books, ensconced in all sorts of casual contact. Sometimes, especially if he’d been drinking, he’d lay his head in your lap. You loved to run your hand over his buzzed head, and you could tell by the way he closed his eyes that he liked it too. He’d sling an arm around you while you watched movies or kick at you until you gave him a foot rub, though he would reciprocate when you least expected it. And, yes, most often the touches led to more, but you realize they had grown more affectionate than you’d come to think, and you realize that you’d spent more nights in his bed than not, even if he hadn’t fucked you that night.

So when you tell him you’re going to bed and he says, “You should sleep in your room tonight,” you can’t even hide the dismay in your voice when you immediately ask, “Why?”

He looks at you and you instantly feel a flush of embarrassment, averting your gaze. He grabs your ankle again and says, “Hey,” his voice quiet but firm with authority. He leans over and braces himself above you, his face inches from yours. “Trust me, okay?” You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree, and he kisses you, the first and last of the night. You think it must be the beginning of the serum (it feels strange to think of it as a poison) taking effect that makes your heart flutter. It’s not until you’re halfway to your room that you realize otherwise: it was the kiss that had been different. It had been chaste. Sweet, even.

—-

You wake up with a dull hangover, your body aching and your head pounding and incredibly resentful of being in a bed alone. You don’t want to get up, not even to find Nathan or food or water. You don’t even think about it; you try to roll over and go back to sleep, but you feel too awakened by your own discontent. It didn’t work — he didn’t touch you for an entire night and made you go to your cold, empty room alone and it didn’t even work.

You press your face into a pillow, groaning. As much as you can try to avoid it, eventually you will need to leave this bed. You don’t want to present Nathan with his failure, not only because you’d have to console him but also because there’s a part of it that hurts, the realization that you’d actually believed this ridiculous thing would work. The realization that you were wrong to trust him.

Much to your shock and extreme dismay, the thought makes your eyes well up with tears, your face flushed with an almost juvenile humiliation and betrayal. Unbidden, the memory of his sweet kiss last night springs to mind, and you make a weak noise as you think that he will never kiss you like that again. He will retreat into himself, work harder to correct his mistake. You were just another project.

Even as you’re breathing heavily into your pillow, you try to quell the sudden tidal wave of emotion that threatens to overtake you. Though you were not as emotionally stunted as Nathan, you knew when feelings didn’t serve you and brought them under heel. You needed to stop thinking like his — like his paramour. You needed to do your job. You could do that, at the very least: provide detailed notes on your experience. Monitor how long the effects last. Talk about it calmly and rationally with him over coffee. First and foremost, there was definitely a hormonal imbalance as a result of the poison. But no physiological effects beyond fatigue.

Feeling slightly more energized now that you’re thinking about things empirically, you roll over and swing your legs over the side of the bed. As soon as you attempt to stand, your legs buckle underneath you, refusing to support your weight and leaving you in a pile on the floor. Breathing heavily, you press the flat of your palm against the floor and try to push upward, but you cannot summon the strength.

So maybe there were physiological effects after all.

You grit your teeth and with all of your might manage to prop yourself up against your bed, but even climbing back on top of it seems like too much effort. It’s not the experience you’d expected at all: you feel slightly warm, yes, but not outright fevered. And you certainly aren’t craving Nathan’s dick — if anything, you just want him to be tender with you, to take care of you until whatever he put in you passes.

What if that’s what he’d intended after all?

A pure, bright rage passes through you and tightens your jaw. Even though your mobility may be inhibited, you still have the lung capacity to holler, “Nathan!” as loud as you can, feeling your chest burn with it. It still rings in your ears afterwards, the resounding silence filled only with your heaving breaths and, eventually, the rushed patter of his feet pounding down the hall.

“What the f—” you begin as the door opens, but then he steps inside.

He’s been working out, shiny with sweat and out of breath, not helped by his sudden rush to get to you. You can smell him from across the room — a small part of you knows that it’s not because he reeks but because your senses are so suddenly heightened. You open your mouth and can practically taste the salt of him. It’s so overwhelming you stop breathing for a moment, and when he says, “Oh, shit,” his voice sounds richer than it ever has. You close your eyes and drink it all in, wanting to drown in him.

When you open them again, he’s rooted to the same spot, watching you with a mixture of naked concern and slight fascination. Your head swims. “What did you do to me?”

“It worked.”

“Don’t say it like you didn’t think it would,” you mumble, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”

He takes a few careful steps forward and kneels down, still out of arm’s reach. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m not feeling a physical imperative for your dick,” you tell him, half-smiling, but he’s nodding seriously. Listening to you. “I feel… off.” You close your eyes for a moment, trying to clarify yourself. “Weak. Emotionally unstable.”

“So nothing out of the ordinary, then,” he says, and the softness of his tone makes you want to cry. It must show on your face, because his next question is tinged with worry, “What do you want, baby?”

You open your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to get a hold of yourself. You find yourself embarrassed with how much you want to be weak for him, to let him take care of you. You don’t want to ask him for anything. He must sense that, too, because he rests his hand on your ankle and his touch is electric. “Tell me,” Nathan says, his voice firmer. “No wrong answers.” Since when the hell could he be like this?

“Would you…” you begin, but a squeeze on your ankle encourages you to continue, “would you lay with me?” You feel guilty for asking it, but almost instantly, Nathan is scooping you up like you’re nothing and laying you down on the bed. He clambers in and spoons you, the warmth and dampness of his sweat making your skin clammy. Still, it’s immensely comforting to be touching him, to be so close to him. You pull an arm over you and you gives you a protective squeeze, drawing you in as the little spoon.

“I can’t believe I make you sleep on this bed,” he muses, his words reverberating through his chest and through your back. It makes you smile.

“Maybe if you’d let me sleep in your room, you fucking asshole,” you yawn, and you think he responds quickly, but everything grows fuzzy. With him right by your side, it’s like all of the pain and discomfort subsides, and you slip into darkness before you know it.

—-

“Oh shit, baby, fuck—”

You whimper as you stir, feeling nearly delirious when you open your eyes. The lights feel too bright, forcing you to squeeze them shut again as you focus on sensation: Nathan’s body burning like a furnace against you, the slight scratch of his beard against your back, his intoxicating musk, his hard cock nestled in your ass. As warm as you feel, you feel even more drawn to him, a moth fluttering into an open flame. You press your ass back against him, feeling him grind against you, and a plaintive moan escapes your lips.

“You with me, baby?” he asks, his voice buzzing in your ear. His arm holds you tight against him, his hips pressed flushed against yours. He says your name.

“Nathan,” you say, your mouth dry. You need water. You can’t bear to move away from him. “Daddy,” you keen, feeling his cock twitch against you. “Daddy, it hurts.”

“I know, baby boy,” he says, his voice tight. “Oh fuck, do I know.” He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, nibbling on your ear. “Daddy’s gonna make it better. I promise. Can you open your eyes for me, huh?”

“Too bright,” you tell him, tilting your head towards him and squeezing your eyes shut tighter against the overhead lights. “Can we turn off the lights?”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m not gonna see this,” he mutters, more to himself than you. The arm wrapped around you leaves, and you whimper softly until his hand touches your face, guiding your head slightly. “Open your eyes, baby. Trust me.”

Hesitating only slightly, you open your eyes and take in the dizzying amount of light before everything focuses on his face, only inches from yours. He looks awestruck by you, uttering a soft “Holy shit,” as he sees your eyes, which must be a mirror of his — pupils blown far too wide, black and hungry with lust. “Holy shit,” Nathan repeats, thumb stroking your cheek as your eyes continue to adjust. You swallow around nothing. “I’ve got water right here,” he tells you, glancing over to the nightstand beside the bed. Even as he pulls away slightly, you cling to him, burying your face in his neck. You even lick at the sweat there, feeling his Adam’s apple bob in response.

“Don’t leave me,” you plead, your voice weak as you look up at him. “Daddy, please, I feel—” Your mouth opens and shuts as you try to think of the word, try to organize your thoughts even slightly. “I feel empty.”

“Oh, Christ,” Nathan breathes, pulling you tighter against him. “Hold on for me one second.” He reaches over with one hand, his other arm still wrapped protectively around you as he grabs the glass on the bedside table. He takes a drink first before taking another mouthful of water and guiding your face up towards his. You follow his touch eagerly, and when his thumb pulls at your bottom lip, you open your mouth wide enough so he can lean in and let the water slip between your lips. Nothing has ever tasted so cool and refreshing, and once you swallow you lean in and lick into his mouth, pressing all of yourself into him.

“Shit, baby,” he tells you as he puts the glass back on the table, “my fuckin’ dick hurts, I need to fuck you so bad.” You moan at the thought, him finally making you full and making you feel good. “You want that?” He leans up to take his tank top off, but as soon as his arms are stretched over his head, you bury your face in his hairy, sweaty pit. You can feel your cock twitch as you rub your face against his gland, lapping up the salty sweat and marking yourself with his scent. “Fuck,” Nathan swears as your tongue laves his pit, licking him clean.

“You taste so good, Daddy,” you tell him, and you go to do the same with his other pit, but he makes a strangled noise and shoves you down. A hand between your shoulders forces you to stay facedown on the bed as he maneuvers himself around you, pulling at his shorts.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” Nathan asks, pulling at your underwear and lifting your hips so your ass is exposed to him. “Oh, fuck, I don’t—” His hand leaves your back but before you can move, it’s spreading your cheeks so he can nestle his fat cock in your ass and rut against you. He feels hard and hot, the thick head catching against your hole which twitches for him, practically beckoning him inside. “Shit, no—” Nathan says, unable to help himself, and you can feel him spurt onto your lower back and your ass. “Fuuuuck.” He still thrusts against your ass like he can’t help himself, spreading his load between your cheeks.

“Daddy, please,” you beg, rubbing back against his cock and feeling it twitch again. “Please, give me your cock, please—”

“Oh, shit,” Nathan says, pressing lightly against your hole just to feel it give. “I need — gotta get you ready—”

“I am ready,” you protest, your own cock spouting precum like a fountain. He’s barely touching you, his thrusts slowing down as he no doubt admires the mess he’s already made of you. You look back at him, eyes bright and shiny. “I need you,” you plead, “I need your fat daddy dick, please give it to me, please—”

He presses into you, and although you’ve gotten more used to taking a cock of his size, you’ve never felt him enter you this easily before. Your body accepts him like he was the missing part, and you let out a breathless moan as he fills you to the hilt, his cock harder and fatter than ever. It slides in easily, coated by his cum, and he pulls out only slightly before grinding his way back in, his heavy balls flush against your ass.

You make a low, satisfied sound, clenching around the fat daddy dick splitting you apart, and you think your own cock starts to spurt as a wave of warmth overtakes you. He swears above you, but you simply let the top half of your body melt into the bed while your ass remains up in the air for him to fuck as he pleases. He saws his cock in and out of your hole, at one point pulling out entirely so he can smear more of his seed along his shaft before he plunges back in. The thrust is so forceful it pushes you further into the bed and you make a shocked noise, your cock twitching in response.

“This what you wanted?” Nathan asks you, hips bucking into you so hard the entire bed begins to shake. He swats at your ass when you don’t answer him fast enough, then again just to feel you clench around him. “Huh? Daddy’s dick big enough for you?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Only ever want Daddy’s dick.”

“Goddamn right you do,” he answers, his grip on your hips tightening to the point where you’d expect bruises to form, if you had the capacity to think about the future or anything beyond him reaming your ass. Nathan huffs. “Licking my pits — only thing that’d taste better than that must be my cum, huh, baby boy?”

“Please,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can glance back at him, “please, cum in my mouth, Daddy.”

“Oh, no, baby,” he tells you, smiling cruelly as he pushes your head back into the mattress, his thrusts growing erratic. “Wasted too much cum already — the rest of it is for this sweet little ass of yours. But maybe after we’re done, I’ll clean you up, give you a taste.”

You moan at the thought, him eating your ass out after he’d creampied it, just like he’d shown you before. Remembering the glimpse of his own load in his beard, your ass squeezes his cock like a vice as you cum again, dick spurting onto the sheets below. He spanks you again before he starts to cum.

If you thought having his cock fill you was the best feeling in the world, having him cum inside you is pure euphoria. As he pumps a creamy load deep in your ass, it soothes your feverish delirium like a balm, your body radiating with relief. It seems to go on forever, even longer than his first orgasm, his cock spurting and spurting until it begins to spill out around his balls. Even then, he grinds his hips, planting himself as deep inside you as possible.

“That what you needed?” he asks, collecting some of his cum on his fingers and feeding it to you. You moan around him, licking his fingers clean and sucking them for good measure. “That feel good?” Nathan hasn’t flagged yet; you can feel him grinding his rock hard cock into you still, more of his cum spilling out around his dick with each churn of his hips. “You want some more?”

“Please,” you answer, pressing your ass back against him and even moving forward, pulling off his cock before thrusting back. He guides your hips, letting you do most of the work as you fuck yourself back against his cock until the urgent need for him overwhelms the fading satisfaction of him having creamed you nice and good. You thrust back more rapidly, making desperate little noises as you do so, frustrated that it doesn’t feel as good as when he’s the one fucking you.

“Hang on, kid,” he says, planting a hand on your ass and, much to your dismay, pulling out of you entirely. When you try to press back blindly after him, he gives you another swat for your insolence before he rolls over, sitting up at the head of the bed. You look over at his cock, red and creamy and still twitching like he’s ready to bust any minute. “Come ride Daddy’s dick.” He pats his thigh.

You scramble up onto your hands and knees, and thankfully he helps you straddle him and guide his cock back into your waiting hole. Once you’re fully seated on him, you take a breath, planting your hands on his shoulders as you adjust to the feeling of him again. He’s looking up at you, his eyes still dark but now fond as well. He leans in to kiss you, and when you open your mouth for him, you feel his cock give a telltale throb. You break the kiss when you begin to move your hips, taking what you want from him by using him as leverage to thrust up and down his massive shaft. He restrains himself from moving for the moment, letting you take what you need from him until you’re bouncing hard on him.

“You’re such a good boy,” Nathan coos, tweaking your nipple, “fucking yourself on Daddy’s cock like this. Taking me like this. I—” His tongue appears to wet his lips, a flash of pink amongst the dark forest of his beard. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you, baby?” Your bouncing slows down until you’re just grinding on his cock again as you try hard to understand his meaning, but then he lifts up his arm and offers you the pit he’d denied you earlier.

With a broken moan, you lean in and clean it with your tongue, tasting the fresh sweat that’d broken out while he fucked you. His cock throbs hard inside of you as you desperately clean him, and when you clench hard around him, Nathan fucks up into you with a few thrusts until he’s pumping you full of cum again. The feeling — not only of the relief washing over you but also off his hot, creamy load stuffing your already full ass so much so that it spills out — and his stuttering moan overwhelms you so much that you feel your own cock spurting in response, your ass rhythmically tightening around his cock as you milk him for all he’s worth.

—-

You’re not sure how long you’re like this. It feels like he fucks you for forever. After you finish riding him, he flips the both of you over and plants your legs over his shoulders as he fucks you missionary, which you secretly suspect is his favorite position because of how deeply he can kiss you during it. He kisses you like he’s desperate for air, half-muttering beginnings of sentences into your mouth as he does so, and you beg him for another load as he gives you his big, fat cock over and over again.

After that, despite the fact that you’re still desperate for his touch, you’ve both calmed down enough that he can convince you to drink more water and take a shower with him. He’d had the noble intention of trying to clean you up, but it was only a few minutes until he was balls deep in you again, making you cum twice in the shower and once more while drying you off. His own pace was slowing down notably; he only gave you one more load in the shower and refused to cum once drying you off, not until you’d gotten back into bed.

There, he took you on your hands and knees again, and though he’d cleaned you out slightly just before, his next load was dripping down his balls. The two of you rested for a little while, him spooning you with his still hard cock inside of you, but it was only so long before you were thrusting back against him and he was fucking you again.

You could feel your cognitive function returning to you, bit by bit. By the time he was fucking you on your side, you mostly felt normal, which was to say completely exhausted and cockdrunk but not downright hysterical anymore. Another fatigue had begun to settle over you, this one signaling the end of the poison’s effect.

“Nathan,” you moan when he hits a particular sweet spot, only for him to stop his movement altogether.

“What happened to Daddy?” he asks, sounding almost petulant. You look over your shoulder at him, finding his expression utterly serious even as he leans in for a quick kiss when you purse your lips for him. “Huh?” he pushes, biting at your bottom lip. “Am I not your daddy anymore?”

“Relax, Mr. Bateman,” you grin, “just wanted to mix it up.” He almost pouts at you for a moment, leaning in and giving you another soft kiss. He pumps his hips once into you, like he can’t help himself.

“Maybe you were right,” he murmurs against your lips, “maybe I needed it. Maybe I like it when you tell me how good Daddy makes you feel.” He grinds into you again, his nails biting into your hip. You gasp slightly, the same dangerous feeling stirring in your gut at the confession. “Will you tell me?” Nathan asks, his voice silky soft, knowing exactly what he’s doing. His hips begin to churn again, and your cock spits precum as he grinds into your prostate. “I’m so close. Please?”

Your breathing picks up as he continues grinding into that spot. “Oh, Daddy,” you moan, and he sets his jaw and pulls his cock out of you to the head before thrusting back in hard. “Oh, fuck, Daddy!”

“I make you feel good, baby?” Nathan demands, continuing his brutal thrusts, his aim for your prostate unerring. Every time he sinks back into you, he gives you another pump of his hips, just to make sure you’re taking all of him in. “Answer me — who makes you feel good?”

“You do, Daddy!”

“Whose cock makes you feel good?”

“Your cock, Daddy!”

“You like this cock?”

“I love it,” you cry, and his hips stutter, his grip turning painful. “You’re so big — so thick—”

“You want my load, baby boy?” he gruffs, his balls drawing tight. “Tell me you want it — fuckin’ beg me for it!”

“P-please give me your load,” you gasp, his hips clapping against yours hard, “please, breed me, Daddy!” He makes a noise at that and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and though he cums first, you follow immediately after once you feel him start to cream you. He pulls you flush against him as he thoroughly empties his balls, depleting his reserves of cum to fill your ass until it’s spilling out of your hole once again. The wave of relief comes over you again, and with it a sense of finality, his antidote finally having cured you.

You wince when he releases your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the teeth marks as an apology. As always, he keeps his cock in you as it begins to soften, the two of you remaining in your spoon configuration. Nathan hooks his chin over your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“What was that for?” you ask, glancing over at him. He’s not smiling, but his gaze is soft and warm.

“Thank you,” he tells you, rubbing his hand up your chest. “For uh. Trusting me.” He pulls out of you when you motion to roll over, and the two of you make twin noises of disappointment when he finally stops filling you. You can feel his cum leak of your hole but remain unbothered by it as you turn onto your back, petting his beard.

“I’d say it was a success,” you begin, stroking his chin. “Though what time is it? We’ve been fucking all day — it’s obviously been great, but it’d be nicer to have the effects toned down so the window is shorter. If it were to be something we did regularly, I mean.” You hum thoughtfully. “I could also do without the initial effects. The emotional volatility, the… neediness.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he murmurs, his expression inscrutable. You sigh.

“No, I guess getting soft wasn’t part of the plan, either,” you say, smiling ruefully. Then, trying to pass your tone off as casual, you say, “You probably didn’t even know this was—” But you can’t say it. It’s too embarrassing to say out loud. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it, and you especially don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Of course I knew,” Nathan replies, sounding almost disgruntled. You look back up at him, eyebrows raised. “What, you think I forgot? You think I wasn’t planning this for months?” He scoffs at your apparent speechlessness. “Don’t give me that look — I love you, of course I knew.”

“You what?” you ask, and he rolls his eyes at you.

“I love you. You just let me poison you so I could fuck you better, which, yeah, was really hot, but of course I love you.” You’re having a very difficult time processing this news when he truly manages to sound nonchalant about everything, like you were discussing another project. But you aren’t another project. Because he—

“You love me,” you repeat, and he makes an impatient noise and kisses you deeply and soundly.

“Say it as much as you want, it ain’t gonna change, baby,” he promises, grinning lasciviously at you as he grabs your soft cock, making you gasp. “I love you and this and that sweet ass of yours are all mine. And don’t you forget it.” Though the poison (the poison) has worn off, you swear you could jump his bones right then and there. Nathan Bateman, your boss (mentor), the smartest man you’d ever met, the biggest dick you’d ever taken, loves you.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[awaytogo]

gif credit @pedrohub

(except for when i’m missing you) (Frankie Morales/m!Reader) Rating: explicit Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: light angst, oral sex, facefucking, come swallowing

“Of all the gin joints in all the world…”

Even over the din of the bar, his voice, warm and low, cuts through you like a knife. You feel yourself tense, knowing what you’ll see if you look, but you’re powerless and you look anyway. His shaggy hair. His patchy beard. The tentative upturn of his smile. Those brown eyes.

“Frankie,” you say, blinking, as if he’ll vanish in an instant. But he remains there, forced close enough in proximity by the crowdedness of the bar that you can feel the heat of his body, that you almost think you could smell him. He looks older, softer, more tired — and it’s only been a few years, but it feels like an eternity, and you cannot believe he has the gall to be standing in front of you. You’d thought about this moment thousands of times, all of the things you’d wanted to tell him, and you’d thought more than once that this hypothetical reunion would include you throwing the drink you currently have in hand in his face. But you look at his face and you know you can’t do it; you can think of whatever excuse he’ll give you and whatever hangdog expression he’ll give it with, and drink throwing will never be as satisfying as it seems. You look at his face and you cannot breathe. Four years of getting over him gone in an instant.

You set your drink on the bar carefully and try to think of anything to say to him — what could you possibly have to say to him? Anything you’d prepared is wildly insufficient — but what you end up doing is brushing past him without so much as another word, your gaze set clearly on the exit. The cool night greets you, and it’s only after you’ve escaped the din of the bar that you can hear your own ragged breathing.

—-

He comes out about halfway through your cigarette, which has done little to quell your nerves thanks to you nervously watching the door waiting for this very moment. Goddamn it, he looks so good walking out to meet you — broad and silent and eyes only on you, and you can think of all the cigarettes you shared in your time together, the warm brush of his fingers against yours, the way he’d mumble “bad habit” and smile all the same.

“That went about as well as I expected,” he says when he’s close enough, nodding at your cigarette and continuing, “Thought you quit.” That’d been about six months before he’d disappeared on you. You’d sucked his cock a lot during that time, joking that you needed to do something else with your mouth. You take another drag and say nothing. “Kinda thought you were gonna throw that drink at me,” he tries, “or hit me.”

“You were too close,” you tell him. “I wouldn’t have gotten a good trajectory.” He smiles then, and it makes you want to melt. You’re livid.

“You can take a swing now, if you want. I wouldn’t blame you.” Frankie leans in a little, lifting his chin, as if he actually expects you to hit him.

“Why are you here, Frankie?” You can tell by his wince that he would’ve rather you hit him, but he leans back and rocks on the balls of his feet, reaching up to adjust a hat that he isn’t wearing. He scratches his head instead.

“I wanted to apologize.” You’ll give him this — there’s no bullshit with Frankie. He looks you in the eyes and gives it to you straight. “I didn’t like how I left things.” You smile in disbelief, scoffing at him.

“I didn’t like it either,” is all you can think to say. You’re afraid to say more, not because you’re afraid to reveal the depth of your hurt but because if you open the wound back up now, you worry it may never stop bleeding. His mere presence is digging into a scar.

“Something came up,” he mutters, and before you can even begin to lay into him, he continues, his voice quiet and tight: “I have a kid.”

A car pulls into the parking lot, the flash of its headlights giving you both an easy out from having to meet each other’s gaze. You can feel parts of yourself creaking like a sinking ship, on the verge of something vital and internal bursting under the pressure. You take a shaky drag and say, “Fuck, Frankie.”

“I know.” He sounds like he does know — not just the shock of him having a kid (not that it’s altogether shocking, how many times had you secretly thought of him having a kid, of you two having kids, how many times had you said nothing about it) but the weight he just put on you. “I…” He swallows, reconfigures his thoughts. “I needed to make sure she was taken care of.” You look at him, not at all sure what to say. As far as excuses go, this is a pretty good one.

“What about her mom?” you ask and hate yourself instantly for it. A warmth rushes to your cheeks — you’re being stupid. He’s come to apologize, to give you closure. There’s nothing else. He even smiles ruefully at the question, as if reading your thoughts.

“It’s best for us not to be together right now,” he says, and you don’t want to ask any more, but he adds, “we’re good, though. And she and the kid are close enough that…”

“Close enough to where?” you ask, hopeful and incredulous all at once. “Here?” He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You can tell by the look on his face alone. It would be so easy, startlingly easy, to accept this for what it looks like. It’s an effort to shake your head, and you hesitate a moment before you say, “Frankie, you can’t be serious.” You want to tell him you’ve moved on, but it wouldn’t exactly be true — there’s been a smattering of dates over the past few years, a handful of one night stands, but you’ve become considerably more gunshy since he’d left. And now you’re standing here wondering if this was what you’d been hoping for all along.

“I just…” He works in jaw in search of something to say. “I wanted to see how you were doing. More than anything, I wanted — to see you.” You suddenly want to finish your cigarette, looking for somewhere to stub it out, but you glance back at him when he grabs your hand and says your name, low and soft. His eyes are dark in the night. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He gives your hand a squeeze and then drops it, lips turning up in a soft smile as he turns around and starts to walk away, not back towards the bar but toward his truck that you now notice across the lot. He could never come back, for all you know.

“Frankie!” He stops and looks back at you. The cigarette drops from your hands and you only remember to snub it underfoot after you ask, “What’re you doing tomorrow?”

—-

“You know, when you asked me to put up some shelves, I thought that might’ve been code for something else.”

You look up from the shelves lain out on your coffee table to appraise him. He’s just wearing an old, familiar t-shirt and a pair of jeans, an outfit you’d probably seen him in a hundred times. You say, without thinking, “And that’s how you decided to dress?”

He bursts out into a loud, unselfconscious guffaw, and seeing the grin overtake his expression is like the clouds parting to let a ray of sunshine beam in. It’s infectious, though you glance away to hide your smile somewhat. “You don’t have to,” you say suddenly, even though you pointedly promised yourself that his putting up the shelves was the sole reason for his invitation into your home.

“Nah,” he says easily, still looking quite pleased as he picks up two of the shelves to test their heft. You try not to notice how big his arms look. “Where d’you want ‘em?”

The shelves go quickly enough — a task you’d been putting off for months done in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Though surely Frankie does the work more efficiently than you ever would, and talking with him makes the time go by fast. He asks you a lot of questions about what you’ve been up to, purposefully keeping things light, asking about mutual friends. When you ask him about his military buddies, he quiets and moves on to a different subject. You hesitate to ask about his daughter — or her mother — for the same reason.

After the shelves comes the squeaky door and the leaky faucet and you’re suddenly trying to think of things that need fixing or tending to (beyond yourself). You stay by his side, even when the conversation lulls; you watch his hands work, watch the way his shirt rides up and exposes a sliver of his stomach, watch the sweat on the nape of his neck.

A few hours of work are eventually rewarded with a cold beer, the two of you collapsed into your couch. It feels familiar. Safe. Comfortable. You tell him an inane story about work, the details blurring in your mind, as you notice that he’s still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that you’re close enough to smell his deodorant. He chuckles warmly at your story and the sound hangs in the air, warm and soft like the dying embers of a flame. You stare at his mouth until you realize his eyes are trained on you; he smiles a little at the discovery.

“You been seeing anyone?” he asks you softly, and you’d commend him on waiting so long to ask you in such a direct way, but you’re too busy trying to think of what the right answer is. The truth is, you’ve gone on a few mediocre dates and had a few regrettable nights with guys you barely think about. The truth is, you still think about Frankie. The truth is, when you really think about it, you were ready to call it before he left: Frankie was your guy.

“A few people,” you say, wetting your lips and not missing how Frankie stares at your mouth. “Nothing serious. Nothing like—” You look away, but there’s no point in denying it. “Nothing like you,” you shrug. When you look back up at him, he’s still staring at you, his lips turned slightly downward in the suggestion of a frown. The acknowledgement makes the dull ache you feel brighten as if beckoned forth, a pain so keen you can only take a deep breath and collect your empty beer bottles to take into the kitchen. You know Frankie’s hand will find your wrist before it does, but the warmth of his palm shocks you all the same, makes your heart stutter as you look up at him and find him entirely too close. He leans in, so close you can smell the beer on his breath, and you inhale sharply and stop him before he can continue.

“I forgot something.” He rumbles low in his chest, not particularly backing off but waiting for you to continue. You force yourself to look away from him, worried about being pulled in too deep by his eyes. “Something else I wanted you — if you don’t mind.”

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low and coarse. It practically makes you shiver. He hasn’t relinquished his grip on you yet. So when you stand, he follows, only letting go when you set the beer bottles back on the coffee table and lead him to the bedroom. Why would you lead him to the bedroom? Your eyes scan the room in panic, searching for something, anything to make him… fix. Something beyond the bed, the bed you’d spent many nights in together, though the sheets are different.

“My dresser,” you decide then, at random, wincing when you see what Frankie must see: the detritus of your life, pictures and loose change and ticket stubs and candles, all compiled on top of a dresser never meant to be moved.

“You want me to… move it?” Frankie asks, glancing between you and the dresser, and before you can say anything else, he glances over to an empty patch of wall. “There?”

In for a penny. “Yeah. Please. Or I—” But Frankie brushes past you to give the dresser a good shake, see how precarious all of the decorations on top of it are. He passes you a framed picture and a candle and picks up the rest of the dresser with a grunt; you stumble out of his way at the last minute, watch him strain himself to half-carry, half-push the piece to situate it on the spot he’d picked. His efficiency would’ve been more impressive were it not for the strained groan he makes and the way he shoves the dresser against the wall none too gracefully. Once he gets it over to the general area, he pushes at it and adjusts it so it’s straight and somewhat presentable. You put the picture and the candle on your bed and watch as he braces himself against the dresser for a moment, showing you only the broad expanse of his back, spotted with sweat from the day’s exertions.

“Frankie.”

“Yeah,” he says on an inhale, his voice tight like he’s still catching his breath. He turns to face you and his face is a bit ruddy, his eyes in search of whatever challenge you might give him next. Anything to prove himself.

“Take off your pants.”

He takes a few moments to process that, still breathing hard, but then without a word he unbuckles his belt and unzips his zipper and drops his pants about halfway down his thigh, enough to show you his cock hanging fat between his legs. He’s not fully hard, but you don’t miss the way his cock twitches with interest when you step towards him and get on your knees. He leans back against the dresser slightly as you reach out to touch him, not reaching for his dick but instead brushing your thumb against a familiar scar on his thigh. You kiss it, as you’ve done many times before.

You almost thank him for his help today, but when you look up at him and see him looking down at you, you can only smile. You lean in to kiss his cock, breathing in his familiar musk — so heady it makes you dizzy. You trace the seam of his balls with your balls before sucking one into your mouth, closing your eyes when you hear him moan above you. You’d missed this feeling, the familiarity of Frankie, knowing his body almost as well as your own. You allow yourself a moment to be lost in the sensation: the taste of salt in your mouth, the feel of the hair on his thighs under your palms, the sound of him panting your name so quiet you can barely make it out.

You lave the other ball with your tongue, his cock almost fully hard thanks to your attention. Frankie’s gripping onto the dresser now. You grab one hand and bring it to cup your face, gently guide you as you lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft. His fingers tangle in your hair, but he doesn’t force you to do anything. It’s just a gentle pressure as your take your time soaking him with your drool, but you’re grateful for the bite of his nails in your scalp as you suck the thick head of his dick into your mouth. Your tongue massages the tip, but you don’t take any more of him into you despite how much you’ve been dreaming about him stuffing your mouth with his cock.

He lets you pull away. You lick at his slit again as a reward before leaning back to pull his pants further down, giving him room to spread his legs even more. He does as soon as he can, accidentally thrusting his cock into your face. You don’t mind one bit.

“I missed your cock, Frankie,” you breathe, licking another stripe along the fat vein running through the underside of his shaft. He makes a noise above you, swallowing thickly.

“Fuckin’ missed your mouth,” he grits out, and so you decide to take as much of his cock in as you can. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten how big he was, but you’d been out of practice; you gag around him after only a few inches and have to pull back, moaning around him. He bucks into your wet mouth again, making your eyes water as you struggle to accommodate his girth. “Shit, sorry, baby, I—”

You pull off with a wet pop, panting as you look up at him. “Do it,” you tell him earnestly, glancing back at his thick, hard cock, soaked with your drool and the head turning an angry red. “Fuck my mouth. Please, Frankie.”

He hesitates over you, his free hand lingering on the dresser until you bring it to your head, letting him tangle his fingers in your hair. You don’t want to think; you just want him to take. You open your mouth for him, and his grip tightens.

He starts slow, sliding his cock past your lips, almost teasing you as he pulls back right before he hits your gag reflex. But then he slowly pushes forward, and you relax your throat the best you can and try to let him in further, your eyes tearing up with the effort. He breathes out slowly as he keeps feeding you his fat dick, your lips stretched around his thick shaft until you feel the brush of his balls against your chin. “Good boy,” he whispers above you, and you whimper around his cock — it’s been a while since you heard that. He pulls out just as slowly, gentle but firm with his ministrations, teaching you how to take him again.

“You ready for me, baby?” Frankie rumbles, and you hum around him. He takes a moment before he starts fucking you in earnest, making a sound of disbelief as he half-thrusts, half-pulls your head onto his cock. Your mind goes wonderfully blank, focusing on nothing but the strain of taking him, the warmth of his hands on your head. It feels like coming home.

He can barely say a word when he begins to cum, just the first syllable as his cock twitches dangerously on your tongue and he pulls back just in time. You feel the head swell up before he pumps his heavy load into mouth, hot and creamy. You swallow it down eagerly, even licking at the slit to make sure you’ve caught everything before you pull away. It’s a relief to lean back and catch your breath as Frankie runs his fingers through your hair, a welcome bit of familiarity.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, but you tug at his hand so he kneels with a groan. His face is still a bit ruddy, but he seems relaxed, happy, a bit dumbstruck. You’re sure you must look the same, cockdrunk and stupid. There’s a faint pang of realization that you may be making a mistake, that you should ask him to leave and let that be it. But he cradles your face so gently and gives you a kiss so sweet it feels like you’re reattaching yourself to him. A satisfying click. You pull at him until the two of you fall back onto the floor, him half on top of you, lazily licking into your mouth.

“You gonna let me return the favor?” Frankie asks eventually, cupping the warmth in your groin. You breathe him in, think again about asking him to leave, think about asking him to stay the night, or perhaps forever. But there’s something more pressing on your mind.

“Baby,” you murmur, seeing his eyebrows raise in interest. You press another kiss to his lips, to soften the blow. “I think I liked the dresser better where it was before.”

[awaytogo]

gif credit @pariztexas​

optimal control theory (Nathan Bateman/m!Reader) Rating: explicit Word Count: 8.2K Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, robot sex, vaginal sex, squirting, anal sex, anal fingering, spanking, creampie, daddy kink, size kink, dirty talk, cockwarming

“Would you fuck me?” Nathan asks you in the middle of the afternoon in the lab, dangerously sober, which is what makes you the most concerned. It’s possible it’s still an ego thing, but it would’ve been way easier to pass off had it been during or after dinner, when you’d known he’d had something to drink. He doesn’t even bother to look up at you, still typing furiously at the computer, but the way he’d called it across the room, calm and clear, makes it clear he expects an answer. Would you fuck me? Like you haven’t been imagining choking on his cock since the day you met him.

“Theoretically?” you reply, stalling for time. Maybe he’s broken through on something, though he doesn’t need the validation. You stop taking notes, stop double checking his work he never needed you to look at in the first place.

“Sure,” he says, in a dubious tone. “Theoretically, would you fuck me.” It’s still a dangerous question to answer. He’s still your boss, as much as he’s loath to admit it. You take a respectable amount of time and maintain an even keel to your tone.

“Let’s say yes,” you answer, swallowing, scared to look at him. But the immediate silence that follows draws your attention to him, and he’s staring at you, his expression neutral.

“So let’s say in actuality.” It feels strange, to be proven right but never in a way you necessarily expected. Nathan never struck you as swinging that way, as being particularly interested — you’d had a boyfriend when you started working with (for) him. There had been polite conversation about it. He’d asked you about him months after you’d broken up; you told him the truth. You weren’t torn up about it.

You weren’t pining for Nathan, at least not to your own detriment. The work itself was all-consuming in its own right; working with Nathan was rewarding. It was validating. Just because you so happened to fantasize about him sitting on your face was really your own business. You had no real romantic notions about him. He’d probably be horrible to you, romantically speaking. But you knew he’d be a good fuck, and it was a healthy outlet for your fantasies.

Healthy-ish.

“In actuality,” you repeat, lifting your chin somewhat as you say the first thing that comes to mind, which is, “bringing me to a remote, undisclosed location makes the notion of consent a bit dubious, doesn’t it?”

“Only if you don’t feel you can tell me no,” Nathan says, like the idea is preposterous to him. He wants to run through the entire game. So be it.

“You’re my boss.”

“I’m your mentor.”

“Not an entire world of difference, there.”

“It’s hotter, for one,” he snaps back, sounding almost annoyed, “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m teaching you, and I’m sure I can be teaching you sex things, too. Not to say that boss stuff isn’t hot, but it’s a different flavor.”

“I’m not even entirely sure if you’re interested in me or if I’m the only warm body around,” you say, already knowing how insecure you sound and hating it. He has you on the defense. You hate it when he does this.

“You know, I haven’t actually heard you say no yet,” Nathan says, leveling his gaze at you. You wonder what would happen if you gave in to him, if he’d just pull down his gym shorts right then and there and fuck you with his donkey dick. If he’d tell you to do things. If he’d use protection. You’re almost certain he’d bear no risk of disease he wouldn’t be able to immediately treat; you could have his cum filling your ass in about twenty minutes.

You make sure to look him in the eye and tell him, “No, Nathan,” before you return to your notes, finding a mistake like he’d left it there to test you.

—-

You dream of the stretch of his cock, the way he’d put his back into nailing you, his tight grip on your hips. You dream of straddling his thick thighs, leaning back until you feel his balls flush against your ass, your hand planted on the breadth of his chest. You dream of his teeth on your neck, him hissing something about how much he has to teach you before you come hard on his cock.

You wake up hard and grinding into your bed, your ass arched in the air like a bitch in heat. You rut mindlessly for a few seconds before remembering the cameras stationed all over the compound, and then you roll over onto your side, weighing the pros and cons of jacking off in the shower.

You don’t.

It leaves you a bit tightly wound as you head up for breakfast, knowing already you’ll find Nathan outside in the gym. You fix yourself a coffee and step outside for a breath of fresh air — and maybe a whiff of his musk.

He’s prowling around the punching bag, well into his workout, if the sweat he’d worked up is any indication. His hands are taped, his tanktop is soaked through, and you try not to notice the movement in his shorts as he quick steps around, try not to think about whether or not he’s wearing underwear. Maybe a jockstrap, if you’re lucky; you imagine it framing the generous cheeks of his ass, maybe soaked through with the sweat of his balls. Your mouth waters. You sip your coffee and let it sit scalding hot on your tongue for a second, just to bring you back to the moment.

“Morning,” he says, jabbing and then hitting hard, his hand making a satisfying sound as it lands a hard blow into the punching bag. “How’d you sleep?” He hasn’t asked that since you first came to his facility. You ignore the question.

“How long have you been up?” you ask. He’s always up first. Sometimes, he just doesn’t sleep. It gives him an advantage. At the very least, it helps him recover from the previous night, slumped on the couch. You wonder when you started keeping score. All of this is by design.

“Bout an hour,” he tells you, straightening his posture, turning to you. “You wanna spar?” He’d have you pinned to the floor in two minutes flat. Maybe if you were lucky, he’d lean his entire weight into you, maybe even give you a surreptitious grind of his hips, let you feel what you’re missing. All of that solid, sweaty flesh, suddenly in direct contact.

“I’ll pass,” you say, choosing that moment to make a tactical retreat. It’s a solid few moments until you hear him hitting the bag again. It’s impossible to discern any emotion from the sound of the impact, but you try all the same.

—-

He doesn’t mention fucking you again. It doesn’t stop you from thinking about it — you had never stopped thinking about it, but now he brought it to the forefront of your mind, dropped it like a grenade and walked away. You hate knowing this was his intent all along. You spend your day in the lab minding your own work (technically, minding his) while he works with whatever model he’s currently on. The distance helps, in the sense that there’s less inspiration.

It hinders you as well, because you have plenty of time for your imagination to run wild. You rerun yesterday’s conversation, last night’s dream, this morning’s encounter over and over again, trying to gauge his interest, trying to imagine how things could’ve played out differently.

Jacking off is an admission of weakness. You cannot guarantee he won’t be watching, and if he sees, he knows he’s gotten to you. Part of the resistance is the game, but you hate the feeling of losing all the same. You want to impress him. You want him to bury his cock in you, again and again, until you can’t move, until his cum is overflowing from your ass. Somehow, these things seem mutually exclusive.

But by the time night falls and you have dinner and you eventually retreat to your room, you need to relieve some tension. Maybe you’ll be able to refocus yourself. So you lock the door behind you and make your way to the bed, kneeling and retrieving your bag out from underneath it. You pull out the lube you’d had stashed away and then feel around for the dildo you brought — something you used sparingly, only when you missed the feeling of being filled, really only brought in the case of an emergency such as this.

Your hand closes around a mesh encasing and you pull out an unfamiliar sleeve of considerable size. From feel alone, you already know what it is but you can’t believe it until you open the drawstrings and pull out a metal dildo, sleek and shiny and weighty in your hand. There’s no realistic design — no head or balls, just a hefty shaft with seamless design. You check the bottom for a battery cap, but it just ends with a black base, no power source to be found.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, running your hand up and down the shaft, feeling your knees spread slightly just at the thought.

Sometimes an admission of weakness is a strength in and of itself.

—-

Climbing up the stairs is a herculean effort you bear with little more than a grimace. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

He’s waiting in the kitchen. Of course he’s waiting in the kitchen, big hand wrapped around a disgusting looking juice, and the way he looks at you, which is to say no particular way at all—

“Morning,” he offers diplomatically, and you are mindful of your posture as you sidle past him to pour yourself a cup of coffee. “Sleep well?” You bite the inside of your cheek, staring with concerted effort at the countertop. You nod. “That’s good,” Nathan says, with exaggerated kindness. You can feel his stare burning into you. “I didn’t sleep well at all.”

“Something keep you up?” you ask, like your voice isn’t hoarse from screaming his name clenching around the unyielding metal, like you hadn’t given him a show. You finally look at him, catch his exasperated expression.

“You could say that.” You hum your mild disappointment and amble over to the cabinets, not even sure what you could manage to put in your mouth right now. “You okay?” You hear Nathan ask, sounding too close and too faraway all at once. “Walking kinda funny.”

“Tell me something, Nathan,” you say, turning on a heel, “is it true to size?” The question brings him up short; at least, it has the appearance of bringing him up short. It’s hard to imagine which scenarios he hasn’t planned for in this game of his. The thought is almost overwhelming — no matter what, you’re playing into his hand. You want to be playing into his hand. You hate losing.

“Nah,” he says after a moment’s hesitation, like an admission of guilt, and quickly quashes whatever vindictive thrill that rushes through you by following it up with a simple, “I got a fat dick.” It’s your turn to be brought up short, as the two of you stand there, both knowing you’re imagining the fat dick in question.

“How do I know you’re not just interested in me because I’m the only person who’ll say no to you?” you ask.

“How do you know you’re the only person who’s said no?”

“When’s the last time you asked someone?” you shoot back, and he’s silent for a moment. He’s thinking. You don’t press what little advantage you have.

“Let me show you something,” he says, eventually. You let him.

—

He takes you, of course, to his room. You’ve been in it before, often helping him stumble into his bed. This time he isn’t leaning on you for support. He isn’t touching you at all. He asks that you sit in a chair; you do, and he doesn’t even touch you then. He just leaves you.

You stiffen in your seat when he returns, leading in a woman. What looks like a woman. You almost don’t want to look at her face; you’d long since stopped taking interest in his latest models, had focused on the coding and the theories alone. You hated to see the look in their faces, first because they were too inexpressive and then because they were too realistic. She looks at you, placid, perhaps a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“Easy,” Nathan says, his voice startlingly soft, and you realize only belatedly that he’s talking to you. You have to unclench your jaw. She’s wearing a slip; you’re surprised she’s wearing anything at all. The false modesty makes it worse.

“Nathan,” you breathe, your voice thick in your throat. He looks at you for a long moment, waiting for you to ask him to stop. You think about leaving. You sit there instead.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, and this time he’s ostensibly talking to her, guiding her chin with his finger so she looks at him. Her smile comes naturally and then he kisses her, slowly, filthily, letting you see the way he licks into her mouth with sure, insistent strokes of his tongue. The sound of their kissing is so loud in the silence of his room it’s practically obscene; he hums low in his chest and nibbles on her bottom lip. It comes away slightly swollen and flushed, and she almost seems like she’s breathing harder. She doesn’t have to breathe at all.

She steals a glance at you, almost furtive, as he removes her slip, revealing her pert breasts, her pebbling nipples, her creamy, unblemished skin. Your eyes catch sight of the small thatch of hair at the center of her legs and you avert your gaze for a moment, swallowing thickly. He created all of this. All of it for him to enjoy as he pleases. You aren’t sure if you’re envious or nauseous.

He cups her breast and runs a thumb over her nipple, bending down to suckle it. Nathan takes his time to explore her tits, at first gentle and sensual before becoming possessive, almost cruel, and she smiles up at the ceiling beatifically. He carefully guides her onto the bed and she clambers up onto her hands and knees; he directs her, aware of his audience, decides to give you her profile. Once he’s finished, he gives her a firm slap on the ass, and you flinch like it was you he was hitting.

And then he takes off his shorts.

He wasn’t kidding about having a fat dick. Though the dildo ran on the larger end, Nathan’s cock is downright intimidating — he’s hung like a donkey, and worst of all, he knows it, casting you a sideways smirk as he gives himself a few pumps to get to full hardness. It’s big and meaty between his thighs, the foreskin stretched so tight around the dark head just barely peeking out. It’s a mouthwatering dick, a dick that could leave you aching for days, the kind of dick you’d always fantasized about him having: a real man’s dick, one that would truly own you.

“She’s not the latest model,” Nathan says casually as he climbs onto the bed and positions himself behind the woman, still presenting herself with no mind of what’s about to split her open. “I just use her to test body mods sometimes. Scratch the itch and all. Got the sweetest little pussy, though.” He begins to push into her cunt, giving her his cock nice and slow but meeting no resistance, just pushing and taking until his balls are flush against her ass. He presses down on her lower back and she arches obligingly, pushing herself against his cock. “Creams like nothing else. Even squirts.” Before you can even think to respond, he asks, “You wanna see?”

“Yes,” you say without thinking, wishing you could see the stretch of her cunt around his cock, but it’s still a sight to see him gripping her hips and beginning to fuck her, hard and rough and perfect. She’s wet; you can hear the squelching of him fucking his cock into her tight pussy over and over again, that and the slaps of his balls against her ass filling the room, along with his slightly labored breathing.

“You’re into that,” he says, casually, too busy plowing her to look at you. “The squirting, I mean — you search for that shit a lot. Lot more straight porn than I woulda thought.” He pulls out to show you his cock, big and red and shiny with her wetness, giving it another few slick strokes. “Why do you think that is?” Nathan asks as he flips her over, spreads her legs like they’re his to spread. You hold your breath as you watch his cock sink into her — it shouldn’t fit, it’s too big, but he presses in to the hilt anyways.

“Because,” you say, unthinking as he braces her legs on his shoulders and goes to town. Her entire body shakes with every thrust, he’s fucking into her so hard.

“Cause you wanna be fucked like this?” he pants, spreading one leg to the side so you can see better, watch his dick disappear into her. “Wanna be owned like this?” You make a strangled noise and he almost laughs as he rails her, moves her around like an acrobat — pressing her legs to her chest, practically bends her in half. “You like it when guys keep their shirts on,” he says, and you realize he’s still wearing his tanktop, which he’s quickly sweating through. It almost makes the curve of his ass look more pronounced; you want to bury your face between his cheeks.

He pulls out again, now panting as he turns her over, props her up on hands and knees again. Another spank as he gauges your reaction, your sharp intake of breath. “You like that,” he says, not much of a question, but there’s a teasing edge to his voice as he pushes in again, a bit rougher. He groans. “So fucking tight.” He takes his time now, rocking his hips into her with slow, sensual thrusts — you can only imagine how her pussy feels, filled with his cock. He reaches around and begins to play with her clit, forcing himself balls deep in her as he says, “Come for daddy.” It feels like a gut punch.

You aren’t sure if it’s because she’s programmed to do it or not, but she lets out an effective, evocative moan as she squirts around his cock, soaking him down to his balls. His thrusts pick up as she keeps on coming, almost endless as he says, “Aw, yeah, there we go — it’s so goddamn wet.” You almost think he’s about to come but he pulls out to let you see his cock; he’s dripping, his dick so fully engorged that the foreskin has fully pulled back to reveal the fat, red head. He gives himself a light stroke as he catches his breath, watching you take him in.

“You like the daddy shit,” he tells you, dipping his fingers into her dripping cunt, three at a time, just pumping them in and out thoughtlessly. “Even the shirt thing — I don’t really get it, but it makes you feel more owned, right? Doesn’t have to be daddy, either. You like ‘em all: stepdads, teachers, bosses. Even mentors?” A gleam of white in his beard from his teeth.

“Not an easy search term,” you somehow manage, your voice sounding level despite the fact that your cock is aching in your pants and you’ve likely soaked through your pants with your own precum. You feel scarcely able to move, but speaking somehow makes you aware of how physically aroused you are, of how actually close Nathan is. You could reach out and feel his cock, hot and creamy in your hand.

“Fair enough,” Nathan says, turning back to the model as he pulls his hand out, considering his three wet fingers. “You love it,” he muses, seeming for a second unsure of what he may do next. “You love this, too.” He brings his wet hand to grip her hips and he mounts her again, but this time, he begins to force his donkey dick into her ass.

You gasp as you watch him do it, inch by inch — surely she cannot feel pain, but he must’ve constructed her hole to be tighter, to be more of an effort to get inside. If anything, she seems more visibly pleased by this development, her face contorting in obvious strains of pleasure as she presses back against him. He steadies her and sinks in to the hilt with a deep, satisfied groan.

“God, I used to love fucking girls in the ass,” Nathan tells you, rutting into her even though he can’t fill her any more. “Guys, too, I mean — I just think they come harder. I always liked it when girls needed a little convincing, but as soon as I was in them, whew — they were fuckin’ animals.” He takes his time with his thrusts, drawing himself in and out of her with maddening deliberateness, maybe to let you see the stretch of her hole around his fat hog. “Maybe I got the right kinda dick for it. Maybe it was just the satisfaction of giving into the chase, you know?” You did know. You know at that moment that when you give into the chase, which may be imminently, you will come harder than you ever have before.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, drawing out the vowel as his thrusts pick up and his hips clap into her, tilting his head back. “Ohh, fuck, man, she’s so fuckin’ tight.” Another slap, and he’s really pulling her back onto his cock now, just railing into her with abandon, so much so that you wonder if—

“You know what,” Nathan grunts, setting his jaw as he fucks her like a bull, “I really picked up on in your search terms?” He gives her a few more solid thrusts before he pushes in and lets out a deep groan, trying to get as deep in her as possible as he empties his balls. He grinds his hips, making soft, satisfied noises as he twitches with the aftershocks. He looks at you. “Creampie.”

You swallow thickly. He stills for a moment, catching his breath, his tank top now spotted with dark rings of sweat at the pits and along the stomach. “Fuck,” he breathes, his entire expression softening, if only for a moment. But before you can register any vulnerability, the moment passes, and he pulls out of his cock out of her, drenched in her juices and his own spunk. There’s even a pearl droplet sitting at the head, one you wish you could collect on your tongue.

You stare at Nathan’s cock until he positions her and spreads the cheeks of her ass to expose her hole. You gasp softly as you see it, gaping and well-fucked, a trickle of his cream already dribbling out. Rather than using his fingers, Nathan kneels and licks into her asshole without any preamble, groaning deeply as he tonguefucks her, as sloppy and as loud as possible. He plunges his fingers into her cunt again, adding to the obscenity, and you think he makes her come again as he eats himself out of her, if the noise she makes is anything to go by. Satisfied, he leans back and turns to you, some of his own cum caught in his beard.

“I can craft the sweetest, creamiest pussy,” he says, now moving across the room to stand before you, his large, softening cock startlingly close to your face until he kneels down to meet your eyeline. “The tightest asshole. I can program objectively one of the best fucks anyone’s ever had, and I can dump my load in them any time I want. But it’s nothing.” He glances down at the wet spot in your jeans and grins. “Nothing compared to the feeling of a real, warm human body underneath you. The feel of you trying to accommodate my dick because you want it that bad. The shock when you feel how hot my cum is inside you. I never have to ask again, if I don’t want to. But I’m asking you. You’ve seen what I can do.” He gives your cheek a light pat, making you jolt. Nathan grins with all of his teeth and winks. “Think about it.”

He stands up and ignores his shorts, letting you get a good view of his fat ass as he collects the model from the bed with a quiet, “come on,” and walks out of the room. You stay seated, feeling the wetness he left on your cheek.

—

He’s gone by the time you emerge from the shower, resolve thoroughly shattered and knees still weak. It’s not just that he’s busy in the lab, or locked in his room, or hidden somewhere else in the facility. He has completely disappeared.

You go about your days because you have no other choice, but what is worse is that you do not think about how there is no other choice. You go about your days with utter and absolute certainty that he is coming back, and when he does, he is finally going to fuck you, and the thought is enough to keep you afloat. You think back to all of the conversations you had, you think back to watching him ream that woman — thing — woman in front of you, you think of how his lips will feel against yours, how his cock will split you open, and you wait. And you are calm until you’re not, until the day he inevitably comes back, perhaps because he has you down to a science. It’s flattering and discomfiting and infuriating all at once.

But perhaps your reaction takes him by surprise because by the time you emerge from your room and head up to the kitchen to find him leaning against a counter like he’d never left, all you can think to say is “Do you want to spar?”

He blinks at you. “Hi,” he says slowly. You can see he’s assessing you, studying you, the slight tension in your jaw, the light in your eyes.

“Hi, Nathan,” you say to him, like you’re placating a child, “do you want to spar?” He sniffs, narrowing his eyes at you in slight disbelief. Waiting for the catch. The stakes, maybe. You stare back at him coolly, and when he takes too long to answer, you go to move past him, to grab the pitcher from the fridge. His hand is warm and calloused when it grabs the inside of your elbow. When you look at him, you notice that you’re taller. You’d never noticed before. He could knock you on your ass in a minute.

“Let’s do it,” he says, his gaze boring up into yours.

——

“Take off the glasses.” You’re down in his training room, the two of you standing a healthy measure apart, him stretching and you watching. He looks up at you and cocks his head.

“Why?” he asks, and then there’s a flash of white in his dark beard. “You think you’re gonna break ‘em?”

“I think I’m gonna knock them right off your fucking face,” you tell him seriously, and he grins at you again, beckoning you with a twitch of his fingers. He crouches a bit now, braced for action as you start to move, the two of you circling each other like sharks. You keep your posture loose, your arms only slightly tensed at your side, openly taking in his physique: the breadth of his chest in his grey tanktop, the meat of his arms, the flash of his thighs as his shorts move.

You lunge for him suddenly, dead-on. He moves to the side and slaps your hand away, jabbing you in your exposed ribs. It smarts, but you know it can hurt worse. It’s just a tap, to prove to you that he can — he’s the one who retreats, beckoning you to him again, reeling you in. You mirror his posture, slightly tensed and defensive, and the next time there isn’t a need to charge him. He’s close enough that it’s two steps and then you’re swinging again, feinting with your right hand and then swinging wide with your left, hoping to cuff the side of his glasses. He grabs your arm and uses your momentum against you, throws you away from him. You stumble and right yourself, huffing as you turn on a heel and advance again.

He bats away all of your attacks like this, with the patience and infuriating, placid calm of a teacher. He wants you to do better. Every sharp tap he gives you, to show you where you’re weak, feels like it’s lighting up your body, and you want him to really hurt you. You want him to take your body and do what he will with it. You could just tell him this. But you seek out a more difficult opening instead, find yourself growing more and more frustrated the longer he evades every one of your attempts at him.

You get lucky — or maybe he lets you get lucky, but it requires enough effort, dodging his jab and essentially slapping the glasses right off his face. They fly across the room and skitter to the floor; you stare at them for a moment before Nathan sweeps your legs out from under you and you land flat on your back, his forearm braced to your throat. You knee him in the chest, giving yourself enough room to roll over and brace yourself to get up before he kicks your legs out from under you again. Suddenly all of his weight is on you as he wrenches your arm behind your back, only as painful as he wants, which is to say utterly bearable. You’re prey, submitting to the predator; you practically bare your throat as you feel your pulse flutter, feel his breath hot in the shell of your ear as he straddles you, forcing you onto your belly. He pulls your arm a bit, to show you how much more he could make it hurt.

“This what you wanted?” he buzzes right into your ear, and you can barely look behind you to see him or gauge his expression. He gives your arm another twist and you make a broken sound. “Huh? You wanted Daddy to teach you a lesson?” You make a noise at that, swallowing your protests and trying to wriggle to loosen his grip and make a bid for your freedom.

Your breath catches — audibly, loudly — as he grinds his hips against yours, lets you feel his half-hard cock right against your ass. The sudden contact is so overwhelming, bringing a rush of heat to your cheeks. Your body reacts without any conscious thought, pressing back into the heat of him, no longer trying to wrest yourself from his grip but trying to put as much of yourself in contact with him as possible. “Mmm,” he hums in your ear, the groan vibrating through your chest, “that’s what you want?” You feel the scratch of his beard against your temple as he moves closer to your face — when you turn to him you can see the glimpse of an eye. You wonder if he’ll kiss you. You twist your head to offer him your mouth, but you feel his breath hot against your cheek. “You been thinking about me?”

“What do you think?” you ask him, your voice too strained to hold any heat, your throat thick with tension. You still underneath him, stop pushing your ass against his cock, just lay there and feel his breathing. What happens next is up to you.

“I think you’re still not asking me,” he says, infuriatingly calm. His thumb strokes your wrist, feels your pulse jump. You feel like you can’t get enough air in your lungs to voice the request; you breathe in a few times, know you’re becoming bright red under his patient gaze.

“Nathan,” you choke out, your voice trembling, averting your gaze, “please—”

“Look at me,” he instructs, his grip tightening on your arm now, “look at me when you ask me.” He shifts his weight ever so slightly, allows himself to fully face you as you force your eyes back to him. He licks his lips in anticipation.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, feeling your heart thundering against your ribs as you say, “Nathan, please, fuck me.” He’s still for a moment, save for the slight smile hidden in his beard, before suddenly he’s moving your arm, not twisting you further and not letting you go but pinning your arm over your head, burying his face in the crook of your head as he—

“Feel that?” he asks, his words muffled against your skin as he grinds his hard cock against your ass, relentless. You moan like the air’s been knocked out of your lungs, his hips moving so sensually, so expertly. “You want that?” You feel beyond words, trying to push back against him but all too happy to submit to him, to remain pliant in his grip. He huffs a laugh of disbelief. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” Nathan leans in, pitching his voice low. “Would you let me fuck your mouth? Blow my load all over your face?”

“Please,” you beg, wanting to touch him, to feel him, to let him wreck you in whatever way he sees fit. “Please, anything.” His hands, still holding your wrists above your head, give you a squeeze before they release you — you hold yourself there, performing as expected even as he sits up and leans back, denying you his warmth and weight for a moment. And then he says something miraculous:

“Next time.”

His hands pull down your shorts, not off all the way so he doesn’t have to move away from you but enough to have you spread out underneath him. He pushes up your shirt as well, exposing as much of you as he pleases, his hand grabbing a cheek with a firm grip and giving it a proprietary jiggle before giving it a light slap. You gasp, feeling him soothe the sting with the flat of his palm before he parts your cheeks to look down at your hole.

“You been using your dildo?” he asks, massaging your cheeks now, touching you as much as he wants with his warm, rough hands. Your cock is trapped beneath you, pinned into the hard floor and profusely spitting precum. You’re almost concerned that you’ll shoot your wad just from him touching you; you’re trembling underneath him.

“No,” you admit, with some difficulty focusing. “I’ve been — waiting for you…” He exhales softly behind you, still rubbing your cheeks methodically, handling your ass like it belongs to him.

“You know why I left?” Nathan asks softly, holding your cheeks apart and peering down at your twitching hole. Suddenly, he spits onto your crack, his thumb rubbing it onto the surface of your asshole. You gasp, feeling him begin to press in before he relents. “I went to sit in a hotel to sit and do nothing for a week so I’d have a big load to give you when I got back,” he admits, sounding half-distracted as he presses the pad of his thumb against your hole again, and your hole finally sucks him in to the first knuckle. It’s nothing compared to the dildo, but a part of him is inside you, and he’s telling you how big a load he’s going to give you—

“Jerked off on day four, though,” Nathan says, sounding unrepentant, pushing his thumb in further. “Thought about eating you out. But you…” He withdraws his digit and lets another glob of spit drip onto your ass, now twisting his index finger in. “You’ve been a good boy, haven’t you? You wanted to wait for Daddy to cum?”

“Nathan,” you gasp, clenching tight around his finger even as he forces it deeper, pumping it in and out a few times before adding another. “N-nathan, please,” you beg, his two fingers feeling so thick inside of you, curiously crooking in search of your prostate. You feel like you’ve soaked your stomach, either with sweat or your own precum, but you’re about to make a worse mess if he doesn’t stop.

“Must be pretty keyed up,” he coos sympathetically, giving your ass another light smack just to feel you tighten up around his fingers. You claw at the floor uselessly, shaking. “Poor baby,” he says softly, his thumb pressing on your taint as he keeps fingerfucking you. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you real good.” You sob, knowing he’s pressing your buttons, hating how your cock jumps every time he calls himself Daddy. “Don’t worry,” he tells you, his voice drowned out by the yowl you make when he finds your prostate and begins pistoning his fingers into it, all while pressing down on it from behind your balls. “I cum a lot. I still got a good creampie to give you.”

You feel your cock spurt hard before you realize you’re cumming, but you chase the orgasm anyway rather than trying to hold back, letting yourself spurt and spurt against your stomach as he fingerblasts you into oblivion, prolonging the earth-shattering pleasure of it all. You make a low, gutted sound and for once, he’s silent behind you, though he continues his ministrations enough to make you go as long as possible. Eventually, you make a weak noise of protest and he lets up on your prostate, though he doesn’t remove his fingers right away. Instead, he gives you a few more cautious pumps, feeling your hole relax around him.

Nathan pulls himself out and turns you over on your back, your head lolling to the side and seeing the puddle of cum you’ve just unloaded onto the floor, not to mention your stomach. Your arms still remain stretched out over your head, your shirt rucked up to your armpits, and Nathan finally removes your shorts entirely before spreading your legs for you, planting your feet on the ground. He admires you for a second, and you lazily roll your head to look at him, flushed and dark-eyed, not able to see the tent in his shorts from his angle.

“Okay, killer,” he says, ignoring your half-hard cock, instead scooping up some of the cum from your stomach and rubbing it onto your hole, into you. You moan weakly but angle your hips towards him, let him do whatever he wants with you. He continues this, using your load to lube you up until he stands and shucks his shorts. His big cock is peeking out from behind his jock, so turgid the underwear has just been moved to the side. He slides that off too and tosses it onto your face. “Hold onto that for me. Hands and knees.” He gives your flank a tap, but you take a moment to touch his jock, sweaty and potent, breathe it in deep.

Suddenly, his hands are on his hips and he’s picking you up, turning you around. You scramble to rebalance yourself on your hands and knees and gasp when he lands a sharp slap to your ass. “Pay attention,” he grouses without any real heat, though he doesn’t rub your ass this time. Instead, he uses more of your cum to slick up his cock, rubbing it in the cleft of your ass but not giving it to you yet. “Ask me nicely,” he demands. His dick is so wide it fills the entire space of your ass, keeps your cheeks spread apart.

“Please, Nathan,” you beg, rubbing yourself back against him in hopes to entice him, no longer sated but desperate to have him inside you. You look over your shoulder at him, struggling to hold yourself up with the effort. “Please, Daddy, fuck me with your big cock. I need it.”

Apparently satisfied, Nathan refocuses himself and guides his fat dick into your eager hole, though it’s no easy task. It’s a conscious effort to accommodate him. “Relax,” he grits out, barely inside you and feeling your hole clench against him like a vice. “Be a good boy. Let me in.” You take a deep breath and try to push back, but he stills you, slowly inching his way in. “Fuck,” Nathan spits, laughing in disbelief. “Fuck, it might not actually — I haven’t had to think about this in a while, it might not even fit.”

You feel dizzy, wondering how much of him is inside you but knowing that it is not all of him. And you’ll take all of him. You keep trying to push back, but he spanks you again with a heavier, urgent hand. It has the opposite of the intended effect, making you moan and clench around him. “Fffuck!” Nathan shouts, losing his cool, “don’t fucking do that — so goddamn tight. Goddamn!” He stills for a moment, and when his hand rests on your hip, you can feel the slightest tremor. Your cock is drooling again, rock hard.

You two remain silent and still for a moment; you can tell he’s controlling his breathing, controlling everything in himself. It almost excites you more, makes you want to make him lose his cool. You moan impatiently, arching your back and thrusting back against him, even if it does force his cock deeper inside you when you aren’t fully ready.

“You’re barely gonna fit,” you tell him, sounding slightly out of breath, like he’s been pushing the air out of your lungs. “Daddy, your cock is too big—”

“Fucking brat—”

“I should’ve used the dildo,” you pant, “got myself ready for you, but I wanted you so badly, Daddy, I wanted it to be you, and your cock is so nice and fat—”

“Fuck!” Nathan yells, suddenly thrusting himself fully in and drawing out a wail from you as he suddenly sinks in balls deep, planting himself deep in your guts and immediately withdrawing before thrusting hard enough that you drop your shoulders, plant yourself on your elbows to endure his force. “You want it like this, huh?” He demands, gripping your hips as he fucks you, barely giving you a chance to adjust to his full gargantuan size. “Too goddamn impatient, was going to give it to you nice and good, but I know what you like, you brat. Wanna be owned, right?” He spanks you again, and then again for good measure, your ass stinging where he hits you in the same spot. “I own this ass — gonna fucking ruin it for whatever little boyfriend you wanna get next. None of them got a dick like me. None of them can fuck you like me. I own your ass, baby?”

“Y-you own it, Daddy,” you cry, unable to think, unable to move, just making yourself prone and taking all that he can give you. You’ve never been fucked like this before, not with a hog like his — never been just taken. “F-feels so good!” He plants his hand between your shoulders and presses you down further, leaving only your ass up in the air as he fucks into it, his big balls slapping against you with every forceful thrust.

“Gonna ruin this tight little hole for everyone else,” he says, watching the way your rim clings to his thick, juicy shaft as it plunges in and out of you. “Gonna ruin your mouth — all of it. No one will give it to you like I do. Fuck, we’re gonna take a week off. A month.” He smacks your ass again. “You’re mine, baby. All mine.”

Nathan hikes a leg up next to yours to change his angle and get in deeper, and all of a sudden it’s not even like he’s brushing your prostate so much as providing constant pressure. You’re crying out beneath him as he pumps himself in and out of you with abandon, clearly not going for longevity so much as vigor. It feels like every nerve is suddenly alight, his fat, juicy cock stimulating every part of you perfectly as it stretches out your hole.

And suddenly he pulls out entirely, leaving you feeling gaping and empty. It’s a profoundly upsetting feeling, and you look back to beg him to fuck you again but he’s leaning back, holding the base of his cock in a tight grip as it twitches violently in hand. It looks obscene like that — angry red, the head swollen beyond the foreskin and angrily spitting precum that arcs in the air. His big, hairy balls have drawn up tight. You gape at the sight, and he sees you gaping and he swears and then he’s maneuvering you again.

You can barely think before you’re flat on your back again, legs hiked up over his shoulders as he braces himself against you. His face is inches from yours but he looks far off as he guides his cock back into you. From this angle, it feels even bigger, stretching you more. You moan and he’s close enough that you can hear him whimper as he drives in, going balls deep again before readjusting his positioning. He fucks you slowly at first, his juicy cock twitching inside you dangerously, and then his tempo quickens until he’s riding into you again, his stare still distant.

“Nathan,” you whine, and his eyes snap to you, so dark they look black, and his pace slows somewhat, though his hips grind in a different way that leaves you short of breath. He’s redfaced and sweaty, breathing hard through his mouth. He’s never been more handsome. “C’mere,” you said, hooking your hand behind his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

The beard itches around your face but then you find his soft, warm, wet mouth, a startled breath puffing against your lips before he gets the memo. You lick into your mouth and he moans into you and suddenly his thrusts are picking up again, losing control and becoming reckless. He surges down and kisses you harder, tonguefucking your mouth as he reams your ass, and the only indication you get that he’s about to come is the grunt he issues into your lips.

You gasp at the warmth you feel from the first spurt and try to pull away, but he kisses like a drowning man, now cradling your head as he pumps and pumps into you. He creams your ass hard, unloading spurt after hard spurt of his thick, hot cum — and it still does feel like he’s built up a significant load, because your ass feels so full and creamy. His hand snakes between you and pumps your cock once, twice before you’re cumming too, your ass clenching around him and milking more cum from his juicy cock. You force yourself to break away from his kiss just to gulp in air, and he distracts himself with kissing your face and your neck, all while wringing you dry and emptying his balls inside of you.

Eventually his pace slows and he just sits inside of you, his dick still feeling big and hard, enough so to plug all of his heavy load inside of you. You two remain like that, breathing in the silence, him occasionally returning for kisses that turn softer and sweeter as time goes by.

“Don’t pull out,” you tell him, when he goes to move, but he simply relaxes your legs from off his shoulders, even massaging your calf as he does so. He does extract himself for a moment, giving you a glimpse of his half-hard, creamy cock that almost looks more appealing now. But he just moves you onto your side so he can spoon you, guiding his cock back into your waiting hole. It’s a comforting feeling for you both. His arm wraps around your side. “So,” you say, at last, feeling him plant his chin on your shoulder. “Better than a fuck you could program?”

“Who’s to say I didn’t program you?” he asks, all too seriously, but for once, you feel ahead of the game. A miracle, considering he fucked you brainless.

“Maybe I programmed you,” you tell him, smiling softly. “You just accommodated my every interest. You put all of the energy into pursuing me.”

“You needed it.”

“Maybe you need it,” you counter, holding his hand. “Maybe you need someone to tell you how big your dick is without you building them first. Maybe you needed to be called Daddy.” He huffs in disbelief, but he has no response for the moment. “You would not be able to last a week if I left.”

“You wanna find out?” Nathan challenges.

“No,” you tell him honestly. You clench your hole around his softening cock, making him grunt. “I want to take a week off to do this. And then maybe we can find out.”

[awaytogo]

gif credit: @pedropascals ​

he played so sweet and high (Llewyn Davis/m!Reader) Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5.2K Warnings: smut, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, creampie, cock warming 

Though you were happy to do a guy a favor, doing Llewyn a favor always put you on edge. There was something about walking out into your shitty little living room and seeing him take up the entire couch, already awake and smoking, letting the cool air in from the open window. Not that you minded — your apartment always felt stiflingly hot when he was staying, and you were prone to sudden sweat, dry mouth, and flushed cheeks. You caught one glimpse of the strip of skin bared by his undershirt riding up and quickly turned to find the coffee already made.

“Hope it’s all right,” he called from the couch, nonchalant. “I remembered where you kept it.” He probably had this down to a science — the layout of every apartment, the stock of every kitchen, every place’s small oddities. He probably knew how to treat his hosts too: a note for this one, maybe a drink for another if he could afford it. Maybe he just fucked them all. Soft and easy with this one, a bit of dirty talk with another, definitely pull out for that one.

But not you. You wondered, as you shakily poured yourself a cup of coffee, if you were a mental note too: gagging for a fat cock, begging for him to cream your ass last time. He was all too happy to comply, leaving his gratitude dripping down your balls. He even stayed inside you for a bit, obliging in a cuddle before falling asleep on you and disappearing the next morning. You wondered if that was the game this time: stay as long as he could and then ball you the last night, guaranteeing him a warm place to sleep and a warmer place to shoot his load.

It was uncharitable thinking, you realized as you slowly fixed your coffee — Llewyn wasn’t a bad guy. He’d been nothing but good to you (very good, if memory served), and you wanted to help him out. But the way he’d left in the morning had left you reeling, and you were embarrassed with yourself afterward, left empty and wanting. You’d even called the Gorfeins to see if he’d come by until you accepted your fate, vowing that you wouldn’t let yourself get in over your head again. You were just protecting yourself, was all.

But then he’d shown up with his dark eyes and his hangdog smile, shivering with his no jacket in the cold, and you couldn’t tell him no. It’d been months since you saw him last, and then there he was, smoking on your couch and probably not even looking at you, and there you were, your back to him and thinking of taking his soft dick in your mouth and sucking him dry on your couch.

You’d been so shocked at his presence on your doorstep last night that you’d just begged off any chitchat and immediately locked yourself in your room, so this was your first real interaction beyond the necessary conversation of giving him a couch for a night.

“You can stay as long as you want,” you said, turning around, both hands wrapped around the too-hot mug just to give them somewhere to go. He’d been looking out the window but turned back to you and took a curious drag of his cigarette, giving you enough dead space to fill it in with, “I really don’t care.”

“Thanks,” he said, his expression inscrutable. He adjusted himself; his shirt rode up further. “How you been?”

“Fine. Writing,” you told him, taking a sip of coffee. “You got any gigs coming up?” He stretched himself out further. You noticed the sleeves on his shirt were short enough to hint at the dark tuft of hair in the crook of his arm. It was going to be impossible to be around him for any period of time.

“I dunno,” he answered honestly, “I was a real sorry excuse the other week. Haven’t talked to Pappi since.”

“You ever think about playing somewhere else?” A wrinkle formed in his brow that you longed to smooth out. It was so easy to want to comfort him — maybe because he always had something to be sore about.

“Thought about Chicago,” he drawled out, taking another drag. “Too cold.”

“Without a jacket, I’d say so,” you said like you couldn’t help yourself. “That where you been?”

“What? No. Only for a day.”

“It’s just, it’s been a while, is all,” you said, instantly regretting it, hoping your tone didn’t sound too needy. Since when were you needy? (Since he’d fucked you like no one else, since he’d made a mess of you and left you rubbing your dick raw ever since, dreaming about the stretch of his big cock.)

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he was saying, sounding contrite but also rehearsed, like he was used to being scolded for not coming around enough — like he’d weighed the consequences of hospitality with the guilt that came attached. You didn’t want to be another well-meaning fool he’d had to contend with, someone else to placate. You wanted him to want to be here with you.

“Don’t be,” you told him honestly. “I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you’re here.” His mouth twitched, and you wondered if he could see right through you — or if he thought he could, figuring out which strings were attached to this deal. But as desperate as you were to have his hands on you, you’d rather he would never speak to you again than do anything out of a sense of obligation.

It seemed like a heavy thing to say unprompted this early in the morning. So you took another drink of coffee and told him, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay,” said Llewyn, unbothered and smoking on your couch.

____

You spent the day in a haze. Even without being around, Llewyn’s presence was destabilizing — you found yourself thinking about him without meaning to, picturing coming home to him on the couch, his pants around his ankles, his dick heavy and flushed in hand. He’d beg you to come to him, to touch him, but you would get on your knees, lick the sweat on his balls before taking the fat head and letting him blow it all out in your mouth. You felt guilty for even entertaining the thought.

It wasn’t as though you’d ever been at ease with him around, but it was certainly easier to deal with him before he’d… What was the phrase? Ridden you hard and put you away wet. But it wasn’t just the physical satisfaction you craved; his attention was a satisfaction all on its own, the warmth of his body around your own, the soft press of his lips against your shoulder before you two fell asleep. You hadn’t been planning a life together or anything, but you liked the way he looked at you, the softness of his smile. You selfishly wanted it directed at you.

You called home that afternoon without thinking, listening to the dial tone and imagining your empty apartment even though you’d explicitly told Llewyn he could stay the day if he wanted. He probably disappeared as soon as you’d gone, off to find easier accommodations. You’d given him the impression of expectation, and he wasn’t interested. Nor should he be.

“Yeah, hello?” a breathless voice snapped from the other end of the line, leaving you stunned in silence for a moment.

“It’s me,” you said, rather stupidly. He’d stayed.

“Oh,” Llewyn replied, just as stupidly. “Well, nobody called, if that’s why you’re calling—”

“No, I was calling for you,” you said quickly, grimacing, “or — just to see if you were around.”

“Yeah, I’m still around,” he said after a moment, tacking on a quick, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you told him. “Really. I just wanted to see — I’ll be getting out of here pretty soon — you wanna get a drink?”

“Really?”

“Unless you had plans, or a gig, or uh, didn’t want to.” There was a long silence on the other end that filled you with a cold dread.

“I’m all yours,” he told you, and maybe it was wistful optimism, but you could imagine the curl of his smile on the other end of the line.

____

It was hard to tell whether it was more difficult for him to be looking at you or for him to be looking away. He had a roaming gaze, a distinct sense of unfocus, his hand wrapped around his glass. You were happy to enjoy the silence, as much as you could anyway, sipping your drink and looking around. You’d chosen a neutral bar; not too square, but no live performers. The right side of dirty. Jukebox.

You were startled to find that he was looking at you the next moment, his chin resting in his palm like he’d been waiting for you to notice. “You fuckin’ anyone?” he asked, his expression neutral.

“Is that how you catch up with everyone?” you asked, afraid to tell him the real answer.

“Most people, I know the answer. Or Pappi will just tell me,” Llewyn shrugged. “Not you, though.”

“Not me,” you agreed, taking a sip of your drink. He stared at you, his expression patient. He was still waiting for an answer. “I’m not.”

“You wanna?” Llewyn asked so casually that you thought you’d misheard him, that you’d somehow skipped to another part in the conversation — another round, a movie, going home. Well, you supposed he was asking you to go home. You stared at him until he looked away again.

“Really?”

He shrugged, still infuriatingly casual. “If you need to. I don’t mind.” Like he was doing you a favor. Like he thought you would ask him eventually. You took a deep breath.

“Llewyn,” you said, waiting until he looked you in the eye, “I’m not asking you for anything.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his expression unchanging. Finally, he said, “Okay.”

____

You could feel the heat of his body next to yours on the couch. You could smell him. You were three drinks in but felt deadly sober, conscious of his every movement, conscious of the amount of steps that would carry you to your bedroom. You wished you had another chair. You wished you weren’t so close to him.

The record was over; it crackled pleasantly over the speaker. Neither of you wanted to get up to flip it over. The potential of the silence was appealing — you felt as though you could sit here and stretch out this moment forever, so long as neither of you said anything or moved. As soon as you broke the spell, you would have to live in reality again: Llewyn stretching out on the couch, you locking yourself in your room and dreaming of his dick.

Just as soon as you thought it, your interest in prolonging the inevitable waned. You inhaled deeply, drawing his attention, and offered him a bleary smile. “I should go to bed,” you told him, feeling a twinge in your heart.

“Ask you something?” he mumbled, his voice quiet and low. “You call the Gorfeins about me?” They weren’t supposed to tell him. You should’ve known better. You swallowed.

“Yeah.”

“How come?”

“You left without a word.” You stood, feeling slightly unsteady on your feet. “I didn’t… You didn’t have to.” He stared up at you, his expression soft and dark. “Don’t worry about it, Llewyn.” You turned to leave.

His hand was warm where it caught your wrist; you wondered if he felt the jump in your pulse then, the way your heart skipped a beat. You turned back to him, but he didn’t let go. “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he said. “I thought you didn’t like it. I thought you mighta been ashamed. I didn’t want to make you feel worse.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it since it happened,” you told him, afraid to look away. “No one’s made me feel that way before.” His gaze narrowed.

“But you don’t wanna do it again.” Your confusion must’ve shown on your face. “I tried… back in the bar, I tried.” Slowly, you sat back down on the couch, conscious of the fact that he wasn’t letting go of you, his hand burning your wrist like a brand. It felt like another moment of infinite possibility, one you could puncture with the simplest gesture. You could think of no solution but to be honest.

“You want me to ask you?” You licked your lips. “You want me to beg? I will. But you can’t be doing this because I’m giving you a place to crash. I need you to want it. I need you to be here in the morning.” There was that silence again, and you were practically holding your breath, and you were so wrapped up in trying to gauge his expression that his hand cradling the back of your head startled you. You gasped slightly.

“Okay,” Llewyn said again, before pressing his lips to yours, soft and cautious. His beard tickled your face. You leaned into the touch, feeling the firmness of his head, feeling the heat of his body as he moved closer to you. Had he kissed you the last time he fucked you? It didn’t feel familiar — he was confident and patient, licking into your mouth with deep strokes of his tongue. It made you feel lightheaded, and when you made a small, breathy sound, he replied with a deep groan, which only served to excite you all the more.

Just as realization started to hit you and you surged forward with renewed urgency, he pulled away, his hand firm and proprietary on your shoulder. You never wanted him to stop touching you. He gazed at you with dark, serious eyes, and though he didn’t smile, there was humor in his tone when he asked, “You gonna beg me now?” You gaped at him.

“Llewyn,” you breathed, and he pressed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth, mumbling an affirmative against your skin. You bunched up his shirt in hand, the thinness of its fabric somehow scandalizing. “Will you take me to the bedroom?”

“You want me to carry you?” He pressed a kiss along your jaw, your cheek, moving in to nibble on your ear. “What do you want me to do to you in there, honey?” His voice was rough and warm, buzzing in the shell of your ear. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Gonna have to help me narrow it down.” He ground the heel of his palm into your dick, and you leaned into the touch with a sharp breath. “Huh?”

“Llewyn, please,” you begged, your voice shaky. “I don’t — please—” He took your hand and brought it to his considerable bulge now filling out his pants, letting you feel before he extricated himself from you and the couch. He pulled you along.

“All right, all right,” he said good-naturedly, leading you to your bedroom and kicking the bedroom door closed behind him. “This one’s on me, huh?” He pulled you in for another kiss as you stumbled to the bed, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. “But if you get any ideas, you better speak up.” He rid you of your shirt rather easily and pulled his own off like an afterthought, exposing the softness of his belly, an appealing, domestic paunch with a dark trail of hair that trailed from his navel down below. You watched with rapt attention as his fingers fumbled with the button of his pants. “Got any slick?”

“In the bedside table,” you breathed, leaning over to grab it. As you looked away for a moment, you heard the deafening sound of his zipper, the telltale sound of fabric rustling as he shucked his pants. You looked back to find the object of your desires staring you in the face.

His cock was just as mouthwatering as you remembered it: nestled in a dark thicket of curls, it was big and girthy, not even all the way hard yet. The dark head was mostly concealed by his foreskin, but a bit had begun to peek out as his cock swelled more, and you could see that it was wet with his precum, the slit drooling and making a slick sound as he gave his dick a few obligatory pumps. His balls were full and hairy, a hefty pair you remember being drawn to the last time you’d seen them — you remembered wanting to suck them into your mouth last time but never getting the chance.

You moved to do so now but a gentle hand stopped you. “Let me take care of you,” Llewyn told you when you looked up at him, his hands already moving to your own pants. You tossed the slick back onto your bed and helped him, stepping out of your own pants and feeling a rush of self-consciousness. As if he could sense it, he pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, to your neck, pushing you onto the bed so he could reach your collarbone. He trailed kisses down your body as he positioned you, easy as could be, bending your knees and spreading your legs.

There had been something exciting last time, about letting him take what he wanted from you. It wasn’t as though he were a selfish lover, but he certainly wasn’t taking his time, and there was a raw, desperate urge in the way that he reamed your ass, feeling only how snug your hole was around his dick. This time was different — he was calmer, more methodical.

“Llewyn,” you breathed, as he kissed the crook of your thigh, licking a stripe so the cool air would make you shiver. It was dizzying to see his face so close to your hard cock. “Why’re you being so good to me?”

“You been thinking about my dick for months,” he said, mouthing softly at your balls. His beard scratched at your thighs, and you spread your legs more. “Figured I’d give you something else to think about.” He licked a fat stripe up the length of your cock, and your hips bucked. “Maybe I’ve been thinking too,” Llewyn confessed before taking your cock in his mouth, enveloping you with a warm, tight wetness. He hummed, the vibrations coursing around your cock, and you had to look away, thighs trembling with the effort of holding yourself back.

He stilled, letting you rest on his tongue as he busied himself with something else. A second later, you felt his cool, slick fingers smearing sloppily at your ass until one found your hole. He took more of you in as his finger stroked you, not even prodding in yet. You tried to control your breathing as your hands fisted at the sheets, trying desperately not to bury yourself in his tight mouth. Still, he seemed to encourage the effort, humming again and only inserting his finger once you thrusted into him involuntarily, feeling you spread open around him. He began to thrust his finger in your tight hole, bobbing his head in time and humming when you made a sound that particularly pleased him.

You moaned as he pressed a second finger in, beginning to relish in the stretch of your hole as you imagined it being filled with his meat. He twisted around, getting you ready for him, and you felt your balls growing tighter and tighter by the second. Your cock jumped as he pressed a third finger into your rim, and as he forced three fingers into your ass, he relinquished your cock with a wet, obscene pop.

“You got another one in you, honey?” he asked, nuzzling your thigh. His eyes were huge and dark, his fingers still working you steadily. “I want you to come on my cock. You think you can?” You wanted to come, period; you could feel his fingers skirting that spot that would make your entire body go taut, and you could think of nothing but them pressing you and holding there, squeezing like a vice around them as you came.

“Please,” you begged, “please, let me come.” His mouth twitched and you watched as his lips, already red and swollen, stretched over your cock again as he found that spot and pistoned into it again and again. Your entire body tensed, seizing around his thick fingers, and your eyes met his dark ones as he hummed around your dick. You emptied yourself into his mouth with long, hard spurts, your hips bucking up as you bit back any loud noises that might somehow betray you. You felt him swallowing around you and tried to give him as much as possible, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm.

He withdrew them after a moment, slipping off your dick again with a slurp and giving it a few curious strokes. You were still mostly hard, though you needed a moment to get your head on straight. He crawled up to you, hesitating before pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. You turned your head and pressed your lips to his lazily, licking into his mouth and tasting salt and tang, which surely must have been you. You tangled your fingers in his curls and kissed him some more, uncoordinated and open mouthed. You could feel his cock heavy and hard against your thigh. You looked down and saw it fully hard, thick as a battering ram and curved toward his belly, so swollen the foreskin had stretched around his girth and exposed the dark head, now leaking like a fountain.

“Llewyn,” you breathed into him, listening to him “mmm” in response as he pawed at you, his hand tweaking a nipple, grabbing your side, spreading residual slick all over you. “Will you fuck me with that big dick of yours?”

“Think it’s big?” he mumbled, trying not to look too smug. You almost wanted him to look smug. “You want it, huh?” He reached over you to grab the slick again, draping his body over yours. As he sat up and started to position you again, spreading your legs and slotting himself in between them, a sudden thought seemed to occur to him, dragging him away from the moment. “You got a condom?” he asked, a bit hesitant.

“I wanna feel you,” you begged, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks, “please, fill me up, I’ve been thinking about it for—”

“Aw, honey,” he said, collecting a generous amount of slick and giving himself a few careful pumps, “I’m not gonna last long if you keep talking like that, but I’ll fill you up real good, I promise, if that’s what you want.”

“Llewyn, please fill me,” you moaned, spreading your legs to accommodate him as he walked on his knees to get in as close as possible. You felt the wet head of his dick smear against your ass cheek and you canted your hips up to him to give him better access. “Please, give me your big, fat dick, I’ll do anything, please.” He took himself in hand and spread your cheeks, snubbing the head against your hole. You were so desperate for it you felt yourself twitching, trying to draw him in even though it’d be difficult to accommodate his girth at first.

“Oh I got a big, fat dick now, huh?” He drawled, sounding almost amused even though you heard the strain in his voice. “You want this big, fat dick in your ass? Been dreaming about it, huh?” You tried to press yourself against him, but he stopped you. “You were somethin’ out of a fucking dream,” he told you, his voice low and serious, “begging me to come and cream your tight little hole like that. Practically a stranger. I remember I had a lotta spunk built up. Filled your ass up so good, I thought I’d scandalized you. And to find out you’ve been thinking about it this whole time? Goddamn, baby.” He made almost a pained noise. “I’m gonna give it to you so good. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I want you to fill me like that again,” you told him, feeling yourself grow fully hard again even though he’d barely touched you. Hearing the filth come out of his mouth was almost as good as feeling his seed trickle out of your hole. “Please, Llewyn, fuck me—”

He chose that moment to look down and guide his cock into your willing hole, feeling it yield slightly to his head before he began the considerable effort of stuffing you. He had to bully his way in, grunting as he filled you inch by inch, listening to you moan and push back against him. He felt huge and rock hard inside you, throbbing and, most importantly, raw — you were so close to getting the feeling you’d been dreaming of for months. He worked himself in slowly until he was balls deep and panting, hooking his arms under your knees and lifting them up as he drew himself out.

Feeling him lift your feet up only made you spread your legs more, made you more sensitive to the stretch of his fat cock as he began to saw himself in and out of you, practically splitting you in half. You were helpless to his initial onslaught of thrusts, letting him take what he wanted with self-indulgent pumps of his hips as you adjusted to his thickness. He was slow and steady for now, sweating with the effort of holding himself back, his shallow breathing mixed with the wet sounds of his cock working in and out of you and the soft thwaps of his balls slapping your ass. You moaned softly as his gentle, thorough ministrations continued, keening as he slowly began to quicken his pace.

“You’re gonna come again,” he said, not asking a question — you were leaking onto your belly, hard as a rock again. “Feels good, huh? Like having a big dick in your ass?”

“Like your dick,” you moaned, and he made a satisfied noise at that, beginning to fuck you harder. You took it as only you could, making a high-pitched noise as he pressed himself further into you, his fat head skirting your prostate. “Fuck, you’re so big, Llewyn.”

“Not gonna last long if you keep talking like that,” he panted, working into you with steady pumps of his hips. “Not gonna last long at all — you sure you want me to—?”

“Please,” you begged, your cock twitching at the very thought. “Please, fuck me, fuck me—” He leaned in and kissed you as his hips stilled, and you felt his dick jump inside you as you opened your mouth for him, let him tongue fuck you. He pulled away and then he pulled himself out of you, but before you could protest, he was turning you onto your hands and knees and mounting you again, entering you with one steady push, his cock harder than ever.

Just as quickly as he had entered you, he was pulling out, and he began to pound into you with the familiar rhythm of his steady, selfish, desperate fucking. He was taking what he needed from you, but he was also giving you what you needed — a fat, juicy cock to fill your ass like nothing else would. He reamed you, and there was no holding back the sounds you made, letting all of your neighbors know that you were getting truly well fucked.

“I make you feel good, honey?” He asked, his hands tight on your hips as he hiked one leg up to get as deep in you as he could. As he did, his cock brushed against your prostate and you made a broken sound, and he began to piston his hips to meet that spot over and over. “There it is. That feel good? You like my fat cock in your ass?”

“Llewyn,” you begged, unable to move, stunned by the pounding he was giving you — he wanted to give you everything he could, to be as good as he could be. You got the feeling he’d keep you full of his cock forever if he could. You felt like you were ready to burst, your cock so swollen it practically hurt; he felt impossibly huge inside you, as though his meat had gotten bigger and thicker as he fucked you.

“You want it, honey? Tell me you want it.”

“Oh God, I want it so bad, Llewyn—”

“You want me to cream you real good?”

“Yes!” you screamed, desperate to feel him fill you, thrusting back against his big, hard cock. “Yes, Llewyn, cream me!”

“Gotta come on my cock,” he panted, sounding just as desperate as you, fucking your ass like he couldn’t help it. “Come on, honey, it makes you feel so good, come on my big, fat dick—”

You moaned helplessly as you began to squirt hard on the sheets, clenching around his bull cock as he fucked you mercilessly. He was making desperate, wordless noises, until he managed to choke out a, “There it is, honey — I’m gonna give it to you real nice—” before you felt a warm, thick spurt fill your ass.

“Yes, Llewyn,” you moaned as he pumped your ass full of his cum, his hips bucking desperately as he fulfilled his promise of creaming you good and hard. Maybe he was lying about having built up a lot of spunk last time, because his load felt huge now, spilling out around his cock and dripping down onto his balls as he fucked you through his own orgasm. You felt warm and full, pushing back against him as he thoroughly emptied his balls, still thick and hard inside you.

He draped himself on your back, wrapping an arm around your waist as he carefully laid the both of you down on your sides without ever pulling out of you. “I liked this feeling last time,” he confessed, pressing a tired kiss to your shoulder as he spooned you. “Feelin’ you all full of my spunk. Being inside you. I thought you were doing me a favor.”

“I thought you were doing me a favor,” you shot back. He huffed a laugh behind you. If this were a dream, you hoped you would never wake up. But it felt real: his arm still wrapped around you, his big dick softening inside you, his creampie starting to leak out of your hole.

In the morning, you’ll still find him sleeping beside you, naked and comfortable for the first time in months and half-hard with morning wood. You’ll finally be able to taste his balls before waking him up by sucking his juicy cock, letting him fuck your mouth before pulling off and having him come all over your face, spurt after spurt. You’ll get to feel him come in or on you as many times as you wanted, as many times as he could give you — and he could give you a lot.

But for the moment, you were unsure of this, and so you said, “Maybe I’ll play hooky tomorrow, and we can do something for the day. See a movie. Go to the park. Or stay here.” He was so quiet behind you that you feared he had fallen asleep or, worse, was trying to come up with an excuse to decline.

Just before you turned over to gauge his expression, he spoke up: “I’m all yours.”