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berryfairyluvr · 1 year ago

Note

Can you do a Luke smut where he is a jerk to Y/N & she doesn’t understand why until his friend spills he likes/loves her & is just a jealous prick. so y/n takes matters into her own hands & teases him until he admits it & they fuck

Okay so I basically read this and thought I did it as you wished but uhhhh in true 'me' fashion, I did my own damn thing...

I do hope you enjoy it though, there's a lot to work with!

In the Backseat

A Luke Hemmings one shot

18+, Smut, NSFW

Word Count: 10,157

He never meant to hurt you. I suppose no one ever means to hurt anyone. It just sort of happens and then they’re left to either pick up the pieces or hide away in shame or God forbid show no remorse at all. He felt guilt. He felt a tremendous amount of guilt actually. That was a good sign, maybe not for you but for him, definitely. He wasn’t a lost cause. He could rectify it or hope to. You’d let him drive you home too. You can’t have completely hated him if you allowed that. You could have called an uber just as easily as you’d asked him to be the one to drive you. You looked on the verge of tears when you asked him, not ideal for him. He hadn’t enjoyed it, not like that.

You don’t sit beside him in the passenger seat like he expects. He glances to the empty seat beside himself as if he were still waiting on you to settle there. You don’t beg him to turn the radio down. You don’t say anything at all. He suspects you might cross your arms over your chest in some form of tantrum or way to signify how badly he’d fucked up and that you were pissed at him because he knew in his head and heart that you were. You can’t even find it in yourself to do that. Your hands are lay flat against your thighs, one on each, so still. You’d given him nothing. You just looked out of the window, feeling as if you were in some kind of movie, some sad film sequence, just watching the world fade away. You’d never looked so dejected before.

He finds it hard to focus on the road. He watches it more than he watches you, but he finds himself flickering over to you so fast his eyes start to hurt. At the next redlight he decided to dig his hand into the glovebox compartment, digging through takeout receipts and old CDs to fetch his glasses. He curses under his breath when he struggles to land on them immediately. He watches the lights, then you, then the lights again while he grabs them, anxiously rushing himself. He shuts the compartment, sliding the lenses over the bridge of his nose, notably on edge. He dared to glance your way again. He could now see your pain with 20/20 vision.

He feels he should say something. He could distract you. He could engage in small talk. You didn’t even have to answer, a glance in his direction would have been a win for him. He’s tapping the steering wheel. It’s as if his entire vocabulary had escaped him. His mouth had gone dry. He finds himself scratching at his chin, his short beard a pleasant feeling under his fingernails. He still darts eyes over to you as if you’d have gone somewhere in the seconds it took him to think.

The headlights of the car behind had given you this glow and upon noticing it he’d let out a deep and painful sigh. He hadn’t ever seen you look as beautiful as you did right then. Which is a shocking realisation for him when he’d always considered you breath-taking. He swears he could crash this car and go out in an eternal blaze, and it would have been worth it because the last thing he saw was you.

He saw you, like this, biting your lip to avoid speaking to him. Brushing your fingertips over your thighs, occasionally tugging your skirt down towards your knees. You with your legs growing cold even under your thick tights that you’d picked because you thought you’d get a chill. He saw you unable to look at him. Fighting internally (or so you thought) to avoid his gaze. You were such a sight to behold. As he neared your side of town, just a mere 10 minutes from your home, he found himself unable to take you there. He was left powerless to his deepest intentions. He diverted your journey.

You don’t think too much of it. There were so many routes he could take. He would take you there, you were sure of it. You didn’t show signs of stress, of anxiety, no more than you already had just being in this position. You just watched the buildings whiz by. The streetlights flickering here and there. Worst of all, the billboards reminding you of just why you’d been upset in the first place. You couldn’t look out of the window much longer.

You had a dumb fight. All fights were dumb but this one especially. You went to his stupid party, at his stupid friend’s house. You couldn’t have known. You still wouldn’t have known, even now, if it hadn’t been for someone else. You feel the tension knotting in your stomach as your mind wanders back to it. You wanted to cry so badly, to be able to feel anything at all without the intensity of his eyes catching you at any second because of course you noticed him. You couldn’t not notice him. He was all you were ever aware of, and you were so god damn hurt because he didn’t have the decency to share the same sentiment with you.

You sigh with frustration. You’ve had enough. “Let me out.” You say it sternly. “What?” He responds as the words are still leaving you. “Let. Me. Out.” He’s puzzled. He’s still driving, far enough away from your house that you wouldn’t dare walk from here, not at this hour. “Are you kidding me? No, I’m not stopping.” He watches the road intently for the first time since you left the driveway of his friend’s house. “Luke, let me out of this fucking car.” Your tone is calm, and your heart is anything but.

He wants to fight you on it. He doesn’t want to lose you. He might lose you if he doesn’t stop. There was also a heavy possibility that he would lose you even if he did. “Then what?” He asks. You look to him in the mirror, your lips are parted, nothing coming out. “No plan? No way of getting home?” He’s trying to gesture with his hands while they remain on the wheel. “Not letting you out then.” He thinks he has you defeated. He’s not even close.

“I’ll call a taxi.” He scoffs. “Yeah? Why didn’t you do that about 20 minutes ago?” He’s shocked he’s managed to argue with you. Just minutes ago, his heart was aching, and he was terrified he’d upset you and now he was arguing. It was fight or flight and you were important enough for him to pick the former. He’d regret it another time, he’s sure. “Because I didn’t think of it then.” You exasperate, flinging your arms out. “Just let me out Luke.” You stare right into his eyes; you have a cold and serious glare. He pulls over begrudgingly, but he doesn’t unlock the car.

You know not to bother with the handle, he’d already thought of that. Considering he was such an airhead on a day to day, he seemed to be carrying himself pretty well tonight. He was just hellbent on destroying your happiness. Maybe he should progress that as a career on top of lying to you. That would go down a real treat.

“Talk to me.” He pleads. It was worth a try. “No.” He rolls his eyes, fingers running along the leather of the steering wheel before returning to the top, gripping it tightly. “Just yell at me already, do whatever you have to.” He slumps back in his seat, head hitting the rest behind it with a thud. It had to hurt. Good, you thought.

“You could have fucking told me.” You surprised yourself but not him. He knew you’d kept tight lipped for too long and now the second you were given real opportunity you were going to come for him with all you had. “You know who told me?” He doesn’t respond. It wasn’t necessarily rhetorical, but you knew he knew and there was no point in adding more fuel to the fire in confirming it. “Jordan. Not you, not Ash, not Cal not even blabbermouth Michael, fucking Jordan!” Your hands slam down against the seat so hard it made your palms sting. He winced as you did it. Even if he didn’t see it. He heard it. He’d kiss your delicate skin better if he wouldn’t get slapped for even trying to.

“I was going to tell you.” He was. He really was, he just didn’t know when, hadn’t found the words. A pathetic excuse, he was well aware. “What? When you were already halfway across the globe? You’re leaving in 2 weeks Luke.” You sounded so wounded, and you recognised it, and you hated it. He couldn’t have felt more stupid if he’d tried. “I just don’t understand.” He dared to look at you in the mirror. You were appeared just as crushed as you sounded and to make matters worse, you were looking right at him. You weren’t glancing into the mirror like a coward. You weren’t like him. You were looking directly at his poorly positioned, lanky body sinking into the leather seating of his car.

“Did you just think I’d see a billboard and be like yeah cool, amazing, so glad you’re touring again, congratulations.” He wants to speak but no words come out. There wasn’t a way to apologise for this, not when he’d fucked up so badly, not when he’d ruined everything. “I would have been happy for you Lu.” His heart was aching in a way he’d never felt before, come close to but never quite endured. The nickname had sent him over the cliff he was afraid he’d been back stepping onto. One more wrong move and he was done for.

“I’m coming back there.” Before you could protest, he was pulling the keys and burying them in his pocket. The best plan for him was none at all. The door was opening and closing, and he was slamming another behind him, sliding into the backseat. You stare ahead of you. Your heartbeat so loud you both heard it. He locked the doors again and you laughed. He’d actually disliked the sound for the first time in his life. “I’m not going anywhere. You made sure of that. I don’t even know where we are.” You run your fingers through your hair. He doesn’t look at you like he wants to. He looks forward. You’re both staring at the seats in front of you. You wished you were in complete darkness; it may make this easier to live through. Unfortunately for the both of you, you were parked conveniently next to a streetlight.

“I couldn’t find the words.” He says, he wanted to be as transparent as he could. “I wanted to find them, I couldn’t. Like every time I tried to tell you, they just got jumbled up like some kind of word vomit or something.” He pulls a disgusted face as he says the word ‘vomit,’ he’d never liked that word. “You’re a lyricist. I find that hard to believe.” You cross your arms over your chest. A weak argument. “You don’t have to be so hard on me.” He’s right, you don’t, and you might feel a shed of remorse for it, but you wouldn’t drop it. “I’ve been beating myself up all night you know.”

You allow yourself to look at him. His stomach twists when your eyes land on him. His body is flooded with a warmth he could only compare to the sun. A blistering but comforting heat that reminded him of where he came from, where he was most at home. “I didn’t actually want to face the fact that I was leaving.” He starts to fiddle with the tear in his jeans. He wasn’t sure where the rip came from, he’d grown out of intentionally ripped jeans long ago, but the threads were tactile and useful to him now, soothing him as he worked through his emotions. Since he had no choice but to do so.

“It’s what you do.” Your voice is so soft, he wants to lean in and let you surround him with it. “But I haven’t done it, not for 2 years.” He laughs nervously. He’s not sure how the conversation morphs into his anxieties for the future but here he was. “Hell, I barely remember how I did it before.” He’s running his fingers through his bleached blonde curls and you’re biting your bottom lip at the thought of replacing them with your own. Hard to stay mad when you lose your focus at the sight of anything he does. “You really are scared.” He would feel relaxed at your compassion returning but he doesn’t know how long it will last. “Terrified more like.” He reaches forward to prod the headrest before him. There’s no reason for it other than impulse and he tended to act on those a lot.

“I could have helped.” He sighs, sinking into his seat, he’d connected those dots already. “I know.” You don’t push it, sitting quietly, maybe even patiently. “I know and that’s why I’m so stupid.” You’d never correct him there. “You’d have supported me no matter what because you’re a good fucking friend and I’m just a coward who doesn’t deserve it.” You roll your eyes as he hits his head repeatedly off the back of his seat. “Cut the pity party.” He gulps. He almost gives into temptation, glancing to the right of him as you command his silence. He settles for leaning his head back instead.

He couldn’t have looked more inviting if he tried. His neck outstretched like that. His adam’s apple prominently bobbing as he took a breath and gulp of air. The way he wet his bottom lip with the nerves he felt. The damn near sheer shirt he coated his top half with. When did he start dressing sluttier than you? You wanted to bite his neck, you wanted to forget all of this and wrap your lips around his jugular and never let go. You’re not even sure what you were fighting for anymore. “Sorry.” Even if you knew it wasn’t meant as his formal apology, you had known that he meant it. He would never not be sorry for this. You were the last person he wanted to hurt.

“I am a good friend.” You say. He would laugh if he could. He doubts he’d ever feel joy again until you forgave him. He was still picking away at his jeans, cursing his chipped nail polish at the same time. “I am happy for you.” You were, somewhere in the pits of your soul you were, somewhere very far and unobtainable at this moment in time but it was there. “I miss you already.” He says in a low whisper and that’s enough to crack your hard exterior just like the rasp in his voice had. “You what?” You hadn’t heard him right. You couldn’t have. His voice was too husky to be understood, you’d bet money on it. “I-“

He turns his body around, knees trying to face you, as much as they could in the cramped space he’d forced himself into. You didn’t look at him. He was starting to take it personally. “Would you just look at me?” Its making it much harder for him to grovel without your eyes giving him a chance. He wants to reach out and touch the hand you left on your thigh, but he thinks better of it, couldn’t step in too soon. “I can’t,” you mutter, you’re avoiding his gaze even more now that he’d asked for it. You were just trying to make sense of it all. You’re acting ridiculous and you’re acutely aware of it but you’re processing. “Can’t or won’t?” Where had he robbed these few braincells from? You didn’t like it; he wasn’t supposed to be this perceptive, that was never his game. “Both.” You grunt.

“Can’t keep doing this.” He says. You’re not sure what exactly he’s referring to, but you feel him burning the words into the side of your face like he’s branding you with a hot iron. “Doing what?” You’re suddenly breathless and this tiny car had felt a whole lot smaller, closing in on you. You had to fan yourself with your hand to satiate the heat. The more you focused the more you noticed how his long legs had barely fit a gap between the two of you, it was only a matter of time before you were crushed together.

“I don’t know- I don’t want to say it.” He bites back the words he so keenly wishes to utter. “You don’t or wont?” You turn his words back on him without so much as a second glance. Your pulse rockets as you do. “Both.” He says, his body is shifting still. He’s moving closer. Not quite beside you but getting there. It wouldn’t be long. He doesn’t want to cross your boundaries; he’s had better ideas than to mess with them, but they were just there. The temptation was overwhelming. He starts to slip back where he was, his knees digging into the back of the driver’s seat thinking better of it. He was a coward, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you thought it too. He’d returned to his original position and your heart ached at the distance.

Even when he was on a different continent, he’d never felt further from you than he did in this moment. What’s worse was that you saw him retreating, not just physically but mentally. He was sat debating whether to leave you not just on tour but for good. When his nails dug into his own thighs, his breathing deepening into exhausted sighs. The wheels were turning with no signs of breaking. He’d gone from suffocatingly close to a million miles away and he hadn’t even moved. It’s just what it felt like when he closed himself off like that. You didn’t like it. He didn’t have to. You were scared he felt he needed to. You were mad, you were so mad, but not even because you of what he did anymore, but because of what he wouldn’t do, what he continued not to do. There wasn’t enough honesty between you. You needed some truth. You may have to force it from him, but it was far less unsettling to picture than the thought of him leaving without the air cleared between you.

So, you did the unthinkable. You clambered onto his lap in a way you never had before; sober or otherwise. Your legs fastened on either side of his thighs. Your head bumps the ceiling briefly, not enough to knock you off track but enough to hurt. You’re well aware of the clumsiness of your actions and the inelegance of jumping someone’s bones. Not to mention the wardrobe malfunctions that ensue. Your skintight skirt flipping up, essentially exposing your underwear in the process. Even hidden under dark tights the risk of him seeing them made a hot flush creep across your stomach.

You had made it now. You sat in his lap, and you made him see you, you begged him to see you and he saw you all right. His mind raced. He didn’t know where to look or what to say. He was going a million miles a minute. The possibilities, he was lost in them, what could have been, the what ifs and even the why on earths. His trousers were already tightening. Just another thing to worry about. If he hadn’t upset you enough before, an inappropriately timed boner might as well do the trick.

You wonder where to put your hands. The internal battle chipping away at you piece by piece. You’re hovering over his lap, too petrified to sit your full weight on top of him even if it pained you not to. If you didn’t clutch some support you’d be aching for days. It was as if he saw a thought bubble appear above your head. He wearily placed his hands on your legs to push you down and make you sit. His eyes were transfixed on his hands. He’d moved them with no communication to the rest of his body. He’d not spent a second thinking about touching you and yet, he had.

He shouldn’t have looked down at his hands. He had the thought now, the regret in his choice of actions, the placement of them. He knew how your skirt had betrayed you, lifting to show him more of you than he’d ever dreamed of. He knew that if he just looked even a millimetre to the side, he’d see the cotton of your underwear concealing you away from him beneath your tights. He felt every bone in his body screaming at him to move, he wasn’t quite sure which direction yelled louder. To look or not to look? He wanted to look. He’d ruined himself.

You took this opportunity to look at him. You analysed his expression while he avoided your gaze. How had you been so stupid? To be blind to him. You watched his every move and waited on his every word with bated breath and yet you just hadn’t seen it. You hadn’t seen how hard he fought with himself every day. How he’d never really looked you in the eyes before because there was such a deep secret locked away inside of them. It was almost like this was your first time seeing him properly. You’d never seen him so clearly in fact. His little freckles dotted around his nose. The glitter shimmering across his eyelids, he shone like some kind of fairy. It wasn’t the worst way to describe him. He was quite ethereal. A bone structure a model would die for. Sweet blue eyes so clear you felt cleansed just being seen by them. His smile lines sinking into the corners of his mouth. There was something kind of magic about the way he looked in the dim light and it drew you in enough to leave not even a little bit of space between you.

You kissed him. You leaned in quickly, too quickly to catch yourself, not sure if you even would have wanted to. It was too late to prevent it now anyway. The wheels were fully in motion and like a freight train, there was no stopping you. Your lips had reached his and you had felt your body surging to life.

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t- well he doesn’t know what he can’t do, he just can’t do it. You’re kissing him. You’re sat on his lap; his hands are on your thighs and- his hands are on your thighs. He needs to move his hands. He lifts them and he’s thanking God inside his head for giving him the strength to do it even if it pained him to leave the safe space they’d been left to rest in. You’re panicking. He’s not kissing you back, he’s not doing a damn thing. He moved his hands away and you expect them to push you back at any moment, but that moment never arrives. He needed to kiss you back. Your lips felt so nice, so soft, supple, and shit- he needs to kiss you back!

His body is on autopilot, kicking into gear. It was better than nothing. It was way better than nothing. He instinctively leans forward; you’re so scared to fall backwards that your hands are gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. Maybe it’s to secure the kiss, maybe it’s because you need him closer, either way you’re elated, you’re not the only one involved any longer. He’s still leaning, he’s pushing forward, your back is pushed into the seat behind, his hands are floating around to your back and then-. They land. They’re overlapping each other near the base of your spine and tugging you inwards away from the seat. He’s pulling you in close, into his atmosphere. His car was becoming suffocatingly tiny, and you hadn’t even minded it anymore because you weren’t trapped alone, you were trapped with him, him, him. The air was thick with fear and lust, but it was invigorating. It smelt like him. It felt like him. Fuck it was him, all him.

“Oh God Luke why haven’t we kissed before?” You’re gasping for a breath between kisses, and you can’t help yourself. You take the words right out of his mouth. You can’t stay away. You kiss him so much he can’t get a word in. It was almost as if you’d only just discovered it. You’d experienced the pleasure of kissing for the very first time and you needed all the practice you could get before it’s taken away from you again. He’s just as invested as you are. Your lips are so sweet he wants the taste imbedded into his brain and he suspects it would be from here on out. Your scent, your taste, he’s not the best at describing things but you remind him of the air after rain. Fresh and earthy. Floral and saccharine, a conforming aroma he wanted to bottle and keep to himself forever.

He’s not breathing anymore. He’s not taken a single breath out of fear the oxygen would somehow wake him from this dream he had to be having. But you’re pulling away because he hasn’t said anything and it’s starting to dawn on you just what you’d done. You think you’re going crazy. He kissed you back, sure, but that didn’t mean anything, he took his time, it wasn’t instant. It wasn’t confirmation. It didn’t mean he meant to. He just did what anyone would do, act on impulse. You think you’re shaking with fear. You meet his eyes with nothing but anxiety in your heart. You’d kissed him like you meant it. Did he?

His glasses are so foggy you can’t even see his eyes anymore. It was undecided if that was an advantage or not. On the one hand you wouldn’t see the shock or horror. On the other, you couldn’t see if he felt the opposite. If he looked at you like you were the piece he’d been missing all these years. You don’t even know if he’s looking at you or not. He’s facing you but is he seeing you?

His hands slip from around you and you hold back the whimper of disappointment. You needed to keep your expectations to a minimum. His hands tug his glasses away from his face before he looks down, attempting to clean them with the bottom of his shirt. You bite your lip so hard you fear it may burst at the slight exposure of his happy trail beneath. Sure, you could faintly see it through the mesh but seeing it bare was something that had you fighting for your life and begging your legs not to squeeze together. You heard nothing but the pounding of hearts and the occasional car whizzing by on the quiet road as you processed the previous events.

“Lu.” His eyes lift to meet yours and they’re filled with a kindness that is so compelling you might just make it out of here alive. He notices that your pupils are dilated to an extent that he could have mistaken them for black. He’d never seen you like that before. Your cheeks, they’re so round, darkened with a blush. Your lips, so beautifully shaped, swollen from his own. Your cupid’s bow so prominent and alluring, you were so naturally pretty, he’d always known it but seeing it this close, breath-taking. He can’t believe he’s never been this close to you before. That was a crying shame. A monumental mistake on his part. Even if he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. He would certainly have remembered it though, memorised every feature of your face like the lyrics to a song he must sing and be happy to for the rest of his days on this earth with you.

He sets his glasses in your lap and your stomach flutters as you feel the weight of them. They weren’t heavy in the slightest but the sensation, the reminder of just where you were situated. You were still in his lap, still in his orbit. It was dizzying. “You look really pretty.” You let slip, one glance into his eyes and your mouth ran without thought. His lips turn up in one corner. “You think I’m pretty?” He’s laughing at it but it’s the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. Deep down, it’s probably the nicest compliment you could have given him. You thought he was pretty and even better than that, you liked that he was pretty. “With glasses,” you gesture to your lap. “Even prettier.” It takes an incredible strength not to let it be known that he loved hearing you say that.

You try something different. You have only one chance at this. You owed it to yourself to explore the unanswered questions you’d been stacking up in your brain for the entirety of your friendship. One’s you hadn’t dared to speak into existence and thought better of verbalising even now. Instead, you answer with a touch. You place your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and while you fumble to grip them in a light tug, your nails graze his scalp. He whimpers beneath you elegantly before snapping his mouth shut, a flush of red blotting his cheeks as a result. Fuck. He’d always had the prettiest voice, but you weren’t even remotely aware that it was melodical even in this situation. “Did you just-“he wants to hide, he wants his hands to cover his face and he goes to fulfil that want, but you stop him.

He's looking at you and he hasn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time. You didn’t have many secrets. You knew almost everything about each other but this. Knowing his kiss, knowing his sounds. This was an unexplored territory. Continuing forward at this trajectory could have the most fatal consequences for the two of you and your ongoing relations. You’re so painfully aware of that but you still tug his hair back hard in efforts to hear him again. “Fuck.” He gasps, his pink lips slotting open not even trying to save himself the embarrassment, he was already exposed, may as well accept it.

You had to kiss him again, had to kiss him and pull his hair and feel his little bitch boy whimpers on your lips or you may die. You throw yourself at him with nothing more to lose. His hands wrap around you so tightly you knew he’d struggle to let you go and there wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d ever allow him to if he tried. You tug on his blonde curls, and you kiss him and he’s grunting into your mouth like a desperate slut. His tongue slides inside your mouth, granting itself permission. You weren’t the only one wanting to take charge and the idea of fighting for it turned you on more than it should have. His one hand leaves your waist to cup your cheek while he pushes his face right into yours. His precious little nose digging into your cheek as his mouth is enjoying you, savouring you.

‘You’ by definition as declared by Luke Hemmings.

pronoun

1. Used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing.

"Are you listening?"

2. Used to refer to any person in general.

"After a while, you get used to it"

3. Used as a treat for him to devour, tasting better than any gourmet, expensive delicacy he’d ever had the pleasure of trying.

"He loves you; he loves your taste; he loves you"

Your kiss was replaying in his mind before it even ended. It was hung in a museum full of his greatest achievements. He’d be visiting the archive on numerous occasions just to relive this feeling, whether you developed from here or not didn’t even matter anymore he was in it 100% for as long as it lasts. “Luke, I think I love-“He stops dead in his tracks as your words fill the silence. His eyes are not nearly as panicked as they should have been, unlike yours. “I love kissing you,” you finish, your breath shaky as you catch yourself before confessing to something far too soon, even if you’d felt it with every fibre of your being since you met him.

“Yeah?” He’s so drunk on your lips he can’t possibly think straight let alone filter his words to have more caution in them. “Love kissing me or love me?” In the short pause he’s watching you expectantly. It’s not for you to confess your love. It’s not even for you to reject him. It’s just to hear your voice and know he’s not alone like he fears he might be. “Both.” You breathe out. The relief washed over you both like a tidal wave.

You can’t keep away any longer. You’d be damned if you let there be any more silence without it being a result of locking lips. “Have to have you.” He groans.” Your hands are sinking down between you. Your brain is foggy. There’s an unmistakably lusty cloud over your head. You felt as if you’d been hit by cupid’s arrow, infatuated to such an intensity that you were unable to process any information that wasn’t related to your love for the man beneath you. Whatever sick love spell it was, you were grateful for it. It had given you the courage to act on your true feelings and there was no way you were turning back now unless he asked it of you, and he swears he would never dream of such an outcome.

He wants to cry when your fingers brush his stomach. His tummy flips at the coolness of your fingertips delicately toying with the material resting above it. You lift it slowly, your hands deliberately feeling along his torso as the shirt rode higher. He wants to tear it off, he’d even burn it just to prove how little he needed it and how much he needed you instead. You bite on your lower lip at his eagerness to remove it. “Take it off.” You say. He’s way ahead of you. In a flash he’s throwing it to the front of the car. A problem for him to deal with at a later date.

Luke exposed in this way wasn’t something new to you. You’d seen him shirtless. You’d touched him shirtless. The only benefits of living in a ridiculously sunny state were the opportunities to lounge by the beach or the pool. To witness the tightened torso of your best friend with a pair of sunglasses shielding him from knowing just how much you were checking him out. You wondered if he’d ever done the same to you, but by the way he’s staring at your chest, it’s like he’s never seen it before.

Luke had wanted to. He’d thought about it so often, mostly at night alone in his room, but still he’d thought long and hard about the way your body looked in very little clothing. He remained as respectful as he could in your presence. He didn’t let his eyes wander too far from what’s socially acceptable between friends. But he had thought about this moment for what felt like an eternity. He could never have imagined the location or the dim light painting this portrait of your silhouette, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

He's getting braver. His hands are caressing your hips, pushing upwards to rub along your sides before returning back. “Luke, please.” He’s ignoring your need. He’s playing with you how he wants to when he wants to. He’s repeating his movements at a snail’s pace. You couldn’t rush him, not after making him wait for so long, he deserved to take his time. You’re not happy about it. You’re ready to rock over his lap and take what you need but he catches your hips. “No.” He says confidently, sternly too. Your eyes almost bulge out of your skull, a tantrum ready to slip from your tongue. “Wait for it.” As if you hadn’t been waiting for it every single day of your life. Fucking hell, he’s not even looking at you. It’s like you’re not even there anymore. His eyes are fixated on your chest and somehow that had increased the wetness between your legs more than you thought it would. If it were Luke objectifying you, you would make an exception. You just sank back onto his lap, running your fingers through his hair while he explored you, doing as you were told and praying he’d end your torture if you did. He never thought he’d see the day, you are being obedient.

It's worked out better than you’d imagined. His teasing touches, they’re working you up just enough to leave you wanting more. You worry your enjoyment can be felt through the fabric of your clothing. The more he touches, the more he gets to know you. He feels it, he just doesn’t show it. Somehow that made it even hotter for you. You were embarrassingly speechless for him, and he pretended he hadn’t caused it, couldn’t possibly have known. He wasn’t completely clueless. He wasn’t all shy. He knew what he was doing. There was such a power in shutting the pretty mouth of his best friend with simple caresses. “You seemed to have a lot to say before.” He’s now fondling your breasts, pinching hard over the fabric of your blouse, not even daring to touch beneath but you didn’t even need him to. The gasp that leaves your lips makes his cock twitch and you felt it. “Where’s all that energy gone?” He doesn’t even need to smirk; you hear it in his tone, even if you were deaf, you think you’d hear it.

This time he looks at you. He watches your expressions patiently with a glimmer of enjoyment as he pinches hard, trapping your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp upon the sharpness of his touch. “Luke.” He had to smile, had to let it show how unbelievably thrilled he was to be doing this to you, to hear you sighing his name because it was real, and he was living out his fantasies. “Kiss me.” He says. You’re surprised he says it. You thought he’d have just taken it by now since you were clearly putty in his hands but instead, he’d instructed you and you had to do it and you were so eager.

You lean in to close the gap and he’s groping over your chest harder as you inch in. Your lips are parted, his tongue slipping in. The moan that escapes you sends his hips bucking upwards into you. There was some kind of a heaven between your thighs, he’s sure of it because the way it felt to just brush against your clothed cunt was already more than he could take. Every ounce of you was blissful to touch. “Oh my God.” You gasped. “No, that’s not my name.” He grumbles into your mouth. You want to roll your eyes with annoyance but they’re already rolling for a different reason. “When you touch me like that, what’s the fucking difference?” An excellent point, you think. He had to be some kind of deity.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, and you whimper. The bite is sharp, and it hurts but your lack of release is starting to hurt more. The build-up was fun, but not nearly enough. You had to take your shirt off, move this further. You start to unbutton it. You slip it down over your shoulders and he doesn’t help, no he just watches you. His blue eyes so dark like an ocean you could dive into. You feel a chill as your bra drops from your chest. You were equally exposed now. It suddenly felt so much more real. Seated in the backseat of his car, 2 weeks before he leaves for a tour you didn’t even know about 2 hours ago. Its sinking in, just how much this would hurt you from here on out.

“We can stop right now.” He pushes his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own. Hot breath fanning over them. It’s not as soothing as it should have been. You’re breathing is more erratic now. His proximity, you need his lips, need his touch, no hesitation, no-. No. You need a pause. You feel as if you could cry, maybe you were crying. Things were catching up to you, hard. “It won’t be easy.” He tries to laugh. “But we can stop.” He pecks your lip. Letting his words sink in. “I don’t want to stop Luke.” He could smile, but it didn’t seem right to, not yet, not while your mind is still restless. “Everything changes from here on, doesn’t it?” Now he’s smiling at you; his hand reaches up to cup your cheek lifting your face in his hands. “What’s to change?”

You weren’t sure exactly what he meant; somehow you felt comforted by it anyway. You silently urged him to continue. “I’ve always been in love with you.” He rubbed his thumb softly over your jaw, your face started to feel heavy in his hands as you melted into his touch, at his words. His heart wasn’t on his sleeve, no, it was being handed to you, given with a stroke to your jaw, a glimmer in his eye and a softness of words on his tongue. “The only change is that you know it.” He’s grinning as he reveals his secret, finally able to clue you in on his little plans. You could have told him then and there, just how relieved you were to feel the same, you felt it could wait. As sweet as it was, you need something less precious, he had to finish what he started or so help him you’d vanquish him.

“Take my clothes off.” He’s way ahead of you once again. He lifts your skirt, and you feel the need to correct him, tell him it needs to come off the other way around, he’s already fiddling with your tights. He’d grabbed them, the material stretching over his hands and before you could raise a brow in suspicion at the oddness, he’s tearing them, splitting the crotch for access. You were lost for words, and he was the same. The only difference was that he was silently praising himself for his strength no to look sooner. Where he thought he’d find cotton, instead he found lace. You were wearing soaking wet, lace panties. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He can’t supress his moan at all. You think you may be engulfed in flames, the only explanation for the fire burning you up inside. He. Tore. Your. Clothes. Off. LITERALLY. How can anyone ever compete?

Butterflies are swarming in your stomach as his fingers don’t hesitate to rub over your core. You sigh at his touch, it’s not even near your clit but you feel like you might cum. “Have I always got you this wet?” He’s surprised. He’s impressed and proud too but mostly surprised. You could laugh at his outburst, if it wouldn’t reveal just how ridiculously on point he was. “More often than I’d like to acknowledge right now.” He decides he’ll put a pin in it for another occasion because he’s absolutely certain now, there will be more occasions.

Your fingers find his hair, tugging on his curls in hopes to bring him back to the task at hand, you. “Think you can hurry this up?” You’re trying to stay cool, but you’re anything but. You don’t want to beg for it, it felt so beneath you before this moment, but he needed to pick up the pace. His fingers rub over the wet material clinging to your cunt. “Would usually have to work for it.” He’s smiling against your lips uncontrollably. “Guess I don’t need to.” You want to wipe the smug look off his face. He’s looking at your lips right before crashing his own against them, distracting you from his hands slipping away beneath you.

He’s freeing himself from his jeans and you so desperately need to look but you can’t. You can’t pull away. You just kiss and kiss and he just- oh God, he’s dragging your hips over him. He’s rocking up into you, still separated by the restrictions of your underwear but you feel him. You know you asked for more, but this was really happening like right now. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your hips start moving with the guidance of his hands. “Do something for me.” He breathes, tone too calm for your liking. His lips are trailing from yours, down to the column of your throat. “Anything.” You mean it, you truly mean it, he owns every piece of your soul. “Put me in.” You’re done for.

There’s no hesitation. You reach between you, hands blindly chasing after him. When you feel the hot, weight of him barely fitting in your hand, you want to whine. He’s so hard, burning up too. He’s hot to touch and it’s so unbearably arousing. He twitches at your slightest touch, and you’d be proud if you weren’t so needy. You work your hand over him, just gathering the beads of liquid already leaking from the tip to drag it back over him. He’s pushed his face right into your neck, kissing and nipping, his beard scratching your flesh as you bring him to you. It’s so nice to feel him humming along your throat. You are ruining him just as much as he did you.

Your breath hitches as you slide your underwear to the side. Your heart hammers as his tip brushes your entrance. Luke’s cock throbs as its sinking inside you. It’s barely inside and you feel so snug around him. He bites down hard on your neck as you take more but not nearly enough. You can’t think of anything but the fullness. You wonder if he’d fit inside you fully, scared he might not be able to go further, that you couldn’t possibly cater to his size but then he wiggles his hips, careful not to hurt you but he’s still forcing himself deeper inside.

You gasp out as you stretch for him, gripping the leather of the seat behind him. “So, fucking tight.” You were so wet he felt you dripping onto his thighs and yet you squeezed him so tight it was like you weren’t ready at all. “Is it too much?” It was so hard to speak when you held him like that, but something wasn’t right. He needed you to feel good. It wasn’t worth it otherwise, meant too much to fuck it up like this.

You’re nodding your head in response, entirely against your will. You’d failed him. You finally get to take it to the next level, and you can’t even take him. You were mortified. You were disappointed. You were devastated. You’re ready to give up, accept this as the mistake it must be, he doesn’t share the same sentiment. “Gonna try something different, okay?” He’s bringing your eyes to meet his. You’re so shocked. If it were anyone else, you’d have been discarded like dirty laundry. You’d be no fit for use. But Luke? Luke wasn’t giving up on you. He’d try a thousand times to get it right if that’s what it took to please you, to give himself to you the best way he could. You had never felt so loved in your life.

His cock can’t help but twitch when he sees your panic. “Trust me?” You nod profusely, it wasn’t necessary, but you were so close to losing it you couldn’t be stopped. “Think you can lie down for me?” You nod again. It takes all of your combined energy to pull away from each other. It feels like you’d lost a piece of yourself when you moved away. You’d collided and now been torn apart prematurely and the part of you that finally felt whole, was gone again.

You slipped off his lap, seating yourself back where you’d started. Luke’s shuffling around, removing his jeans completely before moving over, pulling your legs apart for him to slip between. You curse yourself once more for missing out on witnessing him naked for you, but your mind was racing with other information. He hadn’t warned you before his cock pushed past the threshold of your entrance. Instead, he eases himself in. Your cunt instinctively squeezing him at the intrusion.

“Oh, fuck.” He cried when he slid inside, his full length splitting you open. This angle was better, he’d fit, he’d not struggled and yet, you’d never felt so full in your life. He watches your expression, your eyes sealed shut, lips parted, cheeks burning. He watches you until you show any signs of regret or pleasure. He would stop immediately if you needed it. You just whimpered and moaned, and it was filth to his ears. His cock was so painfully hard he couldn’t hold back any longer. He did that to you; he didn’t even have to move either. He’d got you looking fucked out, crying for him and he’d barely started.

“Can I move?” He’s trying to keep his tone calm but he’s breathless. “Please baby, I gotta move.” His thighs are shaking. He’s gripping the seats like his life depended on it and it probably did. Your heart is warmed at the fact he’d asked. It shouldn’t feel anything of the sort with him so fucking deep inside you, ready to fuck you into oblivion but you did, he was so perfect. You nod your head, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss. “Fuck me.” Please, please, please, you thought. “Give it to me.” He kisses you back, retracting his hips simultaneously before dipping back in. “So, fucking beautiful.” He mutters. “Fucking your best friend.” It felt so dirty hearing it from him like this. But that is exactly what you were doing. Your hands are reaching up around his waist, clawing into his back when he ruts deeper, the car starting to rock with each movement of his hips. “So deep in you.” You choke after a particularly harsh thrust. “So good.” You’re stuttering it. Hearing your broken panting is nearly enough to send him over the edge.

He didn’t rock his hips quickly this time, not wanting to overdo it, to break you so soon. Instead, he slows himself. He’s grinding his hips down into you with a precision you’d never known before. “All you can say?” He teased. “You’re lucky you feel so good.” You warn him. “If I could think straight, you’d be done for.” He nips at your shoulder before layering it with kisses. “Is that so?” You whimper when his body lowers over yours. His body is no longer held up above put pressed into you. The new position providing more stimulation than the last. The closeness had his pelvis rocking into your clit. The extra stimulation leaving your cunt clenching and tingling, bursting with pleasure.

“Fuck, feel you tightening.” He’s starting to speak but quickly losing his train of thought at your body’s natural response to him. He’s wincing like it hurts him when you squeeze. In reality he’s just holding onto his load by a thread, ready to bust at the seams. He didn’t think he’d be able to pull out if he did. You probably should have thought of that sooner. He couldn’t exactly ask now. He should though. “Need it.” Your sweet whining brings him back. “What?” He’s losing himself in your eyes. Dark, lust filled and reading him like a book. “Need you to cum inside.” He’s gripping the seats so tight the material is about to tear. Just when he’d worried he’d made a fatal error you swoop in and save him. You wanted him inside. He didn’t have to move, he wanted so badly to stay, and you let him as if you knew. You knew how fucking feral he’d go hearing it dripping from your lips like that, a sultry dream. He needed this, needs to cum, needs you to feel it, everything he’s got.

He picked up his pace, abandoning his previous rhythm. He was going to pound into you so hard you’d be begging him to be the only man in your life for eternity. He would give it to so good you never had to wonder where your loyalties may lie. You were going to be his and no one else’s if it killed him. No one could ever fuck you like he could. “Fuck, tell me you’re mine.” You feel startled by the request. Not because it’s out of the ordinary but because you thought he’d have to be mad not to know it already. Not when the request alone had you cumming around him the moment the words touched your ears. You felt it so hard, it was a wonder you hadn’t blacked out. Your walls a tightening mess, thighs wrapped around Luke’s waist so tight you couldn’t feel the shake in them, stabilised by his frame. Oh, you felt it in your core though. Holy shit, you’d not cum so hard for so long. He hadn’t even realised you’d done it at all. It felt so unreal that you’d even doubted it yourself. Finishing from a sentence, from fucking without the aid of touching yourself, simply unheard of. Maybe you really were his.

“I’m yours, all yours.” It had never been truer. His eyes close as he lets the words float around in his brain over and over. “Yeah? All mine? Belong to me?” You don’t think you could ever profess it enough. You instead move your hands, wrapping them around his neck, bringing his chest down into yours. You lift your head from the seat, your lips coming to his ear as he slows himself, meeting you halfway. You’re whispers send him right over the edge, tumbling towards his demise. He’s grunting, spilling inside you, hips slowly grinding before coming to a halt. He’s muttering sweet sentiments. “You’re so pretty. So good, fuck baby.” His head is spinning. He’s so blissed out he felt like he wasn’t even with you, he was on a whole other plain. You’d taken him to heaven, you’d actually killed him. What a pleasure it was to be killed by you. He was utterly destroyed.

He’s trying to hold himself up, arms on either side of your head. He’s not looking at you, more your bodies still entangled. He looked so conflicted. You try not to imagine the worst. He can’t regret you already. You’d only just ended. Usually, it took some time. He at least should drop you home before that kind of clarity kicks in. Your heart picks up speed again. A panic starting to drip a sweat over your brow. You don’t want this to end like that. “Stop that.” He places a singular kiss to the tip of your nose and the thoughts are erased. “I can practically hear your thoughts” He kisses you again so nonchalantly. “I’m just thinking about moving.” You try not to sigh so loud with relief, but you fail miserably and he’s laughing because it’s so effortlessly you. “Probably should have planned that better.” He’s scolding himself and his tone is light and airy, and you don’t feel so scared anymore. He was right before when he said nothing would change. The only difference was the physicality.

“Why couldn’t you be shorter? We could have lay here for a while.” He’s glad to hear your laughter returning even if it is at his expense. “In my defence, I’ve never done it in a car before, I’m sure there’s a way of doin it, I just don’t know it.” Your eyes widen. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He’s furrowing his brows above you. “I thought this was exactly the location 2018 Luke would be going for.” He gasps in offence. “Sorry to disappoint, it’s all beds for me.” You don’t believe him for a second. He’d had some messy eras. You reckon he just forgot them or tried his hardest to.

“Why have you?” You smirk. “Might have.” There’s that gasp again before a moment of confusion. “Wait, you don’t have a car.” He needs to investigate further. “Correct.” He’s thinking. “Matt didn’t have a car either.” Of course, only he would mention your only ex immediately after your first time together. Very on brand for him. “Did you fuck in my car?” You struggle to contain your laughter. “No! What the fuck?” You shove him. “Thank God, that would have been awkward.” You snort. “More awkward than this sorry excuse for pillow talk?” He pecks your nose for the last time before beaming an infectious smile down at you.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything but uh, will you drive me home now?” He’s suddenly reminded of the purpose of this entire event. He was apologising and giving you a lift. “That’s why we fucked then, just wanted that trip.” You nod along with him. “Mmhmm, didn’t bring my purse, gotta pay my way somehow.” He rolls his eyes. He’s amazed by you. You manage to make his heart pound and dick throb all from making jokes with him still buried inside you. “You fuck all your uber drivers?” You shrug the best you can beneath him. “Only the hot ones.”

It takes you both a little time to dress yourselves. The moment he pulls out you’re sighing and missing the feeling. He’s just as devastated to leave you empty, the sight of his finish leaking from you certainly made up for the fact though. You don’t miss your opportunity to check him out this time. His shoulders are so broad and so freckled. You’d never really noticed that before, always assumed he was pasty beneath those clothes. You were pleasantly surprised. He was a work of art in every manner of the word. “You’re so pretty, you know that?” He’s knelt in front of you stark naked and yet it’s your words that bring him to blushing. “You might have mentioned it.”

Once he’s dressed his bottom half, he moved to help you. He’d gathered as many items of clothing as he could, your shirt and your vest, your bra was certainly gone forever. You sit up straight, bottom half not moving for the risk of making a larger mess than you already had. You were thankful the seats were leather. You both ignore the elephant in the room, well vehicle, for as long as possible before eventually addressing it, looking to the pool of his cum on the seat. “How bout we get these off?” He tugs your shredded tights. “Can use them as a, um, temporary fix.” He cringed as he said it. It was a very sensible idea despite the uncomfortable subject. You work to remove them, cleaning the best you can. “Think you’ll sit in the front seat this time?” You ponder it. “I don’t know about that one.”

You find yourself in the passenger seat just minutes after he asked. Which surprises neither one of you. He’s sat shirtless beside you, even though he’d located his shirt. His glasses are once sitting pretty on the bridge of his nose. You can’t help but admire the marks you’d gifted him. You welcomed the eye candy with open arms. His hand reaches to rest on your bare thigh every now and then. Each touch a bolt of lightning to your senses. You were almost distracted enough not to notice he’d made another diversion. “Thought you were taking me home.” You stare at him like he’s crazy, maybe it was you who was the crazy one, too fucked out to see straight. You wouldn’t put it past yourself. “I am.” He didn’t seem phased by your inquiry. “This isn’t the route to my house babe.” You drop the babe in for sass, but he quite likes the sound of it anyway. “No, I said I’d drive you home.” He turns to smile at your puzzled expression, lips ready to part with an argument before he cuts you right off. “Never said I meant your home.”

#5sos #my recs

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