#That said I wasted all my left energy on this... describing unnecessary things lol

[storiesabouteli]

Looking closely at this, it was quite a verbose act of mine...

Do The Damage. Part 2 // Dilf! Noel Gallagher X f!Reader (Smut).

prompt: Noel falling for a younger singer who isn’t famous yet and is just starting out, so he guides her like a tutor to boost her career and help her gain more attention. But would this bond remain purely professional? (Involves smut, with the potential to escalate over time and features an age gap.)

Here's Part 1!!!

words: 5,7k.

a/n: It's supposed to be 4 parts, it doesn't have a grand plot, I just wanted to write about this topic. I hope you like it! (and pls use a condom, this is just a fanfic)

Your curious eyes wandered around the vast studio.

“For now, yes, but later there’ll be more people,” Noel replied, noticing your curiosity.

You nodded, hands tucked into the pockets of your dress. LA was unbearably hot, and he was practically freezing you with the air conditioning. He had shown you every corner of the studio, and by now, you felt fairly comfortable. Guitars adorned the walls, along with basses and a drum set from one of those impossibly expensive brands. You stood in front of him, looking a bit like a lost child, genuinely waiting to be told what to do next.

It took him a moment, but he realized your discomfort.

“Alright, I probably didn’t plan this out too well,” he admitted with a soft laugh. Noel had this way of laughing—never showing his teeth, always restrained—yet it still carried an effort to make you feel welcome. He mentioned having read through the songs you sent, even though he had already listened to them before. Now, he said, he knew the exact lyrics. You were both eager and terrified to know his exact thoughts about your work.

“Is it okay if I use the equipment?” you asked, your fingers lightly brushing one of the microphones as you picked up the headphones, waiting for his approval. Everything about this was new, and you wanted to immerse yourself in every detail.

“Feel free to use whatever you want, little’un.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you bit the inside of your lip to ground yourself. You glanced at the buttons; they were a mystery to you—just rows of switches without any labels that made sense. Noel seemed to forget that all of this was second nature only to him.

“Alright, let’s start by getting you familiar with everything. Once you’re comfortable, we’ll figure out what to do next.”

It sounded like a good idea.

Time flew by. What felt like mere minutes had actually been hours. Occasionally, the two of you would lapse into silence, but it was never awkward. He had a soothing voice, explaining things as if they weren’t obvious, allowing you to visualize every step. You liked the way he talked.

His hair was longer than the last time you had seen him, the dark strands now interspersed with gray and brushing the tops of his ears. The piercing blue of his eyes shone brightly as he spoke and gestured. He wore a dark button-up shirt, which made little sense given the LA heat, but he looked undeniably good in darker colors. The shirt failed to fully conceal the hair on his chest, which peeked out just enough to be distracting.

“This is pretty heavy, Noel,” you said as he handed you a red guitar with his last name etched into its side. It was clearly well-used, with the wear and tear of countless gigs, but it was still beautiful. Noel seemed amused by the way you pronounced his name, your accent stretching the vowels slightly, like it was meant for you to say it that way. That could be your thing, he wouldn't dare to correct it, he even hoped to hear it again.

The guitars you had played before were lighter, simpler, and less durable.

“You can play it if you want. It’s good to get used to a specific guitar early on.”

You listened, feeling an odd warmth in your chest as you wished he would call you “little one” again. You adjusted the strap, your gaze falling to the floor.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted softly, your fingers pressing down on the strings without producing any sound.

He nodded, as if he actually understood.

“What don’t you know, little’un?” he asked softly, his expression calm, as though it never crossed his mind that you could be anything less than genuine. His body was behind yours, close enough that you could feel your heart pounding, and you were sure he could hear it. He reached over, placing his hand on the guitar’s neck and gently adjusting a few strings.

The truth was simple: you hummed melodies, your friends figured out the notes, and then you carried them with you.

“I only know my songs,” you admitted, hesitating. “There aren’t many, and I memorized them with the help of some friends at the pub.” The words felt clumsy as they left your mouth. Without realizing it, you took a step back, bumping into Noel’s solid chest. His hands found your waist instinctively, steadying you. He smelled familiar, and his touch was just as cool and soft as you remembered.

"There’s nowt wrong wi' that. No one’s born knowin’.” he said, his voice low and sure, as though speaking directly into your ear. “I’ve learned a lot since the first album; we can work on this if you’d like.”

His breath brushed your skin as he spoke, dangerously close. “Want to try something?” he asked, strumming a short segment of one of your songs. He had memorized the chords—he’d listened to it that much. It felt odd, but you let it go, too focused on steadying your own breathing.

“I’m not sure...” Your voice faltered, and he laughed softly—a nasal, warm sound. His shirt brushed against your bare arms as he shifted closer.

Taking your hands in his, he guided your fingers, demonstrating each press of the strings and the sounds they produced. The simplicity of the act caught you off guard; your mind felt blank as you followed his movements. His hands were strong yet gentle, his fingers adorned with rings that you couldn’t help but notice. You fixated on the way his skin moved against yours, completely distracted.

“This isn’t sounding right,” you said impulsively, turning your face toward him. His eyes, which had been focused on your hands, now met yours, and the proximity was overwhelming. You immediately looked down, feeling vulnerable, and he noticed your hesitance.

“But it will. Trust me, yeah?” His smile was reassuring, revealing slightly crooked lower teeth and the faint lines of age around his eyes. His thumb grazed the bridge of your nose absentmindedly, a fleeting moment of intimacy that made his cheeks flush. He quickly pulled back, brushing his hand over his own face as if the action had been too much.

God, he was something.

“You’re doing well, tiny one,” he murmured, his tone encouraging. “You just need to relax and give it more time.”

Your fingers ached, and you instinctively pulled your hands back. “You trust me a lot,” you said softly.

He noticed the faint bruising on the tips of your fingers, the start of a superficial cut—nothing unusual for someone unused to playing. His gaze softened as he pressed the edge of his shirt to your hand, stopping the bleeding.

“Shouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Trust yourself, I mean. So far, I haven’t seen anything in you that doesn’t show how good you are at this...” His words trailed off, slightly disjointed, but you found yourself wishing he’d talk about you like that more often.

Noel made a mental note of your cold hands and the way your short, thin clothing seemed to betray the studio’s chill. He pressed your hand one last time as if silently resolving to make sure you were warm and comfortable next time.

…

In the days that followed, before heading back to the hotel, Noel suggested the two of you go out to eat—a way to spend more time talking. His suggestion seemed casual, but beneath it was a genuine effort to do something meaningful for you. He worried about repeating the mistakes he’d made early in Oasis, afraid of being a bad influence or overwhelming you. At the same time, he simply wanted to be around you. Both feelings were true.

Since you’d spent hours at the studio, and he hadn’t thought to offer you a proper meal, he picked a relaxed spot. It had the feel of the pubs you performed in—live music and warm, dim lighting.

When you arrived, a chill brushed against your arms. Noel chuckled, noticing. You hadn’t seen him carrying a jacket, but he swiftly draped one over your shoulders, his gaze thoughtful over you. The weight of it was reassuring.

“I can control the studio’s temperature, but most places here are air-conditioned. You’ll end up freezing,” he said. You didn’t respond, too preoccupied with wondering whether he’d always have a jacket for you—these oversized, cozy layers that swallowed you whole. You liked the way his scent clung to the fabric and hated that your thoughts weren’t as innocent as they should have been.

Sitting across from him, there was nothing to distract you. The moment felt unguarded, almost daunting. He had loosened a few buttons because of the heat, and the soft collar rested against his rosy skin, his neck chain catching faintly in the light. His eyes, unwavering, were on you, and you felt your stomach flutter.

Your foot brushed against his under the table. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but neither of you moved. His posture was relaxed as always, his deep, nasal breaths calming despite the quiet tension in the air. Eventually, your foot settled against his calf, taking in the warmth of him.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, breaking the silence, motioning toward the pink tube of moisturizer in your hand.

“Peach,” you said, your voice betraying a small note of excitement. You wanted to talk more but worried that beyond music, you might not be interesting enough for him.

“It’s nice. It makes me feel less tense,” you admitted. He let you take his hand in yours.

His hands were larger, rougher—calloused in a way yours should have been. You applied a small drop of cream, carefully massaging the hardened patches and tracing the prominent veins. Your nails grazed his wrist lightly, eliciting a pleasant tickle. It felt like an eternity, but neither of you rushed the moment.

You smoothed out the creases in his shirt next, your hands brushing against his wrist as you rebuttoned it. You folded the cuffs to what you assumed he’d consider the perfect height. When you looked up, his jacket was still draped over your shoulders, your smile faint but content. He noticed how the strap of your dress sat slightly askew but didn’t say anything. Instead, you adjusted it yourself, catching his gaze in the process.

Noel shifted uncomfortably, silently berating himself for the thoughts creeping into his mind. But as much as he resented the pull he felt, he couldn’t ignore how real it all seemed.

When you finished, you noticed he was watching you intently. You smiled a bit more openly this time, and his eyes softened, as though they were smiling back. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty—it was full of things neither of you dared to say aloud.

The food arrived shortly after. Noel whispered a quiet “thank you” as you pulled his jacket closer around yourself. He hoped it would carry your scent by the end of the night.

The atmosphere remained easy, the unspoken comfort between you palpable. Noel wasn’t particularly hungry, but watching the way your eyes lit up with every bite and how your smile widened unknowingly made him savor his meal. You made him feel good—better than he had in a long time. Everything else in his life was chaos, except for you.

It had only been a week, but he already felt like he did back in school when he had a crush—looking forward to seeing someone so much it made the days worthwhile. He found himself wanting to avoid trouble, if only to be in a better place whenever he saw you.

At one point, he gently wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, clearing away a small smudge. You watched him, reflexively brushing the same spot with your hand afterward. For a fleeting moment, Noel considered bringing his thumb to his lips, but he stopped himself, knowing it would feel too weighted. Instead, he wiped it with a napkin, hesitating to apologize lest it make things awkward.

You didn’t seem to mind. Your cheeks were flushed, and the tingling sensation of his touch stayed on your skin. It wasn’t a mistake—you liked it. And as he sat there across from you, watching your expression under the dim light, Noel knew he did too.

…

"Do you need sunscreen? I didn’t see you apply any yet," you asked, preparing your second layer while Noel hadn’t bothered with any. "How disgraceful, Noel. You hardly seem like an older man." He rolled his eyes at your teasing. Until the rest of the team arrived to record your songs, he kept you busy like that, and also by repeating vocal exercises and practicing breathing. It was embarrassing, but hearing him say, "You're doing great, darling. Let’s try one more time, but you’re getting it right," never failed to make you feel both comforted and eager to hug him.

In the coming weeks, you’d be performing together, singing some of his songs as a guest. Nothing had been rehearsed yet, but the thought alone tied a knot of anxiety in your throat. Sharing the stage with him felt unimaginable, especially since you weren’t used to large audiences.

The wind tousled his hair, and his carefree expression was oddly reassuring. You handed him a bit of sunscreen, but his clumsy attempts to apply it made you laugh. "Alright, Noely, let me handle this." Your cool fingertips touched his face as you removed his sunglasses. The scent of peach lingered in the air as you smoothed the cream over his skin, feeling the roughness of his beard under your hands. Noel closed his eyes, letting himself relax–not that he could much.

Tracing the bridge of his nose with your thumb, you made him sigh, his lips parting slightly. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow. Stepping back, you finished applying the sunscreen to his shoulders. Even though you wanted to, you didn't go any lower than that, letting him continue on his own.

When his hands moved across your back in return, his warm touch calmed you. Noel’s thoughts wandered, struggling against the pull of desires he knew he shouldn’t entertain. But something about the peaceful way you smiled, eyes closed, made every barrier he’d built feel meaningless.

Gently moving the strap of your bikini aside to cover your skin, he found himself tempted to press his lips to the curve of your neck, imagining how your breath would hitch at the touch. He shouldn’t want this—he knew it. But in that quiet moment, with you so serene and trusting, resisting felt impossible. You were there, unguarded, as though he was your safe haven. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be.

“Wait a min," you murmured, your voice soft and drawn out, a lazy whisper. Your fingers, light and unsure, fumbled with his as you untied the bikini string, letting it fall away to expose more of your skin–not in a provocative way, but enough to stir something unspoken. His gaze lingered, heavy and unreadable, though he kept his expression neutral.

Careful not to overstep, Noel began rubbing sunscreen over the newly revealed area, his touch slow and deliberate as he worked down toward your waist, barely brushing your hips. Your skin felt impossibly soft beneath his hands, as if it might break with the slightest misstep. With a final, almost reverent squeeze, he let his hand fall away, your body responding with a subtle shiver at the loss of contact and a faint murmur escaping your lips.

Sitting back, Noel noticed how still you were, your head nestled closer to the makeshift pillow of your towel. A quiet chuckle slipped from him as he realized why–you had drifted off, the process taking longer than either of you had anticipated. For a moment, he allowed himself to watch you, his heart caught between tenderness and restraint.

…

The unfolding of the night felt like the complete opposite of the calm that had settled in you earlier. Your chest was heavy, overwhelmed by a sudden realization of just how famous he was. His button-down shirt still smelled like him, and all you could recall was being pressed against his chest as he carefully guided you to a quieter spot. His fingers had gripped your skin, his gaze grounding, and the relieved words, "I think no one saw us," still echoed in your mind, leaving you shaken.

He hadn’t acted on impulse—there were groups of men looking for him, girls with cameras, and he had made it clear that it was important not to be seen with you. It was terrifying in every sense, but what struck you most was the new ache in your chest, knowing he didn’t want to be seen with you.

"I know this happened because you’re well-known," you said, swallowing hard as you struggled to find the right words. Noel knelt in front of you, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He wasn’t entirely sure how to fix this, but he hoped his presence was enough to offer some comfort. His touch felt right; an unspoken attempt to reassure you, though the proximity unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite name. Still, given the circumstances, it felt like the right thing to do.

“I’m really sorry, truly. This was careless of me," he apologized, his voice soft but genuine.

You shook your head, your hands gently cupping his face as you pushed his hair back. His deep blue eyes met yours, filled with concern. You were on the verge of tears, and the weight of it all made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure he fully understood your feelings, but they pierced him nonetheless.

"Noel, I might sound stupid, but—" you hesitated. Before you could finish, he pulled you in, his arms wrapping around you with tenderness. Your legs circled his waist as you held onto him tightly. He stroked your hair, surrendering to the closeness, knowing he had never been this intimate with you before—and it was better than he’d ever imagined.

"If they like me, which I really hope they do—you know, with the songs, working with you, and all the pre-album promotion as an artist..." you trailed off, pausing to gather your thoughts. "I don’t want to sound ungrateful. This whole journey with you has been incredible, but... will it be normal?"

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, which made it easier to speak freely without the weight of embarrassment. Noel listened, his mind racing. He hadn’t thought about it like this before—how exposed you’d become to a part of his world he disliked himself. And the truth was, simply avoiding being seen together wouldn’t fix it. Soon, you would be just as much in the public eye as he was.

His tongue rested against the roof of his mouth as your fingers found their place at the nape of his neck, gently tugging at the fine hairs there–much like the way you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you're anxious. It soothed you. Your gaze dropped to his chest, and it hit you that this was the first time you'd held him for so long. He wore a light shirt, but after having seen him without it, the fabric somehow felt far less concealing. You liked everything about this–the warmth radiating from him and the unobstructed view of him in this moment.

He tugged gently at the collar of your shirt, pulling your face closer until his breath danced across your skin. When your eyes met his, you saw no attempt to mask his intent–he was staring straight into your soul. You were beautiful, even now, with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Understanding the turmoil inside you, he let you whisper through the haze of your emotions, "I can't mess this up.”

His focus didn't waver. Though every part of him wanted to pull you closer, he held back, patiently waiting for you to continue. "I want this too. I just... I don't want you to think less of me, okay?" Tears threatened to spill again. As you instinctively tried to lower your head, he gently tilted your chin back up, fully grasping the weight of what you were trying to express.

"I don't want you to think I'm doing this just because I'm interested in you. I don't want you to see me as..." You hesitated, searching for the right words. Instead of pressuring you, he pressed his forehead lightly against yours, cradling your face in his hands with a tenderness that disarmed you.

"I don't think anything bad about you, uh?" he said softly, unwavering but gentle. "I've never thought that way. These are just your worries, you got me? Nothing's gonna change the fact that I think you're talented and competent. That has nothing to do with how I see you as a professional. You don't have to be afraid of that."

His voice was firm, louder than usual, the roughness in his tone just right. Each word sank in, steadying you as you listened. He swallowed hard, his lips slightly parted, and you couldn't help but notice how patient he was, how perfectly he seemed to understand that you needed this moment to gather yourself. Your fingers tightened around his, and then, finally, your lips found his.

The kiss was slow, tentative. Though you felt self-conscious, unsure of yourself, it was warm, grounding. He pulled you closer, your body naturally molding against his as if you belonged there.

When you began to pull back, a flicker of doubt creeping in, his hand caught the collar of your shirt again, pulling you back into a deeper, more urgent kiss. The gesture made it clear–he had been waiting for this far too long to let you retreat now. As you leaned back slightly, he held you firmly, sensing how you were beginning to soften against him.

He chuckled into the kiss, his breath against your skin. His tongue brushed yours, the movements slow and deliberate, every kiss lingering as if he wanted to savor each second. The taste was salty–a mix of your tears and the sea–and you couldn't help but laugh softly at the thought of him being "seasoned.”

Your hand reached up to brush the hair from his face, and you took in the sight of him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, and his beard scratched gently against your skin, a sensation you hadn't fully processed until now. You wanted more, and for the first time, you didn't feel the need to hold back.

"You're beautiful," he said softly. You nodded, your lashes fluttering in a way that made him wonder if it was his words or his voice causing it. Either way, he was determined to keep seeing that reaction.

He ran his calloused fingers along up the curve of your thigh, stopping just at the edge, giving your hips a firm squeeze. Your nails dug into his shoulders in anticipation as your legs parted briefly, giving him better access and also making the fabric of your shirt give him a better view. The bottom of your bikini clung tightly to your skin, leaving faint indentations where the fabric pressed. His lungs filled with heavy air, as did his mouth with saliva, and he kissed the spot with a light bite.

He didn't need to ask, soon your back was against the sheets. You weren't scandalous to his ears, but something about it made you more noticeable, your breathing loud and prolonged. He undid the ties, brushing the rings on the sides, and revealing your flesh little by little. He moved one of your hands that were on your belly away and kissed the spot before looking at you. He wanted so much for this to be comfortable for you.

"Y’alright there, little’un?” Your eyes were teary, and he had barely touched you. You nodded, a simple noise of agreement. Your attention was his, your fingers entering his hair in a caress that made him close his eyes, resting his chin on your skin.

He dragged his face, soaking in your sounds, as the texture of his newly grown beard took hold of your exposure.

He chuckled, his nose touching your center, just enjoying how your fingers tightened in his hair to get him closer. This would take time, he was in no rush. He kissed your skin, groaning as he felt your taste on his tongue and realized how wet you were. His hands tightened around you, holding your hips and dragging them so that it would be better for him.

His body was warm, he pulled away slightly, touching his fingers to you and pushing them in just a little. Your legs moved back, but your only vision was of him leaning his head closer and sucking on his fingers right after, licking his red lips and swallowing cautiously.

"Yer proper good, yeah?" Your lips were a bit open, not knowing if that needed to be answered. It was a short pause, which felt like hours, but soon his eyes were closed and his tongue was firmly inside you.

When his fingers took their place inside you, the wet kisses started to be on your clit. His coordination was remarkable, worthy of what he did for a living. He pushed his fingers until they disappeared inside you, pulsated them in the right place thanks to your whimpering, until your legs tightened a little, and then he pulled them out completely wet and repeated it all over again. His tongue followed this rhythm, unerring, saliva joining with his fingers, your clit pulsating on his lips and he grunted with it as if giving you pleasure was something pleasurable for him.

"Noel," his name sounded like a plea. He had other plans, but your elongated vocals and honeyed voice made him lose himself there, his free hand caressing your belly and your hips trembling shyly against his face. He felt your cum build up on his fingertips and dripping down the corners of his mouth, with each gasp of yours, the more impossible it was to stop.

Your voice was more broken, it was possible to hear your throat scratching. Your eyes were closed, his fingers stuck in his hair, in a way that would certainly make him sore later, your thigh gradually stopped shaking and his muscles relaxed. Noel didn't leave, he just stayed close, with light kisses until it was over, even though your reaction was to rub yourself against him more, his nose brushing against you and his beard hurting you. When your eyes opened, meeting his, it still lasted a little longer until you had no other option but to stop because you felt too sensitive.

Nothing was said, it wasn't necessary. The crossed line already made things more tangible. He kissed your cheek, the salty taste leaving his chest warm. The corners of your eyes still overflowed, and he gently wiped them away. Your gaze followed him, his subtle smile still shining for you. There was a distinct difference from the other relationships you'd had before; you felt cherished there. He could have other relationships that weren't with you, but you were there.

"Do you want me to do something?" Your lack of action irritated you, but the awareness that he was older, had been through this countless times, and that everything had worked out so well from what you'd just seen, left you feeling insecure. You certainly didn't have many people to compare him to, and he did with you—though he wouldn't act on it…

He laughed, in a more sincere way, different from before. He was taking off his clothes, your attention distant yet present on him. His body was mature, the hair filling his chest fully and running down his stomach, he had a well-defined V of his abdomen, although he was not a muscular man. "God," he shook his head, kissing the side of your face.

He pulled the fabric of your shirt away, pressing his lips to your clavicle. Instinctively, you turned your face, giving him more space, allowing the kisses to trail upwards. Your fingers traced along his shoulders, then down his arm, only to rise again, lingering on his forearm before tightening around his neck in a hug.

"You’re proper tasty.” Your face nestled against his neck as he nibbled on your skin, making you laugh softly against him. He pulled you tighter, and you could feel every part of him–his warm body, the hairs sticking to your chest, mingling with the sweat between you and the weight between the legs touching you.

"You alright, love?” He pushed your hair away from your face, searching for an answer in your eyes, beyond just words. You nodded, letting his body fall onto yours, the comforting and precise weight settling perfectly.

Your button-down shirt was slightly open, still leaving room for imagination. He could see little of your cleavage, but that wasn't important, even so he sucked the exposed skin in a bite and released it slightly until a subtle mark was left. He adjusted himself, his forehead nearly touching yours, and your half-lidded eyes stayed fixed on him.

The wait was intentional, Noel didn't want to overwhelm you. Your gaze on him was as sensitive as your legs had been minutes ago, his patience more about not hurting you and making this more bearable. He watched your breathing return to normal, only for him to destroy it all over again. He felt sore, craving it so badly, but the whole vision was worth it.

Your nails dug into his back, and in total control, he filled you up. The air left his lungs in a rough grunt as your body was thrust forward by the impact, your hips meeting, and your eyes softly closing as everything fell into place. Your thighs tightened around him, but not so much that he couldn't move. The edges of your eyes started to water again, and he found this to be a new addiction of his.

"Yer can handle it.” The still bodies, the sweat and his voice working on you like anesthetics. He was waiting for you to get used to having him inside and you really needed it, you still felt sensitive, but you liked the sensation. “You're a big girl, right? You can handle it.” The crease between his brows deepened with every word, and there was something so satisfying about it.

Tears streamed down your face and he was attentive to your movements, being careful with you. The effect of his voice on you was very clear, with each syllable or compliment attributed. Your bodies dissolved into the sheets and soon the room was filled with wet noises and your pitiful grumbling.

"I’m ‘ere, ain’t I?” His hands on you, squeezing and pulling your body towards him were very firm, and although good, they would leave marks to be appreciated later. His face above yours was sweating a lot, in a way that made you want to lick it, the corners of his hair were damp and his cheeks and lips were red and you could feel him in your stomach. “I'm all yours, little’un.” His nose pressed against yours, and then his lips, the delicious sweat on your tongue, taking all your remaining breath.

His voice began to sound more distant, his sighs heavier as he went deeper into you following your fingers digging into his skin. You were so delicate beneath him, your movements moderate yet painful, so as not to disturb him, as if you expected to be punished otherwise.

He moved his hand down to your clit, pressing just enough to add to your desperation. His abdomen ached in a good way, your stomach clenching as your entire body wrapped tightly around his. His mouth went dry, and he watched you squirm, your legs suffocating him and your whimpering increasing.

He licked his lips, your body fragile and trembling before him, your little nod indicating for him to continue, not that you could take much. He didn't need much either, the wet noises were more intense, his hips more precise as you writhed and it wasn't long before you were being filled with warmth.

Still you moaned in disapproval as soon as he pulled out of you, he was careful, and you felt him slip out of you between your legs. Nothing was strange anymore, just intimate, in a way it shouldn't be. He then lay down next to you and you didn't know where you belonged or what to do.

Noticing your expression, he draped the sheet over your body. You nestled into his chest, burying your face there as if what had just happened was something insignificant. "I’m the one who should be hiding like this; I’m the old one ‘ere," he said, his tone light and teasing, trying to ease your shoulders. He could tell you were feeling shy.

"You’re good," you murmured, exhaustion settling in as his fingers lazily traced patterns along your back, grounding you to him.

"You’re good too, love," he replied, his eyes fixed on you—calm, unguarded, and without fear. You began to feel a chill crawl up your spine. Was this going to be a problem? He didn’t want to be seen with you, there was a noticeable age gap between you, and though you felt understood by him, you were convinced this was nothing more than a fleeting amusement for him. You told yourself you could handle it, enjoy the moment, but how would it feel to see him again in the coming days?

"I need to take this," he said, grabbing his phone, which you hadn’t even heard ring. Still, he stayed beside you, his calloused fingers exploring your skin with reverence, each touch gentle, as though memorizing you. He mentioned needing to meet someone—Gem, apparently, who had just arrived. Leaning in, he kissed your forehead, then the crown of your head, with tenderness that almost undid you.

"You can stay ‘ere if you want," he offered. "I just need to hand over the studio key to a friend. I’ll be back before you know it."

It was clear from the hesitation in his voice, even in the words he spoke on the phone, that he didn’t want to leave the bed. You nodded with a soft smile, and he kissed your shoulder one last time before reluctantly slipping away.

The question lingered: could you get used to this? Perhaps. But deep down, you knew he had no reason to nurture this.