#devil’s advocates | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doomhands-jr · 7 days ago

Text

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 14

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

Buy me a coffee

--------

Noah pushed in slowly. That was always his favorite part: that slow first push, the quiet gasp she makes at the initial stretch… It was almost as good as coming.

Fuck, she was so wet. She gushed around him, hot and slick around his throbbing cock.

He groaned against her neck, snaking his hand up her shirt and squeezing the soft flesh, thumbing over her perky nipple. She threw her head back as he thrust into her again, exposing her neck for him to lathe his tongue across. It was hot, and slick, and he slid in and out of her over and over again.

--------

“What the—ow!”

You were still half-asleep when your elbow crashed into the coffee table, but you woke up just fast enough to catch yourself before your head followed suit.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins. You struggled to catch your breath. Searching around for what had sent you tumbling off the couch so early in the morning, you caught a glimpse of Noah’s tall silhouette disappearing around the corner. A few seconds later, you heard the latch to the bathroom door close softly.

Your elbow throbbed, and you pushed up the sleeve to see the damage. Already, an angry red lump had begun to form.

What the hell had happened?

You’d been having a good dream, though you couldn’t remember what it was about. Just that you were warm—a stark contrast to the unexpected chill that slowly started to register now that the spindly fingers of sleep had begun to release you from their clutches.

You exhaled slowly, noticing a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before.

What were you dreaming about?

Noah was there, you were fairly certain. The two of you were pressed up close to one another, him behind you, and…

…oh shit.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes growing wide.

That was real.

Everything froze as your brain began to fill in the holes of your memory.

You and Noah had fallen asleep on the couch together, and you were sure you’d gravitated towards each other in your sleep. Beyond that, and this may or may not have been real, but you thought you felt movement.

Your skin tingled with its own memory—one your brain couldn’t yet latch onto. The back of your neck, your right breast, all along your back, your ass…they thrummed with the knowledge that Noah had been there. You could almost hear him groaning softly in your ear as he moved against you. Your neck understood what it felt like to have him sighing, open-mouthed, against it, and down in between your legs, you were damper than you’d ever been.

It was too much.

Flopping back onto the couch, you stared at the faint outlines of smoke stains that decorated the corners of the stucco ceiling.

Noah must have woken up and abruptly realized he’d been dry-humping you in his sleep. That’s probably what had sent you tumbling into the coffee table, him getting up in such a hurry.

You rolled over to face the back of the sofa.

It was so nice. You didn’t even need to be cognitively present for it to know that it had been nice. You let your eyes drift shut, allowing your body to sink into the memory of him behind you, arm wrapped around and clutching at your chest. Noah, firm and hot against your lower back, grinding himself into you.

You reached down to cup your sex over your clothes. Not much—just enough to relieve some of the tension.

You must have fallen into a micro-sleep because the next thing you know, you woke up to the sound of Noah clearing his throat. You blinked your eyes open to see him standing awkwardly at the far end of the couch. He shifted from foot to foot, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Sorry about that,” he said. The words were awkward as they tumbled past his lips. “I, uh, had to go to the bathroom.”

“It’s okay,” you said, pretending you had no idea what had happened.

“Power’s out,” he continued. “We should probably get you back to your dorm.”

You sighed, not wanting your time with him to be over quite so soon. The last time you and Noah had been sexual, he’d disappeared immediately after. You wondered if it was a pattern of his, whether or not he would get in his head, decide your presence in his life was too much trouble, and ghost again.

Part of you was already preparing yourself emotionally for that.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Almost nine.” He crossed the room to open the blinds and let the sun in, flooding the dark room with light. “Jesus,” he muttered, scanning the scene outside.

You sat up, craning your neck to see what had drawn that reaction out of him, but didn’t have to wait long.

Overnight, the snow had collected in droves, piled so high you could barely make out the cityscape underneath it. The road out front showed evidence that salt trucks and plows had already begun working, but that just meant that the snow had been pushed to the side in large piles, blocking sidewalks and driveways. In the yard, the landscaping had been blanketed over, sharp edges reduced to vague white shapes that were your only clues that beneath the ice, you may find where the sidewalk stops and the steps to the porch begin.

“Looks like the power’s out all over this side of town,” said Noah. You looked over to find him thumbing over his phone screen. “And my shift got canceled.”

“Yikes,” you said. “Phones are still working, though?”

He nodded, striding across the room to check outside the front windows.

You fumbled around in your bag for your phone, opening it to see a text from your parents asking you about the storm, as well as a notification from the university.

“Power’s out at the university too,” you said. “Generators are down. It says a temporary shelter is being provided at the fire hall just off campus.”

Noah disappeared down the hall, coming back with a bundle of garments in his arms. He dropped them on the floor, then picked out a black hoodie from the pile and threw it on before looking at you.

“Get your coat on.”

You stared at him blankly, then out to the window, and then back to him. “Noah, there’s no way I can make it to the fire hall in this,” you said. “The sidewalks aren’t even passable.”

“I know,” he said, throwing on some sweatpants over his basketball shorts and tying a knot in the drawstring. “We have to check on the neighbors though. There are some old people that live down the street. We gotta make sure they’re okay.”

You slapped a palm against your forehead.

Of course.

How had you missed that? Usually, you’d be the first to jump into service mode, always thinking of how the people around you were affected by problems before worrying about your own comfort. Truthfully, you were a little ashamed you hadn’t considered it.

You allowed that shame to motivate you into action, throwing your coat on and searching around for where you’d put your boots.

“Do you have any shovels?” you asked, working to right a sleeve of your jacket that had turned inside out when you removed it last. “We could at least clear the sidewalks for people so they can get to a shelter if they need it.”

Noah tossed you an extra pair of socks for you to slip on over the ones you were wearing. “Yep,” he said, zipping up a heavy black puffer coat. Then he slipped into a pair of heavy black work boots and began lacing them up. “They’re on the porch. The fire hall’s only a few blocks away. Let’s work on shoveling and salting the sidewalk and then we’ll check on houses as we go.”

You nodded, pulling on your gloves and following Noah out.

Ridding the sidewalks of snow was tedious, but the two of you weren’t the only ones working at it. Across the street, a few men worked to get their sidewalk cleared. Down two blocks were another few people with snow shovels, chipping away at the thick blanket of snow.

As soon as the pair of you cleared the sidewalk in front of a house, you knocked on the door to see who might be inside. So far, only two houses were still occupied in the area. The rest must have evacuated prior to the storm or were visiting relatives for the holidays. One older couple had a fireplace in the house and were taken care of. The other—a frail elderly lady who lived alone, had already arranged for her son to pick her up in his truck and take her to his house.

The two of you worked until lunch, where you heated up a frozen pizza in Noah’s gas oven and ate in relative silence before heading back out to finish shoveling the next block.

The work was heavy and strenuous, but it allowed you to clear your head until you were devoid of thoughts and feelings and existed simply as a body, utilizing its strength to accomplish a task. You worked until your muscles burned with the effort and sweat caused your sweater to cling to you and your fingers to prune beneath your gloves despite the cold.

Ten or so meters away, Noah had his back turned to you as he stuck the shovel beneath the pile of snow, nudged it deeper with his heel, and flung it back over his shoulder. He worked far quicker than you, those days at the gym providing him with ample strength and stamina while you struggled to accomplish even half as much.

There was something about how driven he was to help his neighbors that had you in your feelings. He never once complained or acted like it was a chore, and he never expected any thanks, either. He did it because it was the right thing to do.

You turned back to your own section of the sidewalk, punching through the snow with the shovel again and straining under its weight while you tossed it into the yard. You’d developed blisters on your fingers a few hours ago, but kept pushing through, determined to see the sidewalk cleared. It took until the sun was three quarters of the way across the sky to finish the job, but ultimately, you managed it.

Heaving deep, frozen breaths that cracked your lips on the way in, you locked eyes with Noah and shared a mutual understanding: the work wasn’t finished.

“Fire hall?” you suggested.

Noah huffed a laugh, face red and skin scrubbed raw from the way the wind had whipped at it all afternoon. “Yeah,” he said, and you both ditched your shovels on his porch, heading to the hall.

You arrived to a flurry of activity. The hall was in the middle of being converted into a temporary shelter. A handful of volunteers were busy setting up temporary cots, carrying supplies in from trucks, assembling care packages, and distributing blankets.

You and Noah parted ways for the time being, him heading to help with the unloading of supplies and you making a beeline over to where two middle-aged women were in a corner, sorting blankets into different piles.

“How can I help?” you asked.

“Oh! Good, glad you’re here,” one of them chimed immediately, not even bothering to introduce herself or ask your name. She handed you a pile of folded blankets. “Would you mind setting one of these on each of the cots? Come back when you run out and we’ll have more for you.”

You got to work, methodically distributing the blankets, weaving in and out from the cots. Some already had occupants, who gratefully accepted the offerings. You noticed a number of them looked like they may have not come from the most secure living environments, possibly unhoused, and it pained you to think of them facing the elements on their own. Rather than fighting back the emotions, you let them spur you forward, determined to see as many people taken care of as possible.

Once all the blankets had been passed out, you made your way to the kitchens, where volunteers sorted donated food from boxes into piles. Again, you got right to work, asking how you could best be of service and not minding when you were given the task of sorting expired food from fresh. You didn’t even squirm when you had to shovel out a pile of rotten potatoes from the bottom of a crate, though the smell alone had your stomach clenching uncomfortably.

After that, you got to work scrubbing dishes leftover from the morning’s meal service in preparation for dinner. The staff at the kitchen were in the midst of preparing large batches of soup to hand out, complete with bread and sides of vegetables, and when you finished with the dishes, you switched to chopping carrots for the soup.

The whole time, the only thing you could think was that this was what philanthropy was supposed to be. There was no ulterior motive to ensure the people receiving help believed in a specific god or religion, just a deep desire to see those in need taken care of.

It was nearly eight o’clock when you finally stopped to take a break. Warm at last, the sweat dripped down from your temples and your lower back, and you started to realize just how exhausted you were. It was a good tired, but tired nonetheless.

Wiping your brow, you collapsed into one of the metal chairs lining the hallway outside of the kitchen. As you drank deeply from your water bottle, you observed the scene before you:

The entire community, or what remained of it, had come together to help each other out. Old and young, rich and poor, all working beside each other to ensure everyone was taken care of and had what they needed.

And in the middle, lading soup into bowls and handing them out was Noah.

In the back of your mind, you knew that the modern depiction of White Jesus wasn’t remotely accurate to what the actual person probably looked like. Biblical iconography has been whitewashed over centuries of European colonialism, and the real Jesus looked a lot more like the colonized than the colonizer.

Still, the small part of you that fell in love with the depictions of Jesus you grew up with couldn’t help but notice the similarities between the man that hung from the crucifix in your childhood living room and the man that stood before you.

Glued to your chair, you watched in awe as Noah smiled at the strangers he served. He offered food to the hungry, rest to the weary, and comfort to those who sought it.

Several things dawned on you at once: that the metaphor playing out in front of you was disrespectfully on-the-nose; that you didn’t have a simple crush on Noah, but instead actual, tangible feelings for him; that acting on these feelings would mean taking a serious risk considering he’d already hurt you before; and that you were going to act on them anyway, and in many ways were already in the process of acting on them.

It wasn’t butterflies, but an entire hornet’s nest that erupted in your stomach.

Holy shit, you were in love with this man.

You forced yourself to breathe slower, counting to eight on each exhale because the last thing you needed was to lose it in the middle of a crowded fire hall.

You had to slow down. Was it possible you were deifying him? Had you put this person on a pedestal, failing to see him for who he really was? Had he reminded you of a figurehead you’d always admired, and was that why you were convinced you were in love?

It was possible. You’d been known to idolize crushes in the past.

But Noah had been up front about his flaws from the moment he met you. If anything, you’d had to dig deep to find the parts of him that were pure, like what you were currently witnessing.

You observed him, taking in the way he greeted everyone as they passed him in line, ladling soup into bowls and handing them off with a warm smile. With his hair net and apron, he may have looked more like a lunch lady than any religious icon, but you couldn’t call the humble kindness on his face anything other than Christlike.

Gratitude. That was what you were feeling. You were overcome with gratitude for the opportunity to know this person.

Though there were perhaps a few more tasks you could have finished if you’d really looked, most of the work was done by that point, and you were struck with the notion that perhaps the best work you could do at that point was to take in everything happening around you. To let it change you.

So you did.

--------

Walking out of the fire hall half an hour later, you and Noah strolled down the cleared sidewalk in companionable silence, both tired from the day’s events and content to reflect on the shared feeling of a job well done.

When you came upon the intersection that would take you to your dorm and Noah back home, he finally broke it.

“You heading back to your dorm?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m gonna grab a change of clothes and probably head back here for the night.” You shoved your hands in your pockets, rocking back and forth to dispel some of the nervous energy that had built up in your gut.

“Power’s still out, then?”

You nodded, having just checked on your phone before leaving the hall.

“What about you?” you asked.

Noah looked down the street in the direction of his place, then back to you. “I was gonna head to my studio. I’ve got a wood stove in there. Keeps it pretty warm.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, not wanting to end the interaction, but not sure how to keep it going until Noah chimed in.

“You’re welcome to join…if you want.” You looked at him, watched the steam of his breath swirl in the air as it exited his lungs, noticed the earnestness in his face, the vulnerability behind his eyes.

In the pit of your stomach, you were aware of what could happen should you take him up on his offer. The energy between you had been building for quite some time, and there was something in the air that night that hinted at the unknown—that whatever happened between you that night, it would be formative. You wouldn’t walk out of that shed tomorrow without knowing exactly where you and Noah stood.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you to your dorm if you still want to get changed.”

“Thanks,” you repeated.

Inside, you trembled with nerves, already having been overwhelmed by the emotions of the day and anxious about what might come next.

Those feelings from earlier—they didn’t hit you like past crushes. They weren’t something that needed to be acted upon or expressed immediately.

You didn’t need to know whether Noah felt the same. It wouldn’t crush you if you found out his were platonic, though you knew you were about to find out.

Even if nothing happened tonight, you knew you’d be okay. Your feelings were selfless. They arose from the knowledge that this was a person you cared about, whose company you enjoyed, and whose wellbeing you cherished.

You reflected on them on the short walk to your dorm. When you arrived, you fumbled in the dark to find your phone to use as a flashlight.

The two of you climbed the stairs slowly. Your battery was almost dead so you turned the brightness to its lowest setting, which made navigating through the darkness a little more difficult.

Once at your dorm, Noah waited politely outside the door while you changed into a fresh pair of pajama pants and a sweater, taking special care to scrub your teeth with some toothpaste and rinse your mouth out with a bottle of water that was sitting on your night stand. You spat into the trash, feeling much better than you had earlier. It had been almost a full day since you’d brushed your teeth and they’d started feeling gross.

You threw your phone charger in your purse in case the power came back on in the middle of the night, then checked to make sure you had everything else you might need before leaving.

“Got everything?” he asked once you made your way back out into the hall.

“I think so,” you said just as the battery on your phone finally gave out.

“I got it,” said Noah, pulling out his own phone. You could only make out his silhouette in the darkness, but his presence was still comforting.

“Thanks,” you said. “Lead the way.”

There was no light or warmth in the studio when you arrived. It was just as cramped as you remembered, and the added chill left it feeling less than cozy.

Noah immediately got to work loading the small wood stove in the back while you bundled up on the couch with a few blankets that were stacked in a corner. He fiddled around with some old newspaper as kindling, threw in half a brick of a starter log with a few thin strips of wood on top, then started building out the pile with thicker logs until he was satisfied and lit it, keeping the door of the stove open.

“Should be warmer here in a minute,” said Noah, sitting back on his heels to watch his work.

“Hey,” you said, shifting to the other end of the couch to be closer.

Noah turned his head to you, quirking his eyebrows up in curiosity. “What’s up?”

“Thanks for today,” you said, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them. “It felt good to help out.”

Noah averted his eyes and chuckled, flashing that grin you loved so much. “Just doing my civic duty, ma’am.” He finished with a tilt of his head, as if he was tipping his hat to you and you giggled.

“Still,” you continued. “Not everyone cares about the people around them as much as you. It was refreshing to see.”

Noah fidgeted with the lighter in his hands, flicking it a few times in lieu of a response. You allowed him to play off the compliment, knowing full well that sometimes you tended to be too heartfelt with your sentiments, but you were glad you said it, just the same. He deserved to know.

“Want some wine?” he asked, reaching under his desk and fetching a bottle out of a small fridge that had now been rendered useless in the power outage.

“Please,” you said, sitting back further into the cushions and watching the flames dance up the sides of the stove while Noah uncorked it with his teeth.

“I don’t have any cups,” he said, plopping down beside you and taking a swig from the neck. He handed it to you and you followed suit, wincing at the bitterness that flooded over your tongue. “Sorry,” he said, frowning. “I like a dry wine. I should have mentioned that.”

“It’s fine,” you said, swallowing the large gulp with some effort. You caught Noah working to suppress a smile and you passed the bottle back to him. He took another swig and then tensed as the liquid made its way down.

“Hypocrite,” you teased.

Noah sucked in a breath. “That wasn’t the wine,” he defended. “I shivered. It’s fucking freezing.” As if to emphasize, he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Oh,” you said. That made more sense. “Want to share?” You lifted the edge of the blanket and gestured for him to join you.

Noah sighed, scooting close and pressing into your side. “Fuck, you’re warm.”

You giggled, adjusting yourself on the couch so you could curl into his side for more warmth. You brought your knees up to your chest and wedged your frozen toes under his thigh, the double layer of socks no longer doing enough to keep them from going numb. He offered the wine to you again and you took another drink. Now used to the flavor, you found it wasn’t that bad. It had a richness you couldn’t appreciate on the first try.

“How do you normally spend Christmas?” you asked, passing the bottle back to him.

“Usually I’m working,” he said, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. “That takes up most of my time. If I’m not, then I’m either writing music or playing video games.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked.

Noah chewed on his lip, then took a sip from the bottle, held it in his mouth for a second, and swallowed. “Sometimes,” he said, then wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Not right now, though.” You flushed, burning under his touch, despite the cold. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s Christmas like at home?”

“Ha!” you spat out. “We’re so busy with church events we usually don’t get around to actually celebrating.” It wasn’t entirely true. You did receive gifts, but you often opened them whenever you could get around to it, in between helping your family organize different toy drives, attending special services, participating in productions and leading the children’s pageants. There was no time for the kind of cozy holiday celebrations you longed for. That’s why you’d been so excited to stay on campus this year—you could celebrate however you wanted.

“That sucks,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

You chanced a look up at him to find the firelight flickering in his eyes. There was a quiet intensity in the way he held your gaze. Nerves ignited in your stomach, sending the wine churning and causing you to squirm in his hold. For a second, it looked like he might try to kiss you, until he took another sip from the bottle of wine and passed it to you.

You supposed it was wishful thinking on your part, considering how he’d been very clear about his boundaries. Even this much physical contact was more than you’d bargained for. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss once the moment had passed.

“So you really left the church, huh?” he asked, drumming his fingers on your ankle. You sipped from the bottle, working to keep the nerves in your stomach from spreading out through your whole body.

“It was time,” you answered. You offered the bottle back to him but he declined, so you took another sip. Half the wine was already gone, and you’d started to feel the pleasant buzz creeping through your veins.

“The faith itself or just the organization part?” he asked. He wrapped his hand around your ankles and adjusted your legs so they could drape over his lap. The backs of your thighs met the top of his and they immediately warmed upon contact.

“I don’t know,” you answered, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the tingles sparking to life everywhere your body connected to his. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, and at this point, I don’t really care. It might be good for me to figure out who I am when I don’t have anyone telling me who I should be.”

“I can respect that,” said Noah, sliding a palm up your calf. Jesus, was he even aware of the effect he had on you? For a minute you said nothing, choosing to focus entirely on his touch. You leaned into the couch, letting your head rest against the back cushions and your eyes drift close. You didn’t care if you were letting your cards show—Noah might as well know just how much you craved him.

“What about you?” you asked after a while.

“What about me?”

You opened your eyes to find him quietly regarding you. “Any plans to surrender your soul to the Good Lord?”

Noah snickered softly into his chest. “Not at the moment,” he said, taking the opportunity to pick at a stray thread on your sweatpants. “I don’t know though,” he continued. “Maybe there’s something out there. God, or the universe, or whatever. A divine sort of energy that gives people a sense of meaning.”

“You think it’s all the same?” you asked, noticing some of his hair had fallen into his face. Your fingers itched to push it back, so you did, tucking it behind his ear. He caught your palm in his, bringing your clasped hands to rest on your knee. He flipped your hand over palm-side up and started tracing patterns over your wrist.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe it’s the accumulation of all our souls once we die—a divine collective. Maybe all our religions are just each culture’s best attempt at explaining where it comes from.”

His fingers stilled in your palm and you closed yours around them, lacing them together with his.

“I think,” you began, glancing back up at him and trying not to be consumed by the way the light danced across his face, “that maybe we’re not meant to figure it out.”

He smiled a half-smile, the corner of his mouth lifting up and perhaps you’d appreciated his mouth before, but never in this much detail.

“You might be on to something,” he said. He dropped his gaze to where your hands remained interlocked, running his thumb along your knuckle. “Can I ask you a question?”

You sat up a little more. “Sure.”

He hesitated before speaking, sucking in a breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling and turning back to you.

“What was it like kissing Folio?”

Your gaze dropped back to the bottle of wine in your hand. That was not a question you’d expected him to ask. You’d locked the memory of the kiss in a compartment in your brain titled Things You Won’t Bring Up to Noah, and as far as you were concerned, that’s where it should stay.

“I don’t know,” you said, bringing the bottle up to your mouth and taking a large swig to kill some time. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Noah shrugged, relaxing his grip on your hand and you slid your fingers out of his grasp, using it for balance so you could sit up a little straighter and collect your thoughts.

“I don’t remember much, to be honest,” you said. “I was pretty drunk. And in my defense, I didn’t know you were there.”

“Hey,” he said softly, “No judgment here. I was just surprised, is all. Call it morbid curiosity.”

The question felt like a trap, like anything you could say would be the wrong thing, but Noah had asked, so you decided to be honest. You took another large gulp of wine for good measure before you answered, after which, Noah took the bottle and downed the last of it.

“So,” you began, feeling your cheeks flush under his stare, “it was fine, I guess. He tasted like stale beer and cigarettes, which wasn’t great, but he’s a good kisser.”

“How?” Noah asked.

“I don’t know,” you said, sinking back into the cushions. “He’s just… enthusiastic? I guess. He’s not too sloppy or anything.”

“So, you liked kissing him?” Noah prodded.

“Noah,” you whined, rolling your eyes at his questions. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

“Please?” he asked. “I just wanna know.”

You took a deep breath, pursed your lips to slow the exhale, and then rested your forehead against his shoulder so you didn’t have to look at him as you said the next part.

“Yeah, I liked kissing him,” you admitted. “It was better than kissing Isaac, at least.” You rolled your head back again so you could see his reaction. “But keep in mind that I don’t have a ton to compare it with. He could be a trash kisser for all I know, and I only liked it because it was my first time making out with someone and that was exciting.”

“I think you’d know if he was a trash kisser,” Noah said.

You rolled your eyes again. “Still, we were drunk. It was just for fun. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”

“No?” Noah asked, fingers digging into the back of your knee.

You held eye contact, and suddenly you noticed the vulnerability there, just behind his eyes, and in the slight pout of his lower lip.

“No,” you said, softening. “Not even a little bit.”

Noah swallowed, pulling his lower lip into his mouth to wet it. Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat in your throat. Your palms grew sweaty and you couldn’t seem to draw in a steady breath.

“Well,” he said, exhaling a half-laugh. He broke eye contact and let his eyes drop to your legs. “You sure? He’s a real catch. I could put in a good word for you if you want.”

“Noah!” you whined, and you were about to tell him to stop being a jerk, when he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you into him.

The first kiss was slow, meant to give both of you time to process the fact you were finally kissing. Then he went in for a second, this one deeper. He licked at the seam between your lips, and you parted them, allowing him to dip his tongue into your mouth. You released a shaky breath, hands trembling slightly, and not from the cold, until they found purchase around the neck of his hoodie.

For a while, you stayed like that, exploring the textures and tastes of each other, memorizing the shape of his lips and movement of his tongue as it slid over yours. Noah tasted of the wine you’d shared, layered over a heady mixture of herbs and spices and something else entirely his own.

His hand wandered up your leg, fisting itself in your sweatpants and he pulled you closer until you were straddling his lap, desperate to eliminate as much distance between your bodies as possible.

He dragged his teeth along your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth before letting it spring back into place and when he was satisfied with how swollen it had become, he pulled you closer by the neck so he could suck a bruise into the skin behind your jaw.

You arched into his touch, digging your nails into his shoulder as he took your earlobe in his mouth and tugged at it, sending all the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention.

Deep in your core, something stirred. A deep need made itself known to you, hot as liquid magma, winding itself around you like a coil—a sensation you’d always associated with the forbidden. The coil would wind tighter and tighter, but it was never allowed to snap.

Senses on overload, you rocked against him, exploring what would happen if you allowed yourself to give in. Noah’s hands clutched at your hips, bracing you against him.

Needing more of him, you took his face in your hands and brought your mouths together in another kiss. Gone were the slow, rhythmic kisses you’d shared before. Now it was a tangle of teeth and lips and tongues and you stopped being able to tell where you ended and Noah began.

You rocked into him again, this time feeling a distinct presence that hadn’t been there before. Noah groaned into your mouth and you swallowed the sound. He rolled his hips into yours, and you felt yourself losing control.

“Are we moving too fast?” you whispered, finally breaking the kiss. Noah wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, bringing your lips back together.

“Mmph,” he said into the kiss. “I don’t know.” He spoke in short bursts between kisses, only half-focused on the conversation. “What do you think?”

“We should probably,” you said, pausing to suck on his lower lip, “slow down.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, fingers dragging across your neck. “Let’s slow down.”

It was a nice thought. The intentions were there, but you both fumbled the execution as soon as Noah sucked a deep red mark into a particularly sensitive area of your neck and your body responded by grinding down onto Noah’s lap.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, releasing your skin from his teeth, “baby, I’m trying to be good here, but you make it hard when you do that.”

Not even registering the words, only the way your body responded when he called you baby, you bit into his lip, sucking on it hard as your hips gyrated on his.

“Hold on,” he said through the kiss, placing his palms on your shoulders to still you. “Hold on.”

It took you a second to register that you were no longer kissing, and when you did, you let out an involuntary whine.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to catch your breath.

“We’re moving too fast,” he said. Your eyes scanned his face, noticing how red and bitten his lips had become.

“Oh,” you said. You didn’t want to slow down, though. Everything you’ve learned up until that point taught you that youshould want to slow down, but slowing down was the exact opposite of what you wanted.

He tilted his head, sliding his hands down your body to rest on your waist. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk though,” you said.

He tucked his lips into his teeth, looking at you with amusement. “Even so, I think we should take it slow.”

You pouted, letting your fingers trail down his chest. “It’s just,” you began, trying to find the right words to articulate your thoughts, but the cloud of lust in your head had your brain fighting to stay afloat. “Do you feel like this is too fast?”

Noah swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing up and down, slightly distorting the shape of his tattoo. “For me? No.” His fingertips dug into the flesh of your ass as if to demonstrate his point. “But my virginity isn’t on the line here.”

He had a point, but was your virginity something you even wanted to protect? Lately, it had started to feel much more like a cage than anything of value.

Rather than answer him, you rolled your hips against his one more time, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wrapping his arms around you to hold you in place. You could feel him throbbing under you, a few layers of cotton the only things separating you from the freedom you craved.

And that’s exactly what it was to you, you realized. Taking this next step meant setting yourself free from the guilt and shame you’d always associated with your sexuality. It would mean reclaiming your body as your own. And who better to experience that with than the person who encouraged you to let go of that shame in the first place.

You leaned in to flick your tongue against his upper lip. He caught it in his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth.

You smiled into the kiss, grabbing the hand he kept around your waist and moving it under your shirt until he cupped your breast.

“Succubus,” he whispered into your open mouth.

“Sinner,” you countered.

Something happened in that moment—a transmutation of your soul. In the past, you’d always looked up to the men in your life, idolizing them or striving to be worthy of their time and attention, but here, warmed by the light of the fire and the heat of Noah’s body under you, the tide had shifted.

“Say it again,” he said, pulling you further into him.

You were no longer an unworthy peasant, begging to be noticed—but a goddess. Someone worthy of being celebrated and admired. It was divine and sacred and potentially sinful, but after spending so much time worshiping, perhaps you could allow yourself to be worshiped for once.

“Sinner,” you whispered, draping your arms over Noah’s shoulders. Your mouth hovered just over his, lips parted and wet, begging to be kissed.

For a moment, neither of you moved. It was just you and Noah, sharing the same breath, caught in a game of chicken, each daring the other to move first.

In the end, it was Noah who ran out of patience. He crashed his lips into yours, and you surrendered your body easily to him. When the friction of your hips on his was no longer enough, he lifted you up, flipping you until your back hit the couch, legs wrapped around him while he ground his body into yours.

He was slow to undress you, starting only with the removal of your sweater, and with your skin finally exposed to him, he wasted no time in exploring every inch, sucking a nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue across until it pebbled between his teeth. He then moved on to the other, repeating the act until he was satisfied, and then began kissing his way down your stomach and back up, trying to discover every sensitive spot he could find.

You flushed under him, heat creeping up your chest and neck despite the chill in the room. When Noah was done painting your collarbones with hickeys and teeth marks, he moved lower.

“Wait!” you said, and he stilled, worried that he’d crossed a line, until you grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over him, needing to feel his skin on yours.

He dropped back down to kiss you, and for the first time you could enjoy touching him without any barrier. You sighed into the kiss, running your hands all along his back and shoulders, logging every rope of muscle and ripple of skin and trying hard not to put too much pressure on the freshly tattooed parts, but having a hard time controlling where your hands wandered.

In the time it took for you to register what was happening, Noah had already slid your sweatpants down over your ass and you separated so you could kick them the rest of the way off.

He went slow, at first only caressing the apex of your thighs with delicate fingers so you could get used to being touched in such a sensitive area. It wasn’t long before you were begging for more, however, wrapping your hands around his wrist and pulling him into you.

Apparently, that was the wrong move, because Noah flipped his hand, easily catching both your wrists and slamming them above your head. He switched his hands so he could hold yours with his non-dominant one while the other cupped your sex.

“I have waited a long time for this,” he hissed, eyes boring into yours. “Do not rush me.” It was both a command and a threat.

You bucked your hips into his hand, needing more friction and he removed it, slapping your inner thigh instead.

“Use your words.”

“Please,” you rasped out, flushing a deep scarlet at just how pathetic and needy you sounded.

“What do you want?” he asked again, letting his hand roam down once again to stroke your clit.

You swallowed, feeling uncomfortable being so lewd, but in an effort to rip the band-aid off, you chose to be direct.

“I want your fingers inside me.”

He smiled, slipping one long digit past your entrance. It slid in easily, finding no resistance as by that point, you were dripping.

You weren’t a complete stranger to the sensation of having something inside of you—you’d masturbated before, so you knew how your own fingers felt, but you weren’t prepared for the feeling of his.

They were long, and thick, and moved with a dexterity you had never been able to achieve. The second they entered, a strangled moan escaped from deep within you—one you think may have been begging to escape for years.

Within minutes, he’d worked you into a frenzy. You were no longer the graceful goddess from earlier, but a gasping, writhing mess of a person, falling apart around his fingers.

“Do you want to come?” he asked.

You nodded, fighting to stay in control of your breath. “Please,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he said, speeding up his ministrations. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

Whether it was the dirty talk or the sheer skill of his hands, your entire body seized up and then exploded, sending a rush of fluids to your center, resulting in a loud squelching noise that carried over the sounds of your moans.

Waves upon waves of sensation rippled through your body, muscles twitching from overstimulation and rendering you boneless.

Noah extracted his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean, then smiled down at your lifeless form as he stroked your hair. “Good,” he murmured. “Good.”

He hoisted himself off you, sliding off the couch to kneel on the floor next to you, and bent down to kiss you lazily.

Not being satisfied with so little contact, but still not having control over your legs, you slid off the couch and onto the floor with him, the plush area rug providing a decent barrier between your naked body and the cold concrete floor beneath you.

You straddled his hips once more, kissing him slowly, this time with gratitude. His hands roamed down your back and caressed your thighs and you could feel him, painfully hard underneath you.

You were still sensitive, but not too sensitive to move against him and he sighed into the kiss.

“What do you need?” you asked. Though your body was drained, wrapped in a post-orgasmic glow, you still had an unyielding desire to give as much as you’d received. You wanted him to feel good and though you might not be experienced enough to know exactly what to do, you at least wanted to try.

“I just need to feel you,” he said.

You knew what he meant by that, so you slid off his lap and tugged on the drawstring of his pants until they were loose enough to inch down his thighs.

Once they were gone, you were free to take in the sight of him. You’d never seen a naked man in person, so you weren’t sure what to expect, but you were caught off-guard at how big he was. Tentatively, you wrapped a hand around him, noting how soft and smooth the skin was underneath your fingers.

“Did you really have it pierced before?” you asked.

Noah laughed, and in your hand, a pulse surged through him.

“I did,” he said, taking himself in his hands and tilting it up to show you. “The scar is still visible,” he said pointing to the underside. You squinted, trying to make it out, but couldn’t see much in the light of the fire. You ran a finger along the underside and could feel where the texture changed and he hissed out a breath, grabbing your hand. He leaned over and spit into your palm, then wrapped it around his shaft, squeezing to show you what level of pressure to apply.

He guided your hand up and down. “Please?” he said softly, and you nodded, taking over the motion and watching in awe as he let his head fall back, exposing his neck to you and sending a new wave of desire surging through you at the sight. You allowed your mouth to roam over his neck, trailing your tongue over the pulse point and taking in the expansion of his throat as inhaled.

His breathing sped up, and it wasn’t long before he pulled you into another bruising kiss. He clutched at your hips, digging his fingers in and it was hard to keep hold of him in that position, so you let go and settled for grinding yourself against him, which he didn’t seem to mind.

He set the rhythm, using his hands to rock your hips back and forth over himself. You found yourself growing wetter by the second.

A flood of emotions hit you all at once—pride, fear, anticipation, but strongest was desire. You wanted this. You wanted to be in control of your own body. You wanted to decide for yourself what to do with it, and you knew more than anything that you wanted this with Noah.

Unbeknownst to you, Noah had been carrying condoms his pocket for weeks, just in case this moment arrived, so it was no trouble for him to fetch one, tear the wrapper with his teeth and roll it onto himself.

He laid you down on the plush rug and spread your thighs, positioning himself in between them.

“Are you sure?” he asked, holding your gaze. You’d never seen him look so serious before.

“Yes,” you said, staring back and trying to communicate nonverbally just how very sure you were.

“Okay,” he said, breaking eye contact to kiss you one last time. He brought his fingers to you again, sliding them through your folds and scissoring them inside of you to make sure you were ready. “It might be uncomfortable at first.”

You nodded, slipping his hair over his shoulder so you could better see his face. “Just go slow.”

He did, pushing into you centimeter by centimeter until just the head slipped past your opening. He paused, forehead resting against yours while you adjusted to the stretch. It was big, and he was right that it was a little uncomfortable at first, but it was also better than you could have ever imagined.

“Okay?” he asked, and you nodded, pulling him into a kiss as he slid farther into you.

An overwhelming sensation of fullness—that’s the best you could describe it. He was warm and solid and stretched you in such a way that you knew you’d be replaying this moment in your head for the rest of your life.

He backed out just an inch and pushed in again, and you wondered how and why anyone could possibly consider an act that felt so completely right to be sinful in nature. You threw your head back, exposing your neck and he ran his mouth along the column of your throat, tasting the skin while you soaked in the feeling of being so intimately connected to him.

You pushed yourself off the floor, gesturing for him to lay back against the couch so you could straddle him. You felt safer if you were in control of the motion in case it proved to be too much.

Gently, you rocked against him, feeling the pressure of him inside you stretching you to your limits. He was almost too big in length. You couldn’t sit fully on him without him pressing uncomfortably against your organs, so you hovered just over the base of him, moving your hips back and forth.

You found it easier to brace your hands on his thighs behind hind you and lean back, and when you did, he brought his thumb to your clit so he could trace small circles around it.

Your movements were slow and shallow at first, but with time, you found yourself adjusting better to his size and capable of taking more. You began to bounce, throwing your head back as your hips met his over and over in messy repetitions. Sounds escaped from Noah, first quiet gasps and whimpers, but growing lower and gruffer the more you moved.

His nails scraped along your back, digging into the flesh and pulling you into him, and he held out as long as he could, but eventually needed to be back in control, so he flipped you around so you were once again on your back and hooked his arms under your legs to prop you up.

“Okay if I go harder?” he asked, and you sputtered out something that sounded enough like “yes” to satisfy him.

He sped up, no longer holding himself back and you only now understood the sheer force his muscles could exert because for a second you lost the ability to comprehend what was happening.

Sounds you didn’t know you could make escaped without your permission. Noah threw your legs over his shoulder so he could brace himself on either side of your head, folding you in half as he drove himself into you. It was all you could do to keep your eyes locked on his, watching the intensity of his gaze as it burned into you—pupils blown, brow furrowed, jaw tensing.

“Fuck,” he spat, pulling out of you and flipping you over to all fours before reinserting himself. Wrapping his arm around your middle, he pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest. He held you against him by your throat, hand easily wrapping around the circumference and putting only enough pressure on it to keep you where he wanted.

“This okay?” he whispered against your neck and you nodded, body existing on an entirely different plane, just trying to take in everything happening at once.

He bit your shoulder, sucking another angry red mark into it before releasing you so you could fall forward and rest your face against the soft fibers of the rug—something to ground you while he continued his barrage inside of you.

He dug his fingers into your hips and used them for leverage as he pounded a steady tattoo into your pussy and you felt the same welling up of energy you’d felt when he had his fingers in you.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed in time with his thrusts. One arm reached around you to feel around for your clit, fingers slipping over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he tried to lock them into place. His thrusts grew sloppy and unfocused, losing control of the rhythm he’d been holding before.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, I’m gonna c—,” he began, but never finished his sentence because the rest came out choked, morphing into a guttural groan. He throbbed inside of you, fingers releasing your clit so he could brace them on your hip as he chased his orgasm to its end.

As soon as he caught his bearings, he replaced his fingers on your clit, drawing steady tight circles while he continued the best he could to thrust inside of you despite the fact he was well beyond fucked out by that point.

Already on the brink, you tumbled over the edge easily, cascading waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you rode out your high against his hand.

You collapsed on the floor, Noah on top of and inside of you, muscles twitching while you fought to catch your breath.

“Holy shit,” Noah whispered between deep exhales. “Holy shit.” He reached out to tuck your hair behind your ears. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding against the rug. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” he sighed out, wrapping his arm around your middle and rolling you on your side. He peppered kisses over your shoulder and up the back of your neck. “Water?”

“Please,” you breathed. As you returned to your body, you noticed just how much hydration you’d lost in sweat and other fluids. Your mouth was dry, throat parched and aching against the chill of the air as you sucked in breaths.

Slowly, Noah removed his softening cock from you. He slipped off the condom, tying a knot in the end and throwing it in the trash can under his desk. Then he fetched a bottle of water from the same mini fridge that had produced the wine, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to you.

You took it with trembling hands, lifting your head to sip at it, but struggled to force yourself upright.

“Here,” he said, taking your arm and pulling you to a sitting position so your back could rest against the couch.

He dragged a blanket from the sofa, throwing it around your shoulders and turned his focus to your legs, caressing your calves while you came down from your high.

Noah slumped against the couch, resting his forehead on the arm while he drew slow patterns into your legs. After a few more sips of water, your thoughts became less cloudy, awareness returning to the room. You over at Noah, finding him just as exhausted as you felt.

He turned his head, watching you watching him and his fingers stilled on your leg.

“Hi,” he said, breaking out into a smile.

“Hi.” You breathed out a laugh, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to you. He put up no fight, sidling up to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He took the bottle of water from your hands, drinking deeply before handing it back to you and encouraging you to drink more.

“How are you?” he asked, and all you could do to answer was giggle, still high off endorphins.

He chuckled softly, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you in so he could kiss you lazily. After a few minutes, he pulled away, collecting a few blankets and cushions from the couch and fashioning a warm nest on the floor.

“We should get some sleep,” he suggested, and you agreed, finally (albeit reluctantly) sliding back into your clothes and cuddling up next to him on the floor. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back into him and you rested your head on his chest.

You were both aware you had a lot to discuss in the morning, the biggest question being what this meant for you, but for the time being, you were content to remain in a post-coital haze, listening to his heartbeat, comforted by how solid and sturdy he was underneath you.

He kissed the top of your head as he wished you goodnight, and the last thought you had before you drifted off to sleep in his arms was that if that was a sin, you could understand why Jesus would feel compelled to die just so you could enjoy it.

___________________________ A/N: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! Happy birthday to me! If you feel inclined to support my writing, buy me a coffee. (I also have Venmo if you want to buy me a birthday drink. Dm me)

__________

Taglist:

Please let me know if I missed anyone or if I tagged someone who no longer wants to be tagged.

@noahsebastions

@sundamariis

@cyber-tiny

@xxkittenkissesxx

@treacheryinblue

@flowerynerds

@1toreyouapart

@poisongirl616

@motflysblog