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He woke slowly, the thick haze of sleep receding gradually.
He’d been dreaming of… of something warm and sweet, heat that pulsed through him with every beat of his heart. That heat had started at his throat before gradually drifting lower in burning rivulets, taking its time as it burrowed down beneath skin and bone. It took him a moment as he woke for his senses to untangle themselves, and for his mind to focus past the pleasure that continued to roll through him in steady waves. It wasn’t his alarm that had woken him, nor the world outside. It was quiet, long after dark with the city as calm as it ever was. He was still on the couch where he must have fallen asleep by mistake, still clothed in black fabric after an exhausting night out on patrol. No, there was nothing but him and…
And you, your mouth lazily making its way across his chest, your hand grinding steadily against his rapidly hardening cock through his pants.
Oh—
His chest rattled on a hoarse gasp, his back arching the second your lips latched onto one of his nipples through his shirt. The rough rasp of fabric was deliciously sharp when combined with the wet, muffled heat of your mouth and the lap of your tongue, not a hint of mercy in you as you hummed. His back arched with each slow suck, rocking up into your hand with another gasp, the sound morphing into a low moan when you caught his cock and squeezed. God, he could already feel where the fabric of his boxers had grown wet from his leaking cock, his whole body burning. His neck was still damp—you must have started there while he was still asleep, mouthing and sucking against all the little spots that drove him wild before beginning your descent. “Sweetheart, what—”
“Had a dream about you,” you said, which was apparently the only explanation you felt you needed, not that he was complaining. He’d already told you how much he loved waking up to this, to you. Your hand left the shape of his cock so you could hook one finger in his belt and tug. “Figured you wouldn’t mind if I got my mouth on you. Let me in?”
“Yes,” he hissed, bucking his hips up against you, only distantly tracking the shape of your smirk. The room already smelled like sex—like him, like your wetness on the air, like pheromones and heat, a scent he dragged in with a heady moan. He’d roll in it like a dog if he could, drown himself in it until it had soaked into every inch of him. “Please.”
You huffed a laugh and dragged your tongue across the hardened shape of his nipple through his shirt. “You love it when I kiss you on the way down, get my scent all over you, so let me see some of that gorgeous skin, Matt.”
He shuddered and reached down for the hem of his black shirt before slowly dragging the front of it up his body as you watched. Just the slide of it felt wonderful on his hypersensitive skin when he was this worked up, thousands of tiny threads tickling against him, but it was nothing compared to the softness of your mouth and the heat he felt at the thought of you pressing your scent down into his skin. That was more than worth the tradeoff.
The second his shirt passed his chest, you leaned in to nuzzle against one of his nipples again, kissing across his chest, and the warm brush of your tongue was enough to make him bite down on his lip, shivering and swallowing back a moan. You both knew he could come untouched if you stayed there long enough, but that wasn’t your goal for tonight, so you spent only a moment there before starting down, unsnapping his belt with one hand and popping the button. The sound felt too loud in his ears, despite the heavy rasp of his own breathing and the quickening thrum of his heartbeat and yours. He knew what was coming, and so did his body, uncontrollable twitches of his hips as he resisted the urge to fuck up against the warm shape of you above him. He kept his fingers tangled in your hair as you mouthed across each scar, muscle, and curve between you and your goal.
He canted his hips, shivering again when you slowed over the lower slope of his abdomen. You knew what he wanted there, too, and he purred in welcome, in eagerness when you swiped your tongue across the vulnerable skin before turning to slide your cheek against him, dragging across scars and the trail of hair that arrowed downwards. That motion wasn’t really for you even if you enjoyed his reaction, he knew—it was only him who’d be able to feel it later, feel where you’d pressed your scent into somewhere so vulnerable, claimed a part of his body he normally fought so hard to protect. His cock throbbed at the knowledge of what he’d carry with him, his eyes falling half-closed as he rolled his head back against the pillow and groaned.
“God, you’re pretty,” you sighed, scraping your teeth lightly just above the hem of his pants, tracing out the shape of his hip where the fabric hung low. There was no missing where he’d tented the fabric, and yet you were still taking your time, despite the noises he was making and the way he clearly needed you. “Can’t wait to get your cock in my mouth and hear all the sounds you make. Noisy.”
“If you can’t wait,” he managed, his chest already heaving in anticipation, “then we should keep going.”
He lifted his hips the second you caught your finger against the hem of his pants and boxers again, and you hummed. “That eager, huh? Alright. Let’s see if we can make the neighbors complain again.”
Between the two of you, you worked his pants and boxers down, baring his aching cock and his thighs to the warm air. You settled between his legs with a pleased sigh, turning to nuzzle against the sensitive skin inside one of his thighs, trailing your nails down the opposite just for the quiet moan it drew from him. The second you nudged at him, he spread himself wide, bare and vulnerable. You hummed, running one finger slowly up his cock from base to tip as he moaned, the journey of your finger painfully slow and light, almost ticklish, the brush of it making him squirm. You dragged your finger through the wetness along the head, circling it as his toes curled and he groaned at what surely amounted to torture. God, he could feel the warmth of your breath over the wetness of his cock. “Now you’re just being mean.”
“Me? Never,” you murmured, dipping your head at last. You didn’t take him into your mouth yet, instead pressing a warm kiss to his cock near the base before drifting lower, your hands lifting his balls gently. “I’m just deciding how to begin. Or maybe I love the sounds you make when I drag it out, and how greedy you get for my mouth.”
“Or-or maybe you just love tormenting—nngh.” He cut himself off with a grunt, biting his lip when you dragged your tongue across his sac again, one gentle lick before you carefully drew one of his balls into your mouth. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation had him burning, a tremor running through him. But even knowing what you were about to do, he still clawed at the couch, hissing through his teeth when you gave him that first light suck, a molten hum flowing across his skin. You remained there for a moment, rhythmically suckling as if he hadn’t started to sweat, as if his whole body didn’t lock up with every little pull. You let him go after a moment and started back up, licking and kissing wetly, letting your saliva drip free, working to cover what his pre-come hadn’t.
More.
More scent, more of you, dripping down over him, and he shuddered, starting to pant.
“You should probably get your words out now,” you said in mock solemnity, pausing to flick your tongue just below the head of his cock, taking the base in hand as he moaned in abandon, twisting beneath your grip. “Because I’m feeling like edging you until you howl, and you tend to forget your own name when I do. Anything left to say?”
“Please,” he groaned, bucking up towards your mouth. “God, yes, anything if you put your mouth on me.”
You licked your lips, another pleased noise leaving you. You gave him a firm, affectionate stroke up his thigh with your free hand before you edged up, tipping his cock towards you. The first long, slow sweep of your tongue across the sensitive head made him moan again, almost a whine, the sound soft and vulnerable and fractured at the end when you dipped your tongue briefly against his slit, his toes curling. That noise grew louder, instinctive and broken, an eager groan torn from his chest when you finally, finally, took the head into your mouth, heat and softness and the gentle rasp of your tongue.
God, the relief.
His eyes snapped shut, his head thrown back as he arched up into the wet heat of your mouth, chasing the cradle of your tongue and allowing himself to sink fully into the sensation. You kept one hand at the base of his cock, holding him steady as you gradually worked your way down, taking him deeper bit by bit.
Some days, some nights, this ecstasy felt as close to seeing as he could get, these rapid flashes that lit up his brain, faint memories of fireworks bursting against the dark canvas of clear night skies. His senses narrowed down until the world beyond faded away, until his existence was nothing but that wet, hot pull; that slick glide of his cock over your lips. Dangerous, so very dangerous to lose himself like this, and yet he craved it, hungry for the heat you breathed into him and the heady rush that came when you took what was yours, knowing good and well he’d eagerly do the same to you later.
Your lips slowed as they met your hand, and then you halted, waiting.
He couldn’t see, but he could feel your eyes on him, watching him closely as you left him hanging on the edge, his heart pounding. The second his chest hitched, the moment he breathed your name, you sucked hard, firm and forceful as you dragged your mouth back up with an obscene, slick noise. His unseeing eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open as he panted. You kept up that rhythm, tormenting him with a slow pace as if you had all the time in the world to drag him to orgasm, as if your only goal was to break him to pieces. Every now and then you pulled back with a hum, lapping and suckling at just the head, probing your tongue against his slit. The act forced his moans high and wrecked, each lap something he felt from head to toe as your hand kept going, working the length of him.
A full-body shiver ran through him when your free hand meandered lower, his hips bucking when you gently cupped his balls and traced a nail along the thin skin between. The sensation had him choking on a quiet, “shit,” and your lips curled into a smirk as his cock popped free from your mouth.
“Language, Matthew,” you teased.
“Rich, coming from you,” he breathed, the corner of his own mouth twitching up despite the way his hips kept jolting under the motions of your hand. “The things I’ve—mmm—made you say when I’ve had my t-tongue inside you. Surprised lightning hasn’t se—God—set the building on fire.”
“Look at me, trying to help you keep your mouth clean, and you decide to be a smartass. We’re gonna have to fix that.” You reached up to tweak one of his nipples in chastisement, his whole body jerking as he groaned, but you couldn’t have been all that serious since you quickly took his cock back into your mouth, your tongue looping lazily around the head. You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself, based on the growing scent of wetness he could taste in the air and the rising clip of your heartbeat.
You slid your mouth back down, moaning, and the rolling vibrations focused around his cock sparked fire behind his eyes. He rocked up into the quickened rhythm of your mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he dragged the scent of you across his tongue, senses growing muddled and limited. Maybe that was why he missed it when you altered the angle of your hand fondling his balls to slide a finger up behind them, one knuckle pressing carefully against the skin.
“Oh God—” He choked out a gasp, his hips stuttering as a heavy throb of pleasure rolled up his spine like molten fire, his back bowing. God, there, please. Almost too much, almost, the hazy burn of it perfect as it flowed through him. You didn’t miss a beat, continuing the steady motions of your mouth and tongue. The pressure receded for a moment, a breath as he came down, and then you rolled up against it again, a firm grind against that spot inside him that stole the breath from his lungs and made his thighs shake. His voice pitched upwards, frantic and desperate as he tried to fuck up instinctively into your mouth, press down into your hand, his body torn between the two. “Don’t stop, s-sweetheart, please, please—”
“Definitely not stopping,” you told him casually as you lifted your head, grinding up with your finger until he swore he saw stars burst against the melted, blurred fire around him, “Kinda wondering what would happen if I put a vibrator here though. I’d probably have to pull you down off the ceiling afterwards but you’d make some interesting sounds along the way, I’m betting.”
His broken moan got a smile from you, and you twisted your hand on the upstroke of his cock, the noise all too slick. “Yeah, thought you might like the sound of that. I’ll happily do it to you, if you promise to let me ride your face after.”
The sensory memory of you on his face and the taste of you rich on his tongue was almost too much, his body careening upwards, toomuch, your hands, your mouth, that warmth. He could feel that edge right there below him, feel it in the way he gasped for air, his moan going soft and high, his whole body locking up. Heaven just beyond his fingertips, heat and pleasure building low in him, rippling upwards as the calculated, gentle suckling of your mouth focused on the head of his cock.
“I’m-I’m going to—”
You quickly released his cock from your mouth, pulling your hands away. Just like that, his oncoming orgasm lurched to a halt, leaving him hanging on the edge. Pleasure roiled inside him, his body desperate for sensation, and he cried out, hands clawing at the couch. And yet you didn’t move save to brace his bucking hips, tilting your head so he couldn’t even feel the pleasure of your warm breath blowing across his skin. Blood roared in his ears, his heart racing, his cock aching, and still, you did nothing, except grace him with one light kiss to his thigh as he groaned, his body retreating from the edge.
You began again.
If the world had come to him in bits and pieces before, he lost track of it entirely now, as you cycled him up and down. You knew him and his body, his heightened senses. You could read him well enough by now that you easily tracked his every reaction to your mouth, your hand, to that wonderful, tormenting pressure. You toyed with him, worked him over until his senses went into overdrive, until every last touch was sweet agony. Each time the wave dipped, you started up again, trapping him in a tumbling current that just wouldn’t end because each time he approached the edge, you were there to cut him off. You only got through three more cycles before he cracked. As promised, his words had fled, shattered by your mouth.
Should I beg for mercy or grace?
All he could manage was your name as a plea, the shape of it desperate and slurred as you rapidly worked him towards the edge once more, and far faster this time. It didn’t take much, not now, not when each suck hit him from head to toe, not when every slow lap of your tongue made him writhe, not when you barely had to press at all up behind his balls for him to choke on nothing but air, his eyes rolled back.
“Easy,” you murmured, but then you dipped to suck just below the head of his cock, tonguing against that spot that made him lose what little sense he had left. When combined with the pressure of your finger and the twist of your hand, it burned his mind away, and he howled for it, wild and mindless as you tortured him for spite, pure spite. His senses fragmented into pieces, shattered bits of minuscule, endless glass as you kept him stalled out on the edge of orgasm, pleasure so thick and sharp it was almost pain. Every inch of him locked up tight as you stalled there again, and this time, no, no, he… he wasn’t coming down, his skin too sensitive. Just the air currents alone along his wet cock made him burn, the sensation just shy of what he needed to come.
Trapped, unable to come down, unable to rise until you gave him what he needed.
“Easy,” you hummed, licking your lips as he shivered mindlessly, making a noise he’d be far more embarrassed about if he had the sense left to comprehend it. “Give it a second, sweetheart. Don’t come yet. You listening?”
All he could manage was a wrecked spill of syllables, ones that only vaguely resembled your name.
You painted a line across his slit with your tongue, the touch so light he barely felt it, and almost, God, almost. How was he supposed to breathe like this, when you’d taken his body, drawn out the air from his lungs until there was nothing left but you, the scent of you burrowed inside him, the taste of you drifting across his tongue. You shifted just a little, pressure changing against his legs that he only distantly tracked as he panted, struggling to breathe past the pleasure that hovered just out of reach.
“I’m going to let you come now,” you said softly. “Just let go once my mouth is on you. And I want it all, Matt. Every last bit.”
Your mouth returned to his cock, cradling the head, and all it took was one gentle pull from your mouth before everything fell away.
Orgasm burned through him in a hot rush, fire and heat surging up over him. He cried out as his hips snapped up and he came hard into your mouth, spilling in heavy pulses, his back bowing. He scrambled for something to hold and found only you, your hair, his mouth shocked open as sensation was crowded out by a wave of pleasure so bright, so furious that his world became nothing but your mouth, your hand, and the spiraling, molten warmth you dragged free from him, swallowed down and drew out with eager hums and gentle flicks of your tongue. Time melted away as pleasure rolled through him in steady waves, each one so very sweet and perfect. And God, it just didn’t stop, his eyes rolling back in his head and his thighs closing around your head. He choked like he was drowning, his breath hitching like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Still, the burning heat around his cock didn’t abate, almost too much now, too much, because you were still going, driving him onwards straight into oversensitivity. You knew as well as he did how good it could feel, especially for him, if you could drag him past that initial burn, using his heightened senses to shove him into something like a second orgasm.
You pulled back to lap at the head. “That’s right, you’re doing so good,” you murmured before you swallowed him back down. You suckled ever so gently, using a firm grip to milk his softening shaft. He writhed beneath the feel of it, clawing and twisting, his chest rattling on what was almost a sob at the oversensitivity. You wanted-you wanted every last bit of him, whether his body wanted to give it to you or not. Wasn’t that what you’d said? And now you were taking it, each relentless pull of your mouth against his overstimulated cock knifing through him.
The lap of your tongue was heaven and hell all in one, made all the better when you began to work your tongue gently as you sucked, rippling pressure that sent him spiraling. He whimpered when your tongue slid up to probe at his slit, still too sensitive for words. Yet he couldn’t stop his hips from starting to clumsily rock, instinctive, shuddering as you toyed with him, forcing his body and his heightened senses to give you what you wanted.
This second orgasm—or maybe just the final wave of the first, drawn out endlessly by your mouth—almost hurt, rippling pulses of sharp heat as his body strained and bucked, his half-hard cock nowhere near ready. You dragged it out anyway, gentle flicks of your tongue that made him gasp out your name. You took that from him, too, because if he was greedy, then so were you, and he was all too eager to give, writhing beneath your mouth, your name torn from him on a hoarse shout as he let you pull the world out from under his feet until there was nothing left but you.
He came down slowly, little aftershocks rolling through him as he sagged down against the couch, lingering jolts of toomuch spiking through like heat lightning when you dragged your tongue lightly along his cock, licking him clean as he whined and twitched under your mouth. Only once you’d finished to your satisfaction, leaving him a trembling, flushed mess, did you finally release him, pressing your lips affectionately to his thigh.
He drifted along, floating somewhere far away, his chest still heaving. With his senses still near-completely out of order, the only real orientation he had was the distant sensation of your mouth as you slowly kissed your way up his body. The kisses meandered their way up, abdomen, chest, throat—little reminders of where he was, paired with hums of quiet sound that helped to lure him back. There was a brief absence of your mouth and he mumbled your name, uncomfortable with your absence when he was still vulnerable. But then your mouth settled over his and he sighed into it, relaxing even further when the warm weight of you sprawled out on top of him, nothing but sweet pressure and perfect warmth, the thrum of your heart in your chest the only star he needed to find his way home.
Your mouth stayed against his, letting him breathe you in as you kissed him slow and easy, your fingers tangling in his hair. Eventually, he worked one arm up so he could wind it around your waist, and when he parted his lips in invitation, you slid your tongue forward, warm and tasting of him. He moaned quietly, a faint echo of pleasure sliding through him now that he had the taste of you, of him in his mouth. You drew back, pressing your lips to his chin fondly. “Welcome back,” you said smugly, and he huffed a laugh, rolling his head back. You took him up on the offer, dipping to kiss warmly along his throat.
“Anything specific I did to prompt that?”
“You did sass me,” you teased, nuzzling against his pulse as he swept a warm hand up your spine. “And I also warned you what kind of mood I was in. I think that worked out pretty nicely, all things considered.”
“Does it still count as nice if you tried to wreck me along the way?” he murmured sleepily, his eyes drooping closed. The scent of you hung warm and sweet around him in the air, and with you draped on top of him, he felt absolutely covered by you, relaxed and drained in the best way. He purred openly when you scratched your fingers through his hair, his head lolling into the affection.
“It definitely still counts,” you told him solemnly. Despite your tone, he could feel the shape of your grin against his skin. “I wrecked you for a good cause. Now look at you, my sleepy devil. You’re practically a puddle. You gonna fall asleep again?”
“Mm. You need… need me to—”
“I’m alright for now. I got what I wanted.” You hit a spot along the back of his head with your nails that made him melt, a shiver running through him. “Want me to lead you to the bed or stay here?”
“Stay for a little while, please. I’ll carry you to bed in a bit.”
“And by that, you mean in the morning when you finally wake up.”
“I’ll do it sooner,” he mumbled in objection, dragging you up until he could cuddle around you, nuzzling into your hair with a yawn as you pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and pulled it over you both. There. Warm, and close. “I just wanna lay here with you for a little while.”
“We’ll see.” You dipped your head and kissed his chest, dragging your nails down his spine gently. It dragged a sleepy little snuffle from him, his eyes closing. He would, he would take you to bed, just… just after he closed his eyes for a minute and dozed. He’d… do it just until his senses worked themselves out. That was all, and the couch was already so warm. “Go to sleep, D.”
“Just... for a minute...”
-x-
He woke at 6:47a.m., less than fifteen minutes before his alarm went off.
He carefully carried you to the bed, making sure you never stirred. He'd do his best to pretend he’d carried you there hours ago. And if you didn't believe him, well... he knew a few ways to distract you.