Archive of Our Own ^beta

Andrew is shaking. He looks down at where you’re nestled between his legs, where you press kisses up his milky skin, holding his gaze defiantly. Your grin ghosts along his inner thigh, the tip of your tongue flashing out to skim across the bare expanse of it. “Fuck,” he breathes, teeth already sinking down into his bottom lip, the metallic tang of blood only registering belatedly in his clouding mind.

You inch your way up slowly, taking your time to take him apart, biting, nipping, sucking hickeys into pale skin and admiring how the marks bloom so prettily. Finally, you nose along the waistband of his boxers and tug at it, letting it snap back into place, unable to keep the smug smirk off your face. “You fucking tease,” Andrew huffs, but you both know there’s no bite to his words, not with how red his face is, the flush spreading all the way down his neck, where it’s visible even with that sweater of his on. You hum, satisfied, and pull off his boxers unceremoniously; a ritual you’ve done countless times before. You take a moment to appreciate the sight laid bare in front of you, before diving in, licking almost sinfully along his folds. Andrew gasps, mouth hanging open as his back arches up and off the mattress, scrabbling for purchase and finally settling for tangling his fingers through your hair. You savour the taste of him on your tongue, nose pressed against damp curls and you inhale, his natural musk and the heady tang of sex intoxicating, hitting the back of your throat in a way that makes you drool, mouth pooling with saliva in anticipation.

The way you eye Andrew like he’s a feast laid in front of a starving man makes him shiver, his flesh breaking out in goosebumps and his thighs squeezing reflexively around you as if to trap you there. He croaks out a desperate please, mouth dry and feeling like it’s stuffed full of cotton. And you indulge him with a small laugh, suckling at his clit, the drag of your tongue against his dripping cunt making his toes curl and Andrew has to stifle his whines whenever you work him just right, head bobbing eagerly as you slobber on his dick. Distantly, as he takes in your wetting eyes, he thinks that your obedience reminds him of a well-trained dog, and can’t help but feel a little smug at that. “S’good”, he groans, tugging lightly at your hair, fingers curling a little harder, scratching at your scalp.

A hand inches up his thigh until you’re parting his folds, allowing you better access as you eat him out with renewed vigour. “Gorgeous,” you grin, sliding a finger over his throbbing cock, earning yourself a pleased whine as Andrew bucks his hips into your touch. “So perfect for me, Andrew,” you coo, and he almost cums just from that, from how you said his name so sweetly, voice so thick with reverence it drips like honey. Andrew never thought he was pretty, but god, you fuck him like he’s beautiful. His muscles jump, he twitches in your grasp. “Close,” he chokes out. “So close- ah! Fuck, pleasepleaseplease-” His desperate pleas turn into incoherent babbling, tears beading as his lashes flutter, his voice hoarse and raspy.

He rides your face, hips pushing against your tongue until you can’t breathe and all you can hear is the obscene squelching of his slit on you and his keens and whimpers and your panting. He’s yanking your hair back now, finding that angle, pulling you up until your neck is uncomfortably bared. Before long, the sharp lick of pain fades into a dull throb, and he freezes, walls clenching down around you as he tips over the edge and spills into your throat with a cry, and you pull away to gasp for air, all red-faced and watery-eyed.

You pant, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, holding Andrew’s gaze almost defiantly, teasing. He looks equally wrecked, hair mussed and face flushed, eyes hazed over, lips bitten raw and saliva-slick. He doesn’t notice the glint in your eyes, too out of it to feel your hand creeping up his thigh until one finger is sliding into his pussy easily, knuckle deep, thanks to your previous endeavours. A second finger joins the first, then a third, and Andrew sobs around the stretch, trying to squirm out of your hold, but your grip on his thigh is firm, so hard it’s nearly bruising.

You press a kiss to his temple, shush him indulgently. “You can take it,” you croon, tone dulcet, warm and sweet like melted chocolate. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you, Andrew?” He nods, unable to get the words out, babbling an incomprehensible string of syllables. The fingers crook inside of him, the hot drag of them along his walls mind-numbingly good, the pleasure-pain sending shivers along his spine. You bring him to his second orgasm of the night as you prep him, his overstimulated cunt fluttering weakly around your fingers.