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callsignthirsty · 1 year

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ur reblog of slider’s playlist has me thinking: could u perhaps write something where he fucks you like an animal .. because now that’s all i can think about. love your writing, you’re very talented !!

Hey Nonnie!

Hope this was animal enough for you (I may or may not have been listening to one song in particular while writing this).

And for those of you who missed the Playlist: you’re welcome.

Pairing: Ron “Slider” Kerner x F!Reader Word Count: 3820 Warnings: Smut, breeding kink (I went a little heavy on it this time… I refuse to apologize), under-negotiated kink (?), dirty talk, language Minors DNI

You Get Me Closer to God (I Wanna Fuck You Like An Animal)

It's a smooth flight into San Diego, and despite your early morning, you're practically bouncing in your seat as the plane taxis to the gate. There's a window somewhere behind the businessman to your left, but you can't see the tarmac around his padded shoulders.

Each minute feels like an hour as you wait for the plane to come to a final stop and for the flight attendants to open the cabin door. Then you're retrieving your weekend bag from the overhead compartment before you step into the mid-morning sun. The breeze rolls in from the sea, updrafts playing with the flirty hem of your skirt, coating everything in the unmistakable brine you've come to associate with Family Weekends on base.

The stairs down to the tarmac are steep, and you're forced to pay attention unless you want to fall flat on your face. When you look up, a blonde woman is reuniting with her husband. Your lips curl at the way she tosses his flower to the side so she can fling herself into his arms and give him a smooch before he squats down to pick up his kid. It's horribly endearing. Something straight out of a movie or the feel-good stories covered in the nightly news.

Bubbles erupt in your stomach when you spot him among the crowd. A hot, overpowering, all-consuming flutter that works its way up your throat until you're unsure if you'll laugh or throw up butterflies. He's a head taller than anyone else at the gate and as subtle as a sledgehammer when he elbows his way to you. He hasn't bothered with flowers; instead, he wraps you in his arms and trails a hand up your short skirt with none of the decency that his uniform demands. Luckily he isn’t dressed to the nines for your arrival. No. Just his usual, unassuming t-shirt and jeans. Because, after weeks of separation, with your face pressed into his chest and his palm cupping your ass before God and everyone at the gate, he isn't Lieutenant Ron Kerner. He's yours.

"Slider, come on," Ice says from somewhere over Slider's shoulder. "Goose's kid is right there."

You press a sweet kiss to the corner of Slider's lips, grinning at his grunt of disappointment before you turn to pull his pilot into a much shorter and far more platonic embrace. "Sli didn’t mention he was bringing you. I’d have dressed up.” Iceman chuckles with a roll of his eyes.

The three of you make your way from the open-air gate and into the terminal, and Ice shoves your bag into Slider's arms with a comment about keeping his hands busy that has you giggling. But it doesn't unglue you from Slider's side. He holds you close, an arm around your waist as you walk through the airport and toward the short-term parking garage.

You're ready to climb into the backseat when you reach Slider's car, but it seems Ice isn't coming with you. He pulls you into another hug before he lets you know it was nice to see you and offers Slider a quick wave before heading back the way he came.

"Where're you going?" Slider shouts in his direction while simultaneously tossing your bag into the backseat.

"Back to the terminal," Ice says as if it's obvious.

"Yeah, but why?"

Ice fiddles with his watch. "To hail a cab."

Slider rolls his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

But Ice shakes his head. "I'm not getting between–" he gestures vaguely at the two of you "–this." You thank your lucky stars for Tom Kazansky and his powers of perception — though you suppose it doesn't take a rocket scientist to piece together that you and Slider are itching to get your hands on each other. You figure Ice has heard all about Slider's intentions throughout many whiskey-induced ramblings. So if he'd been expecting Slider to insist, he'd be sorely mistaken. But you doubt that Ice is when he throws "I'll see you back at base" over his shoulder before vanishing in his venture back to the terminal.

"Don't wait up," Slider exclaims as he drops into the driver's seat and leans over to unlock your door. He has plans for you that involve a hotel and a king-size bed. Maybe even a couple noise complaints.

You study his profile as Slider puts the key in the ignition and the Trans Am purrs to life. But instead of releasing the clutch and putting the car in reverse, he turns your way. The hunger in his eyes is the spark, and you're the gunpowder. You meet in the middle. A frenzied locking of lips over the center console as your fingers tangle in his hair.

You grin into the kiss and nip at Slider's bottom lip, eagerly following when he retreats. The buzzing beneath your skin demands that you pull him in for more, but Slider really needs to get you both to the hotel. You clock the sympathetic look he gives you as he shifts the car into reverse. He gets it, you know. There isn't a doubt in your mind that he'd fuck you right now if it wouldn't get you both written up for public indecency. Reluctantly, you settle into your seat and fiddle with the radio.

The drive from the airport to your hotel isn't that far.

Well, it isn't supposed to be.

You've caught every red light along your route so far, and as another light in the distance turns yellow, your luck doesn't appear to be shifting any time soon.

“Fucking lights,” Slider grumbles. He didn’t buy a muscle car to drive the speed limit, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

You lick your lips as the car rolls to a stop, savoring the taste of him that lingers there and growing increasingly impatient. "How much further?" You know you sound like you're six, whining in the back of your parent's station wagon an hour into a week-long road trip. You don't care.

"Five minutes," he answers, glaring at the red light. "More if this shit keeps up." You let out a discouraged whine. "I know, baby. But we're almost there." A gentle squeeze to your thigh has you melting, but it returns to the gearshift as the light turns green. You can't help but pout. It's a special kind of torture having Slider so close, feeling the ghost of his lips against yours but unable to touch him like you’ve imagined all this time apart.

Epiphany strikes as you drum your fingers in your lap.

Approaching what must be the millionth red light, you run your hands up and down your thighs, steadily inching your skirt higher and higher. Slider looks like he's about to ask you what you think you're doing when you maintain eye contact and carefully slip your panties down your legs. They fly into the backseat. Gone to the ages.

The hunger is back. Eyes dark as Slider drinks you in. Trailing up your legs to your fingers where they toy with your skirt and dip beneath the loose fabric.

"Eyes on the road, Sli."

The light's green.

The car rocks back as Slider steps heavy on the gas. His hand is on you as soon as he shifts gears. He tugs your thigh closer to him and flush against the center console before you let the other fall open with an encouraging moan designed to rile him up just like your skirt. Calloused fingers waste no time on your sensitive inner thighs, and he knows he's got tone when they zero in on your needy cunt. You shift in your seat to give him better access and are rewarded when he drags two fingers through your lips.

"Fuck, baby."

"Missed you," you say as you return the favor and cup Slider through his jeans. Palm grinding down against his fast-growing erection.

"I can feel that," he groans as his fingers leave you to switch gears, but they return before the car rolls to a complete stop. "Can't even wait until we get to the hotel, can you?" He doesn't wait for you to answer before easing a thick finger into you, and you toss your head back with a breathless, shameless shake. "That's why you wore your pretty skirt, isn't it?"

And why your panties are so kindly decorating his backseat. "Wanted your hands all over me."

When the light turns green this time, you put your hand on the gearshift so that Slider's can stay right where it is. You're rewarded with a toothy grin and a crook of his finger that has you keening, your fist tightening around his thick cock behind rough denim. "Soon," he promises, leaving you empty and patting your thigh. "We're here."

True to his word, you've pulled into the hotel's parking lot. Once you've parked, you straighten your skirt and step out of the car.

The concierge is a small desk near the front door set before an awful pistachio green wall. But Slider hadn't picked this hotel for its luxurious accommodations. Quite the opposite. Neither of you is willing or has the money to spend on something ostentatious — God knows the Navy doesn't pay Slider enough. You just need a door that locks and a big bed.

"Checking in?"

"Yes," you say, making your way to the desk and the man behind, cocking your hip as you lean forward ever so slightly to put your ass on display. A tease.

"What's the reservation under?"

"Kerner." Slider sidles up next to you at the counter, and you tune out the rest of the check-in process, more interested in guiding Slider's hand to cup your ass. For what it's worth, Slider doesn't skip a beat, reminding the concierge of his military discount as he kneads the cheek in his big hand. The desk clerk isn't paid enough to care and goes to retrieve your key with a near-dead look in his eyes, handing it over before mumbling something about calling the front desk if you need anything.

Slider stops by the car to pick up your bags before herding you toward your room like an over-eager cattle dog. He's right behind you as suddenly-clumsy fingers fumble the room key. The door unlocks with a heavy clack, and you have just enough time to register that one of the walls has been painted in the same offensive green as the concierge desk before the door slams shut, and your bags are unceremoniously dumped.

You’re crowded against the wall as greedy hands pull you up until your tiptoes barely graze the rundown carpet. When Slider bows to kiss you, you turn your head. "Sli, c'mon," you feign annoyance, gently shoving at his shoulders as he bites sweet bruises into your collarbone. "I wanna put my things away."

A thick thigh slots between your own, flexing against your throbbing clit as hands find your ass and hoist you the rest of the way off the ground and into strong arms. "Don't act all shy now," Slider husks into the curve of your neck, hot breath chilling the spit-slick skin and forcing a shiver up your spine. "We both know you want me to fill up that pretty pussy." And like that, he's reduced you to a pile of goo.

Breath hitching against his lips, you give up the ghost. Fingers tangle into his curls as you rock your hips over stiff denim, too drunk off the taste, the smell, the feel to stop even as the rough weave scratches your sensitive skin. He's already got you soaked, innermost thighs slick from where your needy cunt has begun to drip, so you tear into each other.

You pull Slider's shirt off to wind your fingers around his dog tags and give them a tug, explore his broad chest — smooth skin and well-hewn muscle at your fingertips — and he does the same. Gets rid of your bra only to mouth at your tits while you tug at his belt so you can get his pants pushed far enough down to get his cock out.

The sting of sharp teeth has you arching into Slider's mouth, distracted as his hands ruck the body of your skirt up around the waistband, the fabric wrinkling and creasing between you. It's the furthest thing from your mind as he helps you wrap your legs around him. "You ready?" he asks, and the heels of your white sneakers dig into his lower back as you nod and try to pull him as close as possible; then he pushes into you with a groan.

You love how Slider towers over you, muscles flexing as he holds you steady against the wall, precisely where he wants you, as his cock stretches you wide and fucks up into you with a pent-up, feral passion. How his curls begin to dampen and droop into his eyes. Your toes curl in your shoes, your head thunking back against the wall as he brushes against your sweet spot.

When Slider steps back, and your shoulders come off the wall, your whole body clenches. You bite back a startled yelp, fingers desperately trying to hold on but only succeeding in marking him with angry red lines.

He pulls out to set you on the bed, kicking his pants off as you toe off your sneakers before the mattress dips beneath his weight. The duvet is scratchy, but it's easy to forget when his lips trail fire from your hip up to devour your own, a heady buzz under your skin when he hauls one of your legs over his shoulder before he sinks back into you. And it's deep. Further than your fingers or toys and so much better because it's him caging you against the bed, bringing you to the very edge of sanity, and kissing you until you're breathless. Your cheeks burn with the wanton noises that tumble out your mouth as he leans forward, your hamstring threatening to cramp as he folds you in half, your ass lifting off the bed to give him a better angle to piston his hips into yours with a wet slap.

It doesn't take much in this position to push you over the edge. His gaze piercing as you cum with a cry, fingers twisting in the duvet.

Slider pulls out while your walls are still tensing, his fingers filling, crooking, and teasing to try and draw out your pleasure. But his fingers — while delightful — are a poor substitute for his cock. You whine, body shaking at the loss and the overstimulation as his fingers attack your sweet spot.

"Sli," you gasp, head thrown back and eyes closed, sneaky tears leaking into your hair.

"Hmm?" His free hand kneads at your hip, the crease of your thigh, the dip of your waist while he sloppily kisses across your neck, chest, middle.

"Baby, please."

Slider leans over you, lips inches from yours before he ducks to the side, your belly swooping when he captures the corner of your jaw between his teeth. "Don't wanna cum yet," he rasps, swallowing your mewl in an eager kiss. His fingers continue to tease you until your hips roll into each shallow thrust instead of jerking away.

You luxuriate in the closeness. Opening your eyes to see him above you. Gasping for breath and finding him there, too, in the hints of minty aftershave and the musky cologne you'd bought him for Christmas two years ago. Goosebumps everywhere you're pressed against each other as if your very skin is reaching out for a better taste of his tan skin covered in a sheen of sweat. A warm, tingly feeling blooms in your chest as you wrap your arms around his neck, and he holds you in turn. A lightheaded, giddy feeling that's never gone away when you're around him. One that only seems to grow with each passing day.

Slider isn't quite wrecked, but he's definitely on his way there. Pupils blown wide as he lines up with your quivering cunt and slowly buries himself back in you. Big hands press your thighs into the mattress, keeping them spread wide as he drives his hips into yours and sees to another bruise — this one indecently high up on your neck.

"God," he groans, "you're so fucking wet." His hips grind sinfully into yours until you're writhing, and your pussy gives a slick squelch as if to prove his point. Teeth tug on your earlobe. "What's got you so wet, baby?"

"You," you breathe out. "Fuck, Sli. You."

"Fuck yeah," he grits into your cheek before recapturing your lips in a filthy kiss. "So good for me, baby. So perfect. So wet." Calloused hands circle your waist before dragging down to frame your hips, pulling you onto him with every thrust. "You been waiting for me to make a mess of this pussy."

Your head thrashes to the side with an obscene moan, heat blooming from your cheeks down your chest as your cunt throbs. "Sli–"

"That's right," he purrs, thumb petting your pussy lips where they're stretched and tight around him as your mouth hangs open in silent arousal. "Gonna fuck you right through this mattress, get you all pretty and dumb on my cock, then I'm gonna make you forget what it was like to be empty. Keep you stuffed and dripping for days."

"I'm not on birth control."

Everything stops.

The creaking of mattress springs.

Your breathing.

Slider.

Your eyes, closed in pleasure a moment ago, open, but the look on his face is unreadable. You should say something. You open your mouth, hoping the words will come to you, but you're being manhandled onto your knees, face pressed into the mattress before you can get your hands beneath yourself, and Slider is so deep inside of you that you can practically taste him. He folds over you, one hand fisted in the skirt bunched around your waist, the other braced near your head as he all but growls: "I'm gonna put a fucking baby in you."

And oh.

Teeth clamp down on the skin behind your ear, hips humping and grinding filthy against your sopping core as he tries to work himself deeper. But it isn't enough. He pulls out and pounds forward, grunting in self-satisfaction as you scream.

You're far from the only one making noise now. Slider runs his mouth between moans that he's no longer trying to hold back. Can't seem to keep it shut. "You like that?” he pants against your shoulder blades. “I know you do. Can tell from the way you moan and clench around my cock." He's got your back bowed so much he's practically fucking down into you, trying to drill you through the mattress just like he promised.

"God, you're so fucking perfect. Taking it so good for me." Your face is hot, your heart catching in your throat as each heady groan vibrates through his chest and serves to wind you tighter. Slider nuzzles into the crook of your neck, mouthing over your fluttering pulse as one of his hands clutches possessively low over your belly. "Gonna keep you full of me." You keen, head thrown back to give him more access to a long line of unblemished skin. "Not gonna be able to go anywhere without it dripping down your thighs, and when it does–" he grunts, hips stuttering "–I'm gonna fuck it back into you. Fill you up again until your pussy's all sloppy, and you can't walk."

"Oh, fuu– Ron. God. Yes! Give it to me. Please, Ron, please.” It’s desperate, pleading, and needy all in one heaping moan. You're going to cum and he hasn't even touched your clit.

"That's it," he says, brows drawn in a determined line as he unglues himself from your back. "Gonna– fuck– you gonna cum for me?" His hips crash into yours without rhythm, chasing his own end and knowing from the way your walls quiver and try to suck him deeper that you're just as close as he is. But you shake your head, stubborn and desperate to keep it going, to ride this high for as long as you can. "Yeah, you are." His palm is sweaty where it still rests over your womb. "Then I'm gonna fuck you again. And again and again, until it takes."

You lock up, vision whiting out as pleasure overtakes you, starting where you clench around Slider still so deep inside you and radiating to your fingertips. And Slider's right behind you.

Usually, he likes to make a mess of you. Pull out and cum all over your pussy. Leave the tip inside so he can watch his cum dribble down your thighs and onto the sheets. But this time, his hips press tight to yours to ensure nothing goes to waste. He groans into your shoulder, pulling you back onto his dick as it pulses, and makes you take every last drop, a shiver running up his spine and his ears staining red.

When he finally pulls out, you stay where you are, too fucked out even to slump against the hotel linens. But you don't have to move a muscle. Slider slips your skirt down your legs and gathers you in his arms, surrounding you in warmth. You catch your breath between kisses, fingers twirling and catching in his sweaty curls and tracing over the day-old stubble that lines his jaw.

He presses a kiss to your forehead as your breaths even out. He opens his mouth, then closes it to collect his thoughts. "You didn't actually stop taking your birth control, did you?" he finally asks, voice uncharacteristically soft and brows raised.

"Ew. No," you huff into his chest. "I was horny, Ron, not stupid." Besides, that's something you need to discuss together before you start flushing pills down the drain. You feel his chuckle bubble up in response as he presses a kiss to your hairline.

You idly draw circles into Slider's chest as the sunlight creeps through your blinds and tracks across your bed, the tv remote lost somewhere on the other side of the room. Neither of you is willing to get up and find it.

"So…" you drawl as your fingers begin to trek lower than is purely innocent. "You want to put a baby in me, Sli?" And there's no way he can hide how his dick twitches with your legs are tangled together as they are.

"What can I say?" His fingers card through your hair to angle your face toward his and whispers against your lips, even though it's the world's worst-kept secret: "It's hot."

Your eyes droop to half-mast. "Well, I don't see any reason why we can't practice." You have the entire weekend and have yet to rack up a single noise complaint.

Slider's lips part in a dagger grin. "God, you're perfect."

#thirsty answers #thirsty's masterlist #fic: you get me closer to god (i wanna fuck you like an animal)#top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction #ron slider kerner x reader #female reader #ron slider kerner x you #top gun smut #ron slider kerner smut #slider smut #ron slider kerner x reader smut #playlist inspired #song: closer — nine inch nails #no i will not stop thirsting over this man #the author's breeding kink may or may not make an appearance #(no i'm not sorry about it)#special guest appearance by the bradshaws

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