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l4long-winded · 6 months

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step #1: move in with your ex's best friend

summary: having just broken up with your ex, you're left with little options. you turn towards a mutual childhood friend who is reluctant to receive you for a myriad of reasons. the top one is surely how he looks at you (austin butler x afab!reader)

reflection: i posted this on my other account before, but seeing as that is now gone, i am starting to look at my works and which will be suitable to reupload. this piece is still up on archive so i want to make it even more convenient and post it here. please enjoy and feedback is always encouraged and appreciated.

warnings: cheerleader!reader, college au, drinking, alcohol, cynical!austin, somewhat bitter!austin, objectification, slight obsession, oral, degradation, filmed, dirty talk, dom!austin, naive!reader, childhood friends, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, cursing, pet names, austin's pov, reader's ex is an ass (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 15,081

( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )

Austin isn’t exactly sure what comes over him seeing one of his best friends in the world consistently flirt with other girls with you, his friend’s girlfriend, sitting at home waiting. He’s loyal to perhaps a fault; he’s grown up with these people, their parents acting as parents even to him, so it’s the least he can do. To think the thoughts he thinks about you, to sit in a bar where he spots the same magazine you were reading this morning, to catch the dull lighting shining in his oblivious friends’ faces as he commits silent betrayal—guilt lingers alongside the condensation seeping off his cold beer’s glass. It’s a combination of his hand’s sweat and the sweet alcohol allowing him to try and forget.

He shouldn’t even be feeling these things. Not just because of the principle of the fact, but because you’re also all kinds of wrong for him. You’re combative, a bit materialistic, and bratty because your father’s got an edge in the political regime that’s spoiled you rotten.

But goddamn it... he wishes he didn’t think of the berry gloss that stains his friend’s lips every time he steals a kiss away from you. Austin is tired of being envious of someone he’s supposed to be there for, of gloss smearing his mouth in his guileful dreams.

He drinks to try and muddle the angelic tone of your features sitting on the permanent photograph his mind lingers to against his best wishes. You’re there no matter how hard he tries to dispose of you with his liquor and it doesn’t help that his friend is chatting up a storm nearby about how good he is in the sack, the subtext lost on him in definition as he gets bolder and bolder by the passing seconds. It’s to the point where Austin can no longer stand to hear about it, shifting up to his long legs and dropping cash onto the counter. Typically, Fabian doesn’t notice Austin deserting him with the two women hanging off of his arms. Austin walks until he reaches the designated driver appointed for the night, Wesley glancing up from his beer and from his girlfriend Veronica he seemed to be in a deep conversation with.

“You mind driving me home or are you as busy as Fabian is over there?” Austin doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness latching onto his vocal chords. If anything, it appears as if he’s jealous of the attention Fabian is getting over him and definitely not the intimate secret of how he has you at the forefront of his mind. Wesley can’t see through flesh and skull, not that anyone can, so Austin’s in the clear to think about you in any which way that he pleases without stepping on anyone’s toes or crossing any boundaries.

“Yeah, man, I got you. You don’t mind me dropping off Veronica first, do you?” Wesley steps from the stool, his jacket coming off his lap to then wrap around Veronica before Austin could even answer his displeasure. His tolerance for his friends and their romances while being the fifth wheel could only prevail for a certain amount of time. Under the influence, he’s not completely stone faced, rolling his eyes at the “sweet” gesture. Veronica sticks her tongue out.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Oh, not a chance.”

Somehow, Austin survived two duets and several solos among Wesley and Veronica in the duration of the car ride from the bar to Veronica’s house. He clenched his fists in his jacket’s pockets watching the two of them give each other a liplock as if they would never see one another again, prolonging the time before he could get out of the car to transfer himself in the passenger seat that Veronica left behind. This is the reason he usually went to places in his own beat-up car, but he also wanted to drink without putting a limitation on himself. The day wound up being shitty from start to finish, something he could have predicted if it weren’t for a gnawing need to numb his brain from thinking so much.

His factory job is in the midst of laying people off and labor never guarantees your spot, his cynicism with his boss as of late causing him to believe that he would have to embark on the job hunting fiasco soon enough. Hanging out with friends used to alleviate these kinds of stresses, but now he can’t see them doing anything other than aggravating with the state his head’s in.

He enters his small apartment after climbing several flights of stairs. The exercise gives him the sense of a pre-hangover so he lifts a hand up to grasp at the ache and switch the light on. He blinks through the new balance, the sound of sniffling quietly filling his ears in his efforts to adjust to the state of the climate around him. When his eyes come through, he sees your recognizable frame sitting on his couch, a pink pillow with your name on it in contrasting crimson thread adorning the front of it. It sits between your arms held tightly against your chest, your chin at the top of it with dead streaks of tear tracks rounding the apples of your cheeks down to your plump, pouting lips.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He grumbles, marching on over as steadily as a tipsy person could possibly manage. He didn’t expect to see you there, especially not since you didn’t live there and he owned this place on his own. The overwhelming images of you throughout the night seemingly intensify in your presence. He’s better off ignoring your existence than it is to risk implicating himself.

“Fabian, he… he…” You hiccup your words. It’s obvious you were crying in here before Austin arrived, but you continued where you left off and he visibly sees the fresh tears forming above your lower eyelids. Who knows how long you’ve been in here on your lonesome. “He cheated on me. After I confronted him, he kicked me out and I… I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Austin scoffs at this, a lack of remorse stemming from his alcohol stunt and from his need to look as if he couldn’t care less about the situation. Despite growing up together alongside him, Fabian, and Wesley, you two never explored a decent realm of friendship. You came from different worlds entirely, your dad being rich and his dad being nowhere to be found. It’s a miracle private school didn’t separate your two lives any further, but you attended public school and began your on and off again relationship with Fabian. Apparently, it’s off again. It would explain Fabian’s unabashed behavior earlier. He was technically a free man and Austin’s jealousy streak suddenly seemed foolish. “Last I checked, you had a bigger house than any of us combined.”

“I can’t go back there. My dad thinks I pledged to a sorority and I lied to him so I could stay with Fabian. Besides, it’s too far from campus and you’re not.” You’re quite the sight rising up onto your knees, your hips suspended in the air just the right amount to see the chosen pair of oh-so-short sleep shorts riding above your thighs. He’s quick to flicker his gaze down and then back up to the lost expression on your face. He’s positive he wasn’t your first choice in this decision given the severe lack of history between the two of you and those shorts of yours are reminding him of the loyalty he ought to be committed to for his dear friend.

“You can’t just stay with me. This isn’t a hotel for you to come and go as you please. I have had one hell of a day and I shouldn’t be arguing with someone about whether or not they can stay in the place that is supposed to be mine alone.”

Austin throws his hands in the air to get his point across, anything for you to take it into your head and accept the circumstances as they were. If you weren’t so heartbroken, he would’ve daringly added salt to the wound by commenting on how things weren’t going to go your way like you were used to. He told himself he refrained because you’ve undergone a lot in the last twelve hours and not because of a deep rooted feeling tearing away at him within. He never has done well with crying in general, never the one to comfort, and never the one to be comforted. He’s not sure how to handle you in this state.

He turns his back to you to rummage through the ashtray he utilizes in a duality as a key tray. It’s a bad idea to leave at this hour, and given how much he’s drunk, he shouldn’t even be operating a vehicle. Soon, the ring belonging to his keys slips onto his index finger when he hears your voice in a whisper.

“... Did you know?”

Silence. It’s pure silence as he slightly tilts his head to the ceiling and guilt sobers him to see through the thick cloud of irrationality attempting to send you away in this vulnerable position. The truth is that he’s considered plenty of times where he could have put an end to all of this by ratting his friend out, but he never followed through on such plans. It’s Fabian’s parents who guided him away from the same path his father was once on, and so Fabian’s actions may have been shitty, but that didn’t grant Austin the right to be a shitty friend in return.

But as Austin slowly turns and drops his keys back into the tray, he focuses on the aftermath of his indecision and the hurtful consequences of his silence matching Wesley and Veronica’s. It’s written in swelling glass in your tear ducts, in the drops sliding over your chin, in the gentle and tragic way your nose quirks to accommodate the light sniffles you could barely breathe from. Austin’s seen you cry plenty of times because you were a sensitive girl, but he knows that this is different than the times before. He can tell by how you bow your head in shame, opaque spots littering your pillow from where you’re soaking it with your pain. He’s not privy to what occurred between you and Fabian this time around, but it’s evident it’s cut you deeper than before.

“Austin… I don’t want to be made a fool of anymore. Please, please do me this favor. I just need somewhere to stay until I figure things out and then I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.”

He wants to protest. He wants to ask why it has to be him (he just knows that the universe has it out for him at this point setting this shitstorm waiting to happen up). It’s just that he’s exhausted, under the influence, and his cold exterior always gives the slightest way for you. He’s got to be as bad as all the other people who enable you in your life, but he continues to blame the lack of energy and his waning patience.

“How did you even get in here?” He asks in lieu of giving you a proper answer, his way of welcoming you to his home without really having to do so. He doesn’t miss the small curve of your lips through your pout as you play with the fringe of your pillow. Austin removes his jacket a sleeve at a time, anything to help how constricted he feels in heat (thanks, whiskey) and from how close you are to him. He can’t remember the last time the two of you were alone together. It’s odd how it’s in this capacity and you’re simultaneously about to spend the night for the very first time. He realizes it’s also been a few weeks since he last had a woman alone in there, a long streak for him compared to average.

You tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, that innocent shrug of your shoulders coming through that tells him your words will be anything but: “I sorta’ told your landlord that I was your girlfriend and I got locked out. He got his keys and let me in.”

Austin bites his tongue so hard that he swears he tastes metal, anything to refrain from talking about how spoiled you are. You currently have a free pass, but it’s not going to run for an unlimited time. He can quip at you in the morning when he’s more coherent and feeling less generous as normal. He hates how much you’re already affecting him. He hopes to everything that you will get this fixed within a day or else there’s his loyalty, bachelorhood, and self-control at stake.

Austin startles awake hearing the sound of pans clattering in the kitchen. He stupidly stumbles out of bed and picks his bat up from the corner of the room before he moves to check where the noise came from. He’s got it resting on his shoulder as if he might just swing wildly as he walks into the area and sees you turning the island into a personal mess. He forgot that you were there, but the conversation you had the previous night comes back to him in images at first and then pieces of audio connect into place. Right, he’s supposed to play host while you figure your shit out.

“Woah there, Babe. Put the bat down, I’m just making breakfast for us.” You scoop the scrambled eggs onto a plate. The smell fills the apartment along with that of smoke that Austin sneers at. He waves his hand to try and whisk it out, the window opened to help with the dilemma. Birds annoyingly chirp and he huffs in retaliation.

“What did you call me?”

“Oh, you know… Babe? Like… like Babe Ruth. He’s the one who played baseball, right? Or did I get that wrong?”

Austin’s expression towards you is serious. He grimaces, but he says nothing in return and sits onto his futon that you’ve transformed from your bed (that you insisted on) back to his couch. A large hand comes down his features, the migraine unrelenting as it digs into his skull. When he’s scrubbing his face with his palms, he brings his hands away to see you there in front of him with a plate and a glass of water. The water comes closer to his features, a gesture for him to take instead of gawking at you and the surprise food.

“It’ll help your hangover.” You smile at him, that damn way of yours too that he has to peel his eyes from or else he’ll resemble a deer in headlights. But even facing away from you, he can see the remnants of your smile in the same fashion of a blob chasing his vision after staring at the sun. He grasps the water and drinks without saying a word, hesitantly delivering the plate to himself to start eating his first home cooked meal in… in probably ever within this apartment. Scanning the kitchen, he spots his counter full of grocery bags. You must’ve gone while he was knocked out cold.

“How’d you know I was hungover?” Austin questions it through a mouthful, noticing that his television was playing what appeared to be a cheer competition. He’s well aware of your college cheering, but he didn’t think it extended to where you would watch it for fun or for studying or maybe even both. It’s at least something to distract him, his eyes narrowing in on a skirt, unable to help himself.

“Uh… Fabian posted on his IG story from the bar last night. I saw your jacket in the corner of the picture and knew I’d have to wait longer for you to get here.”

He can hear the subliminal Thanks for the invite in your tone and he sighs. The division in the friend group is clearly evident, however this may be the realization for you that it definitely leans one side more than it does the other. He reminds himself that he isn’t close to you, that this is something out of an alternate reality in the thick of his own compromising reality and he’s not letting his guard down for a second. In actuality, he doesn’t owe you any kind of explanation since he went out and had fun according to his autonomy.

“You didn’t miss much. Wesley and Veronica fell into their own world like they usually do and Fabian…” Despite trying to stay loyal, he stopped himself from stomping on your feelings any further than they have been in the past twenty-four hours. He sees how your face drops at the slip of Fabian’s name in his peripheral as you plop on the seat right next to him. You’re on your phone, your mouth slanting to one side in disappointment.

“I know, I see it right here. He posted some girls he was with last night. Funny how no one would’ve told me about it.”

Your eyes are glued to the phone. Austin watches you click back and forth among the photos and videos making up Fabian’s “wild” night on the IG story. Austin’s not technologically challenged by any means, but he’s not a frequent poster. Therefore, he doesn’t spend a lot of time on social media in general. Witnessing the effects of it in real time messes with his head, that pretty face of yours sullen and defeated in a way that also doesn’t sit right with him. He may not have time for this relationship nonsense, but he can’t turn away from how sorrow is hitting at you hard. He would like to, but his damn conscience won’t let him.

“Stop looking at that,” Austin advises as he takes your phone away. You whine trying to retrieve it back, but he gets up from the couch and sets it on the coffee table. He grabs his glass of water and heads to the fridge for a refill. “If you want to get over him, you can’t be looking at his accounts. You’re just torturing yourself and I can’t stand you crying all over my furniture.”

He sets the water jug back into the fridge before he maneuvers to have his drink at the island. He didn’t expect you to actually get up and follow him. He notices how your phone is still on the coffee table and how you’re nervously tapping your manicured nails on the surface of the counter. Something’s on your mind clearly, an anxiety in your expression that you don’t know how to voice to him. He can’t blame you. After years of knowing one another, conversations such as these evaded you on more than one occasion. It’d be a miracle if the two of you understood how to talk to each other without any kind of misconception sitting between.

“What?” He breaks the ice, eye level with you as he hunches over the counter and awaits an answer.

You inhale a steady breath, but Austin can see you’re close to crying again. “I-I don’t know how to get over him. I feel like we fight so much and I always forgive him and I always turn back and… Austin… Shit.” You didn’t really curse. At least, beyond the occasional use of “damn” and “hell”. This was certainly messing with you. “I don’t want to forgive him this time. I don’t want to turn back. I just want to move on.”

Austin’s warnings didn’t do a damn thing to stop you from openly crying in front of him again. Your pajama sleeve lifts so you can messily wipe your eyes away and he feels discomfort wash over him. He cautiously rounds the island, a hesitant hand moving to gently grasp your shoulder. He’s not completely useless with this kind of thing having seen good examples of guardians being warm and inviting growing up, and if those references failed, there were always the life lessons of the melodramatic television shows and eccentric films at hand. He tries to ask himself what Dan Conner might do in this instance and how Veronica may give you advice.

The overthinking he engages in is soon silenced by how you utilize the advantage of his open arms and scoot yourself into the empty space. He’s not wearing a shirt, but you don’t seem to care as you cry into his chest and leave behind warm tears trailing his pectorals and then his abdomen. Your arms capture him next and Austin is reeling from the amount of touch you’re attacking him with, slight pressure on him that he deems worse than a punch to the gut because at least then he could respond with a cocked back fist and an eager jab. He has no idea how to react to this besides patting your back and then the hair at the top of your head.

“Hey, princess, come on…” This is probably the first time he uses that moniker without a lick of wit and sarcasm dripping from it. Austin used it to tease you, spoiled brat in his vocabulary in your presence at all times. He feels awkward at this moment, to have it sound so affectionate is foreign for him. “Hey, hey, look… I know this fucking sucks, but it’ll get better. You’ll move on, get over him, and graduate. It’s just a matter of time.”

It’s difficult not to stray away from your frame. He knows he’s rigid, but his statuesque form is still not being pushed away by you. Slowly, you lift your head from his chest about the same pace that you reduce your sniffling. A cherry tint coats your cheeks and nose, your lips dry from how you’ve bitten them bloody out of nervous habit. He hates that you’re such a pretty crier, how spellbinding you are despite having puffy eyes and an equally as puffy mouth he wants to swell further by bruising kisses onto it and prying it open with his fingers and then cockhead. To objectify you while you’re struck with such hurt is wrong and he knows it, but he can’t stop the thoughts telling him he should give you something real to cry over, something worth hiccuping sobs and whines over.

“H-how do you know that? What if… what if I never get over him? What if I always feel like this and the only way to stop it is by having him around?” Your distress is beginning to stress Austin out. This topic is about one of his best friends, someone who will come to their senses in a few days if history has served you both well enough in Austin’s memory. Mind you, he never heard this perspective or thought of it before, the reluctance to accept a relationship because of the avoidance of mourning it for too long. Is this why you’ve ran back to Fabian in the past? Because you can’t undergo the shitty and difficult sadness that comes with a breakup? It’s starting to make sense to him that you’re looking for remedies to prevent this from happening before a weaker and more vulnerable version of yourself accepts Fabian’s hand again.

Austin sucks in a breath, his hands coming in front of your face to clasp together. He’s not sure which route to take, a limited array of options. He can advise you to go back to Fabian and clean this mess up before anything else could happen. He could have the place to himself again and things would be normal until the next inevitable separation between the two of you.

Or… or he could do something else that could save him the future headaches and the misery of having to watch you two get so up close and personal. That’s the selfish solution, but a solution nonetheless that might even benefit both you and Fabian in the long run. By how much Fabian strays and how much he winds up putting you down, Austin doesn’t think it to be real treachery. Ruining your relationship together is one thing, but attempting to save future damage is another… right?

“When I was about fourteen, I had my first girlfriend. Remember her?” Austin sees your face dip into confusion, but you nod your head. There’s a point to this, as left field as it may seem. He doesn’t talk about this anymore, hell, he barely talked about it when it happened, but he feels like it’s necessary for this conversation.

“Well, she dumped me to date this other punk named Ben. I was fucking pissed so I drank a lot, distanced myself, listened to angry music, all of that. And eventually, one day, I saw them together at the central mall and I didn’t feel a thing. No anger, no love, no nothing. It took time, but it worked. It felt endless when it was happening, but an end did come around. I’m telling you that you just have to wait it out and soon enough, those shit feelings will quit fucking with your head.” For good measure, Austin’s knuckles form a fist and tap the crown of your cranium with a shockingly contrasting pressure, soft to go with the overwhelming weight of his honest words. There’s not a lot of things that he expects to happen by doing any of this, but the very least of those actions had been the one you embarked on and that was the sheepish smile you let break way despite the veil of tears still slipping on down and down.

“T-Thank you, Austin.” Your voice is feeble, and the weeping is reducing ever so slowly. He counts it as a victory, his reassurance. But solely a small one since realistically, he doesn’t know if you’ll listen, if everything he just said will go in through one ear and out the other. He just tells himself things will be okay as he anxiously runs a large hand down your back, your frame fitting back into his still-hesitant arms.

“She had ugly shoes.”

“What?” He glances at you and shifts you to where he can get a better look at your face. You stare up at him with amusement spreading from the crinkles around your eyes and the curve of your mouth broadening.

“Nancy,” you begin with his ex’s name, the very one he just spoke about, “She had ugly shoes. I was glad she was gone so I didn’t have to look at them anymore.”

Austin rolls his eyes and hides his laugh because of course you would remember such a trivial thing, anything that has to do with fashion and not at all how Nancy contributed to Austin’s corroded trust issues.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come with me? I promise it’s a lot more fun than wasting a Sunday night drinking a beer.” Your tone echoes from Austin’s bathroom, the slightest creak in the door since you insist on speaking with him through it as you do your makeup. After your conversation yesterday, Austin found it easier to talk with you. That’s scratching the argument the two of you fell into over switching the television to an action movie he wanted to catch instead of the modeling videos you spammed on YouTube, but otherwise, you two got along better.

You made dinner, unsurprisingly since you got up to make breakfast so early. He thought it was a means to repay him, to show some kind of appreciation for allowing you to stick around, but then you were bouncing about his kitchen the next morning at the same hour with the same cheer competition footage playing. He realized it was a routine you fell into out of habit, another reason to curse his friend in the confines of his mind because who the hell would turn so easily from housewife material. The kind of housewife material who could bake a pie, who doted on their beloved husband, who wore those fitted aprons scattered with red and pink hearts to stand out against the quilted white background. The very one in your possession that shot the bullet igniting the race of his rapid imagination running wild. It’s just the right size to hide your skimpy pajamas, for a fantasy to plaster itself into his cognitive files (joining the rest) involving nothing underneath the apron that has the potential of catching his release.

“I’ve had my fair share of socializing Friday night,” he grumbles back, “I don’t want to be around any crowds. Especially not with a bunch of college kids.” That would mostly be around his age since you were only a year younger, but he can pretend he’s more mature because the hard labor he indulges in leaves dirt under his nails and soreness in his back muscles. Bitterness is rightful here, the path his friends took being in books while he decided to go a different route. He’s still thinking of what he should do, but surviving is always number one. Figuring how to stay afloat is a priority.

“There might be cute college girls!” You try, but that’s not something he needs either. Austin’s never been one for the dating scene. If he needs to hook up with someone, he’ll go to a bar or a club. A college football game didn’t sound very entertaining for him. The entire premise of attending anything with you still sat sour in his mouth, anyway. Soon, you’d be moving out and then you two could go back to barely talking to each other sans for when you’re together with Wesley, Veronica, and eventually Fabian. He doesn’t think you’ll back out of the group due to this recent betrayal, but there’s bound to be impending awkwardness coming as a result.

Sitting at his couch, he lifts his bottle opener to work open the cap of his beer. The satisfying thsk resounds, the cold smoke beckoning him in that he quickly attaches his lips to. He dips his head backwards to get his first swig, making it a proper one at that to fill his cheeks with and coat his tongue over. It’s then that he hears the bathroom door come open from behind him and he turns in that direction from the simplest reaction of sound detection.

“How do I look? Be honest.”

Austin swallows the drink in his mouth with a difficult gulp, one he feels expand as it travels down his throat. It takes effort not to cough, but he wills himself to sit still as he takes in your appearance, that small cheer outfit of yours not helping the thoughts he’s carried for a long while. It hugs your chest, your hips, your thighs, and it’s not fair. It’s really not fucking fair looking the way you do, batting your long lashes at him, awaiting an answer from him like you don’t know how much he wants to cross the room and test the access capabilities of that skirt slimming not even past the invisible equator of flesh dividing the portion to your mid thigh. From how form fitting it is, he wouldn’t have any choice but to bunch it upwards in his curling fingers, offering himself leverage in the process of pushing into you from behind.

Austin swears in his head and he commands himself to look away from the little number to give his opinion on your face, the makeup you’re actually asking about. He gets a final glance of the golden Cal bright and bold against navy blue across your chest before his eyes land upon your facial structure. There’s the slightest wisps of blue glitter over your lids, a sheen on your nose and cheeks cool toned and shimmery that he knows will glow luminescent under the football field’s beaming lights overhead. Curiously, a black, tiny heart rests beneath your left eye, something you most likely drew on to complete your look. He can’t ignore any of it, not how complementary it’s come together for your features, not how glossy your lips appear, and definitely not how you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth with his obvious gaze attached to every detail.

“Is the heart too much? I thought since my hair was in a ponytail that I could pull it off, but I can just take it off if—”

“Don’t, it’s… different. You don’t look bad.” You don’t look bad? Seriously? Austin thinks to himself, that piss poor excuse of complimenting you without being too forward sounding jumbled and meaningless because of a few seconds of overthought filling his brain to the brim. He could’ve just given a simple nod of his head to show his approval, but of course his big mouth had to relay the warped images in his mind through his ditching effort to show care and no care at the same exact time.

But miraculously, your lips spread into a wide smile, your white tennis shoes squeaking over the floor as you bounce a path to Austin and wrap your arms around his neck. His beer rises towards the ceiling to protect it from spilling to the floor, jasmine and orange blossom invading his nose due to your perfume wafting from your neck to it in a direct attack. Against his better judgment and before he realizes what he’s doing, he inhales deeply and suddenly you’re just about in every one of his senses. All he’s missing is… oh God, he’s just missing taste and he can’t believe that his mind would roam there to remind him of it. What flavor is that lip gloss that you’re so obsessed with swiping over your lips to resemble a cushioned aphrodisiac? What mix of lotion and perfume and you would coat his tongue if he traced it right along your neck to locate your pulse point so he can feel it quicken in real time? What sweetness will drip into his open mouth if he sits you atop of his face and smacks the supple flesh of your ass to begin riding at his command?

Your embrace becomes loose as you stand back from him on the couch, “Thank you, Austin,” short and soft on your tone. You step away and grab your purse and gym bag in the process of heading to the front door, Austin sitting in confusion of how you got so close to him in proximity so easily and why you accepted his barely-there validation.

He tries to bring himself back from the place you led him to, your face and body being the real culprits here in all their temptations corralling him in. Saliva returns to moisten his dry mouth as you’re putting your coat over your shoulders.

“No one will even be able to tell that you’ve been crying,” he retorts against his own sentiment, anything to make it seem as if he just complimented you to throw you off and not see a planned insult fitted within. It’s discomforting to get too along with you, to alert you of how he sees attraction in any kind of regard.

“God, I hope not. Fingers crossed!” You say with a roll of your eyes, relief un-strangling the firm grip on his throat and he finally exhales the scent of you away from him and out of his nostrils. But the relief doesn’t last long because as you open the door and step one foot out of his apartment, your head peeks back to him with that same smile on your face resting there. “I’ll try to bring you back a hot dog or something.”

He gruffs out a noise in the form of a reply and firmly stills his attention on the television ahead of him playing a movie he all but forgot about. He doesn’t look at the front door until he hears it close, your footsteps marching away, and the distant sound of fading walking beneath descending the stairs.

Austin rubs the sleep out of his eyes hearing the knocks at the door. The television’s glow is shining right into his pupils and he has trouble acclimating to the atmosphere despite the rest of the apartment being dark. He must’ve fallen asleep before he could go and get ready for bed for the night. He had an early morning shift, another reason why he didn’t wish to spend his Sunday night with you at a football game with his social battery already so low and slowly recharging. He supposes it’s semi-a-good-thing since he would’ve been groggier waking up from his bed and even more annoyed with you than he currently is, trudging on to the door to unlock it for you and let you in.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he grumbles down at you half-lidded, probably half-asleep as well as he turns from you and walks to the couch in the similar fashion as a zombie. Two large hands come up to scrub down the length of his face, the technique of rubbing his eyes conducted to push the sleep away without the hurtful ray controlled by his living room’s light switch.

“You could’ve given me your keys, but nooo, ‘This is a temporary stay, brat’.” Your voice drops an octave as you mock Austin’s voice, the jacket over your shoulders being slipped off. The material falls over the armrest opposite of Austin’s frame and then you plummet yourself to sit next to him, one arm and thigh curving on the couch to face him properly. His head slips backwards, his eyes shutting in what you think is the first of his actions to fall back to sleep.

“It is a temporary stay, brat. If I give you keys, how the hell am I supposed to lock you out?” crushes that doubt, the conversation carried in the usual quipping. Austin only slightly flinches after your hand lightly smacks at his shoulder. It’s with no pressure so he quickly lets both of his hands come up to cradle his head. Letting it remain limp on the cushion would cause a strain in it, but he also wanted to continue laying without any effort applied.

“So, I, uh… this guy asked me out tonight after the game…”

That captures Austin’s attention. Annoyance bubbles up in his chest for several reasons, some he won’t bother to confront since he would much rather deny them, others he isn’t aware is his brain trying to form to correlate further with that denial. For example, the idea of you moving on so soon from one of his best friends is going to be like a stab to the chest. The prospect of having to tell Fabian emerges, but then Austin would have to explain why the hell you were sleeping there with him in his apartment. While he only plans for it to be short term, Austin could not beat the allegation of having you so close to him in any capacity. You’ve stayed with him for a total of two nights and nothing could be said or done to take anything away from that cold, hard fact. Then, would it look like he was picking sides when he was trying to do the opposite? Staying out of it entirely was the best option and yet, he’s already offered you shelter, company, banter, and worst of all, advice on how to rid of your feelings for Fabian.

He peeks at you through one eye, the image of your bottom lip tucked between your teeth coming into view as he stares at you with a nervous anticipation of where this is going. By your silence, he could tell you searched for some kind of reply.

He bites the bait and asks, “And what did you say?”

Your lashes flit downwards and follow your gaze at the slightly empty space sitting between you and Austin. That alone conveys to him of your answer and so he closes his eye back up and reinforces his position on the cushions, his shoulders and neck adjusting into it to seem relaxed instead of agitated by this news.

“I said I would think about it,” surprises Austin, the only indication he gives that it does being how his eyebrows arch upwards and then immediately come down. Luckily for him, you didn’t catch it in your casual and anxious summary of the hours before your return to his home, “I mean, he was a stranger I just met, but I also didn’t want to turn the opportunity down. I saved his number on my phone.”

It’s not totally what he initially thought, inwardly scolding himself for jumping to conclusions. However, it barely changes the weight of responsibility on him from his spiraling contemplation before. The regret of allowing you to stay has surfaced due to conflict overtaking his head, the mix of emotions attempting to be repressed to the point of where the worst possible case scenario pops into his doubts. You could say no to this mystery guy and yet here you are maintaining a residence with him, temporary or not. How could he explain this to Wesley or Fabian if either of them walked through his door? He’s positive they would think something happened between the two of you no matter what he could possibly say to salvage the pretend and yet very real event.

Despite all of that, there’s still a chance that you would agree to the rendezvous. At least in that route he could get rid of you sooner. Your… new boyfriend could hold the mantle of giving you somewhere to stay and then Austin wouldn’t have to deal with the problems of his friends finding out about his loyalties lying elsewhere. It’s complicated. He knows it. He also knows that it would be a lot less complex if he didn’t harbor any affinities for you. He fears being caught because maybe the accusations that would come with it would just unveil truths to everyone. Austin could argue with Fabian and Wesley that the two of you did nothing, but there was no guarantee that Austin could hide how he wanted something to happen, how he wished for the imagined things they pointed their fingers at him with. He didn’t trust his facial expressions for that task, much less whatever oral speeches he could muster.

After his delusions stew for a moment, arguments playing and then replaying on the projector screen of his eyelids, he realizes you’ve been quiet this entire time, for as long as his thoughts ran rampant with pessimistic plots nagging at him. His eyes squint to look your way, expectancy in your features that he doesn’t understand. You drive logic from his head and in its wake, you replace it with curiosity. He wonders why you’re looking at him like that and why he didn’t have the ability to read minds so he wouldn’t have to communicate beyond his emotional intelligence level.

“And…?” He questions and expects you to carry on with your story. You nudge his arm, a bright laugh coming off your lips. Austin thinks it might be the most genuine laugh you’ve had this weekend with him. He actually can’t remember the last time he’s heard it, but he remembers the first time vividly. Before puberty hit any of you, when he hung out in Wesley’s garage fucking around with his friend’s father’s guitar talking about starting a band despite there being nothing but makeshift drums made out of trash cans and Fabian being unable to hold a note, you giggled from the other side of the fence and revealed you’d been watching their ‘band practice’ the entire time. You and your sly grin that you turned into a sneer when Fabian flexed his arms to show off for the female attention. Wesley called you the annoying little girl next door and Austin scrambled for reasons to hold the same sentiment while Fabian completely ignored it and flirted with you anyway. It was simpler when he didn’t have to worry about the ongoing situation and only had to worry about why he enjoyed your laugh as much as he did, finding it anything but annoying in actuality.

“And? And what do you think? Do you think I should go for it?” You continue to surprise Austin. In how much he drowns himself in a silent accountability, you’re reminding him of where he currently sits, where you currently sit next to him, where your knee brushes against his as you await his answer in earnest and not sarcastically.

“Why do you care what I think?” He sits up straighter, his head shifting up from where he previously laid it back on the couch. He finally looks at you, albeit through groggy eyes, but he looks at you nonetheless. That same excitement and intrigue is still there. You’re sure of yourself in this decision.

“Because since I blocked Fabian, I haven’t looked at any of his recent posts. I caught myself navigating there three times today and it’s like it’s a reminder. I don’t feel any better than yesterday, but I had fun at the game and forgot about him for a little bit. I don’t think I would’ve been able to without what you said… so, thank you.” This gratitude is genuine. He almost wants your nose to scrunch and you to burst into laughter so it could just be some kind of weird joke, but none of that ever happens. You withhold your ground, not breaking the eye contact that isn’t in full effect due to the television being all the illumination the room offers. It’s a good thing, too. If the light was on or if it spilled naturally from his windows, he would have to face the depth of your eyes and each fan of your lashes.

“I never told you to block him,” he tries to deflect, but you scoot closer and it shuts him up from further dismissing your acknowledgment and appreciation.

“You didn’t have to. I’m creating that distance you talked about. You were right. Looking at his stuff is just torturing myself and I just want to get this hurting period over with. So, please be honest with me: should I wait or take the plunge? Is a rebound what I need?”

A rebound. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t. Austin figured early on how feelings could get attached even if arrangements were made to stop that from happening. The casual flings he has run into women looking for more, ones he leaves and turns away in their own disappointment because that’s not at all what he’s searching for. He’s clear of his good time and then he can get back to working his stupid job and then hanging out with his friends to pass the time and make life less suckish.

He doesn’t want to envision you with anyone else. He already had a hard time seeing you with Fabian throughout the years, but he can’t be involved with you more than he currently is. As his earlier thoughts indicated, you could move to another relationship and dump your ex-related issues onto him instead of Austin and sleep on his couch or bed, whatever the hell mystery guy had at his place.

“I think that… it might do you good to put yourself out there again,” he reluctantly chirps and stares at the television ahead. He has to or else he’s going to advise you that this isn’t a good idea. “You’ve only been with Fabian, right? You could see what’s out there and if it goes to shit, then you can stay out of the dating pool until you’re ready.” He doesn’t miss how you lean forward and that top of yours hugs your chest tighter from the compromising position. Your cleavage swells and he wills himself to lean his head back again, his eyes shutting. That’s how he managed not to be swayed by your subconscious charms before.

“Oh, okay! Yeah, that’s good!” Austin feels the couch shift as you stand to your feet. Your sneakers squeak on the floor and air hovers over his feet. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know you’re pacing back and forth. “I don’t even know what to wear. I haven’t been on a first date in… in years. How do I entertain a grown man for that long?”

Austin makes a sound resembling a tsk as he clicks his tongue. A laugh filters from him and he points his chin up to the ceiling to try and get more comfortable.

“Blow him.”

His guard’s lowered staying out of his head and focusing on not staring at you for too long, for the afflictions that it may cause. The statement slipped from his mouth easily because he fell into banter with you without thinking and suddenly, by how quiet you are and how he can no longer feel gusts floating over his skin, he comes to the revelation that you’ve stopped in your tracks. His joke must’ve offended you in some way. Here you were seeking out his opinion and he ruined it by being blunt and a typical man. Austin sighs and forces himself from where he is to lean onto his elbows. He looks from your face, those lips parted and eyes of a doe, down to your shoes.

“Sorry, I was just kidding and I didn’t m—”

“Austin, can I tell you something private? It’s about me and Fabian.”

Austin’s eyes skirt from your shoes up to your eyes and he gazes at you with nothing but suspicion. He’s not sure how the two of you wound up circling to this premise on your mind, but he’s also too inquisitive for his own good. He’s debating on waving you off and just forgetting about this whole conversation, but you seem to take his silence as a means to continue talking.

“We never really did… that kind of thing. We fooled around and I’m not a virgin, but that? No… Ha. I wouldn’t even know what to do if someone asked me to.”

Whatever god or gods were out there if at all did not like to see Austin comfortable in any capacity. He didn’t ever think he would be here talking with you about getting over Fabian while you stayed at his place, much less about sucking someone off you planned to use to move on. He almost doesn’t want to respond because it might be his brain still dreaming and dream-you was setting him up for the embarrassment of the rejection his masochistic subconscious warned him about in the past. He tries not to acknowledge the sick thrill that runs through him knowing that you and Fabian didn’t get to that level of sexual activity. It pisses him off that Fabian took your virginity, but from your skittishness, Austin surmises you’re not sexually experienced and that means that Fabian’s filthy hands didn’t taint you, at least, not like how he thought. Relief floods him at that since the idea of you and Fabian in bed used to churn his stomach the wrong way.

Those lonely nights when you came to mind, Austin came over his hand imagining himself with you. Fabian wouldn’t ruin his need for release.

All of this is evidently troubling you. Your shoulders keep rising and falling as you fidget with your thumbs shyly in front of Austin. This information was told because you needed to confide in someone over it, but your concern isn’t relevant to this future date.

“You don’t have to blow anyone, I was joking, alright? You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to.” And if the guy didn’t want his teeth down his throat, he wouldn’t try to pressure you into anything.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. This is just a first date. I’m not even planning on sleeping with him, I don’t know what came over me.” Your arms swing from one side to the next, the atmosphere becoming cumbersome with the thick absence of sound between the two of you. Austin watches you sit yourself back next to him, your elbows coming to rest on your knees in the same way his own did. Seeing that you two were at the same level in that regard, Austin leans backwards and outstretches his arms over the waterfall back of the sofa. He’s not sure if he should bust out some kind of apology for reacting that way to your confession, but he’s clueless in this circumstance. He doesn’t know what you wanted to hear and it’s clear to him it was something specific by how you gradually hug yourself and fight off inner demons batting around the circumference of your cranium.

You chew on your lip and soon, your leg starts to bounce. You’re lost in a contemplation and now neither of you are trying to ease up on the tension surrounding. Austin considers standing up to leave you to get ready for bed without any disturbance and because he has work in the morning, but he can’t seem to move from his spot. He’s glued to the cushions, finding other places to stare off at and unfocus his eyes so he doesn’t linger them for too long on you. If you were to turn to him and see it, it would just make everything more awkward than it already was. He’s silently praying you’ll stand up, that you’ll tell him goodnight, anything for him to just get to bed and get out of this weird trap you’ve fallen into.

“Can you teach me?” You whisper, your head turning solely a few degrees from where it hung to stare at the floor. Austin’s bewildered by what you mean, unprepared entirely for the request since he was trying to find ways to slip out of this mess without further damage.

“Teach you what?”

He racks his mind for what you could possibly mean. If you were referring to how to go on a first date, he could somewhat help. He’s been on plenty of those. If you were referring to remaining cool under pressure, he could help you with that too. But it’s the way you swivel where you’re sitting and flutter those lashes at him. You release your bottom lip from where you ensnared it between your rows of teeth and it juts out in a fullness he wants to touch with his thumb. It’s a gentle pout, your head slightly tilting as you say nothing and just wait. Austin almost asks what exactly it is you’re waiting for when it hits him with the weight of a 1,001 bricks upside the chest, a puff of his breath punching out of his mouth in a gasp.

“Are you serious? You want me to explain how to suck dick?” He doesn’t blink an eye being that explicit, not like how you do with hair falling into your face for the purpose of hiding it away in a sheepish manner. That part he also doesn’t understand since you were the one coming forward with this odd request out of nowhere. He hates how the image of your mouth being stretched open by a cockhead springs to life in his brain. He especially hates how he feels himself twitch in reaction.

“Well,” you turn from him completely to look at the floor again, like it’ll help you gather the courage to carry on. “I don’t want you to explain it to me…” For a moment, Austin thinks that he misinterpreted everything. That or his shock caused you to back away. Either option, he holds hope you’ll drop this until you inhale a deep breath and face him with determination in your irises and a confident rise of your shoulders. “I want you to show me.”

Austin’s heart races as you place your hand onto his knee. It’s underneath a layer of his sweats, but somehow, the heat from your palm reaches past the cloth and singes him regardless. You don’t make any further motions, but Austin believes it worse, holding still when his nerves are bouncing all over the place. Touch could chase away doubt and anxiety, but there’s currently too much room for self-aware thought. He even thinks that you could mean some kind of porno that he could refer you to as a possibility, but you both know where you’re going no matter how many hoops he’s diving through to justify this behavior.

“I want you t-to… I want you to guide me. I know I probably won’t need this skill for a while, but I don’t want to embarrass myself. I need practice and… and I trust you.” It has to be you, is unspoken, but it’s flashing loud in your gaze on him. He gulps as you squeeze him in reassurance and then fold your hands in your lap. He gawks at you with a hardened stare, not sure if he should kick you out or grasp your face to kiss your mouth until you plead for air. Of course he wants it. He’s thought about it, dreamt about it, and now there’s an opportunity for it to happen, but he cannot capitalize on it because his damn friends arrive on both of his shoulders to reject the offer. Only rejection doesn’t come off his lips. Nothing does. He’s watching as you nervously clasp and unclasp your fingers in anticipation.

“Come on, we’re both adults. I would greatly appreciate it.” Oh God, Austin needs you to shut the fuck up or his brain is going to short-circuit. He couldn’t believe you were the one trying to convince him, the one even expressing gratitude for it when he’s desired it for so long. It’s surreal hearing it in real life, how you’d be grateful to have his dick in your mouth. “Are you really going to make me beg to suck your dick?” There’s playfulness in your tone and he flexes his hands on the sofa to restrain himself. You’re not making the right thing easy to do by any means. Austin doesn’t even know what the right thing is since all he could think about right now is your bratty, little mouth being filled with his girth.

He forgets to answer you because he’s overthinking. His eyes follow your frame as it stands from the couch and then maneuvers towards the wide V his manspreading legs are creating. As you lower yourself to your knees in front of him, his eyes drift down and his jaw locks seeing you so willing and eager to do something you know nothing about. You’re being naive and he should push this all away for the sake of his friendships and for a less complex of a web being weaved, but your hands land on his thighs and he’s steadily pitching a tent in his sweats from how turned on he really is.

“Please, Austin. Please, I want to. I want to learn how to—”

As much as Austin wants to hear you beg, he can’t halt himself from roughly grasping your chin into his hand, the first pleas on your tongue snapping the resistance band that’s kept him back tonight, yesterday, and for the majority of time that he’s known you. His doubts may have been a little ridiculous and off the mark with how Fabian may react to you staying in Austin’s apartment, but this is an act that would be completely unforgivable. It’s wrong and Austin knows it, but Fabian fades away from his head staring at your timorous features shifting from enthralled fear to innocent lust, a dichotomy he believes only you can manage. Well, if his friends believe that something happened between you and him even if it didn’t, he might as well let that something occur.

“You’ll learn. But you have to do everything I say, princess. Everything. None of that backtalk you always give me or I’ll leave you on your knees and finish myself off in my room.” He pauses and although he just gave you a warning about it, he does expect you to reply with something snarky. Oddly enough, you don’t say anything in retaliation and astonish him with an eager nod of your head, as if his cock is the reward and he was the one being the stickler for not letting you have it sooner.

He releases your chin in satisfaction, his arms moving back to their place stretched along the couch. He’s thinking of what he should tell you to do first, but he’s cut off watching you scramble to sit up higher on your knees as you fumble for something in your skirt. There’s no pockets in it, so he sees more skin appear as you lift your top and retrieve your phone tucked in the waistband of your skirt. Austin’s about to ask if you need him to set it aside when you turn it on and then thrust it into his lap. He blinks down at it in confusion, the camera app open. He sees part of his couch and the opaque silhouette of his thigh facing it from where he sits.

“Why is your camera on?” is what he decides to go with, Why’d you give me your phone being another that he plans on asking. He raises the phone up, but before he could turn it off and place it down, your hand takes his wrist. His eyes lock onto yours, an eyebrow coming up quizzically.

“I want you to film me.” Austin’s eyebrows must hit the ceiling from how far they fly up. You’re not letting up on him whatsoever. “I don’t just want to be good at this, I wanna look good too. I can watch it back after this and see what I need to work on. Is that okay?”

The throbbing in his sweats is more prevalent than before from how this is going. He’s fulfilling desires he’s put on the backburner for so long now that you keep finding ways to catch him fully off guard. This is everything he could ever want, stressors melting in the background as he chooses not to reply and simply raises the phone up and presses record. He watches your face through your phone screen, the shy smile once there morphing into one of glee that is too sweet for the context of all of this. With the knowledge that he started the video, your hands reach for the drawstring of his sweats, but his opposite hand not holding the phone stops you from going any further with a simple hold on your wrist. Confusion dawns on your pretty face, the look plastered there forewarning him of all the questions you’re going to summon during this process.

“You don’t want me to take off your pants?” Worry encompasses your features as if Austin has changed his mind and you just made a fool of yourself in front of him groveling. He quickly chases that away by shaking his head.

“No, not yet,” he reassures and feels the bones in your wrist shift in accordance to your visible relief, “First thing’s first, I need you to take off that hair tie.”

“What?” You blink at him in confusion, a speck of glitter flicking off the tip of your lashes down to the fabric of his sweats. By the end of this, he expects to find specks of the shiny monstrosities all over him and his couch, a downside he’s willing to accept recalling the nature of what you two were about to do. “But I thought it’d keep my hair out of the way.”

“What I’d say about backtalk?” Austin clicks his tongue and he watches in real time as your mouth shuts immediately. He’s never had anything close to this kind of power over you. He’s emboldened by it, by how willing you are to learn from him, and by how he notices how you shift from one side to the next. While his own arousal is on display in front of you, yours isn’t as obvious. But those shifting hips, those give away how uncomfortable that underwear of yours must be getting underneath that stupid, short skirt. “Now, as I was saying, I want your hair down. Sure, it’d be easier for you, but I like something to grip at. I like something to pull on. I don’t think any woman should look clean after giving a blowjob. I like ‘em to look downright filthy when they’re done.”

He illustrates your future with what he deems as simple words, but somehow, the inorganic flush you painted on your cheeks earlier has deepened in reaction. His thumb drifts along the rouge experimentally, this being the first time he touches your face in any kind of capacity and as he imagined it plenty of times before, it’s soft under the pad of his finger. He doesn’t stop bringing it back and forth until one motion in particular nears your mouth and your lips gently part from one another, a silent invitation you grant him for entry. If he angles his thumb to the side, your welcoming mouth would embrace it immediately. He knows it just from how your breath releases from the back of your throat and ghosts over his skin, quietly beckoning him in to use it to his liking. While he would love to feel your slick tongue on it, that’s not what this was about. He was doing the noble honor of honing your oral skills and you’re eager to be filled with another one of his appendages begging for some kind of attention in the confinement of his sweatpants.

Gradually, he lets go of your chin to resist the temptation of sliding his fingers into your mouth. He can see the confusion in your eyes, but you’re quick to sit up again and reach your arms up to the back of your head to fulfill his request in due time. The hair tie soon evades your hair and you present it to him. He thinks you’ll put it aside, but as you have been doing these past two days, you surprise him and reach for his hand, slipping the band onto his wrist that only makes a small appearance in the camera shot. He doesn’t comment on it, just flexes his jaw as you sit back into place with your hands on your thighs as you await his next instruction.

“Good… Now you’re ready to go. You can start by taking me out of these fucking sweatpants before I poke a hole in them.” He gestures with your phone to himself to emphasize his point, watches as your eyes follow the movement and glue to the length protruding stiffly against the gray material horribly covering him away. You don’t waste any time scooting closer to him, your dainty hands latching onto his waistband to maneuver it out of the way. He lifts his hips off the couch to help your movements and soon enough, the surrounding air touches his girth, his cock and balls sitting on the outside of his pants that you try to pull further down. Austin waves your hands away and you pull them back as if he slapped them, wanting to be obedient in every sense to where he can’t help but slyly smirk. Your hands fall to your lap, but he sees your eyes are on his, widening from the sight, perhaps his size, but whatever the reason, he can tell you’re intimidated.

“Relax, brat. We’re taking this slow. Go ahead… touch me.” Austin purposely maintains a vagueness to this direction because he wants to see what you’ll do naturally, that way he can gauge where you lack the skill and how he can help from there. You’re hesitant as you lift a hand out of your lap and reach for him, your palm meeting his bare flesh, fingers wrapping around him in a loose hold that sets his senses ablaze. He gulps down to keep himself at bay and under control and you gulp down because you’re wondering how you’re going to fit him inside of your mouth. His length pulses against you, throbs rhythmically and then speeds as you barely tighten your grip and shift your hand upwards. He groans out into the air and you’re encouraged to move your hand a tad faster, slightly more confident as you look up at him and not at the camera pointed at you.

“Is that good?” You ask, not stopping your motions enough for coherent thoughts to form in Austin’s brain at a regular rate. It takes him longer to answer by a few seconds since he’s flickering his attention back and forth between your face and your hand on him.

“N-not bad… Grip should be a little tighter. S-should feel l-like this.” The hand not holding onto the camera comes down without second thought to engulf yours still locked onto his cock’s base. The veins in his hand bulge as he guides your hand along him, the vise on yours increasing in pressure and when you attempt to mimic it, he emits another groan. You’re a fast learner by the look and feel of it. He curses loud and steadily lets go of your hand to grip onto the couch cushion for purchase.

“Yes, fuck, that’s good. That’s really fucking good, princess. K-keep going. All the way to the tip.”

He didn’t even have to tell you twice. You adopt the grip he showed you and pump your hand from his base to his tip as he says and he can feel his breath shortening, his camera work becoming shakier and shakier by the second. For someone who hasn’t done this before, you seem to be poised and up for the challenge, still looking up at him through impossibly long lashes in an eager effort to please him. To please him, to please Austin. He thinks for a moment that he’ll wake at any point, but this isn’t a dream. This is real and it feels better than any imagery his brain can muster while he’s out cold. There’s nothing that can beat the sensation of actual touch, the sensation of your hand curled around his cock, a fist for him to fuck without doing any work besides the occasional buck his hips push out against his awareness.

As much as he’s enjoying himself off this alone, this isn’t exactly what you asked for. He can see you’re waiting for him to tell you what to do and that fact turns him on in more ways than one, but there’s still the main subject matter to attend to that has yet to be addressed. Freeing the cushion of his clutch, he props two fingers up to point at your lips, to which he then crooks in a motion towards himself. That’s when he witnesses your face light up, your lips parting further than they have all night in a lustful thirst that can only be quenched by what’s currently thrumming with need in your hand. You stumble slightly coming closer to him, where your elbow rests on his knee and your left hand eases onto his thigh to stabilize your form.

“Look into the camera.” Austin’s command is stern and it slides off his tongue with a force that you comply with without a lick of protest. As your mouth opens and your tits press against his leg, you daringly look up into the camera lens through your lashes and bring his swollen tip inside. He’s hot and heavy on your tongue, spongy and throbbing in a matter that you try to widen the entry so your teeth will be out of the way. The contact has Austin slam his fist into his couch cushion, an action to keep himself in the continued position. If he listened to his instincts, he’d be pushing your head down until you choked on him.

“Deeper… until you can’t anymore.” Tension collects in his muscles holding himself stationary, crescent indents creasing into his palm from how taut his fist is clenching into itself. His short, blunt nails stop it from stinging as much as it would if they were long, but everything is being drawn like a bow to accommodate your lethargic pace descending on his length. Never mind how your tongue proceeds to curiously swipe at him with every inch glissading into your mouth, his cock twitching against the miniscule mounds of your tastebuds. And while all of this feels like a sensory overload at this snail’s race, the part that persists in aggravating the difficulty of being immobile and ignoring his own insisting pleasure is how you defy his order and stray your eyes from the lens to lock them with his cerulean that he bets appear royal from the lechery traveling throughout him. He can see himself in the reflection of your eyes, his jaw slightly agape from every breath he’s consciously exhaling and inhaling back in. When he focuses past that, he notices the dilation of your pupils, how glassy and moist they appear because of the long forgotten television light in the background. The silhouette of your body bent over him is a shape that will haunt him going forward.

Eventually, you have to stop. You stop with a mouthful of cock, clinging closer to his leg, drool seeping from your bottom lip down the underside of him, the remaining girth not inside, that he feels seep to his balls. Austin unfurls the fist of the hand not holding the camera to finally part your hair with his digits, the pads of them shifting against your scalp as the pleasant and silent job well done. He registers how you hum on him, it vibrates your teeth on his skin and he shudders watching you lean into his fingers to relish in the praising contact. In a turn of events, he’s learning about you and what you like just as you’re learning about him.

“Almost all of me, not bad. Not bad at all. But let’s see if this is really your limit.” You blink at him bewildered to what he could mean, but he gives you no time to figure it out. Austin’s hold on your head reaffirms itself as he faintly lifts his hips to drive himself in further and immediately, you sputter around him, your eyes shutting and your neck straining in the instinctual motion of trying to pull away from him. Your lips drag only a centimeter backwards because of how Austin keeps your head in place, throat tightening and constricting him to where he lets out a satisfied moan. Soft tears collect in your eyes, the very same ones you blink up at Austin in a plea to be released, but he only returns said plea with an open-mouthed grin and a rising and falling chest.

“I guess it really is your limit… but that’s where it’s supposed to be.” He leans forward from the couch to get closer to your face. He can tell you’re barely getting over the gagging he just subjected you to. “You should take it until you feel you’re about to choke. The closer to the throat, the better. And don’t worry about the gagging.” His fingers nuzzle against your scalp, affectionately massaging your head despite the predicament being anything but gentle. Still, you flutter your lashes at him in a hope that shows you’re still game. You’re still up for the task, even with the praise, and even with the manhandling. “It feels good for me, looks good too. You’ll have to watch this back to see what I mean.”

Eventually, Austin’s fingers deviate from your scalp and tangle themselves into your hair. They’re still relatively close to your head, enough to hold the reins on your hair and guide you according to his desires. “Suck, princess. Suck my cock like a good, little slut.” His words are nothing short of bold and exploratory at best, but your eyes glaze over, and he can tell you’re close to downright humping his leg from how much you’re unashamedly enjoying yourself. You suck at him as he told you to do, whimpering in the process because Austin pushes his hips up again and tests your gag reflex. Taking the hint, you begin to move your head along with how you’re sucking him, back and forth, tongue gliding under the underside of him, your hand steadying at his base to ensure he wouldn’t slip out. “Yes, yes, fuck, fuck me… T-that’s it. From your choking point back to the h-head. J-just like you did with your hand.”

That seems to be the right form of technicality to direct you with because you move and bob your head faster on him. It’s harder to suck at the same time of the movement, but you work diligently to suck in tandem with your lifting and falling head, spit trickling and slicking him up to where it coats over your fingers sitting at his base. To try and alleviate the sticky feeling forming, you wiggle your digits, a motion that Austin moans louder for. For him, it’s further friction on him, a neglected portion of him not being stuffed inside of your mouth. The remainder is attended to with a clumsy fist, but in his eyes, something’s better than nothing. You attempt to pump him at the same time that you’re bobbing on him and he rewards you with a harsh tug of your hair, his head thrown backwards to moan towards the ceiling.

“Fucking n-natural. Come on, close… lemme fuck your throat.” The restraint he’s practiced is beginning to evade him. His hips are meeting some of your pushes downwards and he can tell you’re struggling to keep up when that occurs. That bit of speed, coupled with the reverie of always wanting to fuck your mouth, he needs it to hit that sweet edge, the one that he knows is going to be colossal for him because it’s never felt this fucking good. For someone who’s never sucked a dick in her life, you’re quickly getting the hang of it. But that didn’t matter. He could help you practice tenfold, whenever and wherever, he didn’t even fucking care if it was in front of Fabian—your mouth was made to take Austin’s cock. He wonders if your pussy was made for him the very same.

He can’t possibly receive audible permission with his dick in the way. He also doesn’t want to pull out being on the brink of an orgasm. Fortunately for him, you look up at him through wet lashes and slowly remove your hand off his base, both of your palms planting onto his thighs. It’s your way of being receptive, something in your irises conveying that he could go on with what he requested and he doesn’t hesitate to do so.

Using his hold in your hair, Austin pistons his hips upwards and presses down on the accelerator to deliver that extra bit of speed and momentum he requires. The tip of his cock meets organic flesh with every thrust into your mouth and the back of your throat tickles to the point of where you cough around him and grasp his wrist to slow him down, and he does, but he continues with the force he has. He pushes himself until he smothers your gag reflex, tears sliding down your cheeks as he holds you in place and gives you no room to breathe from your mouth since it’s filled to the brim with his girth. “Relax your throat, it’ll be easier.” He brings his hips backwards, his cockhead suctioned by your lips. He senses your hesitation to try and pull off of him, a denial of simple instinct to breathe since he’s made it clear that you need to stay on his cock at all times during oral sex. He appreciates your resistance to place your needs first and your insistence to prioritize his, a lesson in cock sucking that he’s been more than happy to literally drill into your head.

“Your mouth’s for fucking—not for breathing. B-breathe through your nose.” Austin’s hand slides along the side of your head to cup the curve of your jaw into it. He focuses his gaze and the camera on your features, mascara running down the paths of the tears that passed through. Your lips are crimson from how swollen they are, from the suckling and from how he’s pried them open and stretched them to mold over his length. Even that tiny heart from earlier has been ruined. It’s smeared at the bottom and resembles a miniature mountain more than it does an accented heart. As he observes you with a glowering intensity in his eyes, he repeats his actions from before and lifts his hips until the tip of him approaches the hilt once more, your eyes filling with more tears. You struggle to meet his gaze this way, going as far as closing your eyes to endure what he’s bestowing upon you, fresh tears falling freely down your cheeks, some falling to his thighs, others caught by the palm caressing your face. His thumb runs up your cheek to catch a free falling tear before it can make it past the hollow of your cheekbone. The pink blush you powdered to the area coats the pad of his thumb along with the moisture of the tear he rescued from its dive downwards.

It’s shuddering and shaky and you’re trembling to where the uneven bone of your kneecaps shift uncomfortably on the floor, but you breathe through your nose as Austin instructed you to do before, all while watching as he brings his thumb to his mouth to suck off the blush and the salt of your tear away. You whine at the sight, your tongue somehow flicking despite the lack of room in your orifice, but the light-headed feeling collecting in your skull floats away with the filtering of oxygen returning back. After that initial breath, you’re inhaling heavily through your nose, straining yourself to stay coherent and suck on him with every pull backwards. Once he realizes you’re not going to pass out on him, he resumes that brutal pace from before and slides his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck. Your hair strands are wildly flying with every thrust of his hips, some sticking to your face due to the wetness gathered there from light perspiration to the tears that have dropped by and are still dropping by since relaxing your throat isn’t as easy with Austin downright pounding into your mouth. He sees your thighs squeeze tight from this angle and the image pops into his mind of how wonderful they would feel squeezing at his head as he slotted his tongue deep inside of your cunt. He could use that and his fingers to spread you as wide as possible for him so he could fuck you just as he’s fucking your mouth. By the looks of it, you’re already delirious from how much he’s giving you. You’d probably go cock dumb if he split you open with his dick and played with your little clit.

“I’m so fucking close, princess, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, holding himself off, unable to stop from maneuvering in and out of you in the process of how fast he’s talking. “I-I’m gonna’ cum in your mouth. Swallow what you can, Jesus Christ, fuck—”

Your whimpering has actually transitioned into what Austin can only describe as desperate moaning around his cock, the sounds vibrating on his girth, the sounds alerting him of how much you want his cum in the place he promised to do it. It does him in, everything does. From how wrecked your face appears to the images littering his mind every time he closes his eyes to raggedly take in air to the absolutely delicious feel of your warm mouth wrapped around him and the tightening of your throat each time he pushes himself past your breaking point, he hits his peak sooner than he would like and compresses his hold at the back of your neck to manage your position completely still. Cum spurs from his base to his tip, gushing out to meet the taste buds at the back of your tongue and the wall at the back of your throat. You promptly gag in reaction from the thick liquid drowning you and from the overload of the max capacity sitting inside of your mouth. Part of his cum leaks from the corner of your lips, but you wrestle to swallow what you can with his girth still pulsing and spurring with more to glaze your mouth with.

Solely when he’s finished does Austin release your neck, panting above you, coming down from his high. He almost drops your camera, but in his haze he somehow manages to remember his task and he props the phone up to film your face, groaning as you remove him gently and cough sporadically from the heaving and hauling you just endured. He glances down at his cock, a ring of that berry gloss near his base as evidence (along with all the spit) that it was you who just gave him the blowjob of his life and not some whore who’s sucked 1,000 cocks over. That truth causes his cock to twitch, another desire quickly coming over him to bend you over his armrest, but his orgasm has given him some clarity and he remembers that you asked for this and not for penetrative sex. Assuming when this was for your own practice would be crossing that line further and he wouldn’t do that… not unless you asked him again.

“Make sure to get all of it,” he grits, his voice raspy from the moaning. He leans to use his thumb again, pushing the drops of cum that fell past your lips into your mouth. From how you were just spluttering in your recovery, he doesn’t expect you to drape your tongue over his thumb the way that you do, but as tonight has proved, you’re astonishing in action just as you are in looks. He clears his throat when you’re done, his back falling into the couch as exhaustion melds into him as it did right before all of this began. He believes he’s going to get a good night’s sleep after all.

“Did… Are you good? Did any of that help?” He would’ve dwelled on coming up with something better than what he said, but he was having trouble considering how you just wiped his damn mind blank.

“Yes, Austin,” damn, if he thought his voice was raspy, he was poorly mistaken. Not only do you look like you just sucked his dick, you sound like it too. “That was… I liked how… informative you were. I can’t wait to watch this back.” He gets one last shot of your face flitting over with an excited glee and mirth before you retrieve your phone from him and stop the recording. He’s not sure what he was thinking you would do next, but it certainly wasn’t how you all but sat into his lap and threw your arms around his neck. His body is humming with endorphins, too many to make any efforts to push you off of him, but you are dangerously close to smashing him from where he was still hanging out of his sweats.

“Hey, hey, careful, brat—”

“Sorry, sorry!” You jut your hips back to ensure his safety, a glance taken down at his half hard cock that leaves you timorous as you look back to his face, as if you didn’t almost beg to have it in your mouth and then moan like a slut for his cum. It makes him want to do it all again. “Thank you, Austin. I mean it. I’ll send you the video so we could both have it and so you can give me some tips if you have any more.”

Not only did you almost beg him to suck him off, but you thanked him for it. He’s so hung up on that part that he didn’t register what you said about sending him the video. His brain stops dead in its tracks thinking about having that kind of footage on his phone to incriminate him further (but satisfy him during those particularly lonely nights) and so he doesn’t notice how close you’re getting to him until he feels your pillowy lips puckered and smacking against his cheek for a light kiss. He blinks, positive his face is rosy from the exertion and from how you just heated him up from a simple peck on the cheek, but you just smile and scoot off of him to stand on your feet. You’re already replaying the video and he can hear the depth of his own voice floating away behind him as you announce “I’m going to take a shower!”

He doesn’t attempt to stand up since he’s still coming down from his climax, the images from what just happened colliding together in his mind, flashing so bright to the point where he believes he’s never going to be able to forget this happened. The weird part is how unguilty he feels over the whole ordeal, contrasting greatly to the guilt he felt before from simply letting you stay here in his apartment with him. He wants to make some kind of sense of it, but he’s also been drained of energy and sanity, something he thinks he’ll have more of tomorrow morning. He’ll be suitable to contemplate all of this after getting some much needed rest, letting that weight down to lift up to his shoulders the next day instead. He’s grasping at the couch to help himself up when he hears a distinct ding from his own phone neglected at his coffee table. Austin gulps reaching for it, having a feeling of what the notification might be. He’s proven right opening your bland message thread together, the thumbnail of the video being the image of you on your knees in front of him.

He presses play at the same time that he hears the shower head turn on from his bathroom.

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #how to get over your ex #l4l.writes

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