(oops our versions differ a bit but whatever) (also “I’m not asking,” he cuts in asdfg ;;)
He knows, immediately when he sees her, instantly recognizes that look upon her face because countless of times it has been him who inflicted it upon her. It’s the look of not having gotten any in a while, and then finally having been thoroughly fucked.
He needs a moment to process it. She has somebody. Somebody else.
When a pretty little hoobae from a girl-group he doesn’t remember the name of stops him in an empty backstage corridor one day to bow deep and give him a sparkly-eyed compliment, it doesn’t take more than thirty seconds before he has made her an outrageous dirty suggestion without being anywhere near sure of what reaction he’s gonna get but somehow just doesn’t care either way, and he’d be ashamed of it if he didn’t feel so reckless and numb.
Later he’s got her pushed up against a wall with her thigh in his hand and she’s got her arms around his neck and is panting quick high-pitched little squeals into his ear and her hair bounces a little for how hard he’s pushing into her, but she tells him that he’s good, that he’s good at this, and he’s not sure if she’s honest and he’s not sure if he really got her off or if she faked it, but regardless has to begrudgingly note that whatever skills he has acquired and whatever attention he knows to pay and whatever tricks he can play with his fingers is all because of her, because of how she made him want to learn, because of how she made him want to pay attention, because of how badly he wanted to make her feel good.
This girl, this, is small in his arms, she’s light when he lifts her. The curve of her ass is round in his hand. She’s got this little dollface with freakishly big eyes and a small thin plastic nose that is hard when he brushes his own against it. Her kisses are sticky with lip-gloss, taste of chemicals. Her noises cut in his ears, too high-pitched, too whiny, too fucking everything, and he wonders if she’s doing it on purpose, if this is how she thinks she’s supposed to sound because she watched a porno and this was how the girls there sounded.
He thinks of a lower voice, more quiet, just small quick inhalations and hums and ahs. Slow words exchanged afterwards, mundane and meaningless, mouthed against his cheek. He thinks of a bigger body, stronger, where he knows every flat curve and lean angle and knows that there will never be any faking it and can know and can trust and can rely on that everything he’s shown will be genuine. He thinks of the way her teeth bite down on her lip when it’s really good and how she blinks her eyes slowly and how she meets his gaze and looks at him properly and holds it like that and doesn’t waver. And he clenches his jaw and clenches his eyes because he’s not supposed to think about shit like this, not supposed to miss shit like this.
This girl, this, he hitches up higher and fucks even harder with his whole body clenched stiff and tense, listening to her noises going up and higher and a bit helpless and feeling them grind in his ears and afterwards when he leaves he hunches down and pulls his shoulders up and skims away close to the wall and decides there and then to never meet this girl again because he knows he was too rough and that it probably hurt.
no subject
He knows, immediately when he sees her, instantly recognizes that look upon her face because countless of times it has been him who inflicted it upon her. It’s the look of not having gotten any in a while, and then finally having been thoroughly fucked.
He needs a moment to process it. She has somebody. Somebody else.
When a pretty little hoobae from a girl-group he doesn’t remember the name of stops him in an empty backstage corridor one day to bow deep and give him a sparkly-eyed compliment, it doesn’t take more than thirty seconds before he has made her an outrageous dirty suggestion without being anywhere near sure of what reaction he’s gonna get but somehow just doesn’t care either way, and he’d be ashamed of it if he didn’t feel so reckless and numb.
Later he’s got her pushed up against a wall with her thigh in his hand and she’s got her arms around his neck and is panting quick high-pitched little squeals into his ear and her hair bounces a little for how hard he’s pushing into her, but she tells him that he’s good, that he’s good at this, and he’s not sure if she’s honest and he’s not sure if he really got her off or if she faked it, but regardless has to begrudgingly note that whatever skills he has acquired and whatever attention he knows to pay and whatever tricks he can play with his fingers is all because of her, because of how she made him want to learn, because of how she made him want to pay attention, because of how badly he wanted to make her feel good.
This girl, this, is small in his arms, she’s light when he lifts her. The curve of her ass is round in his hand. She’s got this little dollface with freakishly big eyes and a small thin plastic nose that is hard when he brushes his own against it. Her kisses are sticky with lip-gloss, taste of chemicals. Her noises cut in his ears, too high-pitched, too whiny, too fucking everything, and he wonders if she’s doing it on purpose, if this is how she thinks she’s supposed to sound because she watched a porno and this was how the girls there sounded.
He thinks of a lower voice, more quiet, just small quick inhalations and hums and ahs. Slow words exchanged afterwards, mundane and meaningless, mouthed against his cheek. He thinks of a bigger body, stronger, where he knows every flat curve and lean angle and knows that there will never be any faking it and can know and can trust and can rely on that everything he’s shown will be genuine. He thinks of the way her teeth bite down on her lip when it’s really good and how she blinks her eyes slowly and how she meets his gaze and looks at him properly and holds it like that and doesn’t waver. And he clenches his jaw and clenches his eyes because he’s not supposed to think about shit like this, not supposed to miss shit like this.
This girl, this, he hitches up higher and fucks even harder with his whole body clenched stiff and tense, listening to her noises going up and higher and a bit helpless and feeling them grind in his ears and afterwards when he leaves he hunches down and pulls his shoulders up and skims away close to the wall and decides there and then to never meet this girl again because he knows he was too rough and that it probably hurt.