mmurdocc - Tumblr blog

mmurdocc · 1 day

Text

passenger. | bob taylor/reader

summary; it's his first time, and he can't tell if it's too much, or not enough.

wc; 1434

notes; happy pride month have (bottom) bob taylor gay sex i wrote as my half of an art trade. nsfw! obviously. established relationship, no use of y/n, reader has a penis but if you squint i guess it can be a strap.

He was clueless as to where to go from here.

To be fair, he never really thought he'd get this far.

Dishes are long forgotten, half soaked in the sink and dinner has gone chilly and though he imagined things would be like the movies, slow and steady and romantic, he wasn't disappointed in how it had turned out.

Love was rough, and messy and desperate and he was willing to learn this, from the moment you'd rushed his mouth, pressing him against the couch cushions and suddenly he's gasping in surprise before falling apart immediately beneath you. He felt that need burning deep in him before he'd even really acknowledged it, unsure and even with you working away what little space and clothes still kept you apart he felt as if maybe, somehow he could manage to mess it all up, afraid of frightening you away with his blatant inexperience. So he stumbles out his confession, seeking some sort of penance, maybe, to his savior and guardian held barely up on top of him, trying so desperately, almost comically tearing at the belt of his pants. He still looks at you like you're god above him.

“I don't…” he trails off quickly, realizing how silly he must sound. He bites his tongue, best not to say anything at all and risk ruining this, to him. But gentle fingers brush his lips and drag from him an admission that isn't much a surprise to you, rather than a final confirmation. Of course he was a virgin.

He's immediately begging for forgiveness.

You hush him with your kiss, his eyes squeezing shut as he desperately follows your touch. You glance barely down at him, see his hands twitching, wanting, needing more of you. You take lead again, your thumbs brushing his cheeks gently, then his shoulders, tracing every freckle and scar and blemish you can across his skin.

When you remind him that you love him, his breath hitches, finally grasping at your back and eyes widening as he takes in what you've said. What you mean.

He feels ashamed, naked under you finally, but you shower him in praises and affections as best you can until he's begging for you, with wanton pleas every time you manage to press your knee between his legs with just enough pressure for him to rut against as you take great care in showing him just how much he means to you. His mind is clouding, hazy from the taste of your lips and he almost has the confidence to let his hands glide lower, lower on you until he freezes, snapping back up to where he feels secure and safe and trusting.

He's so…fragile underneath you, you think, gentle and sweet and precious, and you're sure to tell him this as you see him exhale his nerves alongside sighs of adoration.

His hands are still held tight onto your arms, moving to your shoulders to hoist himself closer to you -- and when you finally push into him he almost cries. Not from fear, or pain like normal but pleasure, and innocence and a finality of acceptance that maybe he is allowed to be happy, and then for the fact that maybe he has died, and gone to heaven and this is it because it feels so good in a way he's never really known, never really thought he could feel.

Timid mewls are drawn from his tongue with every minute movement, and though you don't mean to pull so hard, you do, gripped tightly into his hair and following his whine you feel the way he tightens around your cock and, at your own moan, again, watching himself twitch as meticulously you begin to move, careful at first as he winces with discomfort and his nails dig deep into your sides despite the glisten of his own precum beginning to coat his lower abdomen.

“Okay, baby, ‘s okay,” you reassure him.

Virginity aside, it's almost like he knows, nodding and muttering your name again and again, begging you for just a little more, just a little harder, embarrassed at first until his hand curls around yours to together tighten your grip on his hair, knee jerking up and almost knocking the wind out of you when you give it a rather forceful tug -- “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s panting between your thrusts, but you're already catching his leg to be able to fuck him just a little deeper, and his voice is cracking and melting before he can get out the last few syllables, words tumbling over each other into incomprehensible, wanton sort of sounds, a little higher pitched than his normal voice but you're doubting it's on purpose, not with the way his head falls back against the arm of the sofa and his bangs fall in front of his eyes and he doesn't seem to care, hips pushing up in rhythm to meet with you, in a surprise not unwelcome despite his meek start.

It's with this small sliver of his own confidence you find your forehead is falling against his, where you breathe his name, once, twice, “Doing so good for me, come on, I know you can take it, Bobby, baby, fuck,” and he feels so wonderful for those few moments of building bliss that you forget just how breakable he is, pulling a little harder and pushing into him a little rougher and unable to brace him for the pace you've set, he comes unraveling at the feeling of you so close and willing to indulge when he pleads, more, more, don't stop, in broken hymns.

He's shaking, weeping your name as heaven comes crashing down and he swears for a second he sees the light, or maybe it's just he's hit his head too hard against your shoulder, biting down and not caring about the way you grunt from the pain, crying your name one last time muffled as he cums, spilling all across himself and squirming, quivering as you continue to chase your own orgasm, building quick with the way he's still so tight around you and desperately trying to kiss you now; It's all teeth and tongue and you're scared you might bruise his poor abused mouth at this point but return it anyways, harder as he catches your moan, final and resolute and he shamefully thinks he could get addicted to the way your cum feels so warm in him as you finally groan lowly into his neck, another sensory too overwhelming to him already so overstimulated that he merely huffs and nods his head, little but whining sobs escaping him with little comfort but the brushing of his hair gently, particularly in the spots you know you've pulled at, and kisses against the bruising skin you can't remember sucking lovebites into.

You push yourself off of his chest to look him over, the poor thing, but that soft smile he wears like always, where his eyes crinkle just a little and it almost falls before he truly does realize his feelings tells you he doesn't much mind the way he's sweating and that it's a little harder to breathe when you're laying on him, because it's always a little harder to breathe when you're around, or so he's held the opinion. His stomach tightens in knots as he realizes you're still very naked and very much unwilling to move from the way his arms wrap around your shoulders, thighs cradling you into his figure.

His eyes look soft as ever, staring up at you, tired and big and dazed after his first time you think, and you wonder if really all he needed at all this whole time was simply to feel as loved and cherished physically as you had always made him feel emotionally, but that's something you shake away knowing how quickly his anxiety will creep back onto him, you can see it already with how he wriggles underneath you and glances nervously towards his discarded clothes between faltering grins, and know that what you offer is only enough so far as you help him remember it so, that there's no band-aid solution to him, not that he's broken beyond repair but more that you're willing to take your time in his healing rather than resort to careless quick-fixes.

But still he mutters your name and clears his throat, asking if it would be a good idea to get up now since the food is probably cold at this point. You chuckle, pulling yourself out of and off of him.

Yes, you agree, it would be.

#YEESYSYSSYYSSYEYSYSEYSYSYSESYEYSYES #explodes #THATS ME!#fic #bob taylor #prisoners 2013 #my fucking. peanits gone blown off no more

25 notes · View notes

mmurdocc · 3 days

Text