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nfwmlily · 23 days ago

Note

hi! i know you’re not taking requests rn, so 100% feel free to trash or keep this in a box for as long as you want, but i cannot get size kink/difference andy out of my head! i would be ravenous if you ever wrote this 🤤

anyways feel free to ignore just had to get that off my chest 😽

-🐛

paper rings pairing: hozier/fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Romantic Comedy, Banter, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Vaginal Sex, Size Kink, Size Difference words: 6.9k author's note: Look, I'm not a doctor, and I don't want to armchair diagnose anyone with anything. That's not my place. All of that said? I'm fairly certain this man has ADHD which is where a lot of his characterization comes from lmao.

[read it on AO3!]

[title from Paper Rings by Taylor Swift]

divider by: sylusz

You’ve taken to admiring him from afar. Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

The two of you have been friends for so long that you’re sure it goes over his head. Years of vaguely blurred lines chalked up as nothing more than cheeky jokes make you confident that he’s unaware of the kernel of affection you hold for him.

The only person in your shared friend group who is privy to your feelings is Karen Cowley, though you trust that she’d never breathe a word to him without your explicit permission.

“You know, he hasn’t dated anyone since—”

You wave a hand to stop her. “I’m aware, thank you.”

It’s a lovely summer day in Dublin—one of the rare times the sun peeks out from behind a perpetual veil of clouds to shine down upon the city. Karen Cowley is holding a barbecue to celebrate the occasion. Vegetarian hot dogs and burgers sizzle on a blacktop grill while copious amounts of light beer sit in a cooler packed with ice.

Karen takes another sip from a bottle of Smithwicks before smacking her lips thoughtfully.

“I’m just saying, if you were to say anything, now would be the time to do it.”

“Karen,” you sigh as you close your eyes and rub at your temples, “I won’t be saying anything about anything to him. We’ve discussed this.”

Despite years of a twitterpated heart and wide-eyed admiration for the man, you’re simply not Andrew’s type. It’s not unreasonable to have preferences. Given his stature, it makes sense that his type falls more on the taller side, often dating women who tower over you even without the assistance of heels.

You’re in your 30s, and dating has become more and more daunting as of late. Everything is online now, predicated on text communication and patience as you wade through messages from suitors who find your own small stature attractive. You fall below the average height for women in Ireland, landing at just about five feet tall, and your dating history is rife with men at least two heads taller than you. It’s something you’re teased about often, but you’ve always shrugged it off as a preference similar to many women.

There’s a pause as Karen’s gaze shifts just over your shoulder before her focus is back on you in an instant.

“Right, well, I’m off to grab another drink,” she says quickly as she stands and nearly trips over her own feet trying to scurry away.

A voice close to your ear asks, “What was that about?”

You jump and turn your head to see Andrew just behind you. His gaze is fixed on Karen as she’s pulled into a conversation by the cooler, and she looks back to wave at him before turning away from both of you entirely.

“Who ever knows with her?”

Andrew rounds the table and plops down in the seat Karen just vacated. He sets his own half-finished drink on the table with a dull thud, and you watch condensation drip down one side of the glass as he folds his hands on the tabletop.

“Well, can I hide out here with you for a minute? Max brought a friend who…”

You’re well aware of the tall blonde chatting to some mutual friends near the grill. You can’t entirely remember what her name is—Laura? Lisa? Something with an L. It doesn’t matter, really. Not when she’s spent the better part of two hours trying to cozy up to Andrew with coy smiles, fluttering lashes, and little touches on his arm or shoulder while laughing a little too hard at his dumb quips.

“Of course,” you say with a smile and a small nod. “Is she giving you trouble?”

Andrew grimaces before scrubbing at his face with both hands. “Not really. More like she can’t take a hint.”

“Really? And here I thought a tall, hot blonde would be right up your alley. Glad to see you’re branching out, at least.”

With a chuckle, Andrew flicks a balled up beer label you’d picked off earlier while in conversation with Karen. The paper ball hits straight between your eyes, pulling snorted giggles from each of you as Andrew assures, “I didn’t mean to…!” before covering his mouth to hide his smile.

You take another swig from your beer. Andrew mirrors the action, his eyes trained on you as he sets the bottle down almost simultaneously with yours.

“I’m really not interested in her, is all,” he says with a shrug.

You raise an eyebrow. “Still on your dating sabbatical, then?”

“No, no, it’s just…I mean, it’s all tedious, yeah? Dating and whatnot. I don’t know if I could do it all over again.”

“Giving up on love entirely?” You frown. “That’s not the Andrew I know.”

“I’m not giving up on love! I’m just…letting things take their natural course. I think I want to keep my love life closer to home. As it were.”

“How do you mean?”

Andrew shrugs again, his eyes falling to the red and white checkerboard pattern of the tablecloth.

“No apps, no websites, or any of that nonsense. I want something organic. Something predicated on friendship and not just physical attraction. Someone I can actually come home to once a tour is all said and done instead of trying to coordinate schedules because of distance.”

Well, that certainly doesn’t help your yearning heart. There’s a part of you that wishes you could shake him and shout that you want to be the one waiting at home for him; however, you’re fully aware that this smaller dating pool does not include you. Why would it? A relationship built on friendship is the ideal, but…there’s too much history between you two and too much baggage that would come with it. Plus, you figure he’d have said something by now if you were a running candidate.

“Ah, well…” You take a larger swig from your bottle this time. “That’s a tall order, but I trust it will work itself out.”

You’re hoping to put an end to this conversation to avoid twisting the knife in your gut, but Andrew doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“What about you? Any lads that you’re—?”

“No!” You wince at your own volume. “No, I…I’m not really focused on dating right now.”

Andrew blinks. “No? I thought—I mean, weren’t you seeing someone from work?”

You shake your head. “Nah. Nobody recently.”

“Oh. I thought…wasn’t there…?” It’s difficult to mistake the redness of his cheeks as anything but a blush as he runs a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t there a Reilly you were seeing? Or some such name, I’m not entirely sure.”

The question is so startling that you bark a laugh that makes him jump.

“Reilly? Jesus, Andy, that’s quite a memory you’ve got.”

You went on exactly one date with Reilly Clarke—notoriously the blandest Chemistry instructor at your school—about half a year ago. After dinner, drinks, and a rather boring conversation centered entirely around him and his accomplishments, you decided that Mr. Clarke was not worth pursuing any further. Hell, you had barely cared about the date in the first place. You only said yes to his invitation due to several of the older ladies in the administration office peeking around their office doors to watch the boring science instructor pursue the music instructor.

“I went out with the lad once. And, believe me, once was absolutely enough. Honestly, I’m surprised you even remember that.”

Andrew stills, his eyes blank as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth in thought. His gaze shifts from your face to look back at the gathering still taking place, all of your mutual friends distracted by food, drink, and sunshine as you laze together at the little plastic table.

After a few beats, he finally clicks his tongue and shrugs, giving you an uneasy half-smile.

“It’s hard to forget when…” He clears his throat. “Ah, never mind.”

“Oh, no,” you say as you point the neck of your beer bottle at him. “Uh-uh. You know I hate that. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing! It’s not—I swear, it’s not important.”

You squint. “Andrew…”

Finally, he lets out a little chuckle and throws his hands up in acquiescence. “Fine! Fine. I remember you talking about him, and he just seemed so…bland. I couldn’t figure out what it was you actually liked about him.”

“Wow, okay,” you say with a teasing tone. “First of all, I didn’t like him. It was a pity date more than anything. Second, I can’t believe you’d insult him like that. He could have been the love of my life, Andrew. What if I was completely heartbroken over him?”

It doesn’t matter that Mr. Clarke is the blandest man you’ve ever met. The idea that Andrew really thought there was any inkling of attraction on your end is baffling, though you don’t recall much conversation about the whole affair. Andrew hadn’t seemed too interested in your impromptu date, so you spared him all the insufferably boring details.

“God help you and your taste in men if that were the case.”

You roll your eyes. “My taste in men is perfectly fine, thanks so much.”

“Really?” Andrew scoffs. “Need I remind you that you were into Max at one point?”

With a braying laugh, you reach across the table to gently smack his arm.

“I was into him for like two whole minutes in college, you horse’s arse. Also, you’re certainly one to talk about taste.”

Andrew jerks back in surprise. “Hey, hey, hey, when did this get turned around on me? I mean, I know my taste can be questionable…”

“Questionable,” you parrot. “I mean, I guess that’s true. I’ve certainly questioned some of your previous pursuits. Who was the lass who didn’t know butter was made from milk?”

Andrew balks and scoffs before spluttering, “Listen, we all get confused sometimes.”

“Mmhm, right. I always get my dairy products mixed up. Oh, wait! What about the one who didn’t like dogs? What was her name? Melody? It was something music-related.”

He rolls his eyes. “First of all, it was Harmony. Second, you’re one to talk about a good fucking memory. I forgot all about her.”

“All I’m saying is you’ve crushed hard on some real questionable gals, Andy,” you say with a shrug before bringing the bottle up to your lips again to cover your smirk.

Andrew places a hand over his heart in feigned outrage.

“Well, fuck, you might be the most questionable of them all with your snarky attitu—” He freezes as soon as the words spill out, his wide eyes meeting yours while his brain catches up with his mouth.

You blink a few times and shake your head with a confused smile. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Okay, that’s…I shouldn’t have…Sorry, I’ve got to go check on something inside! Away from here. Literally anywhere else but here.” He quickly pushes himself up from the table without a response, mumbling something to himself about, “Fuck’s sake, inside thoughts.”

There’s a delay as your own brain processes his words—his inadvertent confession that has him racing into the house to avoid further explanation.

“Andrew, what—? Where are you going?!”

After a beat, you hastily stand to follow, quickly apologizing to anyone who tries to stop you for a conversation before crossing the threshold of the open door into the kitchen. You whip your head around, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s Stevie you find leaning against the countertop, a beer in hand as he looks out the window.

“Oh, hey,” he greets casually.

“Hey, hi, Stevie,” you say quickly. “Do you know where Andy went?”

“He just ran by.” With a nod of his head and a glance over his shoulder, he adds, “Pretty sure he’s out front.”

“Thanks!”

You rush towards the front and throw the door open as Andrew paces the length of the porch, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. As he does, you hear him mutter, “Why the fuck did I say that?”

“Andy?”

He tenses before turning his head towards you, apprehension written all over his blushing face. There’s no greeting, no words at all as the two of you stare at each other. Andrew is frozen, prey caught in the sights of a predator as he watches you carefully, ready to bolt the moment you make a move.

“Andrew…” you say slowly, taking a step forward as you close the door behind you.

He takes a responding step back.

“You should be inside. Or, outside?” He shakes his head. “You should be with everyone else.”

You frown. “So should you.”

“Yeah, but…I needed to…” There’s another stretch of silence as he stares at the ground in thought. Then, with a soft sigh, he bows his head and mumbles, “Can we just pretend…?”

With a shake of your head, you reply easily, “You and I both know that’s not going to happen.”

After a beat, he looks up at the rusting awning with a huff. “Goddamn it. You’re the only person I know who won’t just let shit go.”

“Oh, my God, Andrew. I swear, you are the most dramatic Pisces in existence. So, you had a crush on me! Big fucking deal! It happens!”

Andrew drags a hand over his face and sighs.

“Have.”

You blink. “What?”

“Have,” he repeats. “Not had.”

“...have? Present tense?”

A confirming nod sends you reeling back in surprise.

How had you not noticed? Andrew has always been one to wear his bleeding heart on his sleeve, has always made it a point to shower his prospective lovers with affection in a painfully obvious way.

And, okay, sure. Maybe all of the postcards he’s sent to you while away from home, the birthday bouquet delivered to your door this year with a card signed by him, and the weird rocks and pebbles he’s gathered while on tour to add to your collection can be considered romantic. It’s thoughtful at the very least, but Andrew has always been a thoughtful person. Sure, you’ve always hoped that it might mean something, but the simplest explanation is usually correct. Andrew seeing you as nothing more than a friend seemed a simple enough explanation for his kindness and far more likely than…this.

You’re unsure of what to say or how to respond because you never expected this specific situation to occur, never thought your feelings might actually be requited.

Andrew fidgets in silence, gaze fixed on a tree that shades the porch. “Look, I’m sorry if—”

“Did you know gentoo penguins give rocks as gifts to penguins they want to mate with?”

The words are out before you can really think better of it. You wince and grimace, fighting the urge to sigh loudly and ask for a do-over because what the fuck was that?

Andrew’s expression shifts between astonishment, confusion, and amusement, as though he can’t exactly decide how to feel.

Finally, he lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. “What?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head quickly. “Sorry, sorry, that’s not—what I meant was—gentoo penguins, they do courtship as a mating—well, no, maybe I shouldn’t say it like that—ugh, Jesus Christ. Throw me a line here, please? I’m flailing.”

Andrew tilts his head in that infuriating way he always does when he’s being an ass.

“No, no, I want to see where you go with this.”

“Oh, fuck off…” you grumble. “Fine. So. Male gentoo penguins, yes? They find rocks and, y’know…present them to a mate—er, a prospective mate, I guess. And you…well, you’ve brought me a lot of rocks.”

With a shrug and a quiet chuckle, he replies, “I have brought you a lot of rocks, yeah. Not necessarily for that specific purpose, but also…” He shrugs. “Not not for that purpose. Technically speaking.”

Your mouth twists into a wry smile, and you tease, “Is that part of your standard mating ritual, then?”

Andrew’s own smile is coy, playful as he replies, “Yeah, but if that doesn’t work for you, I’ve got a whole dance routine choreographed. Took a lot of inspiration from the Manakin bird. The footwork might be wretched, though. Also, how did you even know that? About the penguins, I mean.”

“I’m a teacher.” You shrug. “The kids tell me a lot of random shit. Did you know that a chameleon’s tongue is twice the length of its body? They’re, like, three or four meters long. Swear to God. Look it up.”

“Okay.” He draws out the word as he blinks at you. “That’s…hm. You know what? We’ll circle back to that, because I have questions. First, though…I’m not sure if…I mean, you don’t seem particularly horrified at the idea of…me. And you. You and I.”

Butterflies in your stomach make you squirm as you avert your gaze to the ground. A blush burns your cheeks, embarrassed giddiness prickling your skin while your stomach twists.

“Horrified? No. Far from it, actually. I’d say I’m more confused than anything.”

Andrew tilts his head. “How do you mean?”

You purse your lips and give him a look as though he’s asked you a question with the most obvious answer. His befuddlement doesn’t waver as he waits for your reply with furrowed brows and a small frown.

“What I mean is…” You run a hand through your hair and laugh quietly to yourself. “I always thought there was a, uh, height requirement to…y’know. Ride this ride.”

Relief floods you as he begins to smile, one hand over his mouth to hide his amusement despite the giggles that bubble up in his chest.

“I can see how you might assume that, but I promise there is no prerequisite for height.”

The tension between you is thick now as soft giggles die away, left with only reddened cheeks and avoidant gazes like two teenagers waiting for their parents to pick them up from a school-sanctioned dance.

“So…” he says slowly. “If you’re not horrified, and the confusion has hopefully been cleared up…where does that leave us?”

Us. A small word bearing a heavy connotation.

You click your tongue and shake your head in feigned apprehension. “Gosh, I don’t know…I might have to see this choreographed dance of yours first before I make my final decision.”

Without missing a beat, Andrew throws his hands up and cries, “Oh, so my rocks weren’t good enough, then? Wow. I see how it is. I go out and find you the best pebbles from beaches around the world—”

It’s a mix of amusement, annoyance, and affection that drives you forward, standing up on your toes and tugging his t-shirt until he’s leaning down to meet your kiss. His surprise has him gasping sharply before his hands settle on your face.

When you pull away, you’re met with a beaming, flushed smile that makes your stomach do a backflip.

“For the record,” you say quietly, “I love every rock and pebble you’ve ever given me.”

There’s a moment of deliberation as the two of you weigh your options on how to proceed.

On the one hand, disappearing into a different room and reemerging later may not be entirely conspicuous, but you’re certain Karen would not appreciate any room being utilized for activities.

On the other hand, disappearing from the party together entirely might lead to questions, but it would allow for much more time and privacy together without feeling hurried or nervous about being caught in an unsavory position. The embarrassment of teasing over optics is far easier to handle than the embarrassment of a close friend seeing something they absolutely should not.

Normally, you wouldn’t rush something like this, but years of pining, aching, and yearning have you giggling bashfully as you suggest sharing a ride back to your place mostly because it’s closer than his home hidden deep within the countryside. Andrew decides that a hastily typed goodbye text is sufficient enough notice to Karen, and it takes only a few minutes before an Uber driver rolls up to the house.

Andrew keeps a hand on your thigh through the entire ten minute ride, squeezing every now and again to grab your attention, sometimes leaning in to give you a peck on the lips that makes you want to squeal in delight.

After stumbling out of the car, you pull Andrew along like an excited dog tugging on a leash until you’re fumbling with your keys to open the door.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you huff as you drop your keys in a bowl and kick your shoes off.

Andrew scoffs, “Please. You’ve seen how I live.”

“I mean, I was trying not to be rude about it, but yeah,” you remark as he follows you into the living room. “Did you want anything? Like water, or…?”

It’s been a long, long while since you’ve last done something like this, and you’re not entirely sure of the proper procedure to bed the man you’ve fantasized about several times over.

When he doesn’t respond, you turn to see him admiring the collection of rocks displayed on your mantle. While they don’t don labels or locations, he undoubtedly recognizes things in the collection as items he’s brought home specifically for you.

“Maybe after,” he says casually as his attention turns back to you.

You blink, your face already burning at the implication. “After?”

With a small, coy smile, he saunters across the room towards you. Once in front of you, he tilts your head upwards with two fingers beneath your chin as he murmurs, “Mmhm. After.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as warmth floods your veins. This version of Andrew is one you haven’t seen in a long time—not since the days of writing his sophomore album with all of the sexual energy of a lad in love in his late 20s. Even then, you weren’t the one on the receiving end of that affection, but his aura now feels much the same, if perhaps a bit toned down from the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed man he was at the time.

Without another word, you’re suddenly swept off your feet with a loud shriek, thrown over his shoulder in a way that you’re not entirely sure you appreciate.

“This feels a bit patronizing, I won’t lie,” you chirp as you dangle and let your arms flop.

Andrew laughs as he crosses the threshold into your bedroom, a room he’s seen and entered several times before but never in this context. You land on your bed with a thump and an indignant squeak as he drops you.

“This is not the romantic foreplay I expected from you, Andy,” you muse just as he crawls over you.

And, oh, being beneath him is far different from any enveloping hug you’ve had before. He eclipses you entirely as he kisses you, no longer sweet and chaste as desperation begins to seep through. A brush of his tongue against yours sends a tingle down your spine as he kisses you like you’re his only source of oxygen.

You tilt your head to bare your neck when he begins pressing kisses along your jaw, little whimpers and whines escaping you as you let your eyes flutter shut.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on this being a romantic endeavor,” he murmurs, making your skin prickle with gooseflesh.

“Oh, no? What were you planning, then?”

You’re grateful that he’s too preoccupied with marking you just beneath your collarbone to hear the wobble in your voice. You gasp sharply as teeth graze your skin. The warmth and weight of him over you has you tingling as you grind your hips against his thigh that’s slipped between your legs.

“I’ve had a very long time to consider everything I’d do to you if we got here,” he says casually, as though it’s not the most arousing thing ever said in this bedroom.

He’s careful as he pries your hands off of him and maneuvers himself until he’s sitting up on his knees beside you.

“We have plenty of time to take things slow, do ‘em right.” He smiles, soft and sincere before leaning down to kiss you again. “Right now, though? I’m not interested in slow.”

Andrew seems surprised yet delighted when you pounce, pressing on his chest until he falls onto his back with a grin as you settle on top of him.

“I would love to hear about those considerations,” you murmur as you lean over him.

It’s almost comical how small you are in comparison. The starkness of this difference has never been lost on you, but something about his large hands resting on your hips makes it difficult to forget.

You don’t give him time to reply as you capture him in another kiss. Right now, you’re not sure you can handle him saying any other suggestive things without bursting into flames. The man has a way with words, and though you’ve never heard him say a filthy thing in earnest, you can only imagine that he’d be well-versed in pulling someone apart with whispered promises alone.

His hands slip beneath the loose hem of your shorts to glide along bare skin, stopping only when he feels the cotton briefs beneath. Light pressure and two fingers slipped beneath elastic are merely a tease that have you whining against his mouth and rubbing against the visible print of his own arousal through his jeans.

Everything about Andrew is intimidatingly large, so you’re not entirely surprised that his cock would be no different; however, that doesn’t mean you’re not daunted by the prospect of actually taking him.

He coaxes your shirt off first, clearly mesmerized by the swell of your chest as his hands fumble unsuccessfully with the hook-and-eye closures of your bra.

“I’m usually more skilled at this,” he says sheepishly when you reach back to assist.

Any embarrassment he might feel is immediately forgotten when you toss the garment aside. His eyes flit between your exposed chest and your face as you smile shyly, fighting back the urge to cover yourself as he admires you.

The warmth of his hands makes you shiver as he pinches and rolls both nipples between his index finger and thumb.

Your voice is quiet and slightly rasped as you ask, “Have you imagined this, too?”

Andrew meets your eyes again and presses his lips together to fight back a cheeky smile as he shrugs noncommittally.

“Far more often than I’m willing to admit right now.”

More kisses and nibbles along your chest have you whimpering and shaking lightly as you curl a hand into his hair. Your body is nearly overheating as you grind against him with more fervor. The friction is nowhere near enough to get you off, but it feels wonderful all the same. When he finally pulls away, he looks up at you with blown pupils and shallow breaths as he stills your hips.

“If you keep doing that, this is going to be over far too quickly.”

The swell of pride you feel in your chest is superseded by mischievousness and feral need as you reply, “Really? This is all it would take to make you come in your pants?”

His fingers dig into your flesh as he grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. “You can’t just say things like that.”

It’s fascinating to watch him squirm beneath you, cheeks flushed pink as his eyes flutter open again. There’s a specific type of confidence that comes with flustering the object of your affections—especially the man who has admitted to having thoughts and fantasies about you for an undetermined amount of time.

“Hm.” You tilt your head at him with a smirk. “So, I can’t say something like, ‘You look so cute when you’re worked up and needy over just my tits?’”

The hands at your waist disappear as he covers his face and groans in equal parts humiliation and arousal.

“You are never beating the submissive allegations, Andy.”

You squeak in surprise as he pushes you out of his lap and onto your back again. There’s a sense of renewed determination in his expression as he tugs roughly at your shorts and briefs, pulling them off in one fell swoop until you’re left bare and spread out before him.

“For the record,” he says with a grin, “I consider myself to be…versatile.”

The admission isn’t surprising given the playfulness thus far and the way you’ve handed off control to the other. Still, it’s titillating to think of the possibilities knowing he’s thrilled regardless of his position in the situation, and you wonder what his more submissive considerations might look like.

“Well, I’ve always said you contain multitudes.”

Your giggle breaks into a quiet moan when his fingers slip down your thigh to brush against the glistening wetness of your sex.

“What was it you just said?” he asks with a smirk. “Needy and worked up?”

Any reply you might have escapes you as he presses one finger into you, then another. The fullness of just two fingers already has you whining as you meet back against his slow, methodical movements. You gasp when his thumb brushes against your swollen clit, eliciting an amused hum from him.

“Fuck, okay, you win!” you gasp. “Now, will you please take off your clothes already?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

You nudge him playfully with your knee before sitting up to peel his shirt off. Giddiness and compulsion have you averting your eyes, not wanting to make him uncomfortable despite his complete and total willingness to undress at your behest. Still, you take the opportunity to reach for the shoebox that lives beneath your bed and pluck out a condom wrapped in gold foil.

The bed dips as he stands, and your attention is pulled by the sound of a zipper and rustling of fabric. When you look back, you’re met with the image of him in nothing but black boxer-briefs bordered with a Calvin Klein logo. Your eyes flick up to meet his for a brief moment before your gaze falls down over his chest, the softness of his stomach, down to the tent in his boxers that has your heart hammering in your chest.

With a lick of your dry lips, you crawl towards the other side of the bed until you’re kneeling on the mattress in front of him. No words are exchanged as you peer up at him from beneath your lashes. Instead, he gives you a small nod, and you nibble on your lower lip nervously as you reach out to touch him.

You jump as his cock twitches beneath your hand, not daring to look up when Andrew lets out a soft sigh. A gentle squeeze reveals the sheer size of him—an intimidating prospect that has heat pooling low in your belly.

His own hand covers yours entirely as he ruts into the warmth of your palm.

You’re surprised when he laughs, the sound low and rich in his chest as he says, “Not to detract from the moment, but I’m trying to figure out how to…I mean, logistically, what would be the best way to do this?”

“Oh,” you say with a giggle. “I mean, you’re the freakishly tall one here. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Okay, not helpful, thank you,” he deadpans, still smiling. “I’m trying not to turn this into a Princess and the Pea situation—”

“Would I be the pea in this scenario?”

“Yes, and I would be the princess. Meaning, I don’t want to crush you to death.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Andy, you won’t, I promise. But…if it would make you feel better, I guess I can be on top.”

“I appreciate your begrudging sacrifice.”

“I know, I’m such a hero,” you chirp as he slides into bed and settles back against a mountain of stacked pillows.

Casually, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and lifts his hips to slip them off. Your mouth drops open for only a moment before you snap it shut again, the click of your teeth catching his attention.

You can feel a fresh wave of heat overcome you as he looks away again to fumble with the condom in his hands. It’s impossible to look away from his glistening tip, already beginning to leak despite having barely done anything at all.

When you look at him again, something in his expression has changed. Despite the banter that’s provided levity to this whole ordeal, he looks at you now with a fondness and affection that is unmistakable. It’s the same look you’ve seen so many times before, a look you’ve had directed at you a few times over the course of your years-long friendship. However, it’s never been in this context—naked, in bed, and coaxed into his lap with open arms.

“You control the pace,” he murmurs in your ear before kissing your cheek and brushing stray hair from your face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smile and cup his face before pecking his lips.

“Normally, I’d say you won’t, but…I think I’ve got my work cut out for me right now.”

He helps guide himself as you brace your hands on his shoulders. The head of his cock alone provides a stretch that takes a moment to adjust to, your fingers digging into his skin as you slowly inch your way down his length.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you press your forehead into his shoulder. His voice is tight, his breathing shallow as he envelops you in his arms and begins rubbing a gentle hand along your back.

“Yeah,” you say with a huffed, breathless laugh.

The stretch of him teeters on the edge of pain, soothed by kisses he presses into your hair as you whine against his neck. Still, it feels fucking incredible, so full and warm as you clench around him.

“Oh, God…”

Andrew shushes you gently. “I know, I know. You’re taking me so well, darling.”

Length and girth nearly split you in half as you finally sit flush against his hips.

“There you go, baby…” His voice is soothing as he hugs you and pets your hair. “You’re okay…you’re okay…”

There’s a part of you that feels proud to have accomplished such a feat. You wish you could stay here for a while, held close to his chest while you warm his cock. But arousal and yearning have you lifting yourself up onto your knees as he slides out of you. It’s easier to take him this time when you lower yourself down again, fullness and pressure making your legs shake.

“Feels good,” you whisper as your arms come up to rest on his shoulders.

You lean back enough to see his face, already bright red as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Without a word, he pulls you in for a kiss as he follows the slow roll of your hips, thrusting shallowly into tight heat as he tries his best not to rush or hurt you.

Any lingering discomfort slowly dissipates, and you begin moving faster as his hands squeeze your outer thighs.

“I thought you weren’t interested in slow,” you tease.

Andrew rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Yes, well, it’s different when you’re trying to fit something large into something small, you see.”

“Jesus, you’re going to be a fucking egomaniac about this, aren’t y—oh!”

You’re sitting up on your knees again, this time held in place by a firm grip around your waist. You bury your face into the crook of his neck once more as he begins to pick up his pace, the sound of skin against skin echoing in between little moans and whines.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

Your noises are muffled against his skin as you’re filled to the brim, every slide of his cock setting your nerves alight.

You hear his soft laugh between ragged breaths. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you focus on the dull, aching pressure that makes your spine tingle. Every little huff and groan that escapes him is broken by sweet words that you barely comprehend as he coos them in your ear.

“Good girl…” he murmurs. “Such a good girl.”

The praise makes your stomach flutter as you clench around him, earning another low chuckle in your ear as his movements slow until he’s pressing deep inside of you.

“I thought you might like that,” he says lightly.

Any snarky quip you might fire back is lost as you roll your hips and press back against the pressure.

“Andy, please,” you whimper. “Please don’t stop.”

To his credit, he doesn’t continue his teasing, opting instead to readjust slightly before thrusting into you faster than before. At this angle, every slick slide of his cock rubs against your clit in the most delicious way, the pleasure setting off sparks within you as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you whisper as a tear slips down your cheek and lands on his shoulder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” There’s a smugness in his tone that makes the tips of your ears burn.

You want to bite back with a snarky response, but words fail you as he practically bounces you in his lap like a toy. A cool sweat breaks out along your hairline as you begin to follow his movements and pace, meeting back against every thrust as heat slowly begins to build low in your stomach.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he breathes, voice cracking slightly as his arms tighten around you.

Despite the pleasure and intimacy of it all, you still manage a quiet giggle as you ask breathlessly, “Everything you’ve ever imagined?”

Without a moment’s pause, he murmurs, “Not until you come.”

And, Jesus Christ, is it his mission to kill you with these kinds of statements pronounced so boldly? He shrugs when you ask him as much and presses his lips to yours in an act that feels much more like love than lust.

You’re surprised by the hand that slips from your waist to reach down between you, gasping as his fingers press firm circles against your aching clit. Your hand covers his—comically small in comparison to his own—and you guide his movements, his pressure until you’re shaking and huffing above him.

The heat in your stomach glows brighter now, the base of your spine tingling.

“Oh, God,” you whine as you squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the mounting pleasure.

Every sound that slips from your mouth is impossible to swallow down, expletives whispered in his ear between soft, broken moans. Andrew is just as vocal, though his own noises are tight and restrained despite the complete privacy of your space.

You’re nearly humping his hand now as warmth, friction, and fullness send you spiraling over the edge, any verbal warnings lost as you cling to him and cry out at the first crest of your release.

With a soft gasp, he chokes, “Fuck, I’m—”

It’s as far as he gets before you’re clenching around him again, and his movements stutter until you feel the twitch of his cock just as he catches you in a messy, breathless kiss.

As you begin to descend from your respective peaks, you peel yourself away from him to lean back and cup his face. He smiles at your touch, eyes still closed before fluttering open to meet your gaze.

Andrew doesn’t say a word, instead opting to lean into your hand before pressing a kiss to your palm.

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you raise yourself up to let him slip his softening cock out of you before flopping onto the mattress next to him. He’s quick to dispose of the condom while you look away—another strange compulsion for respecting privacy despite having the man inside of you not five minutes ago.

“C’mere,” he mumbles when he rolls over to collect you into his arms. You follow without complaint and rest your head on his chest while your arm rests over him. A soft kiss to your forehead makes you smile and wiggle happily as exhaustion begins to trickle in despite the early afternoon hour.

You open your eyes to look at him inquisitively when he pokes your shoulder to grab your attention just a few minutes later. With his phone in hand and a blank expression, he says, “Chameleon tongues can move at 20 kilometers per hour. Mad, right?”

You can’t help but fall into a fit of giggles as he grins at you, phone screen tilted to show a list of animal facts on a website almost certainly made for children.

“Andy, were you thinking about chameleons this whole time?”

A pause.

“Not the entire time. Well, not during the important parts, anyway…”

Cozy, warm, and tangled together beneath the blankets, your eyes slip shut as your body relaxes. He scratches at your scalp gently, tingles running down your spine as you snuffle against him.

“‘Most female chameleons lay eggs.’ Most? What the fuck does that even mean? Are there chameleons going around giving live birth? …oh, my God, there is.”

“Andrew,” you mumble with a smile. “Shush. Sleep now.”

#SCREAMING #SO SO SO SO SO SO SO GOOD OMG #MELTING BLUSHING GIGGLING

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