#boytoy writez

[ballsandpingas]

insecure

weed + titties!! hell yeah!!!! i just need to get this out of my drafts it's HAUNTING ME.

summary: you dont get the hype with playing with tits. miguel can help

pairing: gn!reader (has boobs, called "pretty boy") x miguel

warnings: dry humping, schmoking that green, vaguely awkward miguel at the end

-

"never?" miguel's words float around in a cloud of smoke, curling from his nostrils. "not even, like... by yourself?"

you exhale a burning lungful. "you can't make fun of me. not all of us can be you."

"i'm just surprised." he returns the joint and your fingers curl around it expectantly. "plus, you're overestimating my experience."

as if. you're playing a dangerous game, talking freely about sex. about your nipples. about how you've never been able to touch them, feel them the way pornstars can. you're too high to watch your words. "i just... i don't know. maybe there's some kind of mental block."

miguel is peering at you expectantly. you can't tell if it's been seconds or minutes since his last hit. you clear your throat, feeling a familiar fuzzy sensation prickling at your skin. "it's not, like, body issues, i don't think. i don't mind how they look." his eyes are boring into you. "whatever. mysteries of life, i guess."

"can i try?"

at least he has the decency to look embarrassed. his cheeks are dark, but his eyes are still locked on yours. "if not, that's fine," he rushes out. "i was just thinking that maybe it's the person, not--"

it only takes a couple awkward seconds of clambering before you're straddling his thighs. when his lips part for the joint you press to his mouth, you shudder. this doesn't have to mean anything. your hand closes around his wrist, feeling his pulse, the hair tickling your fingers. just friends with benefits. just a convenient arrangement.

even through your sweatshirt, his hands are warm as they knead the soft flesh of your chest. you let out an undignified whimper when he grazes your nipples, and he only lets go to let you tug off the extra layer.

"i knew it." his breath is hot against your ear and the sensation on your bare skin makes you squirm. "used to fuck myself thinking about these tits, about rubbing my cock on your nipples--"

"miguel," you whine, hyper aware of your sensitivity. a wave of lightheadedness washes over you.

"--until they're glistening with cum, just so i can suck it off." you're clutching his shoulders now in an attempt to stay grounded, but it only encourages him to press wet, open-mouth kisses on the soft underside of your tits.

when he gently grazes his teeth against your nipples you instinctively jerk your hips, roughly grinding against him. he moans--low, breathy--and you tug his head up to meet your eyes.

you don't even realize you have tears in your eyes until he's kissing them away. "pretty boy. use your words. tell me what you need."

unbelievably cruel, to ask you that. when every aborted breath you take only inhales more of his scent, his sweat and cologne. your thighs are twitching uncontrollably and goddammit that has to count as an answer.

"please." your mouth is unbelievably dry, and swallowing only fills your mouth with the taste of miguel's tongue. "just. touch--fuck." you might cry again in frustration. you can only exhale a final "don't stop" before your impatience reaches a breaking point, and suddenly you're grabbing his wrists again, bringing them directly to your tits and.

his hands are burning as he ducks his head to suck at your bud. taste buds scrape against your nipples as he flattens his tongue. "fucking. shit," he breathes. with your tits pressed against his cheeks, his voice is muffled. "want me sucking on your tits? cock shoved between them, cumming on your neck?"

maybe it's the weed. maybe it's how sensitive you've been recently, the dirty words he's slurring against your skin, the way he has you grinding against his hard-on. or maybe it's that it's miguel, maybe that's why you feel your orgasm creeping up on you. but when you gasp and tug on his hair, he only nuzzles further between your tits, sucking a hickey against your sweaty skin, and the sight is enough to push you over the edge.

your fingers are still locked in his hair as you shudder through the aftershocks. his hips slow under you, careful not to overstimulate you. as soon as you stop shaking and take a shallow gulp, he jolts backwards, separating his lips from your skin with a lewd pop.

and now you're just staring at each other in silence, the blunt long-forgotten and now extinguished in your hand. you probably look a mess, all red and sweaty and half-naked. his cheeks are dark as he clears his throat. "so. i guess i was right. about that."

your synapses feel like they're firing through jelly. "right... about--"

somehow he's already on his feet, backpack slung over his shoulder. "just. uh... sleep it off. i'll see you."

your apartment door closes with a muted thud.