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“Fuck, Larry.” You dig your heels into the plush of his mattress, fists curled in the sheets.
You’ve been inside his apartment for all of five minutes, and already he’s got his mouth on you, the crotch of your panties pulled aside so that he can wrap his lips around your swollen clit. Your hips start rocking, your head lolling backward as your jaw drops open, feeling those little sparks of electric heat bubbling and bursting in your lower stomach as he draws circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves. His “kiss” is maddeningly slow, the delectable pressure of his broad tongue drawing little mm’s and aah’s out of you. God, Larry is so good with his mouth.
It’s funny, you think, for a man who doesn’t do much talking. Ironic, somehow. But most men are all talk, unfortunately for them, and if you’re going to bother with men at all, you much prefer them like this: quiet and pliable and very enthusiastic about giving head.
His breath is so warm. He flicks his tongue to-and-fro, curling his tongue up inside of you. Drinking you in as you feel your wetness growing even slicker against his hot mouth. He groans between your legs, blunt fingertips digging into the meat of your thighs, and ugh, that - that makes you buck your hips, fucking into his face. Fingers fumbling for the roots of his hair, and you tug. Harder.
It’s even better when Larry responds in kind, quickening his movements. Flattening his tongue and then sucking at you again, making this unholy smacking noise that echoes off the drywall of his bedroom. You swing your legs up over his shoulders and grind into him harder, a curious exclamation crawling from the deepest recesses of your mind up to the very front, and you don’t even realize how close it’s come until it erupts from deep within your throat -
“Unghhhh, daddy - ”
And then all the world goes quiet.
You clasp a hand over your mouth, eyes blinking wide open in terror of what you’ve just said. Larry hadn’t even stopped, at first, not until your body went completely rigid in his grasp. There’s an icy breeze where your cunt meets the cool air of his bedroom now that he’s unclenched his jaw from around it to stare up at you in astonishment.
“Wh…What now?”
“Oh, shit.” You murmur. Hands flying up to cover your burning face. “Oh my God. Larry - Larry, I’m so sorry - ”
Winding his brows even closer together, he makes a shrugging face, lower lip jutting out as he shakes his head. “No, pigeon, I just…did you just…?”
He makes a weird noise, then, something almost like a giggle, but because he’s trying to mask it, it comes out like a snortle instead. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.
“I know, I know, it just kinda slipped out,” you explain, absolutely horrified and embarrassed. You really did not mean to say that - if ever asked, you’d never have said you’d had a Thing like a daddy kink - not exactly. You had a perfectly normal relationship with your father, for one thing - and what people call “daddy issues” is just a derogatory term used to belittle women who were wronged by the men in their lives, so - no, you hadn’t used any such words to describe yourself. It wasn’t a “daddy” thing; you just happened to have a taste for men who were older. Completely different thing. (right?) “That was so weird, I don’t - I don’t know where it came from - ”
“It’s okay, I - ”
“I won’t do it again, I’m so sorry - ”
“Hey.” Larry presses a gloved finger against your lips, his quiet voice falling even lower. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
You blink at him. “O-Oh...?”
“Yeah.” There’s a visible lump in his throat. You watch his neck strain to swallow down; a dark shift in his eyes as he climbs over you. “You sounded like you liked saying it, so, I…”
“Larry,” you start, reaching to clutch at his rumpled collar. Popping open another button, and then another. “...did you like that?”
A deep inhale, and his broad chest heaves. The unmistakable pressure of his hard-on pushed so pleasantly against you. A slight upward curve in his lips halfway resembling a smile as he looks you over, trailing that gloved finger across your jawline and down the column of your neck. “Any man my age who says he doesn’t is lying.”
(oh.)
The warm slip of leather comes to wrap around your throat, gently, at first, Larry’s thumb resting against the flutter of your pulse as it rabbit-hops in the hollow where it meets your collarbone.
“Say it again.” The softness of his mellow voice makes it sound like a request.
The severity of his half-lidded stare makes it clear that it’s not.
And then, almost as intrusive as the first word that put you in this position, your defiant giggle comes tumbling out of you: “Make me.”
Larry chortles behind his closed mouth, tight-lipped and amused. “Well, then. If you’re not gonna give me a break…”
The squeak of leather prickles your ears and your breath hitches. Larry’s grip on your throat tightens, and your heart starts beating in your windpipe, rapid and dizzying as he starts to choke you. There’s a rush of blood to your head, and your eyes flutter shut as you whimper the tiniest whine, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth.
“You won’t be getting one, either.”
The heavy grate of his deep voice just makes you even wetter. You feel a slick pool of hot moisture dripping between your thighs, seeping through your panties still disheveled from before. Larry slips his free hand under the hem of your dress, gloves fingers teasing your slit through the soaking fabric, and you groan, wriggling in his grasp.
“Th-That’s so mean.”
“I can be meaner,” he says, deadpan and completely serious, and the complete lack of shift in his vacant expression is unreasonably hot. It’s inexplicable; it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s something you absolutely love about him. How easily he can make you wilt under the weight of his stony gaze.
Larry’s fingers trace the seam of your underwear, treading so lightly over the swell of your clit. It jumps under the ghost of his touch, dripping wetness despite how pointedly he ignores direct contact. You groan impatiently, equal parts frustrated and delighted, watching him watching you, unblinking.
“Brat,” he mumbles. A hint of entertainment there, in the way he wrinkles his nose. He leans in closer, close enough that the tip of his long nose graces yours, his lips a scarce centimeter away from your panting, desperate mouth. “It’s easier to get what you want when you just do as you’re told.”
“You’d know - all about that - wouldn’t you, Larry?” you snark at him, bold and almost breathless, and the hypnotic way he chortles darkly in your ear is almost enough to make you cum untouched.
“Got quite a mouth on you, haven’t you,” he grouses, letting up on his grip only to allow ample space to sink his teeth into your neck. He sucks at the tender patch of skin below your ear, thumb still pressed hard into your windpipe. The way the air catches in your chest is exhilarating. “That’s fine. I’ll make you wish you’d behaved yourself, little lady.”
The hand that was teasing your entrance slips down your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Little sparks of electric heat that sizzle on your skin, each one tingling a jolt up the length of your spine as it arches. Larry squeezes around your throat, watching the tears bloom in the corners of your eyes with doctor-like interest.
“You’ll at least let me know if this is too much, won’t you?” he asks, so very polite. And you nod, because of course - but he’s nowhere near your limit, and as much as you like to complain about being tortured, you love it. The suspense, the aching. Yearning is more than half the fun, and you’re grateful that while he likes to get to the point, he likes indulging you even more.
“Harder,” you grunt, demanding and eager, but he lifts his brows, sighing.
“Manners, young lady,” he drones, his feigning bored expression threatening to crumble the longer he looks upon the pretty roseate flush of your face. “Be a good girl and ask me nicely.”
“Harder, please,” you beg him, squirming around, the whole of your body shuddering, begging to be touched, filled. His other hand is trailing along the length of your bare thigh, drawing lazy circles here and there on your skin, maddeningly far away from where you need his touch. He’s not going to give you what you want, though - not without saying the magic word. “Please, daddy.”
And then Larry smiles, with all his teeth, the amber light of Medali’s evening gleaming across the sharp jut of his cheekbones, and the sight of it steals more of your breath away than the fierce grasp of his chokehold.
“Anything for you, sweetheart.”
He squeezes your throat, and the hollow thumping in your cunt is thankfully quelled soon enough. His other hand would make its way back there, but not before Larry tugs the glove off with his teeth, locking eyes with you and holding your gaze as he does so. Slowly. Taking an eternity to slip each finger free from the sheath of warm leather.
“Your pulse is running high,” he mutters, staring at your lips. Playing with the seam of your panties, his warm fingers running along the juncture of your inner thigh. “Am I hurting you, pigeon? Or are you just that excited?”
“No, it - doesn’t hurt,” you reply, temperature climbing higher the closer he gets to your labia.
“Excited then, huh?” he asks quietly, fingers grazing your still-covered clit. He brushes his lips against your cheek, clenching his fingers around your neck again. “Tell me why your heart is racing, Juliana.”
God, he’s so - you clench your jaw, fighting to swallow the saliva that’s gathered under your tongue, almost choking the wrong way by doing so. You’re squirming beneath him, chasing the touch of his fingers with a jerk of your hips, but he lifts away. Because you’re hot and I like you and you don’t even have to touch me to thrill me, you don’t say. Even though it’s true. You’re sure he’d love that answer, but you don’t have the mental energy to exert into putting that thought into words.
So you resign to moaning in his ear. “Because - I want you to - fuck me.”
Larry hums, a pleasant groan from deep in his chest - he slips one, two fingers inside of you, letting up on his choking grip to trail his hand down to your waist instead. “I was going to make some quip about you being a good girl and deserving it, but…”
He sinks those fingers into you, drawing out a whine as you shiver, wriggling beneath him.
“I think we’d both rather just get to the point.”
The hand upon your waist shoves you back against the mattress, and your head hits a soft pillow as Larry’s unrelenting fingers work your pussy. You’re dripping wet enough that you hardly need the preparation, but you love to watch the way his dark brows knit together in concentration as he brings you to the brink of climax. You clench your vaginal walls around him, and the sensation doesn’t escape his notice, and neither does the micro-shift in his expression escape yours.
You do this often, almost every time you two are together: watch each other intently, both of you ignoring subtlety; neither of you fully aware of what it is, exactly, that you’re looking for in the other. It’s not as shallow as just the fun of looking at him - sure, yes, he’s very much Your Type, and you like looking at him very much. His deep, cloudy-grey eyes, the thick fan of his dark eyelashes, his arms - oh, his arms. The only gym this man goes to is his own, and needless to say there’s not exactly much weight-lifting going on there. He’d call himself average in every sense of the word, including physical, and while he’s got some extra weight in his middle, there’s nothing about the flex of his biceps that you’d call regular.
You reach up to grab him there, sinking your claws into the swell of the muscle, there, and Larry draws his fingers out of you in a torturously slow maneuver. With a nod of his head, his eyes flicker to the nightstand beside you, and you reach for the little drawer at the top, fishing out a condom.
Larry rubs at the leaking tip of his cock, spreading your wetness all along the shaft as you pull his belt off from around his hips, shaky hands yanking his pants down even farther. He swallows, loudly, throat bobbing as you grab his shoulders, inviting him closer. He slips inside of you so easily - there’s the wet smack of your skin meeting his, and then you’re stretched to fill.
“God, Juliana,” Larry hisses, trembling breath passing through his rouged lips as you thrust up into him eagerly. “Oh, Lana…”
You smile, huffing out a laugh as you revel in the delight of hearing your nickname. A special thing that only he has ever called you. You love the way it sounds rolling off his tongue, in the velvety dip of his baritone. Paired with the Paldean dialect he’d picked up over the long years of living here, it sounds heavenly. He uses a good few terms of endearment with you, but your own name is your favorite by far.
You clutch his shoulders, rutting up into him as he sucks at your neck, licking at your sweat and breathing in the heady scent his leather glove had left on your skin.
“I can’t believe how wet you are,” he grunts, half-moaning, thrusting a little harder into you. “I can’t believe you want it this badly.”
You hold him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck so he can’t see you frown. You furrow your brow, the aching in your cunt reaching a boiling point, but you lose focus on your creeping orgasm as the sad realization washes over you: the fact that he’s blind to everything you see in him. All that you see in him, he doesn’t see in himself, and that breaks your heart the slightest bit. You groan in his ear, clumsily trying to match his pacing, trying to focus on how fucking good those hard snaps of his hips feel, but…
“Larry, you have - no idea - how good you make me feel,” you tell him, humbly, grinning as you nip at his earlobe. You hear him chortle softly, quiet and barely audible. Taking a moment to catch his breath, it seems, before going back to pounding you into the mattress.
It doesn’t take much longer for you to cum. Larry follows right alongside you, the spasm of his throbbing cock flexing a second shuddering orgasm out of you, and you let yourself dissolve into the duvet, sucking in the heavy atmosphere you’ve created in his dimly lit bedroom.
“Thanks, daddy,” you joke with him, tousling his mop of dark and peppered hair.
He snorts. “That really shouldn’t be as hot as it is.”
“It shouldn’t be, but it is, regrettably,” you admit, giggling breathlessly. “I kind of really like saying it, if you like hearing it.”
“Well, regrettably, I do,” Larry says, deflated, but smiling a little. “Just, maybe don’t let it slip out in public. The last thing I need is someone in the League catching on…”
“Yeah, I’d rather avoid having to explain that one to Rika.”
“Or Poppy,” he says, sounding exasperated at just the thought, and you laugh even harder. Dropping off into a sigh. And to your surprise, Larry is still smiling.