A Continuation Of Early 20s, Awkward College Au Thoughts

a continuation of early 20s, awkward college au thoughts

hozier x reader explicit (18+, MDNI) tags: piv sex, unprotected-ish sex, flirting/teasing

born from the following prompts: 1. "Family vacations are a whole lot more awkward when you and I can’t stop staring at each other, and you know that they’re going to catch on if we don’t stop, right? But we don’t, and instead, it just gets worse." 2. "You’re in a swimsuit. I don’t know what to do but stand here and look awkward, because that’s more skin than I thought I’d ever see on you." 3. quote prompt: “You interrupt my reading once more, and this book will become a lethal weapon.”

“Andrew, I swear to Christ, if you interrupt my reading one more time, this book will become a lethal weapon.” You thought you’d found some privacy–a place away from both families on this blended holiday in Barcelona as they chatted in the sitting room. You didn’t believe it was really his intention to seek you out. In fact, you were pretty sure he was here for the same reason you were: to hide.

It had all happened so casually. Both sets of parents stopped for a quick chat after church one day, and before you knew it, you were on a plane with Andrew and his family sitting a few rows ahead on a shared holiday. It made sense as a cost-saving measure, but you also heard your parents murmuring to each other late one night about how you “needed to socialize more,” and maybe it was good to bring Andrew along. You were in a lot of the same college classes, though you’d known each other as neighbors down the road for much longer. What your parents didn’t know was the massive fucking crush you’d harbored for Andrew since your late teens.

When your parents sprung the whole “room sharing” situation that was planned for you and Andrew, you nearly blacked out from embarrassment. Sure, it wasn’t traditional to allow for co-ed sleeping arrangements, but both of you were trusted to not make it an issue. You’d known each other long enough, and you were both adults now. Where was the harm in that?

Andrew threw up his hands at your threat in a silent plea for mercy. “Actually, I was sent to collect you. Everyone wants to head down to the water, if you’re interested.” The warmth of the sun sounded wonderful, and the beach was only steps away from the rental. It was the second day of your holiday, and you had yet to even set foot in the sand. Plus, reading while listening to the sound of crashing waves sounded wonderful. 

You sent Andrew away with a promise that you would follow as soon as you were dressed. There were two swimsuits in your pack–a modest black one-piece that you’d had for a long time, along with a black string bikini you’d bought long ago but never had the opportunity (or courage) to wear. There was a moment of hesitation as you weighed the options before tossing the one-piece back into your luggage. A mischievous little voice in your head whispered that you knew exactly what you were doing as you slipped a too-large, too-long t-shirt over yourself before setting off towards the beach.

“Hey,” Andrew greeted you as you walked up to where he was situated on a towel in the sand, his eyes obscured by black sunglasses. It was probably the least amount of clothing you’d seen him in with a t-shirt and boardshorts that brushed his knees. He gestured to the empty place next to him, and you threw down your own towel before plopping down. An umbrella hung over both of you, casting a shadow that slowly moved with the sun as time went on. While you read, Andrew was laid back with headphones on and his eyes closed as he hummed to whatever it was he was listening to. 

Finally, after a few minutes of panic and talking yourself up in your mind, you finally pulled your t-shirt off under the guise of sunbathing. Andrew was still laid back, still unaware of your movements or your newly bared skin. The sun was catching you both now, and you laid on your stomach before cracking open your book once more. 

Your heart raced when Andrew finally stirred, sitting up to look at you with an unreadable expression, save for the way his eyebrows raised slightly. You did your best to look back at him blankly, though you worried your lower lip with your teeth to keep your bashful smile from breaking through. “What?” you asked innocently, as if you weren’t propped on your elbows in a way that showcased your chest and cleavage (and, could it even be called cleavage at that point?) After a moment’s pause, he finally shook his head and mumbled, “Nothing…” before lying back again. 

Later, back at the rental, you padded into your shared bedroom with bare feet and your t-shirt thrown back over your body. Andrew shuffled closely behind and sat on his bed to watch as you dug through your pack for fresh clothes. Cheekily, you decided to pull your t-shirt off and toss it onto your bed, and you didn’t need to see his face to hear the soft gasp that escaped him. After a moment, he spoke. “You’re doing this on purpose.” 

“Doing what on purpose?” you asked as casually as you could. The bed creaked as he stood, and you turned just in time to see him close the door before he turned to lean back against it. Instead of an answer, he simply smiled and gestured at you, at your body, and you could feel a hot blush bloom across your face. There was little point in being coy now (though it seemed you never really were.)

“And what if I am?” The question hung in the balance, answered only by the way he reached back to turn the lock on the bedroom door. It was you who crossed the room first, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a crashing kiss. Suddenly, you were a flurry of desperate hands and mouths as he walked you back towards his bed.

The feeling of his fingers on the strings of your bottoms made you squeak. He pulled at them slowly until the garment went slack and slipped down to the floor. You were kind enough to reach back and untie the string that ran across your back while he untied the knot at the nape of your neck.

He had you on your back in an instant, and he hovered over you as he pressed kisses along your body. The feeling made you squirm and giggle, and he huffed a laugh against your skin. “Is this okay?” It wouldn’t be the last time he asked you that question, always soft and tentative before you gave your nod of approval. 

As much as you would have loved to experience the feeling of his mouth on you, there was little time before someone would inevitably come looking for either of you. “I don’t have–” he whispered, and you shook your head before panting out, “Birth control.” Perhaps not your smartest decision, but a decision made in the heat of the moment.

You held onto his shoulders as he pressed into you, and soon he was fucking you as quietly as he could between soft kisses and little laughs. You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans when your fingers finally found your clit. Andrew tugged your hand from your mouth to catch you in a kiss instead, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his tongue slid against yours.

“Where?” He asked breathlessly, and it took your sex-addled brain a moment to realize what he meant. You were so close, teetering just on the precipice as the hand on your clit sped up. In your daze, you whispered, “Inside,” and there was something about that simple word—the idea that you were giving him permission to finish inside of you—that sent you reeling and biting down on your hand to keep from crying out. The clench of your orgasm gripped him like a vice, and then he was kissing you to muffle his own groans as the warmth of his release filled you. 

You were still catching your breath when a tentative knock on the door startled you both, then the chipper sound of your father saying, “Dinner will be ready soon!” It seemed they were none the wiser to your activities. You called back an affirmation as Andrew rested his head on your chest while you ran gentle fingers through his hair. 

Hozier Dating Headcannons

He would definitely love to date someone who is more of an old soul, someone who loves older literature or music 

Expect regular serenades after he writes songs about you and personal concerts when you ask to hear a certain song. These moments would probably be very intimate and would just happen in the comfort of your home together.

You would be the first to hear any new ideas he has for his music and would read you his lyrics, asking you what you think he should change. And of course, you can’t think of anything that could make it any better since it is already so beautiful which infuriates him to no end (he loves you tho)

He seems like the kind of partner to go all out for anniversaries or birthdays and would set up really special dates and surprise outings, always making sure that you are comfortable and having fun. He would probably take you to secluded places surrounded by nature where you can just enjoy each other's company with no one else around.

He would hand write you beautiful letters especially when he is going away on tour or if he is going to be having a late night in the studio and won’t see you for a while

He values his privacy and would most likely keep your relationship lowkey and private. He wouldn’t hide you and wouldn’t hesitate to talk about you a little every now and then but he also wouldn’t tell everyone too much about your relationship, he likes to keep certain things to himself.

He would support you in everything that you do, whether it’s just a project that you have taken up or if it is something for work, he would be right behind you at all times cheering you on. If you start to doubt yourself, he would be the one to tell you how well you are doing and would motivate you 

He has a lot of appreciation for you especially since he knows it can be difficult to be with him when he is really focused on his music or if he is touring. So he would always express how thankful he is that you are there for him, even during tough times.

Considering his love for art and literature, he would love to take you on little museum or gallery dates and would definitely tell you the backstory of certain pieces if you seemed interested. He would also take note of the kind of books, poems or art you like and would give you unique gifts inspired by this.

Despite his fame, he is very grounded and values his private time and time with family, so he would love a partner who listens and values your opinions and alone time together. He would love to see you with his family and is in love with how much his parents and friends adore you.

If you’re not Irish, he would love to introduce you to certain foods or traditions from Ireland. He is always really excited to see your reaction to trying Irish snacks/drinks and remembers what you like or dislike

He is a big ‘I remember you said you like this, so i got it for you’ partner. He remembers everything about you, from your favourite food to your favourite songs or movies and even your favourite piece of jewelry

He is a very emotional guy and at first he struggles to open up to you but as your relationship grows, he becomes more comfortable being himself around you and knows you would never judge him just like how he would never judge you. Once he becomes fully comfortable with you, there is not one thing he wouldn't tell you and never hides anything from you. He trusts you with everything.

As I said he is a very private guy, so he wouldn’t be a big fan of PDA but as your relationship goes on, he will start to be more open about it and will show you off whenever he can. He loves hand holding and will periodically kiss your temple and or the back of your hand when you are out

People forget that while yes, Hozier is some kind of heartbreakingly poetic ancient God, he is also just some random Irish guy in his 30s named Andrew

Hozier - Francesca (Behind The Song).

❝ There is no life in which I make any other choice but to love you and being clung to your side for eternity is no punishment whatsoever. ❞

Imagine Being Loved by Me

hozier x f! reader

part three of lullabies <3 | part two | masterlist

cw: 18+, nothing too serious but a bit teeeny bit of smut

word count: 3.2k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure

Three weeks have gone by since I walked in on Joe piledriving another woman in my bed.

Three weeks ago after a beautiful morning of jazz music, pancakes, and instant coffee, Andrew drove me back to my house to pick up my car. I sent him away with an earnest hug, putting on my bravest face as I let myself inside. No shit, there were rose petals on nearly every inch of floor board. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, instead, tiptoed upstairs into my room. Joe was asleep in bed, and I nearly tasted my breakfast for a second time that morning. Instantly, I felt nauseated, the type that makes you hot and dizzy and want to run away and never come back.

I pushed the feeling back down, determined to grab all my shit and forget this tainted cell of a house I once loved more than anything. Furiously, I began stuffing all of my clothes into a suitcase. Then in another bag, I took everything that belonged to me; sheets, towels, everything down to the last teabag. I was fuelled with rage, huffing and puffing my way around the house, lugging my bags out to my car. Oh, fuck. My keys.

Where are my car keys?

I searched the house like a mad woman, tearing apart the couches, looking in every cupboard and under every piece of furniture. Nothing. I called Andrew, asking if I'd had them at the bar, as if he'd know the answer if I didn't. "Ehm... just your house keys? I tink..."

"I tink you're no help," I mocked, hanging up with the briefest of smiles before I was playing detective again. I searched for nearly an hour before caving in and waking Joe.

I shook his shoulder roughly, standing back with my arms crossed once he finally stirred awake.

"Mmm..." He groaned, and I waited patiently with a scowl for him to realise it was me and not some broad off the street. "Oh, you're finally home."

"Where are my keys?" I deadpanned, fuse shorter than ever. I wasn't in the mood for the slightest conversation with him.

"I missed you so much, babe," he sighed, pulling my stiff body into a hug. I peeled myself away from him, repeating myself.

"Where are my keys, Joe? I left them in the fruit bowl, and now they are gone."

"Let's talk first before we make any hasty decisions," he coaxed, pulling me by my wrists onto the bed beside him. "I can't explain how sorry I am."

"Joe, please."

"I've been up all night crying, my heart is broken," he sighed emphatically, taking my hand into his. Oh, you're the heartbroken one? "I can't imagine a life without you."

"You weren't thinking that way when you were fucking the girl you met at my show."

"You hadn't had sex with me in weeks! I was getting desperate-"

"Just stop," I barked, throwing his hand off of me. "Give me my car keys so I can leave. This doesn't need to be any harder than you've already made it."

After minutes of brutally painful back and forth, he gave me the keys to his safe. I unlocked it to find my keys and an open jewellery box with a sparkling engagement ring. He was sitting on the bed, eyes filled with optimism, and I almost fell for it.

My phone buzzed and I saw a message from Andy.

You haven't crashed your car have you? X

I took my keys and closed the safe, turning on my heels out of the bedroom.

"Um, what the fuck?" Joe called out as he followed close behind me, roughly grabbing at my arm when I was halfway out the front door. "I just proposed to you, and you don't even have the decency to say no?"

"No," I replied, unlocking my car and tossing my bags into the boot.

"What? Babe, don't throw this away," he began to cry, clearly panicked.

"I haven't thrown anything away. You have." I shoved him away by his chest, just about ready to boil over with anger. "You have destroyed any shred of trust I had in you. It's over, Joe."

My tough act began to slip as my voice shook, climbing into my car and slamming the door shut before he could see how hard this really was on me. He screamed something inaudible at me as I drove away, and I watched him sob into his hands from the rearview mirror.

I cried the entire drive to my mums, ignoring the hundreds of calls I missed from him.

Andrew and I continued to spend time together. I spent many nights at my mums place while I tried to look for a house. I didn't have rental history as Joe wouldn't put me on the lease... because I didn't have rental history. "Babe, it'll just make everything harder," was once his excuse.

When my step dad would get unbearable, Andrew would invite me to spend the night. These nights would frequently begin with me sobbing about how broken hearted I was, and end with him and I snuggling on the couch to a movie. Innocent enough, sure. But after weeks of abstinence following six years of frequent sex, I was pent up. So pent up to the point where I would have to excuse myself for some time alone with his retractable shower head. Many of my thoughts of Andrew were so explicit, you'd think they were from the brain of a teenage boy who'd plough through two boxes of tissues a day. This of course left me feeling inexplicably guilty and beyond confused.

Tonight, we drank wine and sang cheesy duets together. We clumsily danced and laughed until we cried. He had the coordination of a newborn giraffe, and though I'd never admit it to him, I wasn't much better. He drunkenly rambled about how in a perfect world, he'd own a cottage in Wicklow and keep bees. I told him how I'd be a florist who sold my Irish friends' honey.

As if routine now, we'd share a blanket on the couch and watch a movie. Last night was Superbad, tonight was Inception. Andrew mindlessly carded his fingers through my hair, and with the comfort that brought me mixed with the wine, I was out to it within minutes.

His beard tickled the inside of my thigh as he continued to bite and suck at the sensitive skin, eyes boring holes into mine with a devilish grin.

"C'mon, Andy," I whined, throwing my head back in frustration. I closed my legs over his head, desperate to feel his mouth on me where I needed it viscerally.

"Patience, darlin'," he tsked at me, spreading my legs wide before him again. "Look so fuckin' gorgeous right now."

"Please, just touch me," I begged, reaching a new peak of arousal that was actually causing me pain. "Anything, just fucking touch me!"

He just chuckled, locking his arms around my thighs, pulling me closer to his face. He continued to place hot, wet opened mouthed kisses along my thighs, his beard scratching over my clit for a split second, and I swore I was on the brink of orgasm immediately. I grabbed a fistful of his hair, impatience taking full control of my autonomy.

He licked a languid stripe up my clit, causing me to let out a guttural moan, arching my back beneath him. He pushed me back down by my hips, one hand easily reaching my breast as he toyed with my nipple.

"Fuck, Andy," I cried, eyes screwing shut as every single nerve ending of mine came alive.

"Look at me," he ordered, the low rumble of his voice vibrating against my core. Without warning, my orgasm rippled through me, each nerve erupting like fireworks as I chanted his name.

I woke up panting, taking a moment to realise I was laying with Andrew on the couch. And processing the fact that I actually just orgasmed in my sleep.

"What's a'matter?" His voice was soft and concerned as he turned his head to face me.

"Weird dream," I laughed breathlessly, heart still pounding in my chest. This happened far too often. I almost wanted to spill my guts and confess everything he made me feel.

"Dreamin' of me, huh?" He grinned down at me, and I felt my cheeks burn.

A moment's silence.

"What?" Please tell me I wasn't moaning his name in my sleep.

"I'm jokin'," he laughed, averting his eyes back to the TV. "Unless you were."

I laughed along too, though in my head I was screaming. 'Unless you were,' what the fuck does that mean?

The credits rolled over the screen and like routine, we got off the couch and went to our separate rooms. Except this time, my heart didn't settle, and I didn't get much sleep.

We went about our days as usual, as if I didn’t fantasise about him every waking moment. I worried that I was catching feelings, and catching them far too fast for someone who'd only just gotten out of a 6 year relationship.

I couldn’t help it. I was infatuated. Infatuated was an understatement. I was completely and utterly enamoured by Andrew. I wanted to be in his presence every moment I could. I often told little white lies so I could spend the night, even though our we remained within a strictly friends only basis.

He was kinder than any man I’d ever met, insisting on having to open every door for me, sending me off to bed with a glass of water each night, and waking me with coffee just how I liked. He was gentle and tentative, always fast at identifying cues when I was upset.

But that’s all we were - just friends.

I began to crave his touch, desperate for any opportunity to feel his skin on mine. He’d often play me a new song he’d written, and I’d watch on with hearts for eyes as his skilled fingers worked his guitar effortlessly.

I saw it in his eyes too, sure he wanted me how I wanted him. I dreamt of climbing into his lap, kissing him until my lips were swollen or until he couldn’t take it anymore and we’d need to take off our clothes to satiate our desires.

But I couldn’t.

When it felt like we were moving in that direction, I’d turn ice cold. Though my heart was begging me to love him how he deserved, my brain knew this was probably just a rebound. And someone with a heart as golden as Andy's didn’t deserve the hell grief I’d cause him.

So I brushed off each pet name as if hearing them didn’t cause my stomach to do acrobats. I treated each night on the couch as if we were simply best friends who enjoyed each others' company. As though there was no other option than spooning on the couch where his scent became hardwired into my brain. I’d act as if I couldn’t feel his hard on pressing into the small of my back most nights. I’d pretend I’d have no idea what he was really doing when he’d have to excuse himself halfway through the movie to ‘make a call.’ It’s just how it worked for us.

And often, I wondered if it was torturing him as much as it was me.

We pulled up at the venue, Andrew of course opening my door for me, offering me his hand as I stepped out onto the kerb. I thanked him and we headed in together, turning a few heads as we did so. Not that this was unusual, he was 6’6” and painfully handsome, after all. He’d also given himself quite the name, rumours of a few producers attending tonight in hopes of setting him a deal.

“Remember me when you’re famous and touring the world without me,” I fake pouted, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

“Well obviously, nobody forgets their muse,” he bumped his shoulder into mine, that cheeky grin stretched across his face. “Besides, I owe you that much for giving me something to write about.”

I nearly choked on my drink, raising my eyebrows at him. “And what songs are written about me, hm?”

“The monster mash?” He kept a straight face, giving me that duh look at the same time.

“Oh, shut up, Andrew.” I laughed, acutely aware of the man who just sat beside me. “I’m being serious! It'd make me happy to know.”

“You’ll know when you hear ‘em, baby,” he grinned, throwing back his glass of champagne. Baby. My heart leapt from me, and in that moment I was grateful that he wouldn’t have noticed the deep blush splattered across my cheeks. He was too busy claiming another round of free drinks for us.

“Please tell me that’s your brother or something,” the man sat beside me spoke up, chocolate brown eyes so endearing, thick American accent on his lips.

"I sure hope not," I joked. His face fell, and I realise how that could've been misconstrued. "No- he's not my boyfriend either. We just sing together."

He put his hands together in prayer, looking up to the roof, mouthing, 'thank you, God.' I laughed at him, shaking my head. He had dark brown curls similar to Andy's, his were just more tame and much shorter. Full lips that twisted into a dopey smile, and if I weren't so confused with my emotions, I'd have jumped into a cab and gone home with him without a second thought. "I'm Will," he introduced himself, shaking my hand.

"Y/N," I blushed when he kissed my knuckles, wondering where the hell Andy had run off to. "Where are you from?" I attempted to avert the conversation, regaining ownership of my hand.

"Colorado," he smiled, signalling to the bartender that he wanted to order another round. "And you're a singer?"

"Uh... well I sing, yes," I giggled, the three prior glasses of bubbles gone to my head. "I wouldn't label myself a singer as such."

"Well aren't you just the cutest thing," he grinned, slipping his hand onto my thigh.

"I uh," I stammered, struggling to find the words. "That's very kind," my eyes searched the room for Andy. He towered over mostly everybody wherever we were, standing out like a sore thumb. But for some reason, he was nowhere to be found right when I needed him.

"I'm only in town for the night," he leaned in close to me, his breath hot in my ear, and his hand only getting warmer on my thigh. "Once you're done your little performance, why don't you come back to my hotel and give me an encore?"

Like the Gods had intervened, a familiar calloused hand was grabbing my arm. "C'mon, we gotta go backstage." I looked up to Andy, his expression rigid, bordering on disgust and anger.

"Oh, okay," I nodded, hopping up from my stool, Will's hand quickly retracted. "Uh, see you," I smiled awkwardly, Andrew's grip still around my arm.

"Here's your drink," he let me go, handing my glass to me.

"You saved me, Andy," I laughed, glancing back at the man who'd already moved onto his next victim. "Total wanker."

"Mhm," he hummed, not even looking at me as we made our way backstage.

"Everything alright?" I prodded, his expression unchanging. He didn't reply, instead opened the door to the green room for me. We weren't at our usual bar tonight. We'd been invited to perform at a decently size theatre that just so happened to be full of producers, offering free drinks for the performers. Maybe not the best combination.

The green room was alive with seven or so other musicians, all mingling amongst each other as they awaited their turns. There was a table lined with finger food, and a minibar with premixed drinks. Andrew had made a beeline straight for the snacks table. Typical.

"Um, hello?" I whisper shouted to him, trailing behind him like a lost puppy. "Is there a reason you're ignoring me? Is it because of that bloke? Because I-"

"Yes," was all he replied, taking his food to one of the couches with him.

"Okay," I was surprised with how forward he was, sitting down beside him, honestly perplexed by his rigidity. "...Why?"

"I didn't like the way he was talking to you," he shrugged, still avoiding my eye contact. "He was disrespectful."

"So... why are you icing me out, exactly?"

"I will say the wrong things, better to say nothin'."

This was unlike any way I'd seen him act before. Cold, annoyed... jealous? Surely not.

"Well, I'm sorry I- or he made you feel this way."

"Andrew Hozier-Byrne? You're on in two minutes," one of the stage hands announced, nursing his clipboard on his hip like a baby. "And we're still going ahead with the song change?"

Andy nodded, having a quick drink of water and tossing his rubbish away.

"Song change?" I questioned, following behind him. I made sure to watch every performance of his, even if it meant being amongst the audience when I wasn't also performing.

"Oh, yeah. When I went to get you a drink, I quickly changed my song. No biggie," he shrugged, tying his hair back into a bun, slipping his cap over the top. Jesus Christ, he looked fucking edible.

"What's the song?" I pressed further, still adamant despite the backstage timer ticking '30 seconds.'

"Haven't named it," he shrugged his guitar strap over his shoulders, giving me a wry smile. "It's about you, though."

I blushed deep, unable to form words. There was no space for talking anyway; he headed out onto the stage, leaving me dumbfounded as I watched on.

He awkwardly introduced himself, as he did each night.

And then followed my undoing.

I'd be the voice who urged Orpheus when her body was found.

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice.

Imagine being loved by me.

Suddenly, there was not nearly enough air behind this curtain as I watched on, awestruck.

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do.

So I try to talk refined in fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you.

I'd be the last shred of truth lost in the myth of true love.

I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of.

That's found in the last witness before the wave hits, marvelling at God.

Before he feels alone one time and marries the sea.

Imagine being loved by me.

Fuck.

My knees felt weak, sure my ears were deceiving me. Imagine being loved by me. Oh, but I do.

Sure enough, producers from many labels were flagging him down from the minute his set finished, flooding the backstage where I was waiting for him.

I ended up having to go on straight after Andrew, thankfully. I couldn't think of any words to say, and the ones I could think of were highly inappropriate. Not that he would mind, clearly.

I hung around after my set, making eye contact with Andy here and there, waving him off when he looked like he might leave the conversations for me. I was happy for him. Ecstatic. And the craving for his touch only multiplied tenfold with his subtle admission that he felt the same.

tricked ya!! i am physically incapable of writing slow burn lol i hope u enjoy what i have for u in the next chapter xx it'll be very juicy (and hopefully longer)

i've also added a taglist as per a request, lmk if you wanna be added xo

hey besties I think I blacked out while writing this so uhhhhhh sorry for how feral this ended up being ahahaha fuck

hozier x reader explicit (18+, MDNI) tags: friends-to-lovers, piv sex, oral sex, mild voyeurism? mentions of alcohol use

Andrew is a kind soul who takes pity on you when you call him to complain about your flat being fumigated. The entire building is being displaced for a beetle infestation that is apparently destroying the structural integrity of nearly every block.

"Do you want to stay with me?" he asks after you whine about having to stay with your parents for a few days. The question catches you off guard, but you're quick to accept with profuse thanks. You love your parents, but Christ, they're a lot. After nearly ten years of friendship, Andrew is well aware of your family's particular flavor of dysfunction.

You show up to his place by nightfall after watching the circus tent engulf your home. He answers the door with a glass of red wine in his hand, handing it out to you as you cross the threshold. You accept it with a weary smile, saying, "God fucking bless you," before taking a few tentative sips.

He places a fresh towel on the bed and leaves you to settle in the guest bedroom, but you're soon shuffling out to look for him with your nearly empty wine glass clutched in your hand. You find him in the kitchen where he tops off your glass before shepherding you towards the sitting room.

Existing around each other is always easy. You read a book while he plucks out random tunes on his acoustic guitar on the other side of the room. The silence between you is comfortable, and you catch yourself glancing up at him every now and then just to watch his fingers move or the odd faces he makes when he accidentally plays a discordant note. When he catches your gaze, his smile sends your stomach rolling in delight.

It's been a long few years of shoving those feelings away, locking them in a box with all the other inappropriate thoughts that have reared their ugly heads. Andrew is none the wiser, and you think you've kept a pretty good lid on things overall...with the possible exception of now, as your second finished glass of red wine has you squirming and surreptitiously squeezing your thighs together.

“I’m going to have a shower,” you say, setting your glass down on the coffee table before standing up and quickly leaving the room, unaware of Andrew’s confused expression as he watches you disappear around a corner. The guest bedroom has its own private bathroom—a luxury that works well for your current circumstance as you shut the bedroom door behind you and quickly peel off every article of clothing on your person. Wine has always hit you a little differently than other drinks, and you can feel the arousal that burns hot along your skin and down to your very core.

You lie back on the bed and bring a hand down to touch yourself, hissing as your fingers work your clit. This is meant to be a rough, quick orgasm to take your mind off of…well, everything, you suppose. Ultimately, you know you should wait until you and Andrew say your good nights, but this feels like a dire emergency that needs to be extinguished as soon as possible.

The thing about Andrew is he’s always been quiet, and it certainly doesn’t help that the flooring muffles his approaching footsteps. You barely hear the short knock and the jiggle of the handle before he’s opening the door, in the midst of a question when he stops and stares. “I didn’t hear the shower,” he splutters. “Wanted to make sure you were okay, and it, uh, seems like you are. So.” Except, he doesn’t move. He stays frozen in the doorway, staring as you quickly pull the towel over yourself, face burning.

Then, he says, “I’m going to ask you a question, and if you say no…well, we can pretend it’s just the wine talking.” When you nod, he continues, “Do you…want help?” It’s as though whatever deity up above is smiling down on you at this moment, and you’re overcome with a giddy embarrassment as you stutter out an enthusiastic yes, please, yes.

You squeak when he pulls you further down on the mattress before kneeling in front of you, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs before finally putting his mouth on you. You gasp, twitch, and grab at the sheets as he licks and gently sucks on your clit, already sensitive from your earlier touching. It’s easy to accommodate three of his fingers inside of you as your arousal drips down your thighs, and soon you’re gripping the sheets in your clenched fists as you come with a cry. A stray tear slips down your cheeks as he continues, letting you ride through the pleasure of it until you’re an overstimulated puddle.

“Well,” you huff when he finally pulls away and lets you rest for a moment, “That’s certainly not the type of service I’d receive at a hotel.” Andrew hums amusedly before kissing your thigh again and standing. You can see the bulge in his trousers, and despite your recent climax, you can feel the warm coil of desire still within you. You prop yourself up on your elbows and ask, “Do you want to…?”

Seeing him in any state of undress is fascinating, and you wish you could take mental snapshots of this moment as he pull his t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. When he rids himself of his trousers and pants, your mouth drops open, and you look up at him with a meek smile and squeak out, “Please be gentle,” as if he’d ever be anything but gentle with you.

He kisses you like you are the only source of oxygen in the room—like he might die if he doesn’t have his lips or teeth grazing somewhere on your body. He lets his head fall into the crook of your neck as he presses into you. It’s an uncomfortable stretch that forces you to inhale sharply and cling to him, nails scratching lightly against his back. But it’s also good—so, so good—and soon you’re urging him to move.

It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s more concerned with your pleasure than his own. He’s just that kind of guy, always checking in with soft, whispered questions in your ear. It isn’t until you wrap your legs around his waist that he gets the idea, and soon he’s fucking you relentlessly while pinning you to the mattress. Those soft whispers turn into harsh expletives, and you’re letting out hiccupped sounds of pleasure as you reach between your bodies to touch yourself once more.

“Fuck, baby, please.” There’s something about the way he hisses it, the pet name sounding desperate and nearly broken. It’s enough to send you over the edge again, and you gasp his name before biting down on your lip and squeezing your eyes shut as each wave of your second climax rolls through you. It takes only one, two, three more thrusts before he’s coming with a groan and your name on his lips.

Later, when you’re panting and sweating next to each other in bed, you turn your head to look at him with a tired, goofy smile. “It’s probably time for a real shower, yeah?” You can see the conflict on his face—the desire to keep you there and hold you versus the desire to follow you into the bathroom. Finally, he chooses the latter after you promise that you wouldn’t get dressed afterwards.