prompt : "Tell me your fantasy, I'll tell you mine."
words : 5k
warnings : 'and they were roommates' + fwb trope, morning smut: fingering, light bondage, intercourse, cum play
b's note : this is a repost, not a new fic, but i moved it here so it will be part of the whole series. thank you for your support, I hope you enjoy what's coming up next!
~ ⛳️ ~
It was the taste that woke you up. Salty. Sharp. Nearly metallic. A combination of sour and force of habit.
"Hey, you okay?" a sugary voice mutters in your ear. A kiss follows.
"Yeah," you whisper back, not wanting to awaken Tom any further.
It's early, you can tell that much from the still orange beam of sunlight that filters through his window. The lack of blinds has always triggered you since the first night you slept over, but it's still his room. Just because you rent a third of his flat, it doesn't mean you're in a position to make that kind of demand yet.
"Was it a bad dream?" he asks, face buried in the nape of your neck.
"No," you gulp, "not really." You don't want to reveal too much about it because it was... a good dream. Hot, too. About Tom. And although you've been hooking up for a few months now, you don't want him to give your mind that much credit. After all, you're used to these dreams about your hot, pretty roommate, the one who's charmed you with his boyish smile since day five or six, even though by day twenty you realized he liked to leave a trace of used socks wherever he went. You call them sock graveyards, and every time you bring it up, he has the gall to laugh at your annoyed self.
"You were saying my name..."
"I was?" you try to play the fool, settling fully on your side so your back is turned to him.
"Yeah, you were," he continues to whisper, alternating words with his trademark little kisses around your ear. He knows you're particularly sensitive there, has known since the very first day when he tried to lick you there and you almost passed out from the persistence of his tongue.
"And I think you were moaning," he insists. You can feel a smirk growing on his face, but he's quick to hide it under another kiss. This time in the small grove on your temple.
"I just don't know if it was scary moaning, or, y'know," he huffs in a silent laugh. Then he presses his front to your whole backside and mumbles, "the other kind."
You shudder in the silence that follows.
"Why don't you tell me, baby?"
Baby. That word means nothing to him, but it can make your knees buck weakly even when you're lying down like this.
"Do you really want to know?" You decide to play his game and press your bottom into him. It seems to hit more bone than flesh, but in the same second, you both shift to opposite sides like balanced plates of the same scale and what you feel next is just as hard as his hipbone. But it's his cock instead.
"I really, really want to know," Tom whispers with a smile obvious on his lips. The air coming out of his nose is almost too hot, leaving you shaking and wanting more. He presses against you and ruts his middle into yours, making you yearn for the naked heat of his skin.
"So why don't you tell me?"
He pauses to breathe over your ear again and you can't help the moan that escapes your throat. It's tiny and repressed, trapped on the inside of your teeth as you clench them together. But you know he caught up to it.
"You know I won't tell anyone, love. Hm?"
Tom always catches up to every little sound that you make. It's like he has superpowers. Super-hearing. Any sort of enhanced skill to always know when you're too weak and about to give in to him.
"I'd love to tell you, but you know everything comes at a price," you offer. Just because you're willing to cave, he can't just take it from you without pay.
"Alright," he agrees, and you feel him move behind you. "What do you want?"
His front is still pressed to you, one arm wrapping around you to rest his palm on your stomach. Tom uses his other arm to prop his head on his hand, elbow on the pillow. Your shoulder dips further into the mattress from how close the two of you are, but you don't move away. You let it happen. You let him have this closeness because it warms you up from the inside out in the very same way.
"Want you to make it happen."
"You got yourself a deal." Tom grins immediately. He's never been one to say no to any kind of sexual innuendo. It's part of the appeal of this benefits arrangement you've been having with him since last summer. The other part is—
Something you don't dare to think about.
You gulp it down and seal this morning's deal with a sloppy kiss on his lips, which Tom prolongs until you have to bite down another moan. He's good. Good at making you forget your troubles, at helping you exorcise any demons. Even at helping you get over a bad day, and you know you can do the same for him. He's told you so already. Several times. Over tea, brunch, and countless orgasms.
Everything is exciting with Tom. He makes it exciting. He has the beauty, the grace, the body and muscles and the long, skilled fingers. He has the flattering words and the courteous tone.
"And you know what," he adds, pulling you out of your thoughts. The palm on your stomach has sneaked under your sleeping shirt, and you find its warmth both amusing and enticing.
"What?"
"After you tell me this fantasy of yours—"
"It's not a fantasy—"
"Of course not, darling," he teases with his mischievous grin. You have to look away before it kills you, before it makes you act without thinking.
"What is it, Tom?" You roll your eyes, draping your hand on top of his, over your shirt, guiding him further up until he finds the valley between your breasts.
"You tell me your fantasy," he whispers again. This time you don't deny it because his face is pressed against the side of your head, his breath hitting every spot just right, "and maybe I'll tell you mine, too."
Your interest is piqued. Not only Tom has a way with the words, he also knows just what tone to use. That was how he won you over in the first place. At the first try. After weeks and weeks and what felt like years of pining, longing silently through the corners of your shared flat. In the end, on a Saturday morning, it took only one broken mug for your mouths to clash. The many porcelain pieces forgotten until later in the evening when your mutual unknowing roommate came back home and found them on the kitchen floor. Before he found your and Tom's bare arses on the couch. No blankets required. Only limbs and eager lips.
Tom doesn't need any words now. He only listens. He hums and asks you questions when you hesitate or leave out any detail he's curious about, but for the most part he lets you speak. And boy, do you have a lot of things to tell him.
As you do, voice still filled with sleep, his hands explore your chest and tummy until they slide between your legs. Two lazy fingers tease your pussy over the fabric of your panties. It's you who pulls them to the side so he can have full access, and it's your leg that curls behind you in an impossible angle. It falls over his thighs, leaving yours spread wide, muscles whining from the effort, as your mouth releases sigh after sigh at the soothing caresses of his digits.
He spreads your folds and circles your entrance, poking a fingertip inside just to tease. To heighten the fire within you. Perhaps to ignite your words as you speak louder and clearer, before you become weak and stuttery as his hands explore you whole. He has one arm under you, fingers toying with a nipple, and the other running up and down your groin, making you whine, wanting him close again. It's not until you're done talking that he gives you what you want.
He fingers you softly at first, just one finger, in and out and around your hole like liquid fire. Then a second one, pumping them slowly and accelerating until you roll forward and land on your stomach.
Just like you'd described to him.
"Time to make your fantasies come true, baby girl."
You want to tell yourself that it's his wrecked bedroom tone more than the words, but you lose that battle against yourself. It's definitely the words. That nickname in particular. You never knew you'd be so weak for it, but the moment it fell from his lips on the very first night, you were doomed. Now he uses it whenever you're at your weakest.
He knows. He knows you so well, just like you know him.
You know he likes when you lie there on your front, legs spread and bent at the knees, giving him access to your pulsing cunt. When you use your elbows on the mattress to bend your torso backwards so he can grab you by the underside of your chin and pull. And he pulls—
Oh, and he pulls, once and again, and holds you flush against his chest. His free hand sneaks underneath your shirt, crawling down your spine all the way to your heat. His every move intensifies what you feel, the hot, fierce blindness of your eyes as he fingers you from behind and molds your body at his will. He can do anything he wants of you, but he does it carefully, so, so gently that your whole body nearly comes alight.
"Shhhh, pretty girl, not yet," he soothes your eagerness with soft murmurs, leaning over you and pleasuring you between the legs with two— no— three fingers now. They dance along your folds, dip inside your hole and curl barely at the entrance, sinking deeper and deeper as your moans raise higher and higher.
"Tom, Tom," you call out at the crazy rhythm of your heartbeat inside your chest. "I can't—" you warn him, curling in on yourself when he finds and rubs the trigger spot inside you. "I'm gonna come—"
Your body almost breaks in two when he repositions you, moving your legs and hauling your hips up with a single tug of his hands. You gasp at what he wants to do because this is what you fantasized about. And as promised, he is making it happen. You're on your knees, only half naked in front of him, your arse tilted up so he can do as he pleases with your parts.
"Come for me then, baby girl," he incites, his greedy voice a sex toy on its own, "c'mon, gimme your best."
And then he touches you again, collecting your juices and dipping two fingers all at once into you. He pumps them slow and deep as his mouth drops delicious kisses up and down your spine. You can feel his whispers on your skin, edging you on, getting you closer and closer to your high. His hand speeds up, curls around your spot, rubs it incessantly until you mewl. And then the other hand, shoving your head down between your shoulders and snaking across your belly and hips, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles. Steady. Slowing down and going faster as he pleases.
Your head is spinning, throat thickening around a series of groans, of his name but also with praise for his fingers as they consume you. They know where to touch by now, how to render you speechless, how to melt your bones and muscles into nothing but a cluster of falling stars that blind your every sense.
Just like that, one, two, three strokes in the same direction, the two fingers staying inside you as far as they go until you hear his inciting moan. The dares that roll off his tongue in that way he has of tempting you into disgrace. But more than that, he gets your whole essence going. He breaks your boundaries. And he makes you come. Expertly. Blindly. Rapid fire coursing through your blood and lymph and cum as you shake and bend backwards to feel his heat.
"—beautiful, baby girl, you're fucking gorgeous when you come, look at you, look at that, fuck," his moans become clearer and clearer as he helps you come down from so high.
"This is not over yet," he growls in your ear when you're about to collapse on the bed.
You've nearly forgotten what he's trying to do, but he reminds you by climbing down the bed and strolling to his dresser. The fantasy you described hasn't ended yet. No, not yet. There's only been about half of it, and the second act that's about to start is making your skin crawl with anticipation.
So you take a moment to breathe, feeling the ghosts of his fingers still inside you. Raveling in the feeling of their elongated shape, the soft, savvy tips he knows just how to use in his favor.
Tom is practically strolling around his room, sensual as usual, the muscles rippling through his skin with every move. He teases you with his walk, with the haughtiness of his steps, the cheeky curve of his hand around the edges of his furniture. All the while you watch, dumbfounded, curious about when he's going to come back.
He ends up strolling all the way back, twirling a condom in one hand, a couple of neck ties in the other. Crimson like the dark lust boiling in your gut. All of this is part of your fantasy. Part of many dreams you've had about your cheeky roommate. In them, your wrists would be tied loosely to his bed posts as he fucked you from behind. Suavely. Tom-ly. With claws for hands that sink into your flesh and smooth it over right after.
All of him is strength and smoothness, the duality of a man.
Once you're tied in and in place, your bum still in the air as your knees sink into the bed, you watch over your shoulder. You study what he does even though you already know it by heart. Watchful as his hands roll the rubber down his cock, long and thick and curved in the right measure. He's gorgeous all over, down to the dark moles that punctuate his skin from the underside of his peck, to the bone that sticks out on his hip, and to the rift where his thigh meets his crotch. Beautiful. Beautiful and tasty, the crisp of the sweat that you've licked off of them floods your mouth as he finally climbs back onto the bed.
From that, it takes only a moment before the tip of his cock teases your pussy. He plays around, brazen as per usual, drawing lines from your hole to your clit and back, making you desirous, eager. Nearly mad.
When he sinks into you, it's old news. He feels the same every time. Hot, tense, comforting. Filling you up to the brim with every inch he moves. The stretch of his cock is real, better than any dream, any fantasy could ever portrait. Nothing can match the weight of his body as he fucks you, the smooth brush of his tip on your spot, the electrifying stroke of him that takes you up to the sky.
You fuck back into him, wanting him whole, feeling him deep. As far as he can go. And then he gets into rhythm, pounding you harder and faster, erratic as ever.
"This what you wanted, isn't it, baby? My cock so far up your cunt you can't even keep your eyes open."
"Look at me," he demands, but you struggle. Your eyes are too heavy from the brute force of his thrusts.
"I can't, ca—" you stutter, grabbing onto the bed the best you can. The metal frame is no longer cold, so it only adds to the stimulus of his body bent on breaking yours from pleasure.
He's hitting all the right spots in perfect angles, keeping the pressure short where you want him to go hard, outstretching it where it hurts the most deliciously. You're close again, the night sky filling in beneath your lids for a second round.
"Tom—"
You can't tell if you're begging for more or not, but he deciphers your needs in a way you never could. It's like magic, like he can instinctively tell where and when and how you need him the most to turn sparks into an inferno.
"Are you gonna come for me, baby girl?" he mumbles in your ear, collecting it savvily between his lips and his teeth. Rolling his tongue around the lobe until your whole back curves and bends and your shoulders hit his.
"That's right, you are," he spurs you on, heat in his voice, "my baby girl, so desperate, at my mercy. You wanna come so bad, don't you? Hm? Gonna make a mess of it?"
His hips change angles suddenly, making you cry out in ecstasy.
"Found it," he whispers straight into your ear. Your whole body contorts at the lewdness of his rustle. His hands sway across your back leaving rivers of desire in their wake. One goes up to your neck, encircling it gently until he grasps around your chin. The other goes down to your front, sneaking between your legs to find your panging clit.
"I know what you like, y/n," he reminds you, dropping a hot kiss on the side of your neck. "I know just how to twist your clit. How to twirl it and pinch it—"
You gasp.
"How to rub it just when my cock hits that spot—"
You cry out louder, curling back into him.
"Thaaaat's the one. Come on, baby girl, let it go. Let it all go. Come all over my cock, gimme those heaven moans of yours—"
And you do, within seconds. You come and implode and whine his name in a string of broken words. The combination of his thrusts, his touch and his hot kisses swirls up your gut like dragon breath. You black out for a second from the overstimulation of his fingers on your swollen clit, as his hips pace out to ride out your orgasm.
When you fall, it's backwards, into him. You want his heat and his passion, want to burn yourself on the sweat that glides down his skin.
Suddenly, he's no longer there and you collapse onto your hands. You do the best to keep your body upright, your head up, turning it over your shoulder to watch him now.
This is— all of this is part of your dream. The one you shared with him minutes before. You've never seen him come like this, so you've asked him to show it to you. The fantasy is to watch him fall apart until his seed covers you whole.
"Look at me, uh," he pleads within a moan. His eyes are slits, barely open, hanging heavy on his face, eyelashes fluttering against his skin. The sweat and heat spreads beautifully across his naked chest, his defined muscles glistening under the yellow sunlight. And his belly—
His abs are freaking perfect. You can see their carved shape even with your eyes closed, but this is no time to surrender to that. Right now you get to watch him as he jacks his own cock, condom discarded somewhere before he grabs your chin and squeezes.
"You wanted to watch me cum—" He breathes in audibly, all shudders and fervor.
You're absolutely speechless. He's a magnificent gift in your life, one you now get to watch give in to pleasure and bliss. Gorgeous, arousing, tantalizing in a way that shouldn't make your pussy clench around nothing but it does. You've just come for the second time in a row, and right now you wish he was inside you again, ravishing you. Claiming you. Calling you his baby girl. Telling you mouthful after mouthful of hot commentary about your steady gaze and your gaping mouth.
"No, don't close your mouth, fuck, no, look— look at me," he pleads, suplicant, eyes watering.
The hand he's been keeping around your chin moves to your shoulder when his body curls inward, hips snapping back for a second before they dip back forward thrusting his cock into his fist.
His whole stance changes now. The avid words turn into little whines, and his eyes widen and fill with lust when you reach out for his bicep, squeezing and pulling him closer to you.
"Hey, hey," he calls out. You know he's about to burst.
For a second, you study his expression. The tight lines of losing himself on his forehead. The angle of his eyebrows, his left one looking more untidy than ever. The soft flutter of his lashes, looking gorgeous on his cheeks.
"Tom—" you call for his attention, and before you know it, he shouts and whips forward. Head tilted back, shoulders tipped to you, his hand clawed around your flesh as his cum flies everywhere.
"Fuck, fuck," he curses over and over again, his hand slowing down at last.
When he falls, it's with his chest on the small of your back, shaking and shivering against you. His nose presses onto a curve of your spine, his breath hot on your skin despite your shirt.
Tom lets go of your shoulder and wipes at his face a little, blinking in a way you can tell he's trying to get his eyes to focus. Then he kisses your back and turns his head to the side, laying his cheek on top of you with a sigh.
"You okay?" you ask.
"So more than okay," he chuckles, placing another kiss on your back before he straightens back up to undo the ties from around your wrists.
He chuckles again when he sees you. You frown at him. "What?"
"You look totally messy. Look at this," he says, bringing one hand up and stroking across your cheekbone. "That's mine."
"Wait."
Tom's eyes focus on you sharply when you grab his wrist. The ties fall down to the mattress in slow motion as you bring his fingers to your mouth, wiping them clean with a lazy stroke of your tongue. It tastes nothing like in your dream. It's sweet. Like him.
"That's fucking hot."
"So are you." You grin at him and try your best to bend over to kiss him on the lips. It's not long because the position doesn't allow it, but you don't want to lie down yet given the white stains all over your back.
"Are you gonna clean it up or should I?" you offer.
"I got this," Tom dares, holding your hips in place with both hands. He starts by rolling your sleep shirt up until it's pooled under your arms, then he dives in. The wet licks of his tongue all over your body make you shiver and sigh, relishing in this post-bliss with him. It's always so damn nice. Tom's good in bed, but he's just as amazing in the clean-up. And he's a cuddler, which is probably the best part.
After he's cleaned you up nicely with a heavy tongue and his liquid eyes on you, smirking all the way through, you grab him by a fistful of his hair and clash your mouths together. Fervently. There's hardly been any kissing tonight and he's way too skilled to be wasted away.
You only stop when he chuckles again.
"What's so funny about kissing me?"
"No, no, sorry," he excuses himself, pointing with a finger to somewhere behind you. "There's cum on the wall."
"Oh my g—" you laugh, turning around to see it for yourself. There isn't just cum on the wall. It's several stains in a haphazard circle, almost as if they'd been haloed around your head.
"Should've seen it coming," Tom mumbles in a joking tone, crawling down from the bed. You watch his muscles ripple through his skin again as he grabs the condom from his carpet and strolls out of the room.
You lie down on the bed, rearranging your underwear and sleep shirt so they settle in their righteous place. The images of what happened this morning fleet around in your mind, making you smile at how intense and incredible it's been. It's never less than amazing with Tom. He caters to you the same way he caters to his own pleasure, and you know that's not common.
When he finally returns, you're lazily sprawled on top of the sheets watching the sunlight through his blind-less window. You can see he's carrying a wet cloth which he uses to clean up the wall. Then he offers you his free hand and says, "Shower?"
"Gladly."
After the shower — and after another orgasm because Tom makes showering fun by rubbing soap along your back the same way he milks his cock, with little sighs and high praises — you're about to put on a clean pair of undies when you remember what he'd said earlier.
"So, Tom?"
"Yeah?" He looks up as the elastic band of his briefs snaps around his hips.
"Isn't there something you still have to share with me?" You slur your words because you know it turns him on. The confirmation comes when he smirks at you and grabs you by the hips, pulling you close until your naked chests meet.
"There is, yeah," he says mysteriously, wrapping up with a soft hum and a kiss on your lips. "But mine is a bit more..."
"Complicated?"
"Fancy," he corrects you.
"Oh?"
"I'd even venture to say it's more risqué," Tom says in a weird French accent. Then he wiggles his eyebrows at you, but you're too puzzled and curious to laugh about it.
"I'm listening," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.
The fact that you're still doing this in the bathroom doesn't worry you in the slightest. Your other roommate has been out of town the whole week, so he isn't going to come back any soon. Both him and Tom lead crazy, busy lives, but you're not one to complain because you get time to yourself, time with each of them, and sometimes the three of you get to hang out together, too.
"Well, it's something I've always, always wanted to do, but it never really happened."
"How come?"
"Because every time I suggested it, I got shot down," he admits, looking down briefly. You notice his hands coming from around your waist to the underside of your breasts, his thumbs flicking your nipples one after the other.
"It can't be that bad," you suggest while your fingers run through his hair. It usually soothes him, and today it's no different. You can tell by the way his eyes flicker shut and he collects your lips into another small kiss.
"Well, I kind of always wanted to have sex at the, umm," he hesitates, smiling to himself. "Well, at the golf course."
You tilt your head at him. "Why am I not surprised?"
"I don't know, I just— always thought it'd be sexy as fuck. Me and a girl, hiding somewhere, having to keep quiet and make it quick. It exhilarates me," Tom admits, a bit of a red flush crawling from his cheeks all the way to his ears.
With a flick of one of his ears, you don't warm up to the idea right away. Tom has invited you several times to play with him whenever his father or his brothers couldn't go with him, and you've always told him no. The sport never appealed to you. And Tom always went way too early in the morning. Some things are not worth... that.
"It could be, it could be," you indulge him, pecking his nose. "But first you'd have to catch me at a golf course, I'm afraid."
"C'monnnn," he teases, grinning you that sleazy grin à la Tom Holland. "You wouldn't come with me?" You shake your head mostly to provoke him. "Not even with a promise of sex? And I mean, like, really awesome, amazing, out of this world sex?!"
You laugh only, letting him twirl you on your feet and pull you onto his chest all over again. With his mouth teasing yours, Tom adds, "I'll make it exceptionally good, baby girl."
It takes a whole lot of you not to buck down at the nickname. He knows you so damn well. It's practically scary. But before he notices any of this, you squeeze your knees together so they'll stop shaking and invite him into an unforgettable kiss. Tom groans into it with passion, hands slithering over your chest, around your waist and down to your hips and bum, rubbing your cheeks up and down as he pleases.
However, an idea hits you. You could use this for your advantage. And it could be exceptionally good. For the both of you. There isn't much you know about golf courses, but there's a potential for deep research given the unending source of porn clichés online. So maybe— Maybe this isn't such a bad idea. You can already see it in your head. Tom doesn't wear the loosest clothes whenever he's out golfing, they're usually almost see-through from either his packed muscles or the thinness of the fabric. He always looks exquisite although you never thought you'd be attracted to any kind of cocky, golf-playing chums.
So instead of denying Tom his fantasy right off the bat, you say, "You know what?"
"Hm?" he asks when you peck his cheek and his mouth again.
"If that's what you want, it's only fair that I help you make your fantasy come true," you tell him. It's true. He's helped you with yours, so why not? "But we're gonna play this by my rules."
Tom blinks at you, hands tight around your waist as though he can tell you're about to leave.
"Wait," he says, his grasp slipping away when you twirl and step towards the door. "What is that look? Y/n? What are you plotting? C'mere, young lady, tell me what's on your mind."
You can hear his steps behind you, so you reach for the door frame and turn your head over your shoulder, tipping it to the side in a cheeky tilt. One you know he can recognize.
Tom gulps visibly, stopping in his tracks.
"See you at the golf course, mate."
And then you turn away.
"When?!"
~ ⛳️ ~
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