All of this is awesome. This is a major pet peeve of mine because PTSD/Acute Stress are usually mishandled. The best way to keep your victim from becoming a crybaby is to have them try to cope. Depending on what they went through, they could be “hyperaroused” (which sounds dirty but means they’re really jumpy). They could space out (flashbacks, rumination) or get angry about small things and not know why. Imagine someone really really on edge.
You kicked the duvet off yourself and pushed your hair away from your forehead, catching the mirror of the moon on the line of your wrist. It began with a little thought at 11PM – just a salacious bedtime story for you to fall asleep. You expected it to remain as such, until the thought swelled into something a lot more, swelled directly into the pit of your stomach, and between your thighs. It would’ve been an easy job done, any other day. It would’ve only taken you to shuffle off your pyjama bottoms and spread yourself across the mattress, but there was a problem. There was Michael.
Michael slept in the room beside you, probably fast asleep as the night shied into 3AM. You were caught up watching a film, and before you knew, it was too late for him to head home. The walls were paper thin, which meant he would probably hear every sound you make if you were to try and relieve yourself. Your stomach tightened its knot once you let the whisper of his image into your mind. He would be shirtless, as he slept – entwined in your bed sheets, bed sheets that you have slept in before. You hoped he knew – you hoped your scent was still on the pillow, and touched his naked chest and kissed his sleeping face. You knew yourself he wouldn’t think so profoundly about every little thing about you as you did him. He was the goddamn reason you couldn’t sleep – the secret you kept to yourself as you dreamed of him pressing his lips down in places he’d never seen of yours.
Staring up at the ceiling, you bite your lip, playing with the waistband of your pyjamas and snapping it against your hipbone. It was one swift movement, when you pulled them off your ankles and opened your legs up, leaving your cheeks flushed, your thighs smeared with your own wetness, and the air from the window cracked ajar erupting hairs across your lower half. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t – it was too risky, having him less than five large strides away from your room. It was funny how you persisted to tell yourself not to, while your fingers teased down past your navel and between your thighs.
When your middle finger met your clit, your teeth met your bottom lip. It was already wet, from dragging up from your slit, and you sighed, reaching your arm beneath your pillow as you stretched into your own touch. Michael swept into your mind behind your closed eyes, how the softness of his voice could be lulling you into a state of daze. You released the tension you held over your clit and flicked the pad of your finger over the small bud, your riposte a buck of the hips and a strung out whine. Pushing your face into the pillow, you slid your finger across your slit, biting your lip and shutting your eyes as you curled a digit into yourself. Holding your breath, you thrust your finger in and out slowly, then picked up pace once you were wet enough to let you put another in if you wanted. A deep pump choked a thick moan out of you, and having moved your head from the pillow, it fell into you room – open, lewd, and shameless.
You didn’t bother to hide yourself, and the dream of Michael consumed you hard enough for you to nearly pull the sheets off your bed in your delight. Moving your finger out from inside you, a dull sense of pleasure blossomed into your stomach, and your eyes half-lidded opened to meet your bedroom door – now swung open completely in contrast to the small crack you left before – with Michael, standing with a thumb hanging out of the pocket in his sweatpants and an expression you couldn’t quite read in the darkness. Your cheeks felt hot, and you froze, brain not working quick enough to pull the duvet over your naked legs.
“Michael, what the fuck?” you finally said after a while, and he shook his head, reaching over and turning on the light. It sent your eyes out of focus, but you ripped the duvet of yourself and held it there. An eyebrow raised, an amused grin spread his lips. You couldn’t look him in the eye. That couldn’t have just happened. Oh, my God. “Don’t you knock? The door was closed!”
“I heard you saying my name.” He offered a one armed shrug, leaning against your doorway and gracing his gaze on you, unmoving. You kept your head turned, mostly so he couldn’t see the sweat shining over your warm face. He stepped into your room, and closed the door. “Now, you’ve woken me up.”
You closed your eyes, inhaled, and placed your hand on the crown of your forehead, trying to calm your breathing as much as you could. His voice was so soft. It was sleepy and gentle, words slurring over each other and clashing, although his gaze was wide and awake. He ambled over, and sat on the bed, right beside your legs, which were luckily hidden beneath the quilt. You tried making yourself feel better of the situation at hand. Everyone masturbates. It’s normal. Michael probably got walked in on by someone, too. Just, unfortunately, not you.
“Go to bed, Michael.” You leaned over to pick up your pyjama bottoms from the side of the bed, right beside where the bed dipped in favour of Michael. He touched your waist, and you were close enough to him to hear him release a deep breath once his fingers met your spine. Your hand trembled when it fell on top of your missing clothes, and you turned your face; his breath met your cheek. “Michael…”
“Y/N.” He moved closer, managing to wrap his arm around you, now. His nose bumped your cheek, and you closed your eyes, smelling the sleep and shower gel clinging to his skin. Your hand faltered by your pyjama bottoms, and you rested it somewhere nearby – which happened to be Michael’s thigh. You nearly moved it away, but he kept it there with his own hand. “Come on. I heard you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You had your finger all pressed up in your–”
“Michael,” you stopped him, but didn’t shift from his grip. “You can’t – don’t tease me like this.”
An airy laugh left his mouth. “You’re getting wet again, aren’t you?” The hand he had atop yours released, and he found your bare leg beneath the covers. It travelled to spread your knees, and you shivered under his cold hands. “I want to touch you, Y/N. I wanna make you feel better than you thought I could.”
You pursed your lips as his hand slid up your calf and touched the soft skin on your thigh. “Please. If you aren’t going to finish me off, don’t make me want you to.”
He laughed gently, the sound rumbling from his throat into a quiet breath. “Who said I wasn’t going to?”
When you turned your head, you kissed. It was impulsive. It was hot. Your hand moved up his neck and into his hair, like you knew your way around him perfectly without a second thought. His thumbs pushed your face up so he wouldn’t spend a single second not kissing you, and your mind was consumed with him. You remembered earlier in the evening, when it begun to rain, and the windows were covered in teary drops, how you sat so close to him, with your fingers barely touching, and neither of you daring to look away from the screen and at each other. It was an immature game you played, where you couldn’t admit to something as simple as a little crush, and now you were in your bed, spread across the mattress with the same boy holding you. Pushing the duvet away from the two of you, he shifted between your legs, parting from your mouth to peer down at your bare hips on his clothed.
“Jesus,” he whispered, and lifted up the hem of your shirt so he could run his fingers over the soft flesh of your stomach. Shivering, you inhaled, the scent of yourselves mixed together flooding you. His fingers, as usual, were cold, and pressed carefully and unfamiliarly across your body. His eyes flicked up to meet yours – green and dancing, rejoicing at the sight of you. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to be this close to you? Hmm?”
He slid both hands to the back of your thighs, and gripped you close to him, his mouth finding the column of your throat and embellishing it with wet kisses that made your head twirl. You sighed, whether out of delight or pure relief of having Michael here, you weren’t sure, and said, “too long.”
His lips met the flesh between your jaw and your throat, and you took in a sharp breath, your hand travelling up the muscles across his back and playing with the shirt covering them. Cupping your hips, you felt him smile against your skin, and you couldn’t help yourself from smiling, too. This is Michael, you reminded yourself, stretching your arms out across the mattress and closing your eyes, feeling him move away from your neck before capturing your mouth for a kiss once again. This is all you’ve wanted, and more. You didn’t need to tell yourself – you knew. He knew. It wasn’t much of a secret to either of you.
Carefully, he sat up, and you followed suit, your legs split between his hips. You both went to reach for the hem of his shirt at the same time, and when your gazes met, you let out a soft laugh, kneeling to tug it off his head. The backs of your fingers swept against his chest, and he bit his lip, pulling you in enough for your hands to grip his shoulders to keep balance. You watched each other, and everything was registering in your brain slowly, savouring every glance, every moment, every brush of skin between you. Your palms moved over his milky white chest, and you leaned back a little, enough to see the shy blush rising in his cheeks.
“Your hands feel nice,” he said gently, setting his own over yours. You stopped, but he pushed them down, letting you familiarise yourself with him, letting you map over the cities in his skin, the countries on his collarbones, and the stars in his eyes. You could hear the wind spreading the curtains apart, and your reached around his waist, nearing yourself to him. His fingers found your hair. “You’re so pretty, you know? The prettiest. You’re the prettiest.”
Smiling, you pulled back, tracing your finger along the waistband of his sweatpants. “You’re such a charmer.”
“Only for you.”
Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t hide the heat spreading beneath your face. Lifting your shirt up, you threw it off the side of the bed, where it met Michael’s. Your breasts were bare, and met the cool air in your room between your chest and his. He kissed you one more time, laying you down with his fingers resting at the bottom of your back. Your legs wrapped around him, and he pecked across your collarbones, his lips hovering over your breast. His breath hardened your nipples, and you pushed his dark hair away from his forehead, regarding his eyes as you nodded at him, and he kissed over your chest gently. He made sure to be tentative, gouging your reaction with every move so he knew you were enjoying it. His lips were petal soft, and covered your nipples perfectly, slowly running down your stomach and onto your thighs. You pressed them together, not to block him, but to ease the tension between them. His palm slid beneath your hips, the other parting your legs between him. It was then you realised you were even wetter than ever.
He raised a smug eyebrow at you, and you flushed. “So wet already?” he said.
Biting your lip, you didn’t break his gaze. “I was touching myself before, remember?”
“And whom were you thinking about?”
Your eyes shifted along his face, and you smiled coyly, your fingers meeting his on your hipbone. He still had his right hand resting on your inner thigh, now lying on his stomach with his mouth achingly close to your centre. His tongue travelled along your centre, and you bit harder down on your lip, taking a fistful of the bed sheets in your hand. He took your clit in your mouth, playing with it and pulling back once again. You exhaled, tangling your hand in his hair to pull him closer to you, but he resisted, adamant at going at his own pace, to tease and fulfil every fibre in you aching for him. His tongue swirled over your sex, and you felt his spit run down between your thighs and he tasted you.
Every moment of pressure he placed on your clit, your legs tried relaxing and pressing together, but he kept them open, his thumbs drawing circles on your skin. A knot blossomed into your stomach and you moaned, gritting your teeth and lifting your hips off the bed, attempting to grind onto his mouth. It was a futile effort, and you both knew that. He had full control over you, and you absolutely loved it. Tugging back, he licked your clit gently, and when you glanced down, his eyes were locked on yours, daring you to do something. Daring you to cum before he lets you do so. You hold your breath, keeping yourself back until he tells you you’re allowed to cum. It was an unspoken rule, but his stance and approach already let you know he wanted your orgasm to belong to him.
“Fuck, oh, Michael–” You failed saying his name coherently, and your mouth stuttered. “Mikey.”
He groaned against you, and your stomach tightened, along with your grip on the duvet. “That’s it, baby. You like it when I do this, don’t you?” He leaned in again, striping a long lick before sucking hard on your clit. Your heart picked up, and you reached your arms up, pressing your palms onto your forehead. He gazed up at you, moving away from your core with a content sigh and the lick of lips. “Fucking hell, princess. You taste so good. And you’re shaking.” He cradled your thigh in one hand. “Yeah? You liked it that much?”
You nodded, lacing the sheets between your fingers. Frustration welled up between your legs at being unable to cum, but when Michael started to slip off his sweatpants, you perked up. Despite your weak legs, you sat up, draping yourself over his crotch and looking up at him. His eyes were half lidded, his cock hard against his wrist. Taking your hand, he ran it over his shaft, and his breath hitched. You shared one more adoring look before you took it on yourself, touching his member and running your finger over the tip. He was warm, and rather obviously grew harder just in your grip, as you pumped your hand up and down. His hips bucked up, and a rumble of a moan spilled out of his mouth. You smiled, leaning down and running your tongue across his member, your lips landing on the bottom of his shaft as you sucked it. He gasped, and his hand went to the back of your head.
“Y/N, oh,” he mumbled underneath his breath. “Oh, my fucking God.”
You continued what you did, then trailed your lips to his tip once again, taking him in whole until his cock hit the back of your throat. He hummed pleasantly, pushing your hair from your face so he could watch you. It was never a secret he found you beautiful, but it was also something he would never care to admit. Nothing to throw off the balance of your friendship, although it was blatant everything was fuelled by tamed lust and longing looks. You bobbed your head up and popped your lips off him, and he hissed, his nails leaving crescents in your shoulders. When he tensed up, all the way from his stomach to his cock, you pulled away, licking your lips and propping yourself up on your arms. He throbbed, red at the tip, and a vein protruding over the side.
Something passed between you, and he rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. “You want to do this?”
Your hand found his over your face, and you barely had to think twice. “Of course.”
It was a gentle exchange, and he lifted you up so you lay with your back pressed against your mattress, which was still warm from where Michael was before. Despite you being so unfamiliar with his body, and his with yours, when the space between your thighs filled up with him, it felt right. It felt like you knew what you were doing, and there was nothing new with what was happening. You both sighed once he entered you, and he kissed your neck ever so softly, adding to the swell in your heart. He began to thrust, and reached down to circle your clit with his middle finger. Back arching off the bed, you lost your hand in his hair, an overwhelming feeling of delight overtaking you.
“Mikey,” you whimpered in his ear, and he let out a long held groan, gripping your hips, and picking up his speed. A harsh burst of pleasure occurred in your lower stomach, and a sound rose out from your throat as his fingers linked with yours and pushed your hand beside your head. Your legs wrapped around his hips, willing him in deeper. “Y-you’re so thick, oh fuck.”
“Does it feel good?” he asked, not straying with his mouth too far from your skin. His kisses were light along your shoulder, then finally, on your mouth. “Because it feels so good for me.”
“Yes.” A surprising jolt shook your voice, and Michael slammed harder into you, his fingers tracing your ribcage. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He lifted your legs, grunting and pumping himself harder. You felt him hit your G-Spot and inclined off the bed, swearing until he stopped you with another thrust. You were a mess between the mattress and the duvet, half of the bed sheets drooping onto the floor beside your clothes, and nothing else flooding the room other than your shared moans. You held onto his shoulders, which flexed every time he moved deeper inside you.
“So deep,” you whispered. “I think I’m close.”
“Me too, baby.” He rubbed your clit faster. “With me, okay? Come on, sweetheart. You’ve got me so hard.”
He fucked you harder into the mattress, until a lurch of inexplicable euphoria threw you off, and you were meeting his chest with yours and whining for him to cum with you. He did, after a moment, and pulled out, lying beside you and moving his sweaty fringe from his forehead. You kept your eyes closed, unsure whether you would be able to meet his gaze without blushing. He turned around to face you, propping himself onto his elbow and coasted his lips across your cheek. He shifted so he could kiss your mouth, and without much more persuasion, you leaned in, and wrapped your arms around him.
“Stay here for the night,” you murmured.
Chuckling, he reciprocated. “I wasn’t planning on leaving, anyway.”