i keep my boyfriend's cock warm in my mouth while he games. three matches in he came down my throat with the controller still in his hand

Friday · October 2

i keep my boyfriend’s dick warm while he plays video games, and it’s the best part of my week.

drew games at night the way other people watch tv. comes home, eats dinner, drops onto the couch, puts on the headset, and disappears. i don’t know the names of half the games. i know the sounds. the gunfire, the menu music, the chirp when somebody joins his party, the difference between how he swears when he loses and how he swears when he wins.

most nights i read on the floor beside the couch. he plays until he’s tired enough to pass out there and i cover him with the blanket and go to bed.

that was our rhythm for months. then a tuesday happened.

11:14 p.m. i’m on the floor with a book open in my lap, wearing the oversized t-shirt and nothing else, and drew’s in boxers and a ratty tee with his controller in both hands. i can hear his party through one ear cup. “behind you.” a burst of gunfire. “no, i’m out. i’m dead.”

i haven’t read the same paragraph in ten minutes.

i’m looking at his hands. then his lap. then the strip of stomach where the shirt has ridden up, a little hair, a little pink where the waistband sits. i’ve had the thought before. tonight the thought stops being theoretical.

“hey.”

nothing.

“drew.”

he pauses the game and pulls one side of the headset off. “yeah?”

i put the book down. “can i ask you something weird?”

“sure.”

i almost lose my nerve anyway. “i want to keep you warm while you game.”

he waits, not confused exactly, just making sure he understands the sentence.

“what does that mean?”

so i tell him. plainly. on my knees, between his, his dick in my mouth the whole time, not moving, not doing anything, just there. he can play. he can ignore me. that’s the point.

his eyebrows climb. “and you want that?”

“a lot.”

he looks at me for a long second. then he spreads his knees.

he puts the headset back on. unpauses. i move between his knees.

at first almost nothing happens, which is exactly what i wanted. i tug his boxers down just enough and he’s half hard, soft and heavy and warm in my hand, and i take him into my mouth and hold him there. lips closed. tongue flat. i don’t suck, i don’t bob, i don’t perform. his thumbs keep moving on the controller, click click click, a match starting up, somebody yelling in his ear.

his body changes slowly, because i’m there. i feel him thicken against my tongue, a pulse, then a weight, then the slow press of him filling my mouth until my jaw has to open wider. he gets harder while his eyes stay on the screen. i could cry, it’s so good.

here’s the thing. all day i have to be useful in ways people can grade. answer the email right. say the right thing in the meeting. look interested on cue. be charming, be competent, be a person someone can point at and say yes, that one’s functioning.

here there’s nothing to grade. i don’t have to impress him. i don’t even have to be good at this. i just have to be warm.

my whole body goes loose. my own cock is hard against my thigh, leaking through nothing, and i leave it alone. that’s part of it too.

one match turns into two. i lose track of the minutes. drew swears the bad way. later, the good way. “let’s go.” i almost smile around him. my jaw starts to ache and i shift and keep a hand at the base, thumb rubbing a slow circle in the hair there.

his dick is rock hard now, throbbing on my tongue, a little salt starting to leak. i swirl once, just once, because i can’t help it, and his thigh jumps under my cheek. he smells like laundry soap and the faint sweat of a long day, and i breathe it in through my nose like it’s oxygen.

then the game goes quiet. the headset comes off. “hey.”

i open my eyes. he’s looking down at me, controller beside him.

“come here.”

i pull off, spit stringing between us, and he leans down and kisses me. not the forehead thing he does when i fall asleep on the couch. a real kiss, his hand cupping my jaw, tasting himself on me, and i kiss him back so fast i nearly clack our teeth. he laughs into my mouth. when we separate i’m shaking.

“put your game back on,” i tell him. “i’m not done.”

something softens in his face. he puts the headset back on and i go down again, easier this time, wetter, my mouth already shaped to him. the game resumes.

the second half is different because we both know what it is. not an accident. not a dare. chosen stillness. drew plays. i stay. sometimes his hand leaves the controller and rests in my hair, not steering, just checking i’m there, and i lean into it like a cat.

i start moving after a while. i can’t help it. tiny things, a slow slide of my lips down and back up while he’s mid-fight, a flick of tongue under the head when he’s dead and waiting to respawn. he sucks in air through his teeth and doesn’t say a word and his hips tilt up an inch. we’re both pretending it’s still accidental. his breathing gets heavy. he misses a shot, says “shit,” and i hum, and he says “shit” again, differently.

his squad notices before he does. i can see the party chat in the corner of the tv from where i’m kneeling.

three matches in, i feel it before he says anything. his thighs go tight on either side of my head. his dick swells in my mouth.

he pauses. pulls one ear off. “i’m close.”

i look up.

i stay.

he comes with one hand in my hair and the other still clenched around the controller, a low groan he tries to swallow, hot thick pulses on my tongue that i take all of, swallowing, slow, keeping my lips sealed until he’s done and shaking and oversensitive. i sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist. my cock is a leaking mess against my stomach.

he tosses the headset on the cushion and stares at me.

“you didn’t come.”

“i don’t need to.”

“lu.”

“i’m okay. really.” i’m smiling. “best night.”

“bed?”

“yeah.”

we go to mine. he gets under the blanket with me, and then, because he’s drew and he’s stubborn, he takes my dick in his hand and strokes me until i come in about a minute and a half, spilling all over his knuckles and my own stomach, sobbing his name into his chest. he holds me through it. i fall asleep with my ear on his heartbeat, before i can decide whether the kiss changed everything.

wednesday morning we have coffee on the couch. he keeps looking at me like there’s a question in the room.

“last night.”

“yeah?”

“why’d you like that so much?”

i stare into my mug. the answer is embarrassing because it has almost nothing to do with sex.

“because i didn’t have to perform. most of the day i feel like i’m watching myself do things and checking if i’m doing them right. last night i didn’t have to be good at anything. you weren’t even asking me to entertain you. i could just be there.”

“warm.”

i smile at the word. “yeah. the warm thing.”

“and you didn’t feel ignored?”

“that was the best part.”

he puts his mug down. “okay. i think i get it.” a pause. “do you want to do it again tonight?”

“yeah.”

“same thing?”

“same thing.”

it’s most nights now, a month on, and i wouldn’t trade it. he plays, i kneel, and the room goes warm and slow and stupid with how much i love it. one saturday he forgot the match for a whole minute and just looked down at me, thumb on my cheekbone, mouth a little open, and i’d never been wanted that quietly. one sunday i got my lips around him before he even sat down and he laughed and said, “okay, okay, let me at least get the headset on.”

but the night i keep replaying is the second one.

wednesday night i’m on the floor with my book, in the same t-shirt, nothing under it, already half hard from thinking about it all day. 11:14. drew puts on the headset. before the next match starts he looks down at me.

he doesn’t say anything. he just spreads his knees.

i close the book. the game starts. i settle in.

nothing is required of me except the thing i chose. i am still. i am useful. i am here. i am so warm.