throwaway because half the people in this story follow my main and one of them is definitely going to find this anyway. hi dylan. stop reading.
ok so. context. i’m 22, senior, i live in a four-bedroom rental on dorsey street in weller with three guys from my old dorm floor and a rotating cast of whoever didn’t go home that weekend. i’m the femme one. i’m the only femme one. everybody’s been fine about it since freshman year in the way where “fine” means nobody says anything weird and also nobody ever looks at me for more than a second.
except cole.
cole is 23, fifth year, construction management, spends every summer running a framing crew for his uncle in ardmore. six-two, shoulders like a door frame, hands that are just permanently a little scraped up. he doesn’t talk much. he watches football like it owes him money. he has been sitting on our sectional every saturday since august and i have been standing in his eyeline every saturday since august and he has been very, very carefully not doing anything about it.
i know he looks. i’ve caught him. he looks and then he looks at the tv like the tv did something.
so saturday was weller state at k-state, espn2, 2:30 kick. six guys in the living room. dylan had already gotten salsa on the lease (it was sitting on the coffee table, don’t ask why the lease was on the coffee table). three cans on the floor by the couch. a bowl of tostitos that had stopped being communal in the first quarter. cole in the middle of the sectional, forearms on his knees, not blinking.
me: cropped weller jersey (it’s number 88, it’s a tight end’s, it’s not his, i bought it at the bookstore), black pleated skirt, white socks over the knee. i did a little liner. like a normal amount. i redid it once. that’s normal.
we were down 17-10 at the half and everybody was in a mood.
i picked up the remote and muted it.
everyone turned around.
“halftime stress relief,” i said. “one appointment. volunteers can apply.”
dylan inhaled a chip. like actually. somebody had to hit him on the back.
cole did not laugh. that’s why i did it in the room and not in the kitchen. alone, cole can decide i’m kidding. he’d been deciding i was kidding for two months. in front of five witnesses he couldn’t.
“define appointment,” said jake from the recliner.
i didn’t look at jake. i looked at cole.
“he knows.”
cole looked at me for a long time. the socks. the skirt. the strip of stomach. back up to my face. my whole body was hot. i was holding the remote so hard the battery door popped off.
“you offering to everybody?” he said.
and like. it was not a question. it was the first time i’d ever heard him sound like he cared how something came out.
“no,” i said. “i’m offering to you. they’re here because you are clinically committed to pretending you don’t see me.”
nobody breathed.
cole stood up.
and then he just stood there. like three full seconds. hands at his sides. i watched him do math. i watched him look at the door and at dylan and at the tv where they were showing the k-state band and then back at me. his jaw did a thing.
this is the part i keep replaying. he could’ve laughed it off and everybody would have let him. i’d have died but they would have let him.
“say exactly what you’re offering,” he said.
i had a funny line ready. it died.
“i want to get on my knees for you,” i said. “right now. upstairs. i picked the outfit for you. i’m not doing a bit.”
a couple of the guys laughed. like nervous.
cole looked at them. that’s it. he just looked. they stopped.
“he’s not the joke,” he said.
and then to me: “upstairs.”
i walked up the stairs with his hand on the back of my neck and five grown men pretending with zero skill to watch a muted marching band.
my room is the small one at the top of the stairs. the door doesn’t close right unless you lift the handle. cole lifted the handle. locked it. then he turned around and didn’t do anything.
i waited. he waited longer.
that silence did more to me than the whole room downstairs. i could hear the tv come back on through the floor, the announcer, somebody yelling at a punt.
“i want to hear it without them,” he said.
“i said it.”
“say it where you can’t tell me later it was for the room.”
i stepped up to him. i have to tip my head back to look at him, i’m 5'7 on a good day.
“i want to suck your cock,” i said. “i’ve wanted to since september. i want you to stop being careful with me.”
he put his hand on my face. his thumb was rough. he was breathing through his nose like he’d run somewhere.
“i’ve never,” he said. “with a guy. i haven’t.”
“i know.”
“i don’t know what i’m doing.”
“you don’t have to. i do.”
he laughed. one breath, surprised out of him. then he kissed me against the door so hard the handle dropped and the latch clicked back open, and he reached behind me without looking and lifted it shut again. one hand behind my head so it wouldn’t hit the wood. the other one flat on my bare stomach under the jersey, big enough that his fingers were on my ribs and his thumb was on my hip bone.
“you wanted them to know,” he said into my mouth. “that you picked me.”
“yes.”
“good.”
that word. my knees just stopped being a thing i owned.
i got down. carpet, skirt pooled around my thighs. i undid his belt, which was a real leather belt with a real buckle because of course it was, and he watched my hands the whole time like he was trying to memorize them.
i pulled his jeans and boxers down together to the tops of his thighs and his cock swung up and hit me in the cheek.
ok. i need a second on this because i’d been thinking about it for two months and reality was worse (better). he was thick. like, thick enough that my first thought was a practical one about my jaw. uncut, heavy, the head already pushing half out of the foreskin and flushed dark and wet at the slit, and he was hard in a way that looked almost painful, like he’d been hard since i muted the tv. there was a vein up the left side i could see pulse. he smelled like soap and denim and a little like salt. his balls were drawn up tight.
“fuck,” i said, very eloquently.
“too much?” and he actually started to reach down like he was going to pull his jeans back up.
i grabbed his wrist and put his hand in my hair.
“shut up,” i said, and licked him from his balls to the tip.
the noise he made. i will be thinking about the noise he made on my deathbed.
i took the head in and worked my tongue under the foreskin and he said “oh my god” in a completely normal speaking voice, like he’d found out something on the news. his hand in my hair wasn’t pulling yet. just holding on. i went down further and it was a lot. my lips stretched tight around him and i could feel the ridge of him drag along my tongue and he just kept going, further than i expected, and when he bumped the back of my throat i gagged, loud, spit everywhere.
his hand went slack instantly. “remy—”
i pulled off, gasping, spit on my chin, and glared up at him.
“don’t you dare stop being mean to me.”
his eyes went dark. like a switch.
“then open,” he said.
i opened.
he pushed back in slow and this time he held my head there. not forever. just long enough. i breathed through my nose and my eyes watered and the stretch in my throat burned and then eased and then he pulled me back and let me breathe and pushed back in and i swear to god the rhythm of it made my cock so hard in my panties it hurt against the skirt.
“look at me.”
i looked up. liner already running.
“you want this?”
i hummed yes around him.
“words.”
i pulled off. “yes.”
“yes what.”
“yes, cole. use my mouth.”
and he did. hand locked in my hair, fucking my face in short hard strokes, the wet sounds loud enough i was genuinely scared they could hear it over espn downstairs. the muscles in his thighs were jumping under my hands. every time i took him all the way down he swore. every time i pulled off to breathe he pushed my hair out of my face with the hand that wasn’t holding it, which is like. a very confusing thing to do while choking someone on your dick. i loved it.
“good,” he kept saying. “good. fuck. good.”
then he pulled me off by the hair and just held me there looking at me.
“i’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”
“so come.”
“no.” he was breathing hard. “i want—” and then he stopped, and i watched him get embarrassed, and i watched him decide not to be. “can i fuck you.”
reader i have never moved faster. i said yes, i said top drawer, and he opened my nightstand and found the condoms and the lube and the little black plug i’d put in the drawer that morning because (i will not lie on the internet) i had absolutely planned for this.
he held it up.
“you planned this.”
“i hoped for it.”
“that’s planning.”
he pulled me up and turned me around and bent me over the bed with my knees on the edge and my skirt flipped up over my back and he just stood there for a second. i could feel him looking. at the white panties. at my cock pressing against the front of them, soaked through at the tip. i pushed them down myself and got them caught on one knee and had to kick them off and it was graceless and he laughed at me, softly, and put his hand flat on my lower back.
“stay like that.”
his fingers were huge. first one, with too much lube because he didn’t know how much to use, cold, dripping down the back of my balls. he went so slow. i could feel how careful he was being in how his whole arm was shaking.
“more,” i said.
two. that stretch. the burn and then the give. i pushed back on his hand like a slut and he said “jesus, remy” like he was offended on my behalf.
“cole. i’m ready. i’ve been ready since september.”
rip of the condom. a pause while he figured out which way it went. i heard him laugh at himself again under his breath. then the fat head of him pushing against my hole and not going in and not going in and me reaching back and grabbing his hip and pulling.
it went in.
oh my god. ok. i’ve had sex before. i have never been that full. the stretch went all the way up my spine. i made a noise into my comforter that was not a word and he stopped completely with maybe half of him in.
“you good?”
i reached back again and grabbed his hand and put it on the back of my neck. same place he’d held me on the stairs.
he got it. he pushed the rest of the way in holding me there.
i could feel his balls against mine. i could feel the zipper of his jeans, which were still around his thighs, pressing into the back of my legs. he was so deep i swear i felt him in my stomach. he stayed still and let me get used to it and i felt his cock twitch inside me and i clenched on him without meaning to and he groaned so loud that somebody downstairs turned the tv up. (thank you jake. i know that was you.)
then he started moving.
slow first. long pulls almost all the way out and then all the way back in. the bed creaked. the headboard knocked the wall once and he grabbed the frame with his other hand to stop it which meant he was holding my neck with one hand and the bed with the other and fucking me with just his hips and i just. completely lost it. i was saying things. “harder” and “please” and “right there” and once, humiliatingly, “daddy,” which i am choosing to believe he didn’t hear.
he heard. he went harder.
“whose idea,” he said, low, right against my ear. he’d bent all the way over me. the collar of his hoodie against my back (he was still wearing his whole hoodie, by the way. i was the only one with anything off).
“mine.”
“whose room.”
“mine.”
“whose are you right now.”
“yours. cole. yours.”
he made that sound again and his rhythm broke.
he pulled out. i actually whined. he flipped me over onto my back like i weighed nothing, pushed my knees up, and slid back in, and now i could see him. red all the way down his neck. hair stuck to his forehead. looking at my face like it was the only thing on earth. looking down at my cock bouncing on my stomach every time he thrust, leaking all over the hem of my jersey, and he wrapped his rough hand around it and i came almost immediately. like four strokes. all over my stomach and his knuckles and the 88. i clamped down on him so hard he swore.
“that’s it,” he said. “that’s it. good. fuck. remy—”
he went deep and stayed there.
“i’m—”
hips pinned to mine. his whole body going rigid. his forehead dropped to mine. i felt him pulse inside me, over and over, thick hard throbs i could feel even through the condom, his cock jerking so hard it pushed against something in me that made me see white again. he said my name into my mouth like three times. his hand on my neck. his breath stuttering. one last grind of his hips like he was trying to get deeper than deep.
then he just collapsed. full weight. i couldn’t breathe and i did not care.
after:
he got me water from the bathroom. i said i could get my own water. he said “i know” and handed it to me. he cleaned my stomach off with a wet washcloth and fixed my skirt and pulled my jersey back down and looked at the cum stain on the number for a second and said “that’s not coming out.”
it did not come out.
we went downstairs twenty minutes into the third quarter. nobody said anything for almost a full minute. cole’s hand was on my lower back. then dylan cleared his throat and said “so. uh. stress levels?”
cole looked at me.
“managed,” i said.
we lost 31-17. nobody cared.
when i went to get my jacket from next to his boots by the door, he held it open for me, and said “friday,” really quietly, and i said “is that an invitation,” and he said “it’s me asking.” so. yeah.
edit: friday was the tin cup. he bought me a coors banquet and stood next to me at the rail the whole night like a bodyguard. micah (football ops guy, knows everybody) looked at cole’s hand on my hip and then at me and raised his eyebrows so high i thought they’d leave his face. then he bought us the second round.
edit 2: the jersey is hanging on my closet door with the stain still on it. he tried to buy me a new one. i said no.
edit 3: DYLAN. i can see you liked this post. you are the only person in weller who still uses the default snoo. delete your account.
