Fuck Me Up, Buttercup
The sun is peeking through shut curtains, and Miles’s head is pounding. His sheets are too warm, and his head is too cold, twisting around in wrinkled denim. He feels awful.
Miles remembers that… He met… Oh, God, there was a guy. Stupid handsome and charming. Miles had met his eyes, glanced down his body, and forgotten all inhibitions he had for the night.
And then… Oh, fuck. Miles is so stupid. So, so, so stupid. He opens his phone, and grimaces before he can even search around.
“No condom?” Miles had asked, stifling hot, hot pants warming his sweaty throat, lips half a breath from his pulse.
“Nah,” the man had whispered, sounding thrilled, and hot, and so close to the tender skin beneath Miles’s ear that he’d arched up into that wet mouth, a whine logged in his throat. “Recently tested, promise. Unless you-”
“No,” Miles had whimpered, breathy and needy, turning his head until he could speak against plush lips, “I want you. Please, quick.”
And the man had laughed, then kissed him silly as he pressed inside.
Miles can’t remember too much, not really. But he remembers whining, moaning, and clinging to the man, canting his hips up and trapping the man down while chanting “Too much, please, it’s too much, I can’t.” He remembers the man’s gruff laugh, the feeling of his teeth around his earlobe, the sting to ground him down, the soft murmurs of “Careful, sweetheart. Go on like that and I might lose myself.”
And it’s Miles’s fault, really. Miles who said okay, Miles who held him down, Miles who shuddered through orgasm after orgasm without letting the man out of arm’s reach. He remembers the feeling of his fingers curling through soft hair, remembers those dark eyes holding him captive, the brilliant smirk that crossed his face when Miles came back to himself, only to beg for more.
He’s not really nauseous, Miles thinks. Just dead certain he’s gotten creampied to the point of a stuffed stomach — his cervix hurts — and terrified his womb has taken the chance to heart.
Sebastian was the man’s name. Sebastian, he finds in his contact list. Punctuated with a winking emoticon, and a small heart, both written with special characters rather than emojis. He calls.
He’s not even sure what he’ll say, scurrying backwards on his bed to at least get his head upright before he starts speaking. One ring is all it takes, and then he hears an exhale through the line. Miles is frozen, out of words, with air rushing into the microphone.
Then, “Hi. That was fast,” comes the voice that’d taunted him through the night…
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