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A Complete Evening

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You manage to get home around ten at night, arm slung around Boxcars larger frame as you support yourself in your inebriated state. You’ve been in a good mood all day; first because of Boxcars playful suggestion after breakfast, and the hilarious (in your mind) chain of events following your little stunt with the pancake. You’re actually retelling the story to Boxcars now as you watch him struggle to open the door, letting out an ungentlemanly laugh as you recall how you called the man ‘pancake patsy’.

Of course, he finds that very amusing, because you’re just that smooth, and he nearly falls through the door laughing, his outburst timed directly with the successful use of the key. You stumble in after him, shutting the door with your foot as an afterthought, following him through the hallway to your living room. He just flops right on the couch as his laughing fit dies down; you at least have the sense to take off your shoes first before joining him, lying down on top of his large frame and letting his breathing move you up and down.

You both enjoy a comfortable silence before he asks you what happened to the guy, which sparks another long monologuing story about your day. You don’t even have to embellish it to make it interesting, though you might have left out the parts about waiting around corners for just the right moment to walk in and take the spotlight. (You do that a lot, but you’re pretty sure no one’s figured it out yet.) By the time you’ve finished, you’re snug between Boxcars and the back of the couch, his arm around your waist and his face nuzzling yours. Its about this time that you realize he had stopped listening at some point, and he confirms your suspicions when his hand moves from your hip to your thigh.

“So I guess you have something else in mind other than listening to me talk.”

“Hm? I’m listening. Go on.”

“Sure, you say that, but your hand is telling me another story.”

“Well maybe my hand just gets bored easily. You know what they say about idle hands...”

“If you wanted to skip the small talk you could have said so before I wasted all that time talking to no one.”

“But I was listening!”

He laughs as he says it, and you can’t help but laugh with him, his cheer contagious. He leans over to kiss you, but you’re still ‘mad’ about him ignoring you, so you turn your head away, his lips finding your cheek instead of your mouth. You just ‘hmph’ at him when he slowly turns your head back to face his for another try. You’re a bit disappointed in yourself when you give up the act just as soon as his mouth is on yours, but you’re too sloshed to care. and it feels really nice. Nice to just calm down and let loose and drop the act for a while.

You just let your hands wander as Boxcars, per usual, takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing and rubbing without a hint of shame. You just let him go at it, too engrossed in playing tongue hockey, until he pinches you. You manage not to yelp, but you do end up pushing him off the couch in surprise, sitting up at glaring at him as he laughs from his spot on the floor. Eventually you stand, taking a moment to help Boxcars up after he kicks off his shoes, keeping his hand in yours as you stumble your way to the bedroom, listening to him chuckle all the way there.

He takes hold of your waist at the doorway, turning you around to get another kiss, your back flat against the wall. You’re in no rush, so you take a moment before pushing him back, kissing him while trying to reach the bed. You’ve both managed to lose your shirts when the back of his legs finally reaches the bed and he sits down, pulling you into his lap. His hands find their way to your ass again, and you pull back from kissing him to fix him with a look.

“Pinch me again and you’re going to be in trouble, mister.”

“Alright, alright, I hear ya.”

Boxcars is laughing again as he starts to kiss at your neck. He always was a happy drunk- horny too. Which is working out to your liking, at the moment. You grunt in warning as he starts to bite; you’ve told him you don’t like marks in places that can’t be hidden easily. Of course he just takes that as a sign to start biting and sucking at your collarbones, and you let yourself moan in appreciation, both for the feeling and the courtesy of easy-hidden marks. You’ve been letting yourself fondle his muscles as he lavishes his attention on you, squeezing and rubbing at his chest and arms.

By this time he’s carefully worked open your pants and is slipping his hands inside, one on your ass and one taking hold of your dick, giving it a few slow pulls until he hears you moan again. That seems to satisfy him, and you find yourself on your back in short order, Boxcars sitting back to divest you of your pants carefully, making a show of folding them just the way you like. You lean back and get comfortable, smirking and muttering about training him well before he leans back over you and cuts you off with another kiss.

You’re completely relaxed by the time he’s done ravaging your mouth, and you start rubbing your foot on the bulge in his pants when he sits back.

“Are you in the mood for anything in particular, D?”

You take a moment to think about it, hand lazily trailing downward to play with your neglected erection.

“How about you fuck me until I can’t walk straight. I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.”

You both share grins, yours more of a smirk, his large and lopsided. You scoot back and grab a pillow as he moves off to the side of the bed to remove his pants and retrieve the lube from the nightstand drawer. You’ve turned over and positioned the pillow under your head, letting Boxcars come to you. You feel the bed dip down as he crawls over to you position, and he slowly trails a hand down your back, wordlessly asking your permission to start. You just jut your hips up a bit higher, and you’re rewarded with an appreciative hum. Boxcars lays one hand on your hips to steady you both as he starts to work you open with his finger, the slick, tight feeling changing into the familiar comfortable burn as he speeds up.

You start rocking your hips slowly when he adds a second finger, but you know you’re not ready yet- you need at least three to fit him properly. You press against him, impatient, silently ordering him to hurry up. He complies glady, leaning down close to your ear to whisper “Such an impatient little slut you are” before pulling back to focus on getting you ready. He doesn’t take as long as he usually does to prep, your impatience urging him on, but he does take a moment to rub at your prostate before pulling out.

You stop Boxcars with a quick “wait” when you feel the tip of his cock press against you, and you take a moment to flip onto your back, getting comfortable before pulling him back in with your legs.

“We’re doing it like this.”

Boxcars doesn’t argue, just grinning as he moves his hips flush with yours, slowly pressing until he’s all the way in. He gives you a moment to breathe before he starts, his first few thrusts slow and long, each one getting progressively more aggressive as he gets into the rhythm. You just lie your head back and let yourself get lost in the feeling of the push-pull rocking you back and forth and the pain-pleasure of being filled up. He has to adjust the angle of your hips a few times until he gets a proper grip and starts to hit that sweet spot consistently, and your breathing turns ragged at the relentless feeling.

You know you’re moaning loudly at this point, but you’re too far gone to care, trying to angle your hips to see if you can get him in deeper. Boxcars adjusts his hands before resuming his bruising grip on your hips, grunting and moaning with each powerful thrust. You can tell he’s close by the way his hips slow down just slightly, trying to maximise the time he spends buried deep in your ass. You push a hand against the mattress so you can lift your head to look him in the eye, ordering him to come inside you.

He switches from his fast pace back to long, deep thrusts, leaning his head against your chest, breathing heavy. He moans into your neck as he comes inside you, buried to the hilt. He thrusts weakly until his orgasm is over, and you both lie there, enjoying the different feelings. He starts to suck on your collar bones again once he has his head back, and you guide his hand into jerking you off at a fast pace, feeling him grow soft as he pulls out of you slowly.

You groan in frustration at the empty feeling, but Boxcars quickly works at you with his fingers again, and you reach your climax with a sigh, shuddering under Boxcar’s deft ministrations. He keeps working at you until he’s sure you’re done, and you nearly push him off, feeling a bit overstimulated. He wipes his hand off on his undershirt, then just decides to use it to clean you off, which you roll your eyes at. At least he manages to get it into the basket on the first throw. He grabs a pillow of his own and cuddles close to you, wrapping the sheets over you both and kissing you deeply before muttering goodnight. He’s out like a light in moments, and you lie there thinking until you eventually join him in slumber, sleeping peacefully.

Your dreams are filled with strange images of pancakes, but you don’t remember anything when you wake up the next morning.