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“O-oh.” It’s not rare for Jayce’s voice to pitch up so high it goes girlish, vulnerable. The scrunch of his brows is as delectable as the soft, easy stretch of him finally sliding home.
As opposed to what one might think by the looks of him, Jayce is a comfortable size: a stubby cock with a soft upwards curve, but so leaky it could likely rival the average cunt. You’ve prepped just enough, and it’s divine, it’s satiating, how he fills you exactly as much as you need.
His sticky stomach seams to yours with a delightful cocktail of your shared sweat, his legs and arms tremble like a newborn faun’s with how he barely keeps himself from crushing you. With a pitchy whine, his head falls to your shoulder, his breath coming ragged in your ear — as though he’s just ran up a few flights of stairs, and not licked and sucked you into an easy orgasm before haphazardly bottoming out inside you.
Jayce, bless him, tries to ride it out — the warm, dizzying grip of your walls on him — but as his chubby cock jerks within your clutch, you realize he can’t. He won’t.
“Uh oh—!” His right hand scrambles down between your bodies in an uncalculated hurry, squeezing at the root of his stout dick in what you realize is a desperate attempt to choke his orgasm down. And you also realize before he does that it’s a losing game. “N-ngh, no, nono, shit…”
Jayce only squeezes at himself harder, entire forearm flexing with the sisyphean weight of his task. You know that in moments like these, though he tries, the most he’ll manage is an unsatisfying, painful, ruined orgasm. You don’t want that for him, not tonight, now when he’s been so good.
And what can you do, but take pity? It’s what you do best, especially when it comes to him.
You wrap your fingers around his wrist, and tug. Jayce obliges — his fatal flaw, always so eager to please. It will be his undoing.
“Let it happen,” you whisper into his ear encouragingly, legs wrapping around his waist to draw him in. He warbles a moan like it hurts, and his strong arms give below his weight like he’s weak.
And he is.
“S-sorry,” he mutters although given permission, before his hips slap to yours just once, to sheathe all of himself within, and he chokes on a pitiful sob.
All of him slumps on top of you and his cock, leaky as it already is, paints the inside of his condom white, spurts it full. He pulses against your insides with his orgasm, dick swollen and desperate, and he clings to you as though he might fall apart at the joints if not for your arms around him.
You can only stroke his hair through it, cooing at him like you would at a scared animal, kissing his dewy forehead in encouragement. Somehow, his spent cock still twitches at your words. You let him have as long as he needs, you hold him until his breath calms and his arms stop trembling.
It’s a long, sweet time before he lifts his forehead from against your shoulder.
“ ‘m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t mean…”
You nod. “I know, Jayce.”
“Do you want me to make it up to you? I can use my mouth on you again, or, uh,” he scans the room for inspiration, and his eyes land on the nightstand, “oh! I can fetch the dildo—“
Your palm finds his cheek, and you’re drawing him to face you. Jayce swallows nervously at the heartbeat of silence between the two of you before you speak.
“You can make it up for me by not worrying about it.” Your thumb circles lovingly at the long-healed nick on his cheekbone. “You know I love it when you enjoy yourself so much you can’t help it. It’s… such a good look on you.”