You had a bisexual boyfriend in high school, and he was really fun. People seemed to think he was gay, and using you as a shield, and you had never actually had intercourse, but had done everything else, and wow, he was one of the two best lovers you'd ever had. And he had certainly seemed into female...parts--like most straight guys weren't as into feeling it, tasting it, getting you off, and multiple times at that, as he was. The other had been your boyfriend the first and second year of college, and when you thought about it, you realize you only had intercourse a handful of times, but had other kinds of sex a ridiculous amount. Like you're surprised both your genitals, hands, mouths and thighs didn't fall off, that ridiculous of an amount. It was with him that you first realized a lot of things were sex.
You're not used to thinking like this--stuff went downhill bedroomwise, after college, getting monotonous and predictable, like the passing of time, when it was normal. And when it was worse than usual... Listen to you, twenty-six going on sixty. You shake your head, and realize he's been looking at you, grinning. Oh, god, how long has he been looking, and how long have you been perving out?
"Oh, fuck, I am such a goober," you say, slapping your hand over your face. "Hope I've not been a space cadet for too long."
"Well, I suppose that depends on what you were thinking about, darlin'?"
Your heart speeds up. He knows, oh god, he knows, and you think you must seem like such a groupie, remembering the band thing.
"S-stuff," you stutter.
He raises an eyebrow. "Good stuff, I hope." Now his absentminded flirtiness was presentminded. At least it seemed so.
You don't know whether you should bring up what you heard earlier, so you go with, "Been thinking of my luck and lack thereof. Like this current guy--I'm so done with him. Why the fuck did I come here with him? I mean, I'm glad I came, but I should've alone. I did meet you, for one." You're on a roll, and can see his half-grin, his interest in your words, so you keep chugging along. "Really, I've only had two guys that were great lovers--" you stumble over your words, almost stop, but those two drinks you had with him earlier are running through your veins, making you feel braver than normal--"like wow, amazing, in comparison--and the others, including this asshat... a lot of them aren't even good company, you know, and even the ones that are, why was I still bothering having sex with them?"
Your brain finally registers your words, and you feel like bonking your head against the car frame. He probably wouldn't care. He's a famous musician; he probably had naive young women lined up around the block to suck his dick, and never had to put in any effort, never had to learn how to actually please different women. You wonder how many women never expected anything of him, or maybe they did? You find yourself looking at his lips, and you couldn't help but notice his ass and thighs when he went to the bathroom in the bar. Maybe some did expect reciprocation, had similar thoughts to the ones that flitted through your mind at various points. You had to admit you wanted him. Other women must've wanted to feel those lips against another set of lower ones: that in itself probably fueled many women and girls' day and night dreams, never mind his hands, thighs, ass, wondering what his dick looked like--
"Hey, it's ok, y/n, something wrong?"
You shake your head--yeah the silence has gone from comfortable to awkward, and you wish you had some weed to chill the fuck out. "I think I need some fucking weed, Brendon. You down?"
He chuckles. "As if you need to ask. We're almost at my hotel--I mean if you want to go there, we don't need to--"
You grin. "That's fine. I don't have any on me, left it at my room."
"Trust me, I've got us covered."
You brave a hand out, on his knee, heart going fast again just from that, and he just takes your hand in his, thumbing over it gently, and you can feel that low, throbbing arousal return. You're not sure if that's a sign of good things to come or not.
You manage relative normalcy until you're sitting cross legged on his bed, sharing a pipe back and forth. The marijuana is making you hornier, and is relaxing you, but the more turned on you are just being around him, the less sure you are that relaxing is a wise idea. Fuck, no doubt he has line ups of willing and eager people. Even without the rock star stuff, you bet a lot of people would find him very appealing--looks, humour, kindness, how happy he can be, even his nervousness.
He set the pipe on the bedside drawer, falling back, stretching out, his legs going on either side of you, and you can see his lower belly peeping out. You want to touch him, stroke over that soft but slim lower tummy of his, the subtle v-lines... fuck, the want you're feeling. You're feeling more and more aroused, so much so it's starting to ache. If you were alone, you'd be masturbating by now.
"B, can I?"
He raises an eyebrow at the shorthand. "Can you what?"
You lean forwards, brush your fingertips over the bare flesh. He giggles. "Y-yeah," he sighs slowly, now rocking his body side to side, brushing his tummy along your hand. You flatten your hand, letting him move for a bit, then press down, and he stills. His lashes flutter, and you want to kiss them, but you're feeling slow like molasses, even though you're desperate for him.
"Wanna kiss you. That ok?"
He wriggles his body closer to you, shifting his legs over yours to shimmy down even more, as you straighten yours into a v. Your hand finds its way higher up, and you can feel his steady heartbeat. It seems like a good idea because you don't want to actually move around and crawl over him yet, so you kiss the palm of your free hand, then place it over his lips. "Mwah," you say, making you both laugh, his full lips tickling you.
He kisses your palm, licks it. "Ruff," he barks, still laughing.
You slide you hand down so your fingertips can trace over his lips, and he gazes at you, eyes soft and hot, as his tongue flicks out, swiping over them. You really want to slide a couple fingers in, so you do, and he fucking moans as he runs his tongue over them, suckles. Your other hand slides over to his nipple, rucking up his shirt more, and you just look at him a moment, feeling so fucking ready to try to come as he keeps sucking your fingers.
"Fuck, B, your mouth. C'mere. Need to kiss you."
He manages to get his arms under him, hoist himself up, in your lap, legs wrapping around you, hands finding your jaw, pulling you into a kiss. He moans a little into your mouth, and you can't help returning it as he wriggles in your lap, against your mound, brushing his crotch against your rounded belly. Ok, this is a bit of a role reversal, but he's doing it like it's nothing, like he's not even thinking about how it looks, and you like it. "Fuck, honey," you murmur, in between kisses, and he pulls away to smile really wide and goofy. He kisses you again, slipping you his tongue, and you swear your eyes roll back a bit as your tongues move together. Your hands find his hips, tug at his shirt.
"Fuck yeah," he says, pulling away long enough for you to get his shirt off. Before he can pull you back into a kiss, your mouth finds one nipple, sucking a moment, then the other, and his breathing gets heavier, and he almost whimpers, so you keep it up. Jesus, this fucker is a gorgeous, dirty, sweet boy.
"Could you--on your back?" you ask, getting shy again, but he doesn't give you time to dig into it, falling back, legs and arms still around you, bringing you with him. "Hey you," you singsong, No Doubt coming into your head for some reason, "you naughty thing." You burst out laughing at your silliness, and his fingers find their way into your hair, scratching over your scalp, and he starts humming the song, finding your mouth again. Your tongue seeks out his, and you realize you're pressing your crotch against his, humping. "Should I...?" you trail off, pulling away.
He shakes his head. "This is good, right? 'Snice. You want to? This, not saying we have to do anything."