You really liked that photoshoot your boyfriend did with his band.
Sometimes, when you’re alone, you look at those pics, sigh, and touch yourself.
Fake blood everywhere. On his hair, his hands, his face. Most importantly, on his lips. It stained them as if it was a lipstick, and you wish you could stroke them with your thumb, smear that blood on his mouth, make him suck your dirty fingers while he looks at you with his big blue eyes…
Tim knows. He knows everthing that’s on your mind when it comes to certain things. And he likes to play.
He decides to surprise you one day.
When you come home, you find him in your bedroom, sitting on the mattress, topless. He’s relaxed, his hands on the bed behind him; on his face, an angle of his mouth is turned up in a half-smile, playful. He greets you with a mere “hi”.
He’s covered in blood. Fake blood, obviously. You’re still across the room but you can already see that his blonde, curly hair is soaked in red, that his light skin is stained. You smile to yourself. Does he want to play?
You’re intrigued. You walk towards him and sit next to him. You notice a trace of blood that crosses his whole mouth, from his left cheek to the right side of his chin. That pout. You don’t say anything, you just kiss him.
Tim kisses back and puts a dirty hand behind your head, bringing you closer to him. His mouth is always so soft and warm; his toungue touches yours gently. Tim is always sweet when you start having sex. Whatever happens next, however, depends.
When he pulls away, you lock eyes with him first, then you lower your gaze and you notice his pants are unbuttoned. It’s not like it’s something necessarily weird, because Tim goes around with his pants undone all the time, but being this close to him, with all that blood on his abdomen, really does something to you.
You sit on his lap, straddling his waist, grinding against his groin. He bites his lips, flipping his long hair back, and he starts touching all over your body, your back, your shoulders, through your clothes. He cups your breasts when he gets there, he squeezes them; your breath hitches in your throat when he lets his thumbs run on your nipples in circular motion, and then pinches them between two fingers. You moan. He’s staring at your face, he wants to see your expressions. His eyelids, sorrounded in red, are heavy; his lips half-closed, and it drives you crazy when he looks at you like that.
He takes your shirt off and brings a nipple to his mouth, plays with it with his tongue, leaves a red mark around the areola while sucking; he gropes the other breast with his hand, and you moan, whisper his name, rutting in his lap. With a hand in his hair, you pull him closer to you.
“I want you so fucking much,” you say, and it’s true. You can’t resist him. And when he looks at you with those big eyes, pulling away from your chest, you get butterflies in your stomach. Then he bites his lips, smiles.
“Get on your knees, then”.
You oblige right away. You take his pants and underwear off, get down between his thighs. He’s not soiled with blood down there, so you take some of it from his abdomen, stroking it with both hands. Then you bring them to his dick, already hard. You wrap your hands around it, but you don’t move them, you just dirty it. Tim shudders. You move your hands to his balls, both of them, you add a little red to them and then you kiss them. Softly, one by one.
But Tim doesn’t have much patience today.
“Take it in your mouth,” he orders, his breath a little short. You look him in the eyes, your lips extremely close to his skin. You’re making him wait. He isn’t really in a mood to wait, though.
As soon as you take his head in your mouth, Tim puts his hand in your hair and pushes you towards him. You don’t fight back; you relax your throat, take as much as you can. You suck a bit, pull back, draw his foreskin back and spit on it. You never break eye contact with him. He’s gorgeous from down here.
Tim pushes your head again. You try and take a little more this time, even at the expense of gagging, and you hear him moan above you. You suck, move your head avidly, up and down his shaft, and you have no intention of stopping. The hand that’s in your hair closes into a fist. He pulls your hair, making you pull away from him, a strand of saliva connecting his dick to your red-stained lips. You take the opportunity to breathe.
You don’t really know what he means, but of course you are.
He stands up, naked in front of your kneeling form, handsome, filthy. You look at him marveled. You’d eat him if you could. He enchants you. When he asks you to open your mouth for him, you can’t even process the request, you oblige automatically. When he shoves himself in your mouth again, you come back to your senses.
You wrap your lips gently around him, you don’t move. It’s Tim who starts rocking his hips, burying himself inside of you, in your throat, and God, you could choke to death, but it would be the best death you can think of. You look at him while he fucks your mouth: head back, hair on his face, lips agape, his mouth an ‘O’. He’s obscene. You wish you could see his eyes from there.
Your vision gets blurry soon, your eyes fill up with tears, but you hear him growl rhytmically every time he reaches the back of your throat with his head. The tears fall down your cheeks and you can’t breathe, but you want to hold out until the very end.
“Fuck,” you hear him say, and he lets go of your head, pulls out of your mouth. You have little time to recover, though. “You’re so fucking beautiful all wrecked like that.”
“Fuck me,” you say, getting up. He doesn’t waste any time, throws you on the bed. He takes your pants and panties off, and you spread your legs for him, wrapping them behind his back.
His skin is warm against yours; your stomach pressed against his, your chest pressed against his. You feel safe. He starts kissing your neck while he strangles you lightly with his hand. As if he didn’t abuse your throat enough today already. You smile. You want him inside you now.
It’s as if Tim can read your mind because, right after a bite into the sensitive skin under your lobe, he sticks himself inside you slowly. Finally. You sigh at the intense sensation, tighten your arms around his shoulders, you feel his hot breath on the side of your face. Then he starts to rock his hips and lifts his head, watching you while he fucks you. You moan, because the pleasure is so intense already, and Tim smiles smugly. You scratch his spine, and he takes that as an encouragement to fuck into you harder. He finds a position that allows him to reach deeper inside you, and you scream his name, his long hair tickling your skin. He flips it back, and he takes the opportunity to press his lips against yours. It isn’t a real kiss, just some shallow, continuous contact, as if he wanted to swallow your moans for him.
When you come it’s like a wave. You dig your nails in his back and cry, your body totally writhing; you clench around him. Pleasure reaches your brain like electric shock and you can’t think about anything, only ecstasy and Tim, Tim, Tim.
You become aware he’s about to come too when his rhythm increases dramatically. His breath is labored, his sweat mixes with fake blood all over his body, until you feel his warm liquid flood you. Tim freezes for a moment, only to start banging into you again, more slowly this time, until he’s empty.
He rests on you for a bit, just enough to catch his breath. You stroke his hair.
“Tim,” you say, taking his head in your hands. You kiss him and he kisses you back, still worn out.
“We made a mess,” he says, laughing.
You look around. He’s right, sheets and clothes are all covered in blood; someone is gonna have to do some laundry. You smile. He looks like a mess too, totally dirty from head to toe, but he’s fucking gorgeous nonetheless.
“Let’s take a shower.”