Work Text:
At this moment, you very well could be staring holes into the back of a stranger’s head. You’re fairly confident, however, that you aren’t.
But out of all of your coworkers to run into at a dingy punk show, Waterboy would’ve been a very low guess. The lack of yellow and blue spandex also has you severely doubting your judgment. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first miscellaneously wet man you’ve seen at a music venue. Still, there simply cannot possibly be that many tall, lanky, soggy gingers in Torrance. But he’s wearing a choker. Would Waterboy wear a choker?
You’re deep in analyzing the man’s posture when the unfortunate screech of feedback tears through the cramped room, causing a chorus of complaining and wincing. If you didn’t recognize Waterboy’s profile when he looks at the stage, his anxious, distressed, puppy-like expression really seals the deal. A certain giddiness bubbles up in your chest at the opportunity to talk to him without the rest of the Z-Team in earshot, ready to pounce on anything they deem bullyable — which, with Waterboy in the equation, is just about everything.
Since the reopening of Torrance’s SDN branch and the expansion of the Phoenix Program following Shroud’s defeat, you’ve been a member of the Z-Team. There was certainly a bit of an adjustment period, both to your newfound heroism and to the lineup of big personalities.
All big personalities except for one.
You were a bit of a feral cat at first. Sure, you knew the program was better than jail, but a lot of little things about the job pissed you off. Clocking in and out, working office hours, bickering and murmuring in your ear at any given moment, wearing a literal GPS tracker, having a fucking work email — holy fuck, the amount of bureaucratic bullshit a superhero job entails is absolutely mindboggling to you. So, yes, you were, perhaps, a smidge prickly at first. You’ve been on the receiving end of more than a few chastising pep talks. Yet, throughout your time with SDN, Waterboy has been a downright sweetheart. He hasn’t entirely stopped seeming scared of you, but he always listens to you intently and laughs at your jokes, and somehow, despite working with a menagerie of assholes, he rarely has an acidic word to say. At this point, the team rags on you because they like you, but it’s always nice to hear Waterboy interject with little defenses and compliments. Oh god, you could just melt every time he compliments you. There have been a few times where he’s stuttered out something along the lines of, “Y-You, uh, good j-job, uh, w-work, uh, good!” that have almost sent you into the deep end. He’s just so genuine and so goddamned motherfucking nice.
You are yanked back down to reality when pretty blue eyes meet yours.
Oh fuck. You’ve been caught. You quickly look away, unsure if he would even recognize you out of uniform. You glance back over your shoulder and fail to hold back a smile when you see Waterboy awkwardly cutting through the crowd, clearly murmuring apologies along the way. You try to look away and act nonchalant, but you’re practically buzzing with excitement by the time he gets to you. Despite the fact that he’s approaching you because you were staring at him for who knows how long, he seems startled when you look at him. You’re a bit startled too, as now that he’s not on the other side of the room, you can finally appreciate the dark makeup lining his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. Even his lips are painted with a dark shimmering gloss. The black color palette and the dingy lights make him look downright vampiric.
“H-Hi! I-I-I didn’t think I’d see you here! O-Or anybody, uh, that we, um… Um, your, uh, outfit! It’s different — good, um, nice! Not that your suit i-isn’t, your suit is r-really, uh, c-cool, but I just haven’t seen you o-outside of work!” Waterboy fidgets with the hem of his shirt as he half-shouts over the music, and now that there aren’t a million people in the way, you can fully appreciate his outfit. He’s wearing a loose crop top emblazoned with what must be the name of a metal band judging by the incomprehensible font, layered over a black rash guard. His pants are some odd shiny material, undoubtedly chosen for water-resistance, but they aren’t unflattering. They sit just low enough on his hips to reveal a pale bit of midriff, and would likely slip lower if it weren’t for the thick, riveted leather belt holding them up. You notice water droplets caught on ginger hair and force yourself to pull your eyes away before you completely lose your mind.
“Thank you! I like your outfit too,” you say, attempting to be as friendly as possible without revealing how deeply unprofessional your exact thoughts are.
“Really? Thanks!” His nervous expression brightens and his posture straightens and your pulse quickens. “Uh, Flambae said — well, um, actually, I-I don’t really want to, uh, repeat what he said, but then he and Prism took me shopping, so, it was ultimately nice, I-I think?”
“That does sound nice!” As you shout back to Waterboy, the guitarist onstage hits a sour chord and your face crinkles in response. “Do you wanna talk outside?”
“Oh! Uh! Sure! Y-Yeah, yes!” He nods, and you quickly grab your bag and slip past him. You make your way to the doors with Waterboy trailing after you like a dog.
You don’t realize how overstimulated you were getting until you feel the relief of cold night air against your skin. You let the cool breeze rush over you for a second before you lead Waterboy to a little hedgelined patio with a singular bench. Both of you sit cautiously in the corners, but your knees still bump against each other. You busy yourself with digging through your bag rather than lose yourself staring again.
“So, are you a big punk guy?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.
“Um! Y-Yeah, uh, kinda? Uh, I-I listened to a lot of punk a-and, uh, emo stuff in, in high school, a-and then in college, I-I got more into metal, and I’ve sort of been on that wave, uh, since.”
You look up from your purse with a grin. “Y’know, I seriously would not have taken you for a metalhead, but now that you say it, it really checks out.”
Waterboy furrows his brow. “Wh-what do you mean, uh, by that?” he laughs awkwardly, but fails to cover a worried look.
It always makes you a little sad to see him frowning, but goddammit, it’s a really cute expression. You want to grab his face and kiss him until he’s smiling. You look back down at your bag as you feel your face heating up. “It’s not bad! Just, y’know, you’re such a sweetheart and you deal with a lot of shit, so, like, that anger’s gotta go somewhere, right?”
When you spare him another glance, there’s a relieved little smile on his face. Shit. You want to kiss that too.
“Um, y-y-yeah, th-that’s pretty much exactly it,” he says with a little laugh.
The two of you talk for a long while, going from music to art to work to everything in between. You notice that when he gets lost talking about something he’s passionate about, his stutter eases up and he second-guesses his words less frequently. He’s so easy to talk to, you wonder why you haven’t hung out more outside of work. Your missions together are always successful, it only makes sense that that synergy continues off the clock. At a certain point, a realization hits you, and you stop, suddenly feeling sheepish.
“Wh- uh, is, um, what’s wrong?”
“It’s silly,” you say with a shake of your head, “but, uh, I realized I don’t… know your actual name. Um. Doesn’t really feel like the place for work names.”
“Oh! Y-Yeah, um. Herm. It’s Herm. Or Herman. Um. Yeah.” You instantly break out in a smile, and he shrinks up. “Uh, yeah, it’s kind of! Not the most, uh, popular… name…”
“I think it’s cute.”
Things get dangerous. You’re trying to give a normal, reassuring, comforting gesture, but when your palm slides against his deceptively solid bicep, something in the air shifts. In an attempt to keep things normal, you tell him your name. This plan instantly fails when he repeats your name quietly, testing out how it feels on his tongue.
“That’s, that’s pretty,” he says softly. You feel your temperature rising.
Waterboy — Herman — he’s always blushing, but right now, you’d swear he’s redder than usual.
You retreat as far as the miniscule bench will let you. It’s probably a bad idea to hit on your coworker. Then again, that hasn’t stopped most members of the Z-Team from being walking HR violations. You just really don’t want to do anything to hurt Herman. And if you broke his heart, you’d probably get jumped by Mecha Man.
Given, of course, that you’re reading this right, and he has any interest in you at all, and he doesn’t break your heart first.
Your leg starts to bounce and you pull a little tin out of your bag — a tin that blessedly contains a joint and a little lighter. “Do you mind if I smoke?” you ask softly, and glance at Herman over your shoulder.
He blinks owlishly in response. A droplet of water rolls down his cheek, black with makeup, and leaves a little trail behind. “Oh! Um, n-n-no, that’s, that’s fine — o-okay — cool! I-I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Oh, hah, yeah, um, y’know. Nice to take the edge off, calms me down, and it helps ease the general pain of hero work.” As you light the joint and inhale, you can feel Herman watching you.
“That makes sense. I just take a, a lot of hot showers!” he says with an awkward little laugh. As you exhale a cloud of smoke, you try to push the image of him naked in the shower out with it.
“You ever get massages?” you ask, continuing to dance this line of almost innuendo. It’s already difficult to resist him, but watching him get flustered really strikes a lustful chord in your soul.
“Uhh, n-no, I don’t think, uh, I-I’ve never, uh, with the, with the wet, and the touching, and, yeah, probably, probably a bad idea.” What you would give to run your hands down his lean muscles until your skin prunes.
“Mm. It’s good to relieve tension. You should get one sometime.” Herman is definitely blushing more than usual. You offer the joint out to him. “Do you want a hit?”
“Oh, um, I-I-I-I-I’ve never, uh — and I-I’ll just get it wet with my — the water.”
Your pulse picks up as a scheme weasels its way into your mind. You really ought to just pack it up and go home. “Okay, but, if it wasn’t for that, would you want to try it?”
“Um!” His voice shoots up an octave and he eyes the joint in between your fingers. He tilts his head in contemplation before continuing. “Y-Yeah, it’s um, in-interest — intriguing? Uh, I-I’ve thought about buying edibles before, but I-I’m not really sure, how all the, um, there’s, there’s a lot of, of numbers and… names… and, uh—”
You cut him off before you can stop yourself.
“Do you know what shotgunning is?”
His confused little expression is adorable. “Nnnno?”
You scoot closer until your thighs bump together. He jumps. “Uh, so, it’s pretty much just, um. I’m going to blow the smoke into your mouth. Is that okay?” You force yourself to look him in the eyes for a moment.
Herman looks like he’s going to have a heart attack. His blue eyes are blown open with surprise and his face is completely flushed. You note the waterdrops gathering on his lashes. He stutters for a few seconds before nodding eagerly. You would’ve savored his lipgloss on the joint. This is better.
“Y-Y-Y-Yeah, yup, th-th-that’s okay!”
“You need to open your mouth, Herm,” you coo, gently cupping his chin with your free hand. He straight up whimpers. It tears through your nervous system. You lightly thumb at his bottom lip, smearing sticky lipgloss, and he pliantly drops his mouth open, still staring up at you with big, sweet eyes. He’s going to be the death of you.
You hold his gaze as you take a long drag. It’s so easy to guide him forward, to tilt your head, and just barely graze your lips against his. He shivers. You can hear his breath stutter as he inhales the smoke billowing out from between your lips. You pull away with a shy smile. He turns his head to exhale. His little coughs are as shaky and pathetic as the rest of him. You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“S-Sorry,” he murmurs.
“For what, coughing? Don’t even worry about that. That’s normal.”
“Y-Yeah, I guess so,” Herman laughs lightly. He’s smiling softly, but when he looks back at you, his expression changes into something that looks like worry. It feels like your heart is going to tear its way out of your chest. You focus on a droplet making its way down his cheekbone. “Um!” he chirps, and then falls quiet again. He tilts his head, changing the droplet’s path. Your eyes fly to the way his hand anxiously traces along his neck. It’s mesmerizing to see how the drops of water merge into each other and respond to the conflicting movements of his fingertips and his breath. “C-Can we do that again?”
Your chest actually aches. “Mhm,” you hum as nonchalantly as you can. You take another long hit, appreciating Herman’s face as you do. His ginger hair clings to his wet skin, swirled into pretty patterns. You wonder what it would look like dry. Maybe a blowdryer would do the trick, at least for a couple minutes.
He leans in first. You bite back a comment about his eagerness. Instead, you happily let the smoke curl from your lungs to his. When you pull away, you can feel the stick of lipgloss ghosting your lips.
Again, he turns his head to exhale the cloud of secondhand smoke, but he keeps his face shyly tucked into his shoulder for a few seconds. You expect him to cough, but he just delicately pushes a few strands of damp hair away from his eyes. He seems a little terrified. You hope the weed isn’t making him anxious, especially this quickly.
“M-May I — Um, could… I-I-I-I’d really like t-to kiss you?”
“Oh, fuck, yes.”
You almost drop the joint while leaning in. His lips are wet, because of course they are, but it’s not bad. Kind of nice, even. It probably helps that you’ve contemplated this extensively. You do your best to temper your excitement and meet Herman at a slow, sweet pace. It feels a bit like courting a scared deer.
Then your hand holding the joint falls to rest on his knee.
And he whines against your lips.
You pull away, and he immediately starts to stutter out an apology. You place both of your hands on his chest to quiet him.
“Do you want to come back to my apartment?”
“Yes.” Herman answers instantly. He’s as easy as you dreamed about. Just an adorable puddle melting into your hands.
The fifteen minute drive to your apartment is the longest fifteen minutes in your entire life. At least keeping a waterproof seat cover in your car has paid off. Herman’s leg bounces almost the entire ride. The conversation is light, but the tension in the cramped space is heavy. You drive past a near empty parking lot and have half a mind to pull over, but you want to treat Herman with at least a little more dignity than that. At least for this first time.
The second your apartment door shuts, he’s got your back against it, needily wrapping his arms around you and giving you another kiss. He’s much more desperate this time, pressed flush against you with his hands balled up in your shirt. Eventually, you have to weakly push him away — of course he responds to your touch instantly, but you loathe that you need to breathe at all. His eyes widen as he watches you gasp for breath.
“Hey, um, how’re you feeling? With the weed and everything,” you ask, remembering how you got into this mess.
“Oh! Um. N-Not very different. Um. Like, a little fuzzier, maybe? It’s… it’s nicer than being tipsy, I think. But i-it’s really, um. I don’t know. Only a little different from normal. I-I think some of it is just you.”
Fuck. He’s not even trying to be romantic. You pull him into another feverish kiss. Your fingers catch in one of the holes of his distressed crop top, and the sound of fabric ripping makes you pause. Herman is undeterred. Well, if anything, it simply legitimizes the punkness of the shirt. You are more than happy to slide your tongue into his mouth until you run out of breath again.
Which, unfortunately, does happen. Dammit. Of course Waterboy has a freakish lung capacity.
As he pulls away, you can’t help but contemplate how helpful that trait could be in other situations.
After a second of space, the disgusting wet cling of your shirt starts to register. You look down and flush deeper at the evidence of Herman being all over you.
“Sorry,” he says meekly. You have the urge to grab him like a stress ball.
“I guess I should just take it off,” you say in mock dismay. Herman inhales sharply.
“Y-Yeah.” You can’t help but grin when noticing that his eyes immediately lock onto your chest. You brush past him, and he lets out a stuttering, whining sound. “Wh- um — I-I follow?”
A laugh bubbles out. “Yeah. You follow.”
He trails after you happily. You could get used to that. When he steps into your bedroom, he stops in the doorway to take everything in. The second you grab the hem of your shirt, however, you have his undivided attention. Though teasing him is proving to be quite fun, you oblige with his pleading eyes and shed your top.
You fall back onto your bed and reach your arms out to Herman, inviting him to crawl against your chest. He seems to be breathing manually.
“I-I-I-I-I. Uh. Um. Get it wet. The bed,” he says meekly.
“Mm. Hopefully I will too.” You spread your legs just to drive the point home.
“Oh fuck.” The sudden curse strikes you to your core. Herman covers his face with one hand and forces himself to take a few deep breaths. You let your eyes trail downward.
Your eyebrows shoot to your forehead. You don’t even try to hide your reaction. “Goddamn, Herm.”
“Wh-what?”
“You’re fucking hung!” He bleats and looks down, wincing at the prominence of his hard-on. “Dude. You’re going to have to finger me for, like, a million years.”
You can see his dick fucking twitch through his stupid waterproof pants. “Uhhhh. I-Is that a bad thing?”
“Not as long as you don’t get carpal tunnel, baby. C’mere.”
That small bit of encouragement is enough, and the lanky man is clambering over you. He’s an awkward mess of limbs, but you’re more than happy to get tangled up in them. He kisses you sweetly — you can feel him smiling against your lips. His hands fall on your waist as he timidly explores your exposed skin. When he pulls away to look at you, you’re struck by how loving his gaze is.
“You’re beautiful,” Herman mutters. “I-It’s… you make it hard, uh, d-difficult, on missions, sometimes. When you fight, you’re so… a-alive? Um. Passionate. Y-You’re so pretty,” his words die out into a whimper. He melts into you again, nuzzling into your neck and pressing gentle kisses along your jawline. You feel him inhale deeply, air pulling away from your neck, his chest expanding against yours. “I-I really like you.” The words vibrate against your neck. You can feel him holding his breath.
It’s knocked out of him with a little sound when you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly. “I like you so much, Herman. You’re so gorgeous. I love your eyes, your nose, your hair… I love the way you move. You make me smile. You always try your hardest, and you care so much. Oh god, I have, like, a crush on you.” It’s such a silly and immature way to describe your feelings, particularly when you’re half-naked, but how else could you describe the giddiness that bubbles up in your chest whenever you so much as think about him? His breath goes from stilted to heavy as you speak, and you can feel water dripping onto your neck and down your back. He lets out a weak, strangled sound when you slip your fingers under his rash guard. You have to be forceful to get your fingers underneath the thick, wet spandex, but judging his prominent bulge pressed up against you, Herman is enjoying it. “Can you take this off for me, honey?” you ask in a sugary tone, slowly working your hands up his ribs, the tight, waterproof material providing more and more resistance with each inch.
Herman sits back on his knees, straddling your lap. You let your hands drift to his hips as he peels out of his layered shirts and drops them to the ground with a wet smack. The long expanse of his torso is, naturally, slick with water. His muscles aren’t too defined, but you can feel them under your touch. His hands fall to your chest, and the cold, wetness forces a shiver through your body.
“I-Is that okay?”
“Yes,” you practically moan, and his mouth drops open. You’re not sure which one of you enjoys him groping your chest more. You get the feeling Herman would be content to spend the entire night simply worshipping your body. After properly feeling you up, he dives down to your chest, languidly licking to one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth. You immediately arch into him, moaning quietly. Desperation and adoration are clear in his big, shining blue eyes. He eats up all of your reactions, loving every little bit of approval and affirmation. He kisses his way across your chest, and you let your fingertips dip below his belt.
Herman buries his face in your chest with a whimper, leaving wet mascara splotches on your bare skin. “Oh my god, please,” he gasps. He sounds like he was made for begging.
“Please what?”
He writhes against you, and you’re about to just give in when he sighs out, “Please touch me. Please.”
“Can you lay down for me?”
He quickly obliges, obediently rolling off of you and onto his back. You rest your hands on the clunky silver buckle on his leather belt, eliciting another breathy, excited sound from him. He happily lifts his hips for you to slip off his belt. You toss it to the ground, followed by his pants. The sight in front of you is captivating. Herman stretches back into your pillows, nervously smiling up at you. His slim pale body glistens with water in the low lamplight of your bedroom, and you try your best to appreciate all of it, but it’s difficult not to focus on his dick. It’s notable, to say the least.
You straddle his thigh and wrap one hand around the base of his cock, closely observing his face while you do so. He’s so reactive, twitching and sighing at the smallest of touches. You trace your thumb along the prominent vein running up the center of his cock and savor the moan it elicits. Water collects under your fingertips, making it easy to work your hand up and down his length.
“You look so pretty like this,” you purr. Herman scrunches his eyes closed and thrusts into your hands with a whine. It doesn’t take long for pre-cum to start beading at his tip, leaking down to join the perpetual layer of water.
“Oh god, I-I… y-you’re so…” His gasps are so entrancing, it takes a moment to register the wet hand weakly pawing at your wrist. “I-I’m, I’m going — fuck!” His voice breaks off into a cry when you let go and his hips chase after your hand for a moment before he regains control. You admire the rise and fall of his chest as he catches his breath, and the pretty way his lips part. Hazy blue eyes meet yours, and Herman just stares for a few seconds before catching himself. He looks away with a flustered huff. “Um. C-Can — uhhh. I… would… ummm… Do you still want me to… uh…” As he stutters, his shaky hands find their way to your thighs. When he gets too flustered to speak, he just squeezes your thighs and makes a weak humming sound.
“Herman, are you asking to finger me?”
“I-I-I-I-If you w-want me to!”
It’s disgustingly easy to tease him. You roll your hips against his leg before standing up and slowly sliding your pants down to the floor. He watches your movements with rapt attention. You spread your legs wide to straddle him, unable to hold back a content sound when you feel his warm skin pressed against your cunt. His hands quickly return to your thighs, landing just above your knees and running upwards. Shyly, he ghosts his fingers over your folds, and visibly gulps. He pushes cautiously further.
“Oh. Wow. Y-Yeah. You, you are wet.” Herman makes the observation with a little laugh that absolutely drives you insane. At first, his exploratory touch is somewhat awkward and prodding, but he immediately notes your response when his fingers brush over your clit. He repeats the motion with more force, and smiles when he gets a moan from you. “Wow…”
He learns quickly, rubbing circles into your clit and watching you with reverence. Energy builds up in your stomach, in your chest, and you struggle to keep balance. Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers digging into flesh. He adjusts his free hand, finding a nice, tight hold on the meat of your hip.
The tension in you starts to melt your thoughts, and it’s your turn to meekly whine. “Need you in me, please.” Your breathy sigh sends a shudder through Herman. Carefully, his hand slides lower, until his middle finger presses up against your tight hole. He looks far more scared than you feel. “C’mon, I’m a superhero, I can take it.” You lean forward and pet his hair in playful reassurance — though you also use the opportunity to rock your hips against his hand.
Warmth spreads through your body as his finger slides into you. It’s larger than any of your own digits, but still enters with ease. Fuck. It’s longer than your fingers, too. When he hits knuckle-deep, you have to catch your breath. Slowly, he draws out before pushing back in, smiling when he earns a moan.
“You, uh, you feel really nice,” he says with quiet awe. You clench around his fingers and you both make a sound. An amused smile crosses his face. “Umm. You sound really nice, too. Can, um, c-could you t-t-take — um, w-would you like me to, uh, add, uh, p-put in—”
“Yes, Herm, more.” The longing in your voice is almost unfamiliar to your ears. With a quiet whimper, he nudges his index finger into you. A hot, dull ache radiates from the stretch of your cunt. Patiently, he sinks back into you. He handles you with a delicate reverence, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever put his hands on. Or in.
You lean back on your hands to give him a better view of his fingers working you open.
“O-Oh my god,” he gasps, immediately mesmerized by the sight. Experimentally, he scissors his fingers open, and your elbows buckle. “Oh god, I-I’m sorry!”
Before he can withdraw his hand completely, you move to stop him, ending up balanced with one hand gripping his thigh and the other, tight around his wrist. You can feel his muscles tensing against you when he wraps his free arm around your waist to hold you upright.
There’s a thick moment of silence and heavy eye contact before you can gather the nerve to speak.
“You don’t have to apologize.” You roll your hips to punctuate the sentiment, driving his digits as deep as they’ll go. It’s difficult to formulate words, say them, and breathe, all at the same time. “You’re… Mmh… You’re doing such a good job.”
A shaky, broken moan escapes from Herman. He shifts, and suddenly, you can feel his sizable boner pressed against your ass. “C-Can you, uh, say? More n-nice things?”
You laugh and lean forward to cup his damp face. “Of course. It’s easy to be nice to you, sweet boy.” Humid breath hits your palm as he nuzzles into your hand. His skin is so soft and warm and flushed bright red compared to your own tone. With your thumb, you swipe away some droplets trailing towards his eyes and leave a smudge. His makeup has been smeared to hell and back, and hardly any black remains clinging to his lashes. “You make a really pretty slut.”
“Thaaat’s not nice.” He says it with a cute little laugh, but the look in his eyes is something hotter and heavier.
“Hey. It takes a lot of work to be a good slut!” you chastise him playfully, but the way he writhes underneath you is nothing but needy. “And you’re a hard worker, aren’t you? Always doing such a good job for Robert. Trying to impress Mecha Man. Can you do a good job for me too, sweetheart?”
You can feel his fingers flex inside you the second you poke at his obvious infatuation with your dispatcher.
“Y-Yes, yes, I-I-I-I w-want to be good for you,” Herman whines. He does his best to pump in and out of you at a steady pace, but it’s clear that he’s barely holding himself together. Every time your fingers so much as skim across his skin, he lets out a breathy sound. You have half a mind to just mount him now, but you’ve been working on this thing called ‘impulse control.’
“Can you put one more in for me, baby?” The addition of his ring finger rips a groan from the pit of your stomach. He presses his palm up against your clit, and the world gets a little fuzzy. You don’t mean to rake your nails down his chest, but before you can apologize, he makes a sinful sound and you can feel pre-cum dripping onto your ass. “Oh my god. Fuck, I knew you had to be a freak! You really are a good whore, huh?”
Herman seems to have gone wordless, just humming and whining instead. The hand not knuckle-deep in your pussy has a firm grip on your inner thigh despite the egregious amount of water running off of him. He slides his hand up your thigh until his thumb can reach your clit, each hand now dedicated to their own task. Somewhere in your hazy brain, you admire the way he focuses on your pleasure, furrowing his brow and biting his lip. His gaze flickers up and down your body, but its intensity doesn’t waver.
You shudder and hold onto his arms for balance as your first orgasm overtakes you, numbing and heightening your senses at the same time. You can feel Herman shaking underneath you as you come around his fingers.
Once he’s certain you’ve ridden it out, he carefully extracts his fingers, leaving you to groan at the loss you weren’t quite ready for. What you really aren’t ready for is the way he stares at the mess dripping from his hand, then lifts it to his lips and stares at you with a shy expression before vulgarly licking your cum off of his fingers. His tongue peaks out, wrapping around his fingers to get every drop — though, really, after a couple seconds, it’s hard to tell the difference between what’s your cum, his saliva, or water.
“Goddamn, you watch a lot of porn or what?” you ask between breaths. This seems to fluster him more than sucking off his own hand.
“Uhh. Y-Y-Yeahhh…” he murmurs, dropping his eyes. Though he’s simply looking away in embarrassment, his eyes immediately land on your wet, noticeably stretched cunt. His voice pitches up near an octave to say, “Th-this, uh, this is a lot better!”
You give him a wide smile. “Do you want it to get even better?”
Herman stops breathing for a moment. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started drooling. “Wh-wh-wh-whaat do you—”
“I want to ride you.”
“O-oh my god. I-I can’t believe — y-yes, yeah, yes!”
The second you start to push him flat, he falls back into your pillows and looks up with loving puppy eyes. You can’t resist diving down and capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. He happily surrenders, opening his mouth for your tongue even more readily than he did for his own cum-covered fingers.
He whimpers when you pull away. When you wrap your hand around his lengthy cock, however, his pathetic whining breaks into a desperate moan. You lift up on your knees and line your soaked hole up with his dick.
“Hermy, baby, can you keep your hips still for me?”
A strained “Mhm!” is all you get in return. Judging by the way he grabs onto your sheets, it is, in fact, a difficult task, but he accomplishes it. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him.
You could tell by looking at it, but god motherfucking damn. Herman’s dick is big. You definitely underestimated the girth. With stilted, determined breaths, you continue to sink down until his tip pushes into you with a small, wet pop. Your eyes flutter open, having been shut in concentration, and you see Herman spread out in front of you, gasping for air and doing everything he can to not rut into you like a desperate animal.
“You look so beautiful like this,” you murmur. Involuntarily, his hips twitch, sinking slightly deeper and making you gasp.
“O-Oh god, I’m s-s— ohh, fuck, oh my god!” His apology is ruined the second you start to move again, moaning as you take him inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Your legs start to shake. Of course, his hands fly to your hips to steady you. “Ohh my god, y-you, you’re so tight,” he murmurs hazily, almost as if it wasn’t meant to be said outloud. The deeper you take him, the harder his fingertips dig into your hips and ass, and the louder and more broken his noises get. His cock pushes past a certain point, and your own moans turn from light and breathy to deep and uninhibited. Your eyes roll back when he bottoms out in you, deeper than your standard dildo.
When you’re able to focus back on his face, you notice large tears welling up in his eyes.
“F-Fuck, are you okay?” you stutter. It’s a little hard to speak when you’re so full.
He nods helplessly. “Mmm, I-I-I… Y-You feel so…” He trails off with a quivering breath and tilts his head back into your pillows.
“Yeah? You like being inside me?” To tease him, you lift yourself back up, drawing his cock out until, once again, only the tip is in. He starts to whimper out an answer when you take him to the base with a wet slap. Too, too easy to tease.
He stammers out affirmations accompanied by quivering, held back thrusts. You’ve seen him struggle to form words before, but it’s never turned you on like this. “C-Closer…” he gasps out, needily grabbing at your thighs. You grin and leisurely lean forward, pressing your chests together and threading your fingers through his hair. He tightly wraps his arms around your waist, but still whines sadly when your movement means he isn’t inside you completely.
You pull off of him to roll over, and the sound he makes in response is almost heartbroken. A few seconds go by after you land on your back, and when you look at Herman, he’s sitting up next to you with a worried expression taking over his face. However, the second you smile at him, he’s back in your arms and between your legs. He’s swift to line up his cock and drive back into you — the way he moans against your neck is going to be burned into your brain. It’s a little awkward with his height, but he still tries to be as close as possible. Teeth sink into the crook of your neck with enough force to bruise, and you can feel the vibration of his whimpers against your skin. You feel a little disappointed when you realize that his healing spit means he probably won’t be leaving hickeys. You’ll just have to mark him up twice as much to make up for it. When he starts to thrust into you, the amount of self-control he’s exerting is obvious, from his scrunched-up expression to his tense muscles.
“Such a good boy,” you coo, and his hips immediately stutter. His breath hits your skin in struggling, stilted waves. “Look at you. So pretty. Trying so hard to hold it together for me. Can you let go for me too, baby?”
Herman practically melts into you with a whine, and he begins to roll his hips into you. It only takes a few thrusts for the pace to pick up. Any sense of composure quickly erodes away, leaving him gasping and whimpering in your ear. His form envelops yours, ensuring that you’ll be coated in water by the end of this. His sounds grow ragged as he pounds into you, holding onto your hips for leverage and making you feel like his personal fleshlight.
Any ability you have to tease him is gone. You moan underneath him, only tearing a hand away from his back to rub your clit. The feeling of his dick both stretching you open and hitting you deep, alongside the pressure on your clit is just too much. Your body tense and your vision blurs and your nails dig into his shoulder as you cum again around his cock. Herman makes a sound you never imagined he could make and presses flush up against you like he’s trying to crawl into your skin. Mid-orgasm, you’re hit with the sensation of hot, thick cum flooding your cunt, sending you into another fit of ecstasy. When you fall limp, his hips stay pressed against yours, keeping himself buried deep in you. By the time he follows you with a breathy, spent whine, you can feel his cum slowly dripping out from around his cock.
“Oh my god,” he murmurs against your skin in total awe. You’re content to cuddle for a while, the water pouring from his skin staving off the stick of sweat, at least long enough for the dull haze to clear up, leaving you soaked, overheated, oversensitive, and leaking cum. You hum discontentedly and lightly tap his chest, and he sits up obediently. A small sound escapes you when he pulls out and you’re overwhelmed with both a gaping feeling and a considerable amount of cum flooding out of you. His gaze falls to your destroyed hole and he sucks in a shaky breath. “Oh my god. That’s, uh… wow…” Herman continues to stare for a good few seconds, lips parted and hands clenching bed sheets. Moving as if he’s in a trance, he lifts a hand to your pussy and carefully spreads it open with his thumb. He sucks in a sharp breath as more cum gushes out of your hole. Finally, his gaze snaps back to your face sheepishly. “How’re, do, how do you feel?”
You slowly sit up, not wanting to feed the dizziness overtaking you. “Uh. Really… really good. Goddamn. I do need to clean up, though. Uh. Not to ask you to play janitor again.”
He laughs, sweetly, genuinely, and not tinged with anxiety. You’re not sure you’ve heard it before, but it sends a wave of adoration blossoming through you. The smile he gives you is heartachingly sweet, and tinged with more confidence than usual. “Anything for you.”