Drunken Sex (FPOV)

Your house was bustling. Glasses glistening with shine, your loved ones full of chatter and joy. His laughter stands out amongst them. You’re too far to hear what Micah’s talking about with your family, but they’re eyes are glistening with approval as they encourage him to take another shot. He’s wearing a buttoned up shirt, but you can still see the outline of his muscles through them.

He grins and with full unbridled confidence and jest exclaims, “I mean–IF YOU’RE PRACTICALLY BEGGING ME TO. HOW COULD I SAY NO TO MY GIRLFRIEND’S DAD. HUH? Who am I to do that?”.

“THAT’S MY BOY!” your dad pats him on the back as your mom pours him another drink.

Your mom chips in, “Y’know, I didn’t know what to think when my kid called me brimming telling me some guy climbed through their window. I felt like I was missing something–like why are you so happy you almost got robbed?”

Micah agrees, “I THOUGHT THAT WAS WEIRD TOO. I WAS LIKE–you want me to do what??? LIKE SOME STALKER?”

“EXACTLY! Gosh, I don’t know what goes through my baby’s little head sometimes. But it’s such a relief to see you in person,” she paused. “It reassured me that my baby has the same brain that they’ve always had. Still got a good–but weird head on her shoulders.”

You scoffed, “I don’t know why you ever doubted me. I AM your kid, at the end of the day, aren’t I?” Proud to know that your parents were accepting of your boyfriend.

He gives you a little bump under the table and shoots you a look, his eyes asking, “You good? Having fun?”.

You squeamishly smile at him, telepathically communicating, “What do you think? I’m having the time of my life.” And he smiles back, a “I’m glad, me too.”

It made your stomach warm when he would do that. Check up on you to see if you were okay. You had trouble emotionally regulating in crowded spaces and were quick to overheat or become uncomfortable, but this was a day where only the people you chose and loved and cherished were around you and you were more than okay. It made you happy to talk to him through eyes, his perception never ceases to amaze you.

Your dad, the only person in the conversation who can’t communicate through eyes, pats him on the shoulder, “Hey, you better take care of my baby, okay?”.

Micah replies with, “Of course I will, sir. Anything to make her happy.”

You roll your eyes, embarrassed that your dad even pulled that cliché line out.

When you break away from your parents, you whisper to him, “Sorry that was weird, thanks for humoring him though”.

“Of course, it was always the plan from the beginning.” he says, without a second thought.

Shut up. Shut up.

He can’t just say that SO matter-of-factly. As if it just comes natural to him. As if HE’S ACTUALLY TAKING YOUR RELATIONSHIP SERIOUSLY? God. That gave you butterflies. (This reassured you a lot.)

Micah puts his arm around you and you go around and talk to your friends and family for a while until it gets late. And by this time, he’s swaying. He’s not a big drinker, but he knows how to have a good time. You drive him home, being sober for the day.

He’s in the passenger seat babbling, “You’re so fucking cool. Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

Micah is sweet, unfairly sweet, it’s addicting. Yet, something inside you just wants to be ruined by the sweet man. His hand moves to your thigh and gives it a nice squeeze.

He continues, “Your friends and family are great. You’re so fucking cool, the best thing that’s happened to me.”

You chuckle and respond with, “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me too, Micah. Thanks. It was really nice to see you get along with my friends and family.”

“Of course, it’s something I’ve wanted to do since we got together. I’m really happy that it’s finally happened and that it went well.” You walk him into his home, his arm over your shoulder, propping him up. He gets you water, and hands you the inside slippers, even though he’s drunk as fuck.

You ask, “You’re not going to bed right away?”

“Pfft, no. I’m not that drunk,” he slurs a bit.

“Mhmm, sure.” You lean on the kitchen island counter, tilting your head back and rolling your eyes. You always do this when you’re asking for a kiss.

Even when he’s drunk, he’s no different from how he usually is. He hugs your waist and when you tilt your head back to its normal position, and he gives you a small peck. You make your mouth into the shape of a frown, to keep yourself from actually smiling, but it’s obvious to him that the creases of your face means that you liked it–and you have a little impulsive thought that needs to be dragged out of your head.

“What are you thinking?”

You hold his soft hands, “Oh my, you moisturized today.”

“I moisturize everyday.”

“Yeah, I can tell by how wet you’re getting me.”

His brow quirks, a bit surprised you're asking for sex, but his toothy grin is still there, smirking. Not in any way shape or form displeased at all. Acting coy, he gasps, “Oh no! Did I still water on you or something?”

“What does that mea–”

His hand slides into your pants, between your folds. “You’re right, it’s wet here.”

Happily being taken aback, you sputter, “Pfft, you only think it’s wet there because you moisturized.”

“I don’t think that’s how moisturizer works, angel.”

“How does it work then?”

“Let me show you,” he says before slipping his tongue into your mouth.  His hand cupping your face and his other, playing with your clit. Pressing you against the door.

Violently being wanted, yearned for, after a nice wholesome day? You couldn’t help but enjoy every last bit of it. The intensity heats up, you feel it in your stomach, you feel your body reacting to him.

You grab onto his t-shirt, bringing him as close to you as possible. You stop kissing him, only to start kissing his neck.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, unbuttoning his pants. “I’m drunk, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make you—,” he pauses. “Maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t wanna let you down.”

You cock your head, “What do you wanna do?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad right now. I just–don’t know if I’ll be able to cum. Not because of anything other than–y’know–,” he pauses, gathering his thoughts together, and squints, “The fact that alcohol reduces sperm production as it lowers testosterone, follicle-stimulating hormones, and luteinizing hormones, and raises estrogen levels.” He grins after finishing his sentence, proud that he remembered even while drunk.

“That’s stupid, I know you’re into me.”

He leans into you and whispers in your ear, “And oh, god, I wanna be inside of you”.

You shoot him a squeamish grin, “I don’t mind if we stop halfway, or you don’t cum.”

He’s drunkenly babbling in your ear, while playing with your hair, dick hard pressed on your stomach, “I just wanna make sure you cum, don’t wanna leave you horny.”

Chuckling, you say, “I’m already horny, you’re gonna leave me wanting more if you stop right now anyways–I wanna fuck. You wanna fuck. Let’s fuck.”

He pulls his face away from your neck to look at you in the eye, squinting, “Huh, you’re right. Aren’t you? You state pretty good facts”.

“Part of the job.”

His fingers, still in between your folds, inserts itself inside you. You let a whimper out and it surprises you how sensual you sounded, how soft your moans were. How he pulls these feelings out of you.

“Haha, what? Say that again?” His tone shows that he’s completely toying with you. You grimace at him. He chuckles, “Sorry, sorry,” and takes his pants off, and sits down on his bed. He’s leaning back on his forearms, spreading his legs out for you, dick bouncing. He sneers, “You’re the captain of the ship, right?”

It’s his way of saying you’re the boss right? You’re in charge right? Make yourself cum. Use him.

“Shut up.” You get a condom from his drawer, and slide it on his dick for him. You continue, “You like that, princess?”

“Yeah, I love it.” he eggs you on. You push him down, til’ he’s flat on the bed, and kiss him, inserting his cock inside you. It–obviously–feels good. You’ve been tapered into his shape from the constant mind blowing, dick-slamming, clit throbbing sex you both have.

He grabs a pillow and puts his hands behind his head, watching you grind on his cock as if it was a performance. His arms always looked so good like that, how his arms toned and defined, his triceps the star player of the show. You rubbed your clit and teased your nipples for him, eyes half lidded. Feeling his eyes trail on you, you feel warmer, hotter. The sensation of your fingers on your clit and the tip of his cock kissing your womb was almost too much to bear.

You whimpered, “Stop looking at me.”

He closed his eyes and grinned, “Yes, princess.”

You whimpered, you know you said what you said. You know he listened to you as well. It just wasn’t what you wanted. You collapse onto him, “I lied, look at me, fuck me, touch me.”

He hugs you then, a tight embrace. Reassuring you, comforting you. “You don’t have to say that twice.” He flips you over, taking his dick out of you and–-proceeds to go down on you.

You’re surprised. This usually isn’t the pattern of things but–oh does his tongue feel good against your clit. He spreads your legs open, one on your thigh, the other on your stomach. Your brain goes numb, your stomach feels butterflies, it’s building up. The pleasure. You grab onto his hair– “I–I’m cumming.”

You hold his head back, overstimulated, but the tip of his tongue still reaches you, driving you insane. You feel yourself convulsing, hear yourself moaning, smell the scent of his musk, taste his spit, and see his half lidded eyes wanting to enjoy you more.

“Ready for act two?” he aligns his cock to your sopping wet vagina. Bashfully, you wince, “...yes.” He glides his entirety right in. The process is painless, smooth, and full of pleasure. You can hear the bliss in his voice when he moans, “My second favorite pussy.”

You giggle, knowing that he’s referring to Skrunkly being his favorite cat. “I hope I’m at least your favorite vagina.”

“Oh, you already know.” He props your legs up over his shoulders. Thrusting inside of you indiscriminately, grabbing your tits and kissing you. His cock hits that one spot you can never reach yourself, but a couple of knocks on that door and the dam opens, “Hhhnnn–” you don’t wanna admit you’re cumming again so quickly.

He giggles, knowing how you tighten around him when you cum. “You satisfied?”

“Yeah, but you can fuck me more if you’d like to.”

He flops down on the bed beside you and kisses your forehead, holding you close.

.

.

.

.

.

And knocks out. You smile and laugh through your breath. It’s touching that all he cared about was making you feel good. You fall asleep in his arms. Another mundane and yet fulfilling day with him. You couldn’t wish for anything more.