It's Like A Reward

It's Like a Reward

You hear clattering and thumping from outside your room. Rolling your eyes, you continue to lounge in bed and scroll on your phone. This whole thing had been such a pain — what was he thinking getting a girlfriend to make you jealous?

Did he seriously think it’d make you cave?

God, he must have lost his mind. Thank goodness he found it. Only because you didn’t like someone else in your space, of course. Totally not because his stupid plan was actually working. You remember the shock you felt walking into your living room to see some girl on top of your roommate in the living room. The ridiculous smile on his face that washed away his usual completely bored look alerted you to the games he was playing immediately. 

Introducing her to you, you could only smile, nod, and get comfortable in the living room. After blah blah blah small talk, a quietness settled over the room and you chose to focus your attention on your book rather than the movie they were playing after they both insisted you stay. You could have chosen to read your book in your room, but some sick part of you — a really, really sick part you don’t want to confront right now— wanted to see where it would go. How far he would go. 

And God did he go far. His long fingers were digging into the thigh she had hooked over his lap. Spare hand pulling her hair back as their lips met in a messy clash, smacking sounds hitting you like sharp notes. She was practically humping his leg and moaning like crazy with little to no regard for you. Touching him all over, they were pressed so tightly one would have thought they were actively trying to fuse their bodies together permanently.

All while he had his eyes on you.

You knew what he was doing so you ignored him. Though you could see them writhing in your peripheral, you never wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to you. Of course you knew one day this would happen, that he'd grow braver and bolder, find new buttons to push, but you never thought it'd be so soon. Still, something about the whole thing didn't piss you off as much as it should have.

She was in his lap but you had him in the palm of your hands.

You were sure that if you had told him to, he would have ripped her clothes off and plunged inside her. He would have bent her into shape, moulded her into a pliable little plaything, rendering her stupid and useless, making a mess on the couch, on the coffee table, by the door, wherever you goddamn wanted him to. He would have done as you asked with a snap of your fingers because he's Choso and you're you.

A frantic knock jolts you from your thoughts. 

He’s finally here. 

You’d forgotten you have a lock on your door now. Wonder how long that’ll last. 

“I missed you” is the first thing he says when you let him in. And you believe him. How could you not when his hair is disheveled and there are dark circles under his eyes? His hands, riddled with silver rings, reach for your hips and pull you to him, groaning at your warmth, and when he takes a long inhale of your neck, his face falls in the crook of it. 

What a pain in the ass.

"Please get rid of the lock," he shamelessly requests. "I don't like not being able to come in here when I want. What if you get hurt? What if I need you?"

Scoffing, you snark, "You mean my panties."

One of his hands wanders behind you, under your shirt, and grips an ass cheek tight, fingers tracing the line of your panties until they’re at the gusset. You smack him away. Always pushing it. 

"No — well, yes, I want your panties too. But you come first, y'know. I'd much prefer getting what I need right from the source so I need you alive and well, roomie."

Sitting down on the bed, you give him a firm look. “Don’t touch me up, weirdo. I’m not even supposed to be rewarding you after the stunt you pulled.”

He gives you a sheepish smile, hand running through his messy but silky hair. 

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you dinner for a month. Or whenever you want. In fact, I’ll do whatever you want forever.”

That’s not a fair exchange, considering he already does that, but you keep your mouth shut. You want to get this over with. “Alright. Get on your knees and take it already.”

Eyes darkening, he loses that smile. There’s something animalistic taking over his demeanour now. It should frighten you, the way he flexes his hands, veins popping, and how his black eyes are focused solely on the apex of your thighs, but truthfully, you’re not. You’ve seen this side of him so often it only makes you sigh. 

Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he clutches your knees, thumbs caressing your skin, drawing a barely audible gasp from you, but somehow, he hears it. Only half-dressed, Choso pushes your thighs open and slowly, like he might scare you off; he lays a kiss on the inner side, all while keeping eye contact. He loves doing that. Doing something depraved and immoral with no shame or remorse. 

Like last month, when you barged into his room and shoved him off his bed to search through his pillows for your missing panties, all he did was shrug and say, “Take the pink one; your smell's practically gone. But leave the blue for me. Please.”

You left him the pink and take the blue just to spite him, but he just shrugged again and laid back down, clutching the panties in his fist and inhaling deep, eyes rolling back and spare hand rubbing his hard-on through his joggers. Then, he gave you a sweet smile and asked what’s for dinner.

You hate him.

“You’re wearing the yellow with white polka dots today. Did you have a nightmare again?” He mutters against your skin as he kisses the other thigh, obviously concerned the other one will get upset if he shows favouritism. 

Leaning back on your palms, you hook one leg over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just a stupid zombie apocalypse one. God, we really gotta stop watching The Walking Dead.”

He hums an agreement before he dives face-first into your clothed pussy. 

“Ah, fuck! Choso, don’t do that.”

Of course, he doesn’t listen. Instead, he’s sniffing at your panties like a mouse. It’s so pathetic, but you don’t push him away. The sensation is kinda nice. You blame the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in far too long, and well, anytime you try to bring over someone, Choso chases them away with his weird vibes. Or if he senses you’re going out to get fucked, he’ll basically handcuff himself to you. 

“Aw, you just showered. That’s no fun,” he grumbles, lips skimming your slit through the material. You moan and he tightens his grip on your thigh, hiking up the other leg over his shoulder. Squashed between your thighs, he makes no complaints about the bruising on his knees as he kneels on the floor. You’re not even sure he feels the ache. “I like it better when you haven’t yet. Did I ever tell you I sometimes break the shower so that you can’t wash for a day or two?”

Breathless, you respond, “N-no, but you didn’t need to. I already knew.”

"I'd like to go longer. Would you ever go longer?"

"No, dumbass. Do that, and I'll kill you."

Frowning against your pussy, he grouches, "But just once? I'll be good."

You bundle a handful of his hair into a fist and force him to look at you. With a sickly sweet smile, you warn him, "Choso, sweetheart. If you do that, I'll knock on one of our neighbours. What about that hot, blond salaryman downstairs? Hmm? Would you like me to be all wet, naked, and vulnerable in his apartment? 'cause you know I'll do it."

Eyes rolling back and lips parted, he practically fights the urge to vomit at the thought just as he lets the pleasure of the pain you're inducing at his scalp overwhelm him. Shaking off the disgust and your grip, he dives back in to nuzzle your panties with his cheek, a much-needed comfort you suppose. 

Certain, he mutters with petulant pauses, "I won't do it...He's not even that hot...I was just asking."

Standing abruptly with your legs still clutched in his hands, you fall back onto the bed, watching him tower over you, face between your ankles. 

"I felt like I was going crazy without you," he confesses. "I haven't been able to touch you, to feel you, barely even talked to you. It's horrible."

You roll your eyes. "And, do tell, Chosito, whose damn fault was that?"

Once and twice, he ruts his boner into your bare legs, the hot and hard length tickling you. Through his joggers, you can feel that impressive length at max hardness, and if you close your eyes and really pay attention, you can even feel a growing spot of wetness on the material. "Mine. But I just wanted to get you riled up a little."

"Sorry to be such a disappointment."

He looks stupid with his hair flopping about and his hands clutching your legs to his torso like they'll leave, but the feeling of his bare chest, sculpted and muscular, burning your own skin, leaves you somewhat breathless. Brows furrowed, we asserts, "No, you're perfect. Always -ha- so perfect."

Rightfully, you're surprised he's even wearing any clothes. Too often have you had to tell him off for wondering around just in his boxers. He lounges with his hair all mussed, semi-hard cock outlined in the thin material as he scratches his abs. He cooks in just his boxers too. What he doesn't do is wear boxers at all when he comes out the bathroom after a steamy shower.

You don't really fight him too hard on his dressing habits.

"Was she a good kisser, Choso?"

He grunts, eyes fluttering open as he continues rutting on your legs. "W-who?"

"Your ex."

Groaning right before he sucks the skin on your ankle like he just can't help himself, he replies, "No. I hated every second. I imagined it was you. But it was -ngh- h-hard 'cause her body's all wrong. Your tits are bigger and you smell better."

Frustrated, he practically growls and roughly djusts you on the bed to make space for his large body. He lays down with you, head at your pussy once more.

Now, he's rutting into the bed as he skims his lips on your panties, the sensation tickling you. You're fighting the urge to writhe on the bed and show him how good he's making you feel by barely doing anything; he'd never shut up if he realises this is as much for him as it is for you.

“You know your panties will be useless to me if they’re fresh, right? Maybe you should be nice and give me something else.”

“I shouldn’t e-even be rewarding you for breaking up with -ngh Choso slow down- your girlfriend. You used her, and that’s a fucked up thing to do, Choso.”

Face pressed to your panties again, he rubs the tip of his nose up and down your clothed slit, pressing harder where your clit is. Your hands fly to his hair. God, it’s so unfair how good he is at making the most of what little he’s being given. 

A thumb pushes in on your panties, circling your hole over the material. Then, with an irritatingly arrogant tone, he muses, “You say that, but you’re wet. Bet you were wet, too, when you watched us make out. Be honest, that was the real reason you hid in your room, wasn’t it? I got into the bathroom after you showered and your panties were soaked. Had a lot of fun with that one for hours. You wanted me to find it, didn't you?”

No way is he taking control of the situation. Cocky bastard. Like always, give him an inch, he goes all the way across the solar system. Shoving him off, you ignore his petulant, “Hey! No fair.”

In a flash, he’s being pushed out of your door, panty-less and looking like he’s in near tears. 

“Wait, I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. I promise.”

Cruelly, you smile. “Too fucking late, Kamo. Go jerk off the natural way, like God intended. Oh, and here’s your present for being a good boy and not fucking some other bitch.”

You smear the collected wetness from between your legs onto his lips, smirking at the desperate tongue that tries to capture as much of it as possible before you withdraw. 

“Bring another whore around here, and that’s the last of me you’ll ever get, mark my words. Say you understand.”

Eyes cloudy from delirium and licking his lips, he promises, “No one else. Only you.”

“Good.”

The door gets shut in front of his face. And locked for good measure. 

Later in the night, you walk out to get a glass of water from the kitchen and could only hear shameless moaning and whimpering coming from his room. You curse the tingling of your nipples and force your way back into your room. But even later, you get up and pad over inside. 

Under the glow of his bedside lamp, he lays there, sweaty, chest and hands soaked with drying cum, and asleep. You see his unlocked phone and sigh at the picture of you on there. It’s not even a suggestive one. You’re just hugging him from behind with a grin. 

Like you’ve done many times before, because he has the self-control of a ball of lint, you clean him up and tuck him in. He’ll catch a cold otherwise. Just as you turn to leave, however, his hand flies up and captures your wrist, fingers ringless. 

Half-conscious, he mumbles, “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have used her. Just want your attention. Want you to want me.”

“Oh, Choso.”

Placing his arm back onto his chest, you push his hair off of his forehead and lay a barely there kiss on his clammy skin. You say, “Nice try, weirdo. You’re still not getting my panties.”

“Aw, you’re so mean,” he huffs out, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. 

Then, you leave, feeling much lighter than when you dreamt of hands that weren't yours holding him captive and pulling him away.