Drunken Sex (MPOV)

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 BOYFRIEND’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 his 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, “Ofcourse I will, sir. Anything to make him happy.”

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

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

“Ofcourse, 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.”

“Ofcourse, 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, playing with your pre-cum. “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 cock. Pressing your entirety 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 your cock inside of him. 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 fuck has ass 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 rub his cock and tease his nipples, his eyes half lidded. Your eyes trail on him, making his body warmer, hotter. The sensation of pulsating his hole around your cock was almost too much to bear.

He whimpered, “Stop looking at me.”

You closed your eyes and grinned, “Yes, princess.” Mocking him.

He whimpered, you know he didn’t mean what he said, but it’s always fun to tease him. What can you say? You listened well. You wanted to make him beg for it. He held your hand in his, delicately, “I lied, look at me, fuck me, touch me.”

You hug him then, a tight embrace. Reassuring him, comforting him. “You don’t have to say that twice.” You slide your cock out of him–take his entirety in your throat.

He’s surprised. This usually isn’t the pattern of things but–oh is he feeling it. You spread his legs open, your hand gripping his thigh, the other on his stomach–sending sensations of pleasure down his back. You can tell that his brain is going numb, stomach full of butterflies, it’s building up. The pleasure. He grabs onto your hair– “I–I’m cumming.”

The effects of alcohol, my ass. You could make this man cum with one hand.

He holds your head back, overstimulated, but the tip of your tongue still reaches his tip, his cum spilling onto your mouth. You feel him convulsing, hear him moaning, smell the scent of his musk, taste his cock, and see his half lidded eyes wanting to enjoy you more.

“Ready for act two?” you align your cock to your asshole. Bashfully, he winces, “...yes,” covering his face with his hands. You glide your entirety right in. The process is painless, smooth, and full of pleasure. You know he likes it when you grunt, “My second favorite boy pussy.”

He giggles, knowing that you’re referring to Skrunkly being your favorite cat. “I hope I’m at least your favorite hole.”

“Oh, you already know.” You prop your legs up over your shoulders. Thrusting inside of him indiscriminately, grabbing his tits and kissing him. Your cock hits that one spot he loves, and you already feel him clenching on you. You fuck him until his eyes water. His cock gets harder, and you’re almost at escalation watching how he enjoys you.

You can’t help but cum at the same time. You flop down on the bed beside him and kisses his  forehead, holding him close.

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And he 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.