Fantasy and Putts - t.h. series [18+]

Putter Fantasy - Strike Two i

words : 14.6k

warnings : fluff and pining, golf talk and smut: shared dominance, protected sex, orgasm denial, oral (f. receiving)

note : heads-up! didn't want to keep referring to y/n as being "busy with work", so i added a particular kind of online activity. hope no one minds!

~ ⛳️ ~

Strike Two - i

Three weeks.

Three weeks all alone in a flat, either buried in work or sleeping because you hardly felt in the mood for anything else. Sometimes the boys would call home to check on you and everything else, sometimes you'd call them because it had simply been too many days, and of course sometimes you and Tom spoke in the middle of the night. More often than not, you'd have a hand on the phone and the other down your knickers, but on occasion you'd talk for hours in whispers as though anyone could hear you.

Three insufferable weeks that lasted close to three centuries. Moderately appeased when Tom finally called saying he was on his way from the airport. Yet only soothed completely by a thirty second fuck as soon as he got home.

It was rushed, yes, your eager body smashed between the wall and his hard muscles as you groped around the top of the shoe rack at your feet where you'd stashed a condom before you went downstairs to help him with his luggage. Your knees were sort of in the way and you pretty much scraped them on a metal shelf, but once Tom got the rubber on and slipped into you, it was as satisfying as taking off a pair of high heels after an excruciating day. The waves of pleasure rolled over you from your hand on your clit to his cock grazing your spot, to the frantic slap of his hips against yours. And it took only a few thrusts before you cried out in blissful pain and felt him collapsing against your back, too.

"Ugh," you groan now, rolling your head on your shoulders when Tom reappears on your left. You've been sitting on the hardwood floor, in front of the spot where he just fucked you, contemplating whether you want a second round right here, right now or later on a proper bed.

Tom is coming back from the kitchen, scratching his lower belly mindlessly, the obvious bulge in his briefs still hanging between the v of his zipper. He settles down on the floor next to you and offers you one of the two pieces of chocolate he's carrying. "Here."

"Thanks," you mumble through your first bite.

Tom only hums in response, clearly occupied with eating his own piece in one go. He looks satisfied, or at least partially, the same way you feel, and there's a beautiful red spot on the base of his neck where his collar is stretched to the side. You left it there on your way up in the elevator, by sucking so hard on the skin that Tom had serious trouble trying to get the key into the front door lock.

After he finishes chewing and before you get another bite into your mouth, you look at him and study the slope of his shoulders. He's got his knees pointing up, and his elbows rest on them while his hands are loosely clasped together somewhere in the middle. Feet straight on the floor, his head bowed as he sighs. Then he looks up as though he can feel your eyes on him.

He smiles and you smile back. Looking back to what just happened, you need something to break the silence, so you say, "Can't believe you lasted that long."

"Oh, go off, will you?"

"What was it, thirty seconds?" you tease him further.

He laughs, pushing you hard on the shoulder. "I came because you came, so you've got nothing to brag about."

You eat the last portion of chocolate in your hand, gazing him straight in the eye. "That... wasn't enough for you, was it?"

"Not really," he scoffs as though it's so obvious, "but I need a shower first." He grabs the collar of his t-shirt and pulls it over his nose. His voice all muffled when he adds, "Ugh, I smell like baby puke."