TW: Light BDSM, RPF, Smut

He only really mentions love when you fuck; his hands on the back of your head and the pressure of his lips against yours smears the words into your open mouth. 'I love you' sounds a lot like 'fuck you' when it's muttered right. It makes you shiver, just like the way he almost-growls your name makes the hairs on the back of your neck and your arms stand up. When he puts a hand on your chest, pushing you down, you obey, laying down flat for him to do with as he wants.

"Up," he says, running his hands down your sides and compliantly you buck your hips, letting him slide your boxers down. "Hands above your head." Immediately, you reach back to grab at the bedstead with both hands. Lewis likes to give orders, (and you like to take them.) He likes to take control, sneaking long, slim fingers up to curl around the base of your neck and add pressure, just enough and only until it makes you gasp out. He wants you to beg for it, (loves it when you do,) so he draws it out for as long as he possibly can, taking his time repositioning your legs and biting sticky, hot trails down your neck and chin, to your collarbone, moving back up to lick at the corner of your mouth. He moves to your ear, his breath fanning out softly across your skin. He mumbles something you can't make out, (maybe you don't want to?) but you don't have time or thought to ask - it doesn't matter anyway when he moves to kiss you again, his tongue flicking teasingly against yours while one of his hands finds its way down to touch you, barely-there, lightly, until a frustrated whimper escapes you.

"Ah, Lewis. Please..." You shift restlessly against his hand and his smile turns a little feral against your cheek.

"Yes?" He drawls, drags his lips across your chin and licks at your bottom lip. He bites down firmly, then licks again. "Please what?" His hand curls into a fist around you then, but it doesn't move. Regardless, your breath hitches uselessly in your throat.

"Please, just-" Trailing off and swallowing through a dry throat, you squeeze your eyes shut and twist and wring your hands around the bedstead. Vainly, you wait for him to do something, anything, but when he doesn't you try bucking into his hand. Lewis simply lets you go and you let out another whimper, a long, drawn out whine this time.

"Lewis!" you growl, as if it does you any good at all. Arms leaning on either side of your torso, you can feel him hover above you, his breath fluttering across your face as he speaks.

"Look at me," he whispers, but you don't obey right away. Instead, you turn your head to rub your face against your bicep, inwardly arguing with yourself and wondering why everything always has to be Lewis' call. You only comply when the warmth of his body disappears slightly and his voice, sharp as daggers this time, snaps at you. "Look at me," he orders, and your eyes finally open to find him sitting up in between your legs. His expression softens quickly though, once you catch his eye.

"Please what? Come on, Sjin..." His smile radiates torment and teasing as he leans down to blow humid air across your belly, experimentally nosing his way up and down the line of hair there, making goodbumps break out across your skin. He keeps his eyes on you, challenging you and raising an eyebrow in question. He's just waiting for you to give in, any second now, and when he dips the tip of his tongue into the hollow of your bellybutton you can't help it anymore.

"Please, Lewis. Just... Fuck me, please, just do it already." The words tumble from your lips pathetically, fading into unclear babbling and muttering as he moves back up immediately to kiss you. For a slim guy, he knows how to make you feel crushed under his weight. His fingers briefly find their way in between your lips, sliding over tongues and teeth as they meet. His fingers leave a wet trail over your chest and stomach as Lewis withdraws them, and when he slides them into you, you tense up, just a little bit. Your lips tighten and your eyebrows furrow into a slightly worried expression, and you bite your lips hard to try and steady your breathing. Looking at you through his eyelashes, Lewis presses small, gentle kisses to your forehead until he feels you relax. He mumbles something again; it's more a vibration against your skin than a sound, but it helps you relax more as he moves his fingers again and you squirm up against him, digging your heels into the mattress. "Please, please, please," you mumble in a rhythmic mantra. Your breathing is laboured and shaky, and you're begging now, desperately fucking begging for it, but you don't care anymore.

Lewis doesn't say anything, but he nods a little, finally, his nose rubbing against your cheek. The warmth and presence of his body disappears as he goes to collect lube and a condom, and you're left lying there, panting in an undignified way, open-mouthed as you watch him root around in his bedside table. You watch Lewis get himself ready, then he puts a hand on the back of your knee, carefully lifting your leg up to press back against your chest. He's not gentle, but he's not rough either, as he bites his lip hard in concentration and positions himself. He pushes all the way in with one long, firm thrust. You manage to bite back the moan but your face screws up with a mixture of discomfort and pleasure, and he stops then, gives you time to adjust. For a moment, there's only the sound of ragged breathing coming from both of you, mingling in the warm, humid air. You can hear his heartbeat as well as feel it inside of you; looking up at him, you find his eyes closed. You stretch up to kiss him softly, lips only brushing against his. Lewis tastes like coffee and mint.

"Move, please." It's barely a whisper, but it's enough, and Lewis drags his eyes open to look at you. When he starts to pull back you know exactly what's coming, so you grip the headboard even tighter in anticipation, groaning loudly as he suddenly slams back into you. Lewis doesn't moan so much as make low mumbles and growls, only letting out the smallest of sounds when he can't seem to stop them, but he loves that you're vocal. When he does it again, you moan louder for him, turning your face away to hide it in the crook of your arm again.

He sets a slow but hard pace at first. It's excruciatingly slow in fact, he knows that drives you crazy. Lewis slows his ministrations every time you try to speed things up, twisting vainly up against him. You can see how hard he has to focus not to lose his self-restraint - there's only so much he can take himself - but you know you're going to have to ask for it if you want it so, face still hidden, you do, the words coming out short and stuttered.

"Harder, Lewis, please..."

Then there was fingers on your chin, turning your head back to face him as he starts moving faster, eventually pounding into you. He never takes his eyes off you, (and you don't dare take yours off him.) He slides his free hand down the side of your ribs, around to your lower back, and you willingly lift your hips up off the bed to meet his thrusts. You can feel your knuckles turning white, hands having gone numb from holding on so hard for so long. When you feel it start to build in your stomach, spreading down to your toes and up to your shoulders, you know it's too soon but you can't help it. Arching your back and bucking your hips up to meet each thrust and push, Lewis makes you want to beg again but you don't have to as his hand finally finds you again. He barely has time to touch you though, only manages a few firm strokes before you come all over your stomach. The keening cry you let out, of expletives and obscenities, gives Lewis that glint in his eye that you can't really read or understand other than to know that you love it. He follows soon after, jerking his hips almost erratically as he starts to come. The wet, breathless kisses he plants all over your face are a contradiction to the fingers at the base of your throat again, scratching raw, jagged lines into your skin as he mumbles into your hair.

For what feels like hours, (but is probably more like only a few minutes,) you just lie there, still panting, muscles twitching randomly. Lewis' hair is sticking up at awkward angles when he finally moves, lifts his head off your shoulder to look at you again. You desperately want to push it back and smooth it down, and unconsciously your hands slip from where they had been holding onto the bedstead. You don't think about it at first, but when you move to push his hair back you suddenly become unsure, half-reaching back again, but Lewis catches your wrist, kisses it softly, and smiles.

Afterwards he always curls up behind you, arms and legs around your thighs and hips and waist until you're completely trapped, just the way he wants you. He always squeezes you tightly and holds on to you as if you were going to run away if he let you go, and he always sighs softly.

"Sjin..." He presses soft, small kisses to your neck, nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Sjin, I..." He trails off and sighs again, smudging his lips against your skin, and you always understand perfectly and whisper, 'love you,' back.

Credit to teegs on Ao3