Part 13**
A few things had changed since you came to your senses and realized the love of your life had been lurking under your nose for months. You began sleeping in Shawn's bed, using Shawn's shower, and you were even allowed to drink from his prized "I'm kind of a big deal" mug.
His schedule was the hardest part of the adjustment.
Now that you were together, it was kind of your duty to know what he was up to when he was up to it. Or at least have a rough idea. This proved to be very difficult.
Maybe it was because he was an A-list celebrity or quite frankly just an obsessive workaholic, constantly busy with the gym or writing or rehearsals or immersing himself in you, you, you.
Shawn, on the other hand, was loving it. The way you rolled over to his side of the bed in the morning and pushed his curls back to pepper kisses on his forehead, and the way you waited until the last possible minute to slip into your jeans every day because who needs pants, anyway? had him breathlessly, endlessly, helplessly in love with you.
You knew it was only a matter of time before he popped the dreaded question.
"What should I tell my fans?" Shawn muttered across the small rectangular dinner table, a single drop of rosé sauce staining his white long-sleeve. He leered at you with curious eyes, golden in the dim light of the living-room-dining-room situation that your shared apartment had going on.
You sighed, pushing a few strings of spaghetti around your plate.
"Shawn," you started, chewing your lip a little as a loose tuft of curls fell onto his forehead. He looked stressed, "this all started, like, thirty seconds ago. I barely even know we're dating."
"Babe, it's been three weeks," he responded with a hint of a sigh, breaking eye contact as he brought his elbows to rest on the table.
The inevitable had arrived. It was time for the reckoning–the death sentence, or whatever was bound to happen that you'd been dreading since the beginning. His fans were like fucking piranhas.
"And if you're counting everything," he folded his hands together, chocolate eyes finding your worrisome ones. He looked big. Tense. Older. "It's been months."
"I know," you breathed, nodding slowly. He looked sad, so you finished your sentence, "baby. I know."
His eyes lit up a little and everything faded away. He was all that mattered.
"Why the rush, though?" you questioned while your socked toes danced up his shins under the table. He relocated his hands, tugging your feet into his lap so he could give your ankles a knowing squeeze. It wasn't like he'd done this before, either.
"I," he dragged out the vowel, your eyebrows inching a little closer to your hairline as he supressed a tight-lipped grin, "I want to bring you to an event."
You smiled a bit. The thought of getting all dressed up for something formal had you a bit flushed, and your curiosity about the industry had you tempted to ask more questions.
"We don't have to like, make a big announcement, though," you spoke slowly, his strong fingers cupping your heels in his lap. He tilted his head at you.
"I think they're gonna notice."
"Shawn," you protested, a little anxious. His touch was calming, but not calming enough, "what could possibly be such a big de-"
"It's the Grammys," he spoke flatly, maintaining a straight face as shock washed over your own. In the midst of your new relationship, you'd forgotten that he was a two-time Grammy-nominated artist, and while you were immensely proud, the thought terrified you. All eyes were going to be on him.
"Shawn," you protested again, knitting your brows together, "I'm not sure it's the right time."
Silence washed over the two of you as you picked at your cuticles, your feet falling from his lap. He looked sad. Disappointed, maybe? Oh god, you thought. He looked like he was ready to fucking cry.
You stood from your seat and made your way around the table, motioning for him to untuck his chair. He gazed at the floor, inching backwards toward the wall. Your gentle hands found his as you parked yourself on his thighs, his nose only a few inches from your own. His sad eyes pleaded with you.
"Baby," you whispered, leaning forward to gently peck his nose. You kissed each cheek, his forehead, his chin, his nose again, and finally landed on his lips, his mouth moulding to yours for a brief moment. You took his face in your hands, "I'm scared."
His eyes fluttered shut and he nodded, turning his head a bit to press his lips to your soft palm.
"I know."
Your fingers crept into his curls, combing through them softly as he seemed to relax in your essence. If only it was that easy.
"Shawn, talk to me," you murmured, hands moving to his shoulders to rub the knotted muscles as his rested on your thighs, holding you against his lap like if he didn't, you might drift away.
"I don't know," he spoke softly, "I'm scared, too. But a lot scares me. You used to scare me, before I fell in love with you," he paused to lean forward, brushing his lips against yours gently. You breathed in each other. "I just, I love you so much. So much, I want to fucking scream it. For everyone to hear."
Your hands danced downward, feeling the light pulse of his heart pounding against his chest.
"Please," he muttered, dipping his head down to your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin, "Please be there with me."
____________________
Nestled between the warmth of Shawn's thighs, your back rested against his middle as you scrolled past dress after dress, completely consumed by your wardrobe dilemma.
He was pushed against the corner of the couch, strong arms jolting you around as they gripped the PlayStation 4 controller in front of you.
Your matching sweatpants were so cute it made you sick to your stomach, and Shawn was the fluffiest, cuddliest, happiest man you'd ever come across.
"You're sure you don't know what you're wearing?" you asked him, trying to suppress the minor freak-out threatening to boil over.
"Tiff hasn't told me anything," Shawn muttered, frantically pushing buttons and clenching his forearms around your ribcage.
"Hm," you hummed, concluding that you were narrowed down to wearing black, "do I need to change for the afterparty?"
"Fuck the afterparty," he spoke flatly, virtually kicking the soccer ball to one of his teammates, "we can have our own little afterparty. No dress required."
"Shawwwwn," you groaned, pushing your head back against his chest. "Not happening."
"Wha-at?" he chuckled, tightening his grip on you and giving your torso a little shake, eyes still glued to the flat screen. "I won't even get a celebratory blowjob?"
"Only if you win," you grinned, filtering out short dresses on the website.
"And a sympathetic blowjob if I don't, babe," he smirked in your ear. "C'mon, m'kidding. You agreed to come. I'll let you do whatever you want to me."
To freak him out as he peered over your shoulder, you opened up a new tab and entered your website of choice, tapping the "For Him" section.
"Anything?" you asked with a shit-eating grin, waiting for him to catch a glimpse of the strap-on gracing your screen.
"Yes, an-", he paused, resting the controller down as he abandoned the game he was once so fixated with. There was a momentary silence, and then Shawn spoke, "actually, this is something I wanted to talk to you about."
What?
You swivelled your middle, craning your neck to look up at him.
Met by a pair of curious chocolate eyes, you knew. He wasn't fucking kidding.
"And what about it?" you asked bluntly, shocked by his...boldness? Adventurousness? Secret fucking fetish?
"Shawn," you treaded lightly, "you're telling me," you paused to phrase your question properly, "you're telling me you want it in your ass?"
He blinked down at you, his cheeks patchy and flushed. You felt how warm they were when his head tilted down to settle on your shoulder, pressing the side of his face into yours.
"Not necessarily," he mumbled, and you began rubbing his left thigh to make sure he didn't feel ashamed. "I just, remember when we started all this, and we agreed to do new things with each other?"
You nodded. He gave you a squeeze.
"I just want you to know that if this is something you want, I'm willing to try it with you," he spoke gently, his voice like fucking butter as your stomach dipped and electricity shot up your thighs. You never thought something like this would be such a turn on but with him, it didn't take much to get you going.
You thought about it for a second. Having control over him truly did not sound bad at all. To have him sweating, begging, writhing beneath you, his cock hard and his tip rosy, maybe his limbs even thrashing aroun-
"Babe," he breathed, "you're freaking me out a little. Please say something."
"Sorry," you replied, locking the iPad and placing it next to you on the white sofa, "I got a little carried away there," you giggled, pushing off his thighs to get up and flip around, his massive paws for hands welcoming the swell of your ass as you straddled his firm body.
"Mm, with what?" he asked, eyes wild and cheeks pink.
"Thinkin' about it," you grinned, and you were pretty sure he could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks from where he laid beneath you.
His fingertips sunk into the fabric of your grey sweatpants, rolling his hips against yours as he asked, "And?"
"And I definitely wanna try fucking you, baby," you cooed in his ear, his fluffy curls tickling your nose as your teeth gently clamped down on the shell of his ear.
If he wasn't hard before, he was throbbing now, and judging by the ache between your thighs, it had to be dealt with. As soon as possible.
His lips caught you off guard, though, breathing you in like you were the last bit of oxygen left in the world.
Your overwhelming need for him was impeached by your need to please him and before you knew it, you were trailing rough, wet kisses down his neck as your hands made their way into the waistband of his sweatpants.
He muttered something under his breath, watching your every move with a wild stare and parted lips.
"Baby," he spoke huskily, "slow down."
"Shawn," you looked up from his bare stomach, his t-shirt bunched up at his chest in your desperate attempt for more access to his skin, "I have never wanted to suck your dick more than I do in this very moment," guess the honesty route was the way to go. You leaned down to kiss his happy trail, his abs contracting beneath the warmth of your lips, "do you want my mouth or not?"
His eyes practically got lost in his brain, they rolled back so far. Just the thought of having your lips wrapped around his cock had him squirming, desperate to get the fabric off his thighs so you could surround him instead.
"C'mere," you muttered, straightening him out on the couch as his boxers fell to his ankles, his bare ass on the cushion. You sunk to your knees, admiring his upward cock as you settled between his thighs.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, red in the face with a racing heart, reaching to grab a fistful of your hair as you traced your nails up his inner thighs, causing him to shiver with excitement.
You swiftly tugged your (his) hoodie over your head, revealing your bare, perky breasts and you swore he moaned at the mere fucking sight.
You reached between his thighs, grabbing a handful of his cock as you leaned forward and took his reddened tip between your lips, swirling your tongue around the soaked head. Shawn squirmed, already out of breath and longing for more.
Taking more of him, you sunk down his shaft a little, gently bobbing your head and focusing on keeping him wet. His hips were restless, meeting your mouth as you tried to pace yourself, a new thought piercing the back of your mind.
You released him with a 'pop.'
"M'sorry, sorry baby, I'll be good," he apologized, stilling his hips as he leaned back into the cushions.
Such a good boy.
"No, it's not that," you paused, averting your gaze for a few seconds. You didn't know how to say it.
"What is it?" Shawn asked, pushing forward to get his face closer to yours. His hand caressed your cheek and you pushed into it, your lips puffy from sucking him off.
"I, um," you gulped, "Shawn, I want you to fuck my face."
He was laughing.
"I'm serious," you whined, trailing your fingertips up and down his thighs.
"What the fuck has gotten into you tonight?" he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners. He was still hard—you saw right through him.
"Well, I'm hoping you will!" you giggled, squeezing his legs softly.
Shawn wrapped the faux fur throw blanket around his waist as he stood from the couch, shuffling over to the windows to pull the shades down. Holy fuck. He was down for this.
He dropped the blanket once he was satisfied with the thorough level of privacy, turning to stand in front of where you knelt on the living room floor.
His cock was hard in front of you, and you couldn't help but lean forward with an open mouth, gently wrapping your lips around his leaking tip.
"You're sure about this?" he looked down at you, his right hand settling against the back of your head as you nodded with a hum, caressing his shaft with your hollowed cheeks.
"I'll be gentle," he spoke, against your wishes. There was something about him, tonight. You wanted to give him what he needed in the filthiest of ways, stopping at next to nothing to get him off. In response, you pushed forward, gagging a bit as your nose bumped his navel.
He groaned loudly, retracting his hips to pull almost all the way out of your mouth, reveling in the feeling of your warm cheeks and allowing you a few seconds to breathe.
Your hands danced up his thighs, settling on his hips as he tilted his head back, gently thrusting into your mouth. You moaned around him, using your tongue to keep him wet as he slid in and out from between your lips, watching with great fascination.
Your eyes were watering but you liked the burn. His thrusts were shallow but prompt, careful not to fuck with your breathing but also using you like he was deep in your cunt after a long day.
"Fuck, baby," he whined, the tone of his voice needy and thick with sex, "takin' my cock so fuckin' good, ah," he continued, pulling your head to meet his thrusts.
The sounds filling the room were filthy, soaking your pussy as you looked up at him, face contorted into a lustful gaze as he used your mouth the way he deserved. His left hand rested over yours on his side, squeezing your fingers in a reassuring "I love you" as he gently but hungrily rowed into your lips, a mumbling, moaning, whining mess.
"Shit, baby," he huffed, "you okay?"
"Mhm," you mumbled around him, pulling back and replacing your lips with your small hand to take a breath.
"So good," he groaned, his eyes dark and locked on yours as you jacked him off, regenerating, "m'gonna come soon."
"Where you gonna come, baby?" you blinked up at him, leaning forward to suck one of his balls into your mouth as he tossed his head back in bliss.
"C-can," he babbled, panting, "can I come on your tits?"
"Mhm," you giggled, his gaze finding yours again as you released him, moving back to his cock to push him over the edge.
You licked your lips before he pushed into your mouth deeply, a scratchy groan erupting from his throat. His hips thrashed, moving toward and away from your stationary head, welcoming his cock like it belonged to you. Didn't it?
He was moaning louder. It was musical—angelic, even—the way he called your name, repeating it like a fucking mantra as he took what he needed from you, heart bursting because you were willing to give it to him. He watched your lips welcome his throbbing length, dancing on the brink of orgasm as you hummed against his sensitive shaft, begging him to just fucking give it to you. He couldn't last.
"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck," he huffed, retracting his cock from your warm mouth to replace your lips with his hand, stroking himself relentlessly as he bent his knees to aim for your bare chest.
You watched intently as he cried out in pleasure, spurting hot ribbons of himself onto your skin, legs shaky from the intense pleasure.
A string of whines and "I love you"'s escaped his swollen lips, draining him of everything he had. You stood to meet him, an accomplished feeling coursing through your veins as he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, careful not to transfer any of himself from your skin to his shirt.
"Thank you," he spoke against your mouth, "thank you," again, moving to kiss your forehead, "thank you," one last time, nuzzling his nose into your hair.
"I love you," you giggled, finding his hands and interlacing them with your own, "please, can we order that thing online?"
"Not until I pay you back for what just happened," he muttered, gently pushing you to the couch and sinking to his knees, ready to return the favour.
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