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In the privacy of the attic, with dusk setting fast around you, you and Hector are making up for lost time.
It started with kissing; it always does. But who could blame you? His smile is irresistible, as are those little faces he makes; it's stunningly easy to get him blushing, and you're not afraid to use all the tools in your arsenal to make it happen. Compliments, stray touches, even light flirtation. That confidence from his time in the vents melts away as soon as your eyes are on him. You think a good old-fashioned make-out session might kill him. You're certainly excited to try.
Turns out, Hector's nervousness is only outweighed by his need for you. Sure, he blushed bright red when you crawled in his lap, but that first kiss quickly turns into more. Now down to nothing but your underclothes, the mounting confidence in his kisses thrills you. His lips are warm and soft, wet and perfect. He tastes like cool air and comfort. Each kiss contrasts with the stubble on his chin and cheeks, grounding you deeply in your body. He's not shy with his tongue and barely breaks to breathe, moaning softly into your mouth as you meet again. He kisses you like he's starving. His hands run up and down your body like he's trying to memorize the way you feel.
Maybe he is. You're certainly trying to do the same.
Under his makeshift clothes, Hector is surprisingly soft. Almost every inch of him is covered in thick, soft hair; his chest and belly especially, which you discovered when you finally got him out of that cone-necked shirt. Contrasting many of the other objects in your home, he doesn't have the body of an athlete or a model; his waist is soft, his arms thin and limber. It's a body designed for function, designed to navigate every curve and angle of your home; a body perfectly fit for all the incredible things he can do.
All of it—all of him—makes you swoon. Perfect for grabbing, snuggling, or warming you, depending on your mood. Tonight, you're grabbing him as if to pull him under your skin. His hips buck in your grip as you urge his lips open with your tongue, and he parts for you easily; kissing you deeper, longer than you thought was possible.
All of it has had its effect on you. Pangs of arousal swell and shoot through your belly, making you whimper or moan in spite of yourself. Underneath your underwear, you're already wet. When he palms your chest or hip, squeezing slowly and firmly, it sparks through you like electricity. You're sure he can feel how hard your nipples are.
You're loath to break the kiss, but stay close to his cheek as you speak. "Hector, please. I want..."
His lips find your neck and kiss it up, then down, each one warm and intentional. A hand slides down the curve of your hip, following the divot where it meets your thigh...
You whimper into his ear, unashamed, as he feels your arousal. You're certain you've almost soaked through your underwear. "Hector, I want you."
"Oh, my love." He breathes the words easily, as if they've been waiting on his lips for this exact moment. "Would you give me the honor? Would you let me take care of you?"
Sweet, giving Hector. He once told you that your pleasure was his, that seeing your contentment allowed him to feel the same. You know what he means by the question; that he will pursue nothing less than your total satisfaction, that he will give all he has to pleasure you. His touch, equal parts eager and reverent, is a testament to that.
It's all you can do to nod.
His hands find your hips and he gently turns you around. His chest hair tickles your back, his body firm against you. Now straddling his lap, you find yourself deliciously spread. He traces the band of your underwear before urging it down your thighs. A cool breeze dances between your parted legs as he exposes you; you gasp, and he hums, voice flush with satisfaction.
Now that you're facing away from, all his confidence in the vents returns. Something about your eyes makes him unable to focus, shy. But there's no shyness in his movements now. He touches you like he always promised he would; needy, firm, and full of yearning.
But no movement is rushed. He savors your skin with each fingertip, his long, tan digits sinking between your lips with purpose. As he brushes your clit, you gasp, tense against him; his other hand balances you, and you lean into him more, asking tacitly for his care.
Hector is all too happy to provide. He wets his fingers in your own slick, rubbing back and forth, back and forth, before testing your entrance; you gasp, and he kisses your neck deeply, humming as he circles. "Yes?" he murmurs.
You nod, swallowing, before you speak. "Yes. Yes, Hector. Please."
He sinks in slowly, softly, with patience and care and absolute adoration. He even groans into your neck as he does it, his breath hitching, chest swelling at your back. "So warm... so wet..." The need in his voice is palpable. "Oh, amorcito..."
He moves expertly inside you, two long fingers pumping in and out, the pace both perfect and agonizing. His other hand greedily palms your chest; his teeth ghost your neck, nibbling and kissing in time with each thrust.
"Yes, just like that," he murmurs, gentle and kind. "So good for me. Deep breaths..."
You've always been fixated on his hands. How could you not? When you first began dating, they were the only parts of him you could see. Beyond that, though, you were always struck by their elegance and strength, by the confidence with which he wielded them. He's certainly putting that confidence to use now. He doesn't thrust into you roughly or hurriedly; rather, he's almost methodical with his movements, peppering your neck with plenty of kisses as he pumps, pumps, pumps.
Each new thrust sends shivers down your spine, adding to the need growing in your core. He loves you exactly as you wish it, even before you can speak. Each twitch and groan, every movement you make, is countered swiftly by his hands and lips. He watches you, only you, to ensure your enjoyment. Adjusts accordingly. And keeps kissing you up and down, soft and pleasured, until your shoulders and neck are thoroughly worshiped.
"Hector," you moan, already nearing the precipice. Unbelievable, that you got this close, this quickly; from only a make-out session, for God's sake. But you can feel the pride radiating from Hector, his confidence buoyed by your reaction. You recall, for a moment, a comment about craftsmen and clay; you certainly feel the part now, your every reaction orchestrated by his touch.
"So wet," he muses. Presses a hot kiss into your neck, your blood thrumming, your breath catching in your throat. "Ready for more?"
You swallow roughly; nod.
Slowly, so slowly it's almost torture, he adds a third finger. His thumb resumes its steady massage around your clit as he slides in—adjusts—then stretches his fingers apart, just a little.
A cry slips from your throat, and you throw your head back, exposing even more of your neck for Hector to ravage. His stubble brushes you as he drags his teeth up your pulse, almost worshipful in his hunger. His tongue darts out, and then he bites; firm, needful, as he presses in deeper. You arch into him, keening, a fresh flash of arousal kindling in your belly.
"You taste as good as I always dreamed you would," he murmurs, his breath warm against your thundering pulse.
You're unable to speak, to think; every anxiety of the day melts under his touch. Your body responds for you, clenching hard around Hector's fingers.
The orgasm tears through you with the force of a cyclone. Your arms and legs give out, tingling and locked tight; your core contracts, then contracts again, and again. You can't help it; a wild cry slips from your lips, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. The sensation is so intense, you barely even feel of yourself. The only thing grounding you in your body is him.
He holds you steadily against his chest, supporting your weight, ensuring your comfort. Yet, he doesn't stop his thrusting; he works in and out at a merciless pace, murmuring in your ear all the while. You can feel his lips curl up in a smile against you. "Beautiful. Beautiful. Just like that..."
You lose count of your orgasms quickly. Just when you think you can't take more, that you're finally spent, he makes you unravel all over again. Each time the wave of pleasure recedes, another swells to take its place. Soon, it feels like you've been cumming forever.
"You're doing so well," he whispers, pressing a kiss into your flushed cheek. You respond with a breathy cry, croaking weakly. "Do you think you can give me one more?"
What else can you say?
The final push fills you with deep warmth and satisfaction, and just like that, you collapse. You have no energy to hold yourself up on your own; everything is numb and light, yet oversensitive at the same time. You're a twitching, dewey mess, leaking like a faucet on his hand.
But as soon as he senses you're finished, it's all praise. He only breaks his kisses to whisper compliments, effusive and deeply honest. If you were more lucid, perhaps you'd feel like you don't deserve them; you'd focus on how messy and weak you feel. Instead, all you can comprehend is the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the continued warmth of his fingers inside you. He hasn't pulled out, not yet; a last bid for closeness, even now.
"Sweet, beautiful creature," he says, kissing your cheek, trailing down, urging you to turn. When you do, he kisses you deeply and fully. "So strong. Perfect, every inch of you."
"Hector," you breathe, barely able to manage those two syllables. Your mind is still swimming—but a chill is starting to set in at your fingers and toes as your sensation normalizes.
He smiles down at you, a sweet wrinkle in his forehead, his eyes glimmering with love and warmth. "Say no more, my love." He presses a kiss into your forehead, and in time, you feel a gentle gust of warm air surround you; the perfect temperature, the perfect strength. A breath you didn't realize you'd been holding leaves you, and you relax once more.
"Mm. Made a mess," you mumble, eyes fluttering closed.
You can hear the smile in his voice as he wraps you in his arm, pulling you closer to share in his warmth. "And what a beautiful mess it is."