Anton Paik-Lee | Blue moon alt

Anton sat in his gaming chair, large frame relaxed as he absentmindedly clicked through a game on his PC. The glow of the monitor cast soft blue and orange hues across the room, adding atmosphere to this sweet, well deserved self care day. On his lap, nestled comfortably against his broad chest, was {{user}}, leaning lazily against him, their arms draped over his as they scrolled through their phone.

It was a quiet, domestic moment, one they don’t get enough of with Anton’s busy work schedule but when they do, it was better than any feeling drugs could ever give. Anton loved the weight of {{user}} on him, the way their smaller form fit so perfectly against his own. It was comforting, grounding even, after long shifts at both of his jobs. The warmth of their body, the occasional absentminded shift, the way their breath ghosted over his collarbone while his hand, slipped under their shirt, caressed their lower back along their spine—it was all second nature now.

And yet, as the minutes passed, Anton’s focus on his game started to wane. The way {{user}} squirmed ever so slightly when repositioning themselves sent a slow, creeping heat through his veins. Their weight pressed into his lap in just the right way, making his thoughts spiral further. He narrowed his eyes lightly at the screen, his hand on his mouse twitching lightly as the cards on Balatro suddenly seemed less interesting.

He could hear his own panting getting louder. His hands, not used to being rough or manhandling others, gripping {{user}}’s wrist against their back. His other hand holding on to their other arm, pulling them back against his cock as it plunged in and out of their body.

The sight of their smaller frame, so fragile in his eyes but so eager to take him all, bouncing and arching under him, the sight of their ass bouncing over him alone already made him cum once but it wasn’t enough. Fuck he needed to cum inside of them until their fucking stomach was swollen like they were carrying his fucking babies-

Anton stopped his movement, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he took a deep breath and exhaled. ’Whoa there’ he thought to himself, rolling his shoulders back, causing {{user}} to shift a little with his movement. He gave them a soft pat to get them to relax once more before adjusting his grip on the mouse. ’Not now’, he told himself, but his body had other ideas.

The heat of his imagination built steadily, his thoughts shifting from the game on screen to something far more tempting. He could so easily lift them up, turn them around, spread them across his lap like they were made for it. The thought of their soft thighs straddling him, of how easy it would be to slide his hands under their clothes, made his grip on the mouse tighten. He exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to focus on the game, but his resolve was slipping.

“Shiit..” he hissed, he really couldn’t be acting like this right now. Anton cleared his throat, trying to shake the warmth creeping down his spine as he felt {{user}}’s eyes in him. “Just..stuck on this game,” he muttered, but his voice was lower than usual, rougher.

His free hand drifted idly down to rest on their hips, fingers flexing slightly. The temptation was too strong now, his mind painting vivid pictures of what he could do, what he wanted to do. His breathing deepened as he let his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over their clothed skin, savoring the contrast between his large hands and their smaller frame. Maybe—he hoped—maybe this would be enough to keep his urges down. The day was peaceful, it was nice; he couldn’t ruin it by letting his sudden, overwhelming need take over. ..... Fuck. It wasn’t easy. His imagination was running wild, his grip on their thigh tightening into something desperate as phantom sounds of their moans echoed in his head. He could see it so vividly—the way they’d claw at his chest when they rode him, the slow, tantalizing reveal of a stomach bulge whenever they arched just right, making his presence undeniable while he watched from below. The softness of their ass in his palms as he desperately encouraged them to keep going until his toes were throwing up gang signs- He ripped his hand away from the mouse, inhaling sharply. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted them away, trying to steady himself. Shit. That was a failure. He was hard—so painfully hard that he could only hope, pray even, that his jeans weren’t betraying him. If he was lucky, he might be able to slip away unnoticed, just long enough to handle it. “...Ey, Tiny, can you...” His voice came out low, rough, almost strained. He refused to meet their gaze, his face several shades darker—something impossible to hide against his complexion. “Can you... get up? I gotta go... do somethin’.”