FiddAuthor

"You doin' good, bud?"

Stanford lets out a soft, needy whine at Fiddleford's voice. That breathy Southern drawl whispered into his ear made him tremble and press his face firmly against the crook of his roommate's neck. He nodded, hands tightly gripping the back of the other's tank top and shivering at the insistent presence of a leg between his thighs—his hips twitched, making an aborted motion of wanting to grind against it, but he was evidently still hesitant.

Fiddleford chuckled. Ford can be cute sometimes, even if most of the time he’s an insufferable little brat. But now? With Stanford sitting astride with his leg between his thighs and whining oh-so-sweetly? Fiddleford has never seen a lovelier sight than this. Gently running his fingers through Stanford's hair, he started leaving a trail of light kisses on his jaw. He never really meant to tease him, but the situation was too perfect to let this opportunity pass by. "Use yer words, Stanford."

"Stop teasing me," Stanford whined again, which turned into a choked-off moan when he felt Fiddleford's hands firmly grip his waist and gently guide him through the motions of grinding down on Fiddleford's thigh. Oh, that feels good. The way the fabric of his shorts rubbed against his clit sent shivers down his spine, and with every passing second of humping on Fiddleford's leg like a dog, he could feel himself getting wet—and from how Fiddleford's hands on him momentarily tightened, his friend knows.

"How does it feel, bud? Good?" Fiddleford asked as one of his hands trailed to grab a handful of Stanford's plump rear.

At the sound of Stanford's breathy little 'uh-huh,' one of Fiddleford's fingers pressed against where he could feel Stanford's pussy steadily soaking the thin fabric of his shorts through. Stanford jolted, muffling a loud mewl against the crook of Fiddleford's neck, hips bucking as if he couldn't decide whether to hump on his friend's leg or grind back against the finger prodding him.

"N-Not fair," Stanford panted, leaning back ever so slightly with his face stuck in an expression that was a mix of desperate horniness and frustration. "You- mngh... You've been t-teasing me. I don't like it when you do that, Fidds..."

"Aw, I'm sorry, buttercup. Here, come closer."

Fiddleford met Stanford halfway, slipping in a tongue and swallowing every sweet little noise he made against his lips. His hand wandered, slipping inside the waistband of Stanford's shorts and tugging it down. It took a few more tries, especially since Stanford kept clinging to him like a limpet and distracting him with kisses, but he haphazardly threw it away to the side the moment it was off—leaving Stanford bare and his soaking wet pussy for Fiddleford to play with.

Stanford had expected Fiddleford to go for it like usual; slip a couple of fingers inside him and make him see stars until he passed out—which was why he was confused when his friend decided to rid himself of his boxers until they were both matching each other.

"What are you doing?" Stanford asked. In lieu of a verbal response, Fiddleford pulled him down by the waist, all while spreading his thighs open until both of their cunts were inches apart from rubbing against each other. Stanford couldn't muffle the whimper that escaped his lips—hell, he could not even avert his eyes from staring at Fiddleford's pussy if he tried.

"You ever heard of 'frotting,' darl'?" Fiddleford chuckled, watching the way Stanford's eyes snapped back up to him and the adorable blush that settled high on the apples of his cheeks—seeing his usually uptight and no-nonsense friend reduced to a flustered, whining, and needy mess with just a few kisses and heavy petting made Fiddleford's ego grow big. At Stanford's questioning look, Fiddleford grinned at him and pulled him in until their pussies were pressed flush against one another.

Stanford trembled, trying his best to keep himself straddling Fiddleford as his hips twitched in an aborted thrust. His lips fell open in a gasp at the slightest bit of movement that had both of their clits rubbing together, pleasure shooting down his spine, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensations wreaking havoc in his veins—it felt good. Too good. It was so good, in fact, that it took him a moment to notice the loud, desperate noises he'd been hearing were coming from his mouth.

"F-Fidd- mmh! Feels good..." He mewled as Fiddleford continued to guide him through the motions, using the grip on his waist to pull Stanford in and frot. He was so overwhelmed with pleasure that he didn't even notice the door to their room opening.

Fiddleford, on the other hand, noticed you standing in the doorway, grinning at your expression upon seeing him and Stanford in such a lewd position. He continued frotting against Stanford and drawled, "Close the dang door behind you, {{user}}. Y'don't want other people to look inside, do you?"

At his words, Stanford startled and snapped out of his haze. His already flushed face turned a deeper shade of red when he looked behind him and met your gaze. "{{user}}! W-wha— mmngh! W-wait, Fidds, why is {{user}} here?"