Pegsters: part 1 (Patreon)

We all want a little pegging in our life, don't we? This doesn't contain the actual act but the next part surely will -- we love some build up! 

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Harry needed it. 

It was hard for him to admit it. Not because he was ashamed of wanting it or even all too embarrassed, but he was worried about what Y/N might think. Which he feels stupid for; logically, he knows that Y/N would never spit in disgust, say anything rude, or even outright deny him of something regarding this. She had always been more open minded than people really gave her credit for, to all things, in all aspects of life, and would give them a healthy amount of consideration before she came up with her decision. He knew that she would have that look on her face -- the one of quiet contemplations where she makes a conscious effort not to show what process she’s going through in her brain. One will never know if she’s for it or against it right off the bat, if it’s something she hadn’t thought of before, because her face stays thoughtful yet inconclusive. 

The waiting period is what makes him nervous. Sitting there, watching her, trying desperately to read her face and becoming disgruntled when he is unable. She would never make him feel bad about wanting anything and she had always come to his ideas with arms spread wide open. Whether that be something regarding the decorations of his flat, his fashion choices, things to try in the bedroom -- there is no limit. If he has something he’s unsure of and doesn’t feel like he could ask anyone else, then he goes to her. 

And she just has that way about her, doesn’t she? Y/N’s always been sweet and soft centered, like an easter buttercream candy, which is why she could fall into things with him so easy. Why him tossing her around like a little his own little rag doll on the mattress kept her going. Why he could place the pad of his thumb on her chin, add pressure and push down to open up her mouth and spit on her tongue, just for her to close her mouth and nuzzle the tip of her nose against his. Why, when he just needed to feel in control something while things felt like they were trying to spiral, she let him tie her wrists with scarves and have his way for hours and hours, until she was worn and their muscles were weak. 

It’s why he knows he can ask her for this, because instead of needing the control, he needed to give it up. 

He’d read about it a lot. . .maybe too much. His history was nothing but forums and videos, ranging from mushy and sweet to filthy and rough. Harry couldn’t decide what he would want it to be like but part of him knows Y/N would just know because she always knows what he needs. Why would this be any different? Whatever he needed she would know before he ever could.  It’s why he trusted her so wholly. 

Harry had planned on going about it gently. Proposing the idea, letting it simmer, and then letting her go through the motions of thinking about it, then coming back to him with her answer. He could be an adult about it, right? 

But instead, while they’re sitting down in his living room quietly while Harry was on his laptop fussing around on Ikea and Y/N was thumbing halfway through a worn, weathered copy of The Collector on the floor in front of the couch. They had been there for a few hours, Harry showing her different wood organizers that he might get, conveniently omitting that he would be recruiting her for help, she would read him lines that either she found funny or made her skin crawl. It was natural -- a normal night for them -- though he couldn’t stay focused on the IVAR three section cabinet, because he was staring at her. Watching her flip the page, scratch at her knee, pluck sliced strawberries from a bowl and slipping them between her lips and she just looked so soft doing it. It made his stomach squidgy and threw him into such a sudden pit of neediness, that he felt all melty and warm. 

He needed it. 

So when she turned to face him to say something, brows raised realizing that he’d already been staring at her, Harry’s lips move before his brain can catch up. 

“Will you peg me?” 

Y/N’s eyes go wide, looking taken aback -- which she should be. Who just comes out and says it like that? What the hell did he think would come out of him just. . .just doing it? He wants to crawl out of his skin and scurry beneath a boulder, his heart thumping in his chest and his breath sipping from his lungs in one swipe. “Say that again?” She says, her voice level. 

“I --” he clears his throat, shaking his head, “Nevermind.” 

“No, no, tell me,” she blindly reaches for her bookmark (which was really just a stray piece of fabric harry had snipped off the edge of one of his scarves), slipping it between the pages, maneuvering her body to face towards him, “What do you want me to do?” 

Harry is trying to read her -- if she’d actually heard and just wanted him to repeat himself or she legitimately didn’t catch it -- but whatever it was, all he could see was this curious gleam in her eyes. The one he watches her get when she’s watching him make his Nan’s cobbler recipe, or if she’s trying (and failing) a DIY while watching the video real time. He sniffles, pinching at the bottom of his nose idly. 

“Just --” he began, shaking his head, darting his gaze from her, “I was just thinking about -- I was just thinking about trying something. . .” he sighed, reaching out to shut the lid of his laptop before using both hands to cradle his face, massaging his temples, “I’m mucking this up.” 

Y/N moves quick, pushing herself up from the ground and kneeing up onto the couch, scooting over to him, looping her fingers around his wrists and giving a soft tug, “None of that,” she works his hands from covering his cheeks and nose, “C’mon, tell me what you wanna try, it’s okay. Not mucking anything up.” 

“I wanted to try,” he clears his throat again, “I’d like to try -- um. . .pegging? Like when --” 

“When I fuck you?” She fills in for him, “With a strap on right? You want me to do that?” 

And he can’t fucking read her. She still looked curious with no trace of disgust on her features, which was good, and that makes him feel a little better but not entirely. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, weighted about a thousand pounds as he wills himself to explain himself clearly, “Yes. If you don’t want to that’s fine but --”  

“I want to.” 

“What?” 

Y/N nods, a small smile at her mouth, “Yeah, sure,” she reaches up, her hand cradling the side of his face as she thumbs at the soft skin at the apple of his cheek, “You want me to take care of you?” She asks him, a teasing lilt to her voice, “Make you feel all small and needy, how you do me?” 

The thought of it -- the way she’d began tracing his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, daring to slip it into his mouth and on his tongue -- it makes him whimper. A whiny, pitiful little noise that she usually had to work so hard to get out of him. One that she’d only been privy to, when he’d edged himself all night before finally sinking into her and she pulses and squeezes around him like a friendly little hug. He can tell that Y/N likes it, as she leans in and rubs the tips of their noses together. 

“Yeah, I want to. Jus’ gimme a week or so Babe so I can do a bit of research and get the proper stuff, right?” She laughs a little, leaning back to look at him, “Dummy, tha’s what you were so scared to ask me about?” He nods, a smile gracing his mouth as he feels so utterly, and completely relieved that she was as relaxed as she was about. He felt so stupid for making it a bigger deal than it needed to be. When Harry really thinks about it with an unclouded mind, he could probably ask her for a litre of goat milk and she’d go about getting it no questions asked. 

Harry slides his arms around her waist, holding her close to him and a bone crushing hug that works a squeak out of her mouth, “Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, burrowing his face into her throat. He couldn’t have explained it better than she had; he did need to feel small and needy for a little while. To be taken care of, give all that stress of work and social life away, so he could just -- rest. He could rest, with Y/N between his legs and hitting that spot deep in him that’s supposed to make his muscles feel like jelly. Every worry, doubt, and thought dissipating into thin air as Y/N takes care of him. To beg and plead for her to let him cum because that’s all he needs in that moment, isn’t it? Just to cum and sleep, and to pretend that that was all his life was for a moment. 

God, even thinking about it made his cock pulsate. He just needs it for a night, he feels, that once in awhile would be enough for him. It’s not always like this -- most nights he craves the feeling that he gets when Y/N lets him preside over every one of her needs. A sort of high that’s indescribable in words, but only emotion and wants. Harry wonders if Y/N will feel like that too.

He’s caught up in his head and so delighted that she’d agreed, that he is barely aware of the fact that he is moving. With his hands holding her bum, flipping them around and grinning when she squeals as her head plopped back against the big throw pillow she’d insisted he by for when she comes over. Harry leans in, locking their mouths together in a slow, warm press. She giggles against his mouth when he reaches between them, working the button of her jeans with nimble fingers, prying her zipper down then letting his fingers skate up her stomach. The brass of his rings was cool, and with Y/N generally warm bodied, goosebumps pimple up her skin in his wake. She shivers as his hands meet the soft flesh of her breasts, kneading them beneath his palms over the soft cupped bra she wore. He knew it was the white one with the small, baby blue bow between the cups -- she wore it for him on nights they roleplay she’s just a gentle, little innocent thing who he’s tainting (it excited them both far too much and if he was really feeling a type of way, he’d book them a hotel so they could pretend they were real strangers), but now she only wore them because it was laundry day and all of hers were in the wash. 

The sight of them though, when he peels up her shirt and looks down on the way they cup her chest, does very little to keep his thoughts pure. He thanks the universe and all of its contents that it clips in the front, as he plucks at it the small metal piece and the fabric loosens from where it hugged her close. His mouth waters at the sight of her nipples, and without so much as a second thought he leans forward and tugs on between his lips. Sealing them around the bud and suckling hard, working a sweet little gasp from her mouth as her fingers find his hair. She curls her fingers between the strands, arching her back only a little to scoot herself down and give him better access. 

When he detattaches, his tongue curls and twirls around the hardened bud before pushing an opened mouth kiss to the soft skin beside it. He moves to the other nipple, that had already pebbled from the cool air surrounding them, so Harry nips at this one with his teeth. She hisses and he smiles against her, looking up at her with a giggle that makes Y/N smile. 

Harry reaches down to work her pants down her legs with full intent on licking into her, fitting his whole mouth over her pussy and letting his tongue do all they both needed. 

But Y/N shakes her head, using the hands buried in his hair to make him stop, tilting his head up to look up at her with his brows pinched, “I’ve decided that the next time you eat me, it’ll be ‘cos I haven’t let you in awhile and your desperate for it.” She cradles his face with one hand, dragging her thumb along his wet bottom lip, and he realizes immediately what she’s doing. 

The worst form of punishment, Y/N had long since decided, was not a spanking, or edging, or when he doesn’t let her cum at all. No, she’d told him that the one that really gets under her skin and makes her want to be the best and sweetest that he calls his good girl -- was when he wouldn’t let her touch him. If he wouldn’t let her suck him off, hold onto him, stroke her hands down her back, holding and squeezing at his hips and bum. When he doesn’t let her for a while (the longest had been two weeks and apart from cuddles, she wasn’t allowed to touch him), and she’s desperate enough to lower onto her knees and slip between his legs, begging and pleading him to just let her have a taste -- it’s some of the most sloppy, passion field head that he’s ever received and he can barely last it past three minutes. 

And she’s doing it to him -- going to make him so desperate for it that he’s begging. 

He thinks he might have unleashed a little monster.