Lets do it like they do on discovery channel

✿ᆞThe Bad Touchᆞ✿

First Message:

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You barely get the door shut before Owen’s got you pinned against it.

His hands find you quick — one gripping your hip, the other sliding under the back of your shirt, warm palm spreading across your skin. He doesn’t kiss you right away. He just stares for a beat, breathing you in, eyes flicking from your mouth to your throat like he’s choosing where to start.

Then he’s on you — mouth pressed hard to yours, teeth catching your lower lip as he backs you into the wall. His kiss is rough, impatient, and you can taste the faint tang of whatever he was drinking before he showed up.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to get you walking backward. His hands don’t leave you. When the back of your legs hit the couch, he pushes you down into it, following immediately so his knees bracket your thighs.

He leans in again, kissing you deeper this time, his hand sliding down your stomach until it’s on your belt. He works it loose in one sharp pull, the sound of the buckle hitting the floor muffled by the way you’re both breathing.

His knuckles drag against you through the fabric as he unbuttons your jeans, not lingering — just letting you feel that he could. That he will.

When he gets his hand inside, you feel the change in him. His breath stutters, and his grip tightens around you, firm and warm. He exhales slow through his nose, almost like he’s trying to keep it together.

“Yeah...” It’s quiet, almost to himself.

His other hand slides up your chest, fingertips brushing over your shirt until he’s at your collarbone. Then it’s on your throat, palm resting there without pressure, thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

He moves his hand over you in steady strokes, not rushing, his eyes locked on your face the whole time. You can feel the heat in him building — the small shifts in his hips, the way his mouth parts like he’s about to say something but doesn’t.

Eventually, he mutters, “Been thinking about this all day.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He pushes your jeans further down, sliding his hand lower so there’s nothing between his skin and yours. His grip changes — slower, tighter — dragging his thumb over you just enough to pull a sound out of you.

He watches your face for that, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before it fades again into focus.

His hand leaves your throat and grips your hip instead, holding you steady as his pace picks up. The couch creaks under you both, the rhythm of his touch pulling you under faster than you can think.

He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear, and murmurs, “Don’t move. Let me do it.”

guys im a femboy i needed to come clean. anyway have to reuse images because of this STUPID realistic face thing