Alex Turner/One Shots. (Smuts And Non-Smuts)

Bearded Alex. (Smut)

To this one I added (some requests): "-something on tour bus trying to be quiet could be very sexy." and "sitting on Alex's face.
...

The bus's light was bluish, not too bright, but it still cast a dim hue inside. He placed you on one of the beds, which you assumed was his, and knelt in front of you. Your flight that day had been delayed, causing you to arrive in the middle to the end of the show. But it was enough to etch the movements of his hips and fingers strumming the strings into your mind, as if it were your own guilty pleasure that needed repeating before sleep to learn a lesson. You were tired, and Alex knew it. The way your playful gaze and mischievous smile danced around him, your body melting every time he touched you, left you completely surrendered to him. Words were unnecessary; you understood each other well. You knew what was coming, and he was sure of what he was doing. Your eyes, defined by doll-like eyeliner, followed him eagerly, and it left a tingling sensation in his head—not that it was a bad thing. You enjoyed how the light bathed him, the tip of his nose gaining a seductive glow, his eye sockets darkening with desire for you, and his beard seemingly begging for your touch.
You pondered allowing him to take control of you, so you could come undone in front of him and taste him in your mouth, along with the breathy moans that never failed to encourage you. A few buttons of his shirt were open, his exposed and sweaty chest, with your most recent thought, widened your smile as that memory you knew well and didn't mind experiencing again crossed your mind. You liked how he looked after a show; it was good to be back. "Why’re you smilin’?" He asked rhetorically. Amused. In seconds, he unfolded the green scarf he had awkwardly draped around his neck and passed it across your mouth. His eyes locked onto yours, and without looking at his own hands, he pulled the fabric tighter, your head falling backward as he led, and he laughed. He wasn't being too rough; you were simply surrendering yourself too willingly. When you tried to touch him or hold onto him in any way, he restrained you, saying, "I just need you to be still and quiet. There’ll be more people ‘ere soon." His voice was low, the drawl both tired and effective on you. Minutes before the show, he could have you clinging to him, your arms around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist. You often lightly nuzzled your nose against his skin and told him how good he smelled, and while he enjoyed the affection, he also loved how your scent clung to him, something he could savor throughout his performance.
He tightened the knot, caressing your cheek and feeling warmer as your eyelids closed so angelically while his thumb traced circles on your skin. He sighed deeply, his own muscles trembling in discordance, and he took off your dress, the soft fabric peeling away from your body and landing abruptly on the floor. You felt comfortable like this, not necessarily because you were exposed, but because you could sense, even without words, how much he appreciated having you.
Still, knowing the risks, he took off his blazer and draped it over you. It wasn't in his nature to let others see you like this. You laughed at that and pointed out to you that the scarf would probably leave marks from being firmly tied, but you liked it like that. His fingers gently traced your body, revisiting each spot with soft caresses, and then he moved his hands until he could get rid of the flimsy fabric. Before that, he pushed his thumb into the moist patch that had already formed, ran his nose along the inside of your thigh, kissed the area, breathed hotly against your skin, and bit it, determined and mesmerized enough to leave teeth marks.
Your moans and arching back made his shoulders relax. His beard tickled you, and upon realizing that, he kissed the area even more. Your hand, so delicate in his view, went to his hair, pushing his face closer to you, and he chuckled. Your eyes were on him, they were begging, and he found himself marveling at how, even without being able to speak, your whimpering seemed futile; not that he would resist you.
Freed from the fabric that had been keeping him at bay, he ran his tongue across his lips in anticipation, his breath catching in his throat as he vividly remembered the incredible sensation it brought him. When you weren't around, he often found himself fantasizing about it, calling you in the early hours as if hearing your voice would alleviate the intensity, but it only seemed to heighten it further, leaving him with no options but not to relieve himself before sleep. He scratched his beard, his fingers gently dancing through his chin. At this point, you would be panting and pleading so fervently; that thought further fueled his anticipation.
Alex rolled up the shirt sleeve, wrinkling it completely. It wasn't of any importance. He pushed the stray strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead behind his ears and spread your legs for him. He slowly inserted a finger into you, using his thumb on your clit to make things easier. He watched as your eyes closed in a sigh and watered. "I've got you, babygirl, I know it's been a while," he reassured you, still gentle but persistent as he felt your hips moving with each deeper thrust. Soon, he added another one, stretching you further as your tears flowed. It was magical to watch; you were so wet, and Alex was well aware of your ragged breath as he watched you swallow his fingers until they disappeared into you.
Compared to yours, his were rougher, thicker, and longer, and given the time that had passed, it was expected that you would need some time to adjust. Amid your protesting sighs, he brought his fingers to his mouth, taking time to admire how his tips were gummy from you, licking them clean and savoring the long-awaited taste on his tongue. He let out a satisfied groan, a lingering flush of how good it was for him, and you could never truly describe how it made you feel, but it was wonderful. You wanted to grind against him, to give more of yourself to him until he didn't have to worry about anything else but being relaxed.
The next steps unfolded quickly, as both of you were in need. It happened like a choreographed dance, something rehearsed before, with the only difference being that this was born from a deep understanding of each other and a certain frequency of indulging. He closed his eyes tightly, straightening his body and neck, his head resting on the bed, while he sat on the floor. Upon opening them, adjusting to the bluish light, he found himself even tighter in his pants as he watched your frame fold and nestle into his blazer in front of him. You were trembling, not from embarrassment but from wanting it as much as he did and struggling to contain your desire in your own flesh. Your tears still clung to your waterline, and your face was disheveled due to how he had tied the scarf, mussing your hair and marking your cheek. However, as he pulled you closer, you simply nodded continuously; it wasn't a problem, and you were well aware that you could get quite loud when it came to him, which might not bode well for him.
He appreciated your confidence, especially considering how insecure you had been at the beginning of the relationship. At the moment, he wouldn't hesitate for a second to support you. Your palms on the mattress and the scarf couldn't entirely muffle your sounds as his beard brushed between your legs and his tongue delving into you, destined to be enveloped in your juices and warm ardor. As you watched him, Alex skillfully held you in place, providing the necessary hold up as you rode his face. His facial hair tickled, making you melt into him, and his guttural moans urged you on, the tip of his nose repeatedly grazing your clit, making you crave him even more and more.
You held his hair tightly between your fingers, his delighted moans becoming vibrations within you as your heavy breathing filled the room and left his head somewhat dizzy. As your thighs began to quiver more languidly, he gently shook his face into you, helping you guide yourself in the same manner and rhythm that had been satisfying you before. Your enjoyment of the act made him feel hot and delirious. Your hand clutched his soft curls forcefully; he would feel your fingers there for a while even if they were removed, but that was pleasurable. Although you couldn't keep your eyes open most of the time, they were mostly closed or squeezed shut tightly, something he understood. Alex, on the other hand, kept them on you. He noticed how your body moved up and down on him and how he was exhausting you. He was aware of how he would have imprinted in his mind the way you moved on his tongue, the sensation of you soaking his beard, and how you rubbed against him eagerly for your pure pleasure throughout the week you were there, even if you repeated it more times.
When your legs closed around him, and he could feel his mouth growing warmer and wetter as your body spasmed, he savored every drop and continued to work his tongue until he felt overwhelmed. He was there for you, entirely yours. He only stopped when you felt too sensitive, pulling his face away. You collapsed onto his lap. He had a goofy, satisfied smile, while you were still dazed. You only realized you were crying with how hypersensitive you were when you felt relief as his hands untied the scarf and used it to wipe your face; your mouth and cheeks had marks from the fabric. Your ragged breath continued, as did a few more tears that you couldn't control. As your blurred vision returned to normal, you felt weaker; Alex's nose and beard were shiny, his cheeks were red, and his eyes were bright as he looked at you with care. He was beautiful, and in that exact moment, even more so. It was reassuring to know that it was all because of you.
"Fuck," you breathed out, your voice barely coming out, your throat raspy. He laughed, caressing your back and putting you on his chest. "It's okay, little one. I'm right ‘ere," he assured you, your hand touching his jaw, bringing him closer to you, and once again, his laughter filled your chest. As your lips touched his, you could taste yourself on him. The kiss was slow and lazy, respecting your still unsettled breathing. You moaned briefly at his touch, and he chuckled into your mouth, "I know, you taste really good, babygirl," he made you laugh, kissing away the remaining salty tears on your face, and you nestled against him. Everything about it was magical. He liked how your sweat would be embedded in his blazer, which he would certainly wear the next day, and he knew your inner thighs would be irritated because of his beard (but he would help soothe that). Not to mention that it would be impossible for anyone entering that part of the bus not to notice. The place already had a very distinctive smell that would spread over the next few days while you were there.