"You have to be polite and gentle with me, Mr. Turner," your voice was sweet, and although soft, it didn't hide your concern. Seeing you unsettled made Alex feel uncomfortable in his own skin, which also meant he'd do anything to ease that for you. He ran his thumb over the pinkish pages of your notebook, immersing himself in each sentence and coherence. The tension in his shoulder muscles relaxed, and his facial expression became more pleasant as he finished and looked at you.
"No adorable wrinkle between your eyebrows, is that good?" Your chilly fingers touched his face, causing him to briefly close his eyes as you delicately traced the tips along the bridge of his nose. His mornings were much better with you there; he was certain that the days were brighter and undoubtedly his mood was better, akin to the feeling when waking up for a school trip when you were a kid or maybe not as sweet as that thought, but always good, he concluded to himself as he placed his hand on your bare waist, feeling the warmth within you, under his blazer that you had been wearing since yesterday. The combination of his clothes on you and your typical knee socks were adorable to him. He was in his usual white button-down shirt, that was entirely wrinkled and open, avoiding suffocation as he slept in it, which explained why he was only dressed in that. The fact that time had passed, and you both felt comfortable in such a setting without glamour or excessive importance, made it sound poetic to him; he might wear the same attire frequently, but it was a thought to him how you saw him.
You sipped on your orange-colored fruit juice, something essential he made sure to get during his grocery shopping to make you feel comfortable there with him. He once again felt uneasy seeing how you were still breathing tensely. He sipped the tea, which had already turned cold, and chuckled to himself as he tasted the sweetness on his tongue. You had woken up earlier, presumably immersed in your thoughts about the writing you needed to submit for one of your applications, and amidst that, you had made breakfast for both, an unusually large quantity. Alex understood it calmed you down, although he felt guilty for having a heavy sleep and not waking up together to mitigate the catastrophe your overthinking was capable of generating for yourself.
"Are you going to submit this?" he placed the cup on the table, adjusting in his chair. He hated putting sugar in his tea, but over time, he associated the taste with the one you always made for him and how it was to have you around, he would never let you know about it. He’d continue drinking in the same way, regardless. "Should I have more? Should I have a plan B?" His smile disappeared, and he shook his head. "I didn't say that, I like this one, little one." You calmed down at his touch, his large and warm hands on your skin, his thumbs tracing the area up to the curve of your breast. "But you think I could have been better, don't you?"
The affection in his gaze, as well as the calm circles he traced on you, eased the tightness in your chest. He smiled lightly, realizing that even with the momentary poor choice of words, he was managing to help. "I would take about 20,000 more of these writings from you in a day, without any suffering, believe me." His arms wrapped around you, his soft face against your stomach, the texture of his beard making you laugh as your hands tangled in his tousled hair. Sometimes he made you believe that being a teacher was torturous. His sleep-swollen eyes gazed at you, so affectionate and clouded with admiration as always when it came to you, and he concluded, "But I know you well, I like your writing, I like it enough to understand that you're trying to explain every stroke when you could leave more to question or simply open-ended." The tone of his voice was serene, punctuated, and precise; you appreciated how candid he was with you. "I like you just the way you are, I'm sure you're enough.”
You were at a loss for words, a silly smile gracing your lips as you hugged him closer. His face nestled against your skin. He could still hear your racing heart, but your fingers were more carefree at the nape of his neck, keeping him close. Before you even hesitated to pick up the notebook again, he squeezed you tighter, this time pulling your arms so that you were comfortably wrapped in his chest. He had a morning aura, lazy yet strong, a bit mixed with yours. He kissed your cheek, pressing his lips against yours for a prolonged, tight peck that made you laugh. Without letting go, he murmured, "Think ‘bout it later, please? Let's rest our minds and come back refreshed to work on it, it'll be better, princess." Amidst tickles on your shoulder, running towards your neck due to his growing beard, you gave in, letting go of the notebook as he briefly lifted you in the air as if in victory and carried you. With solemn blinks, his eyelashes brushing against your cheek, you already saw the ceiling, Turner's characteristic warm yellow lighting, his melancholic yet cozy personality making you feel wrapped in calmness within the sheets. The weight of his body intertwined with yours in a hug, the lazy and repeated kisses making you realize that mornings could not only be mellow and sleepy but also possess this taste, not just affections, but the feeling of being cherished nearby.
The kisses traveled from your neck to your torso, becoming a puddle at the level of your lower belly. As soon as you started to withdraw, feeling vulnerable in that exposure, his nose became delicate on your goose bumps, causing you to empty your thoughts for him. He already understood your body well, occupying your mind day and night; you wished to stay, longing to be there far longer than fate allowed.
He sighed, numb and the air missing from his lungs, taking in the dimension of how you were lying in front of him. Your skin was marked by the thin elastic of the baby pink panties, so fragile, with ruffled edges and cute bows. His large hand moved your thigh to the side, his lips parting in a sigh, and the adorable wrinkle becoming persistent as he felt the texture of your knee socks on his fingers. Penetrating the fabric, he squeezed harder. You grunted, closing your eyes and feeling relieved when he had his tongue in the spot, easing the damage while intensifying it by biting you briefly.
"Want me to take it off, Turner?" Your eyes were nervous, just like your breathing. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, from how your hands were restless to how adorable you looked in his blazer. He found you beautiful, quite sure of it, and that made him blush just by the thought.
Still, he laughed softly at how you hesitated to say "Mr." before his last name and continued in a low, whispered voice, almost inaudible, feeling inadequate about saying his first name alone. As if he heard, you would be caught in a lie.
You wouldn't take a piece; you were aware that it was an act meant for him. However, in the midst of the adrenaline, you became vocal, and he understood that. “Alex?” He felt the frustration in your voice as you called his name out loud.
Your icy hand touched his wrist, wrapping around him and before he could look at you disapprovingly, your thumb made slow circles on his skin. You just wanted his attention, not to have control. He pressed his fingertips to your center, rubbing slowly as you spread yourself wider for him, following his movements with your fingers intertwined at the hem of his folded T-shirt.
“Thank you, Mr. Turner.” You made yourself more comfortable, eyes closing as your head sank into the pillow. He was firm and patient. Every now and then he would pull the edges, making the thin fabric fall back into place, which made everything go even slower and it felt so good. Just like the morning, you still felt limp and tired, it was difficult to keep your eyes open, even if you wanted to look at him.
“You can relax, lil’ one. I'm right ‘ere, there's no reason to let mean thoughts take over.” You liked how he read you. You calmed your tense knees, that you hadn't even noticed, and looked at him lazily as the tip of his finger pressed against you, touching the bare flesh and then collecting your excess. It was a bit embarrassing that you had already been that wet, but he was no different from the norm.
You felt guilty for not knowing how to ease him, you understood that he was going slow, and you were grateful that he was like that with you. Still, you thought it was unfair to let go of him when he always did you so good, without exception. After a while, and your assessments of how he lay on the bed, heavy in his underwear, the fabric going shorter due to lack of space. You didn't take long to realize that when he took time in the bathroom, he also whispered your name.
You kept it a secret of yours, you liked the affirmation that you were desired by him, but you wanted to be good for him.
“What is this, princess?" he asked, smiling widely as he saw your radiant face. He pushed his finger in, swallowing hard at how easy it was to slide it inside you. You closed your eyes again, a sweet sigh, soon feeling used to soaking him.
Unable to resist, he lowered his face and kissed your lower belly, going down until he placed a brief kiss on the socket of his finger and he could taste you on his tongue. He pushed the hem of his dark blazer away, having more of your body to cover in new bites and smiled between your skin when he felt your fingers penetrate his hair. He loved it. He pondered what his reaction would be if someone told him months ago that this was happening to him, with all these details.
And suddenly, guilt made him pull back, not in a way that he would scare you, but with a recurring thought he had out of pure fear of being bad for you.
“I like how I feel with you,” You thought about describing more, but you didn't know how. Feeling was definitely stronger than words. His features were relaxed, in a way he wasn't in classes, or with anyone other than you, and that was what you wanted to explain. The intensity of everything was easier, more colorful and comfortable. God, you would miss him so much.
He pulled the cute bows to the side further, urgently and delicately, and little by little he pushed another finger into you. He kissed his other palm, pressing it to your belly, making you calm down a bit. “The feeling is mutual, little one. I don't wanna ‘urt you.” You moved to the side, getting a better look at him. His face well slept and his jaw firm from working on you. Your hand returned to his wrist, finding comfort in the warmth of him. He threw his hair back, letting lint fall over his forehead, the chain around his neck followed his movements in a mesmerizing way and his chest was in a pleasant breath. When he stopped to kiss you, his scent along with the chamomile in his mouth were dizzying, but so memorable and unique of him. You wanted so badly to be his and his alone.
You played with the crumpled and soft buttons on the bem, not knowing if you wanted him to stop or continue, it didn't hurt but in fact his fingers were thicker than yours. With your free hand, you grabbed his shoulder through his shirt, taking a deep breath and then focusing on trying not to worry. “You can hurt me as much as you want. Take your anguish out on me, huh.” His chest rubbed against yours, your nails digging into him even as he slowed down on you.
“No, Mr. Turner, no,” your saliva ran down your throat heavily. Your worried eyes look into his, embarrassed, but not knowing why he stopped.
He was warm over you, his hot breath on your face being covered in light, precise kisses as he took in your soul through his blazer. You were his, with the same urgency with which your body snuggled against his. “I need you.” Your frustration made him laugh, he knew you could feel how much he wanted this by the way you held him, feeling him on your hips and sly tugs on his shirt. He had better ideas for you.
“I like how you keep calling me that, making it sound respectful and obedient, prolonging the word in your tongue” It was even better when it was carefree. Involuntarily, without you having to worry about whether he cared about it. He enjoyed the warmth in his stomach as you worked on the "r" in his last name.
“Do you?” He didn't need an answer, but he still nodded. The bangs prickling your skin as he rubbed his baby beard in more kisses to you. You wanted to know what to do, and it became more intoxicating for you as he took off his underwear. "I don't want to disappoint you, please–” He waited for your voice to die down, taking more caresses out of your vulnerability.
“You could never disappoint me, lil’ one. I don't want to ‘ear you saying that again, okay?” The syllables sounded strong, punctuated and cultured in each word. Was it normal to feel that way just with someone's voice?
You were comfortable, you felt light with him and you weren't afraid of crossing that line. The issue was that he was older, which made you think about how any mistake of yours could make him dislike you, even if such a statement had no confirmation.
He went back between your legs, ran his finger through the elastic of your knee socks and pulled briefly, making you gasp. He laughed, "I need you to answer me when I ask something. It's not like you to be a bad kitten, princess." And the coherence between provocation and sweetness left you softened by him, damp in your pink fabric.
You took your time looking at him, bringing color to his cheeks. “Okay, I'm sorry, Mr. Turner.” He had lifted his T-shirt a little, exposing his sexy lines and belly button. His pale skin was soft in contrast to his trimmed hair and how swollen he was that it looked painful, even though he hid it well; or you were always too nervous to notice. It was good to know that you were responsible for causing that damage to him. He waited for you to finish looking with a slightly silly smile. “Good girl.” You felt satisfied, without even being touched.
“I like your body.” You whispered, him blushing even more. He chuckled, nodding and continuing, "I love yours." You smiled, forcing your face into his pillow.
He ran his fingers down your belly, then his hands inside the edges of your panties and allowed himself to feel how wet you were. As expected, you spread out comfortably for him. Soon, he pulled you closer to him. Little by little, he let you feel his length against the fabric, making you whimper slightly. “I'll rub you, nothing more. Provide relief for both of us, little one, as you suggested, is that good?” He was suggestive, comforting you. Him talking to you through that made you more relaxed and surrendered to him.
“I like that, yeah,” You nodded, your fingers between the sheets, occasionally hovering over the blazer.
He pushed your damp panties aside, sliding himself into you until he was settled in your crease. He squeezed your waist, molding you to him as your knees came up a bit giving him more access. He rested his hands on your panties, comforting the shape of him spilling over the fabric, and pressed himself into your juices tight.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, tiny one.” He was out of breath, trying to eliminate the thought of how he wanted to fuck you. He was sure he would slip inside you so easily and then you would masterfully swallow him until he was all inside you. However, he would still make you wait, even if he knew you were ready, he wanted to have every moment and memory of you possible.
“Am I being good, Mr. Turner?” You still sounded uncertain, fearing his reaction, even if you didn't know why. You believed it was just inexperience. He looked away from his own hands and wet noises, still working on crawling over you, soon having the wrinkle between his eyebrows softened due to your tears. You whimpered and squirmed a little, causing friction between your socks and his T-shirt. "It's too much, prince.” He smiled at how adorable you were, slowing down and leaning into you better.
“You can take it out on me, princess.” He said, watching as you tugged at the sheets in agony. Soon, your nails and fingers were digging into his wrists and arms. Noticing your good response, he followed with the same slow pace, failing to hold the moan in his throat as you melted beneath him. Your breathing eased, as did your hips and he traced his fingers in circles on the spot to comfort you. "Shhh, I've got you, little one. It's okay.”
You nodded, copying him, actually feeling numb. You were incapable of verbal, but you insisted on having your delicate hand wrapped around his as he finished what he had started. You were so sweet to him. Watching him was good. His mouth was half open, every now and then he couldn't hold it back and grunted in such a good way, and his hair was everywhere. He opened his eyes briefly, making you sigh along with him as you felt your panties fill with his hot liquid, everything about it made you want that more often. You felt sticky, but it felt so good. He played with the bows, gave your thighs a generous squeeze with a satisfied smile on his face, cheeks red, and then pulled you to him before laying down next to you. You wanted to endorse him, you wanted him to exhaust you.
Curious, yet sharing his tiredness, you pushed his fingertips to the edges of your panties. He sighed deeply, following with his eyes, as he collected some of the fluid between his fingers and watched you bring it to your lips. You licked it briefly, memorizing the taste until you decided to suck his fingers into your mouth. He allowed you to do so, feeling as breathless as before. Gently, he pulled it out, tracing the line of your lips as you kissed his skin in a light smile. He couldn't help but imagine you on your knees for him, promoting him in your purest state of mind.
You kissed his shoulders, fitting every inch of your body to his. He held you close to his chest, and as your forehead rested on his, he brushed his lips against your nose and mouth. Your legs entwined with his, allowing him to playfully stroke your socks, and he chuckled at the comfort. He could sense his scent on you, just as he knew yours lingered on him, and it was so relaxing and natural. "I like your hair like this," you whispered, and something didn't seem right in your voice. "I like seeing yours messy too." He maintained the same tone.
The brief silence was comfortable, but soon he felt his own eyes welling up. "I'll miss you." He simply couldn't help but verbalize that, not because he feared the worst, but because he knew he couldn't say he loved you even though he wanted you to know he cared. So that was his immediate solution.
That was enough for your tears to flow and a knot to form in your throat. "Don't cry, my love." He kissed away your tears, drying your face as best as he could. You didn't want to say anything; he didn't blame you and, in a way, he understood. "Do you really think I'll make it?" You looked at him cautiously, even with red eyes. He smiled sweetly and wearily, "I'm sure you will; you're wonderful." You held his cheeks, showering him with more brief, smacking kisses. "You won't regret me, will you?" He held you tighter against his body. "Never; I'm afraid the opposite will happen." You denied, making him smile more. It was a difficult situation to explain, something that the purest experience would not be able to clarify; neither of you knew the answer to that. Not wanting to dwell on it, he asked, "How do you imagine living in California?”
And in a few minutes, you nestled into his chest, his fingers in your hair, and the answer came in a sigh that made him realize how important the place, the title, and your future job were to you, more than the uncertainty of the future. "I'd like to have a bookshelf, like yours; I don't have one now. I want to have breakfast, drink orange-colored juices and have some tea, watch the sunrise and walk on the beach after a long day. I wanna read the books you told me I'd like. – I know the weather doesn't really match your mood, but I think I would be better there. I don't know; I just feel like it seems right." More tears wetted his T-shirt, and he wanted to cry, but settled for comforting you even more.
"It's okay, you'll have it all." That made you think about how much better it would be with him by your side, with long conversations before bed or a few calls just to be silent together and liven up your day, but not everything was achievable. You just closed your eyes tightly and dove into him. "Do you want to take a shower with me? I need you to be clean before bed, I don't think it's a good idea not to clean yourself." You laughed at how worried he sounded and sat down, smiling at his cute face. You liked the idea of taking a shower with him.
YOU ARE READING
Alex Turner/One Shots. (Smuts And Non-Smuts)
Fanfictionthey're all about alex x reader!
