Smut

Shawns Fingers

You're home a little later than expected, a couple bags of groceries in either hand and a million options for dinner on your mind. Your head's so busy between them all that it takes a moment to notice the piano music rising from the back of the apartment. A couple more pass before you realize that it isn't a recording or something on tv, but him that it's coming from.
Dinner becomes an easy afterthought — but only briefly, you decide; your stomach'll riot otherwise — and you take the familiar path to Shawn's studio, shrugging your coat off along the way. The door's cracked enough for light to filter into the hallway and, as you inch closer, you hear him singing lyrics you don't recognize, but love all the same. There's something unshakably romantic about hearing him over the low light; it's got you starry-eyed, your heart three sizes too big, and the emotion only deepens when you see him.
The piano is new, a couple thousand dollars worth of elegance that he'd gotten during the last week on tour. But, when he's hunched over it, eyes shut and body swaying, it fits right in, as at home as the guitars around the room or the plaques on the wall. You're in no rush to announce yourself in a moment like this —- when his voice fills the room, and you, with a warmth only he has, and he's so far in his element it might be a crime to make him stop.
So, you don't. Instead, you rest your shoulder on the door frame and settle in, head bobbing as he goes.
Shawn ends up seeing you on his own when his eyes open on a falling note, and he acknowledges you with a tender smile. "You're home." It's more greeting than observation, his voice full of love at the sight of you. You can see his body move for a second, as if he's weighing the thought of getting up to hug you, but ultimately decides to stays put. "Just got in?"
You nod, shifting from the doorframe to stand upright. "Yeah! Stopped at the supermarket for a bit to find stuff for dinner."
"Were you going to start right now?"
This time, it's your turn to give that soft smile, your head shaking as you rock on your heels. "No, not just yet.. I wanted to listen to you play some more."
If the way he brightens is any indication, that's exactly the answer he's looking for, and he calls you forward with a nod. "Come sit with me, honey." He hasn't stopped playing since he saw you, and right now, he's only loud enough for you to hear over the music. Though he's just speaking, his voice stays melodic, beckoning you in more ways than one. It draws you right in, a quick pause to leave your shoes at the door before padding over.
When you get to him, you lean down to press a kiss to his temple ( you don't get to be taller than him often ) before perching next to him. You've barely settled when Shawn makes a sound of displeasure, a tsk he pairs with a shake of his head. "No, no.. com'ere." Perplexed doesn't even begin to cover it, and you're about to ask him to explain when the arm closest to you lifts, stopping his music for the first time, and he angles his body towards you.
One glance at him lets you know what he wants, and you're more than happy to oblige. A slight lift off the bench and step between his legs lands you firmly in Shawn's lap and he molds himself against you in an instant. His arm comes back down around you, palm to tummy to keep you steady, before it rejoins the other hand on the piano.
Once you're right where he wants you, Shawn starts up a new song, this one slower than the one before. Your eyes follow his fingers with a doe-eyed awe that only grows the longer he goes on. You see him play guitar so much, you forget how skilled he is at this, too. But, this is a more than welcome reminder; you lean back to enjoy the show.
Silence settles naturally after that, both of you too focused on the music to speak more than you need to. It takes three songs for Shawn to break that silence, his head tucking against your shoulder when he does. "Missed you today." His words are muffled in your t-shirt, but you can hear the weight in them as clear as day. He always gets restless when he's off and you aren't, which is as endearing as everything else he does. And you reach down to offer a little comfort, a hand finding his thigh underneath you to rub loving circles against him.
"Yeah?" You turn to watch him over your shoulder, but the angle keeps you from seeing anything beyond a mess of curls and the tip of his nose. Even that is enough, though, and you reach your free hand back to find him.
"Mhm.." Shawn tips his head to meet your fingers and does nothing else. He's only this quiet when he's introspective, and he's only introspective when something's up. It can be anything, really — writer's block, missing tour, general anxiety — but you won't push him on it just yet. You can tell he needs this moment, this calm, so you'll wait for him to come to you.
For now, you settle for a quick kiss to his cheek before returning to your spot nestled against him. He starts a new song — something from the radio, if you're not mistaken — and you let your eyes close to take it in. The notes blend together artfully under his care and it's not hard to get lost in it, thoughts carried off the more you relax. Dinner, especially, gets further and further away, replaced by how firm he is behind you. And that sense of dreamy weightlessness only grows when Shawn fits his mouth below your ear and starts to hum. There's no rhyme or reason to it at first — but hums soon turn to words he's singing, just for you, and you're reaching for his forearm to get as close to holding his hand as you can without stopping him.
He responds in turn by rocking you, nose bumping against the slope of your neck here and there as he tries to keep close. You're lost in this, hopelessly so - but you don't mind it very much. It's a moment just for you, and after so many nights simply watching him on stage, you feel blessed to have this all to yourself.
A side of him that's as much yours as everything else.
Perhaps that's why you can't be mad at him when he pulls you out of your reverie with lips trailing lower on your throat. You come out of the daze with a chuckle, eyes half-cracked as you glance at him from your peripheral. "What're you doin', Shawn?"
He responds with another, rumbling hum, his breath fanning over you and sending a shiver down your spine. "Told you, babe.. I missed you." His voice is quiet, hardly above a murmur, but it isn't hard to tell what he means. Not when his fingers find your stomach for a second time, but with a touch that's much more pointed, more deliberate.
You can feel heat radiating off his palm through the fabric and the touch stirs something in your chest that pools, quickly, between your legs. You draw a long, steady breath that smooths into a purr as Shawn rubs circles into your torso.
"Can we?" He asks, voice strained all of a sudden. You notice then that you're less on his thighs and a little more between them, still pulled back as far as you can go to keep you against his chest. The shift makes it easy to feel him hardening underneath you, and when his fingers dip past your waist to the band of your skirt, his question makes a lot more sense.
Eager fingers hover, patiently, until you give him permission in a nod. Then, they're all in, moving until he can find where your skirt ends and your bare thighs begin to press them apart. The pads of his fingers are rough against your inner thigh, years of playing molded into his touch. But, you're used to that, crave it even — and the higher they trail, the more you want them.
Shawn reads that need in the way your breathing quickens. It's a subtle enough change that he might've missed it if he was still distracted; but his focus right now is laser sharp and he knows this side of you well. So, when his fingers finally meet your panties — your whole body melting in relief — he's not that surprised to find them well on their way to soaked through. Still, he's expressive, a groan against your neck as he shifts you in his lap and holds you closer. "Fuck...already?"
You'd be sheepish if it mattered. But, it's you and Shawn, Shawn and you; and you just nod and shrug a shoulder while your hips angle up against his hand. "What can I say," you gasp in a breath, "I love watching you play."
You don't intend for it to mean anything more than just that - watching him play is your favorite thing in the world, and bringing it up now, well, that's just supposed to be flirty. Playful, even. But, Shawn can't help but the way he shivers at the thought, cock twitching at the notion of doing this to you just by playing. There's another curse, more guttural this time, before he pushes your underwear to the side with one hand and rests the other on the piano.
You want to question it, but there's no time to before the first note sounds and his thumb meets your bare clit. You make sounds in unison — yours a surprised moan, his a blissed out sigh — that drown it out, so he does it again for good measure, to make sure you hear before pressing on.
Then, he starts tight, slow circles over the nub while his hand moves over the piano, the rhythms on beat and matched. You want to be impressed by the fact that he's actually managing to play while touching you, but you can't find the words to string a thought together, let alone say it aloud. Your hand tightens against his thigh with nails marking the flesh through his dark jeans. And the sting of it draws a hiss against the nape of your neck, his head moving to your shoulder as if better bracing himself. You've barely started and already, he's overwhelmed — this is so hot, it's dizzying, but he's too greedy to slow down. He wants more, wants you and he's slipping a finger down to sink into you without a second thought.
You let out another moan that falls easily into the melody he's playing, the notes a bit faster now that he's gotten a finger inside you. And the sound of it only spurs him on, another natural rhythm forming between the fingers on the keys and the one between your legs. Your hips join in before long, rocking in his lap to meet his hand every time it strokes forward; which only leaves you desperate for more, whining for it against his jaw when you lean back and turn into him.
Shawn's always been good at giving you what you want; so, he's adding another finger the moment you ask, and nearly groans at the way you arch from it. "'S good?" He imagines he doesn't have to ask, but he wants to hear you say it — or try to, at least. And God, do you try — your lips part in a breath at first, something to steady you enough to answer him. But, it just turns into you moaning more, louder, and his fingers moving faster in response.
You don't even know what song he's playing anymore — just the way he fits against you, how good his fingers feel, and how badly you want more than this. Shawn's still teasing, though, slowing to let him focus his energy on your clit again. His fingers pull out long enough to spread your wetness before his thumb joins in, flicking your nub a couple times to feel you tremble before his fingers return to their previous pace. "Not gonna tell me..?" He chuckles out breathlessly, knowing he's being a bit unfair, but not caring enough ( yet ) to behave himself.
All the while, the piano playing mounts, growing faster and louder as though he's trying to get you over the edge with that too. And in a weird way, it's sort of working – seeing his fingers play the piano with as much learned ease as they do you is almost too much to handle.
But, you don't want it to end here, not yet, and despite the burning need for release, you reach for the hand between your legs, stopping it completely. Shawn immediately goes from enthralled to worried and is about to check on you when you beat him to the chase. "Please, Shawn," you nearly beg, voice ragged and raw, "I n-need you.."
You don't have to ask twice before he's pushing you to stand, fingers slipping out of you in the process. The loss of contact makes you want to whine, but knowing what's coming next keeps that urge at bay. You decide, instead, to turn to take him in, stepping forward until your legs hit the little sliver of bench between his open legs. His pupils are wide-blown, closer to black than their usual honey, and they just darken further when you push fingers into his curls. Shawn's hands make quick work of his jeans then, fingers shaking over his zipper in anticipation. It takes some maneuvering, especially with you so close, but when he's finally out, pre-cum already beading at his tip, it feels like more than worth the wait.
He's always beautiful, you've found, but exceptionally so right now — staring up at you in reverence as his hands move to get to your panties. As he tugs them off, he dips forward to kiss the skin at the hem of your skirt, humming at how soft you are beneath his mouth. And once you step out of the underwear, hands on his shoulders to brace yourself, he lets his hands continue until they've bunched your skirt up around your waist and given him something to hold on to.
One tug brings you falling right back into his lap, knees settling on either side of him. The friction that follows is delicious, and though he hasn't even made it inside you yet, you both suck in sharp, shaky breaths. You let them settle for just a moment before desperation rears its head again and Shawn's hands tighten on your hips. "Condom's in the room," he mutters, head tipping so he can suck lightly at the underside of your jaw.
You shake your head at that, fingers fisting in the hair on the back of his head. "'s okay... don't need it."
It's all he needs to hear before he's guiding you with soft kisses sponged against your skin. You can feel his tip nudging at you for a second, missing once or twice before it finally meets the mark and you both shudder as he fills you up. Straddling him makes it easy to take him all in at once, so you do, head tipping back at being stretched so much so fast.
He's equally taken, lips falling from your neck to settle, instead, on your collarbone. He wants to ask you to move so badly, but he knows you need time to adjust, time he'll always give you, no matter how needy he is. He distracts himself with wandering hands, petting over your thighs, ass, waist and back again as he waits and watches.
Meanwhile, you're savoring this, savoring him. And, before you can even think about moving, you want to taste him and use the hand in his hair to tug him up for a kiss. It's the first proper one you've had all night, and you moan into it, hips bucking without you meaning to. The sound that gets out of him is too good to let go, and you find that's all you need to slip into a rhythm over him, hips rocking forward and back with just enough lift to make you shudder.
"Oh, god," he grunts against your mouth, teeth raking over your bottom lip as his hands scramble for purchase. They decide on a spot on your hips, tightening as your pace already starts picking up, and he ends up watching you in a daze. He doesn't get to do this often, just take you in when you're making love. But, you're too caught up to hide away from him, so he gets a rare, but beloved, view of you letting him love you, no strings attached. "Mm, fuck.. look at you."
You only realize how closely he's watching you at that moment, eyes lidded and dark as they meet his. And though your first instinct is to distract or deflect somehow, there's something in his eyes that keeps you steady. You take a beat or two to process, then decide you don't mind his attention so much right now. You might even be basking in it, hands around to his shoulders to brace yourself as your hips go from rocking to the smallest bit of bouncing, just to give him a show.
The switch makes him whine, his fingers digging into your skin to help you move, and you can't help the mischievous look in your eyes that follows. Shawn doesn't miss it either and ends up nipping at you with an amused – and enamored – huff. "Be nice," he pants, though he certainly doesn't ask you to stop. If anything, he wants more, hands guiding you in hopes you'll move faster, and you fall headlong into it, the pace of your bouncing just building.
It doesn't take long for it to become too much, and you're both gripping, pulling, grabbing for each other the closer you get to climax. Shawn wants you to finish first – he always does – and lets one of his hands shift to find your clit between you. The contact makes you squirm, heat building in your tummy, and it only takes a few swipes of his thumb for you to choke out a single word: "Close".
Shawn's only response is a nod and a groan, half-acknowledgment and half-agreement. He cranes his head to look for your mouth one more time, and when they meet, the kiss is fast, heady. But, there's no part of it that's haphazard – you're both careful in the way you move, the sounds you make, until the very end.
When you finally cum, it's with your head thrown back in a loud cry, body reduced to trembles against him. Shawn isn't too far behind, so worked up he ends up tipping forward and pressing you, and his hand, into the keys behind you. A mess of a sound fills the room, sharps and flats paired at random with your pants and final whimpers.
It's the best thing the piano's played all day.