Ed Sheeran [SMUT]

Tension

To put it simply: he’s hard from the moment he wakes up, and there’s nothing he can really do about it.

When he finally gets home, however, he shucks off his coat and shoes in the doorway, sniffling a bit from the brisk air. “Babe, I’m home,” he calls, shuffling towards the living room, where he expects to see you. “Babe?”

He sees you in the soft glow of the television screen, curled up under a blanket. “Oh, hi,” he grins, and you open the corner of the blanket cocoon up, kissing him briskly as he seats himself behind you, his colorful arm over your shoulders.

"What’re you watching?" He asks, nodding towards the tv, just as you flick it off, turning your attention to him. "Nothing now, how was your day?"

"Good," he replied, squirming uncomfortably where his ever-growing hard-on is pressed to your thigh. "Good, yeah."

You smirk a bit, seeing his eyes dart downwards before he adjusts the blanket in his lap, a red tint to his cheeks before questioning him. “You okay there, Ed?”

"Um," he stuttered, the growing blush spreading to his ears. "I’m fine."

"Oh… Okay…" You say, casting him a knowing smirk as he tightens his arm around you, looking away almost guiltily.

"Where’s the…oh there," he says, reaching for the television remote, searching for a distraction. He finds it and turns it back to some kind of stupid soap opera that he’s only pretending to be interested in.

Unfortunately, things begin get mildly heated between the two characters, it’s not even major, just a heavy make out scene, but it’s enough. He awkardly shifts again, trying to be subtle but really failing as you see him tug at the blanket with his right hand, his left arm still around you.

You can feel the solidness of his length against you as he tries to move his hips to avoid any more friction, seeing as he’s painfully hard already.

He’s not able to sit still much longer, trying to push at it discreetly every once in a while, but it’s all too obvious to you. He avoids looking at you, the heat rising to his cheeks at the situation that seemingly cannot be solved.

"Ed, are you sure you’re okay?" You question, tone nearly innocent, and he swallows, looking to you nervously and pushing his glasses up his nose. "Yeah, yeah, I’m, gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back."

You watch him push the blanket off and stand albeit rather shakily, hobbling off to the bathroom. You know better than to follow him right away, so you hang back, turning the television up as you hear the door close.

It’s only then that you start to hear quiet, breathy moans coming from the room, amplified and echoed by the walls.

Your heart gives a little jump, though you shouldn’t be surprised by the knowledge of what’s happening. Quietly, you walk to the doorframe of the bathroom, steps slow and deliberate, to where the door is barely cracked.

No matter how many times you’ve seen Ed exposed, you’ve never seen him quite like this, legs bowed, lip bitten red, eyes cast down to his fist, where he’s pumping himself with long, deliberate strokes, the length disappearing in his hand on the upstroke.

He’s gorgeous like this, whole body relaxed, the sheen of sweat beginning to form on his face, hair starting to stick to his forehead. There’s those breathy moans falling from his lips, as his body shakes with the movement, his hips bucking to chase the feeling.

His head rolls forward a bit, eyes fluttering shut and then open, glasses slipping down his nose before he takes them off and halfheartedly throws them towards the countertop. He’s panting with the motion now, veins under the colorful ink on his arms prominent against the pale flesh of his lower half.