COCKWARMING

A head in a lap leads to…

Priscilla’s Mii had a baby now. A tiny, bobble-headed thing with her eyes and the hairdresser Mii’s inexplicable orange pompadour, which was not how genetics worked, but that was Tomodachi Life for you. She’d named it Pippin and spent the last ten minutes trying to teach it the word “spaghetti.”

Meanwhile, Jamie’s thumbs hammered the controller. On the TV, a digital winger streaked down the flank, a through-ball arced perfectly into the box, and—

“YES.” Jamie threw himself back against the couch cushions, arms punching up. “Get absolutely fucked.”

Priscilla glanced at the screen with a raised eyebrow. “Are you playing a real person or a computer?”

“My cousin and he’s been talking shit in the group chat all week.”

“So a real person. And you want him to get absolutely…?”

“Fucked, yes. Two-nil. He can suck it.”

She smiled, saved her game and set the Switch in her lap. The couch was the deep, squishy kind, the kind that encouraged you to sink in and never leave, and right now Jamie had his legs spread wide in that way guys did when they were locked into a match—elbows out, spine curved, every inch of brain devoted to tiny men running in tiny circles on a screen. She watched his profile for a second. The hunch deepening as he prepared a shot. The way his lips moved when he cursed under his breath.

Last Saturday, she’d fallen asleep with her head in his lap. Not on purpose—the movie had been boring, her eyelids had dropped, and she’d just… drifted sideways. When she woke up, her cheek was pressed to his thigh and her mouth was open and there was a damp spot on his jeans from her drool. She’d been mortified. He’d just laughed and said she looked like a golden retriever puppy who’d run out of battery mid-zoomie.

But… before she fell asleep... Before she’d conked out. There’d been a stretch of time—twenty minutes, maybe more, maybe less…when she’d been awake but not awake. One of those types of fuzzy liminal states where the movie was just noise and his hand was in her hair and her face was right there, nuzzled up against the seam of his jeans. And at some point, without really deciding to, she’d turned her head and mouthed at him through the denim. Then delivered a soft bite to the material of his jeans. Not a sex thing. Just a pressure thing if anything. A warmth thing. A holding thing. A claiming thing.

He’d gone still, and she’d felt him firm up under her lips, and then he’d unbuckled his belt with this slow, questioning slowness, like he was asking permission without words, and she’d answered by popping the button herself.

It had been… weird. Good weird. The kind of weird where her whole brain got fuzzy and she stopped thinking about her to-do list and the work email she’d forgotten to send and the fact that her mom wanted her to call. Her mouth full, her tongue tucked, her breath slow through her nose. His bare cock, just there, warm and heavy and smelling like skin and musk from the day underneath. She’d stayed like that for many minutes while he watched the end of the movie, and when she finally pulled off because her jaw was starting to ache, not because she wanted to necessarily, she’d felt more relaxed than she thought she would.

She hadn’t brought it up and they hadn’t discussed it besides a shy smile while brushing their teeth together that night.

But she’d been thinking about it. At work. In the shower. Right now, with Pippin the Mii baby demanding virtual spaghetti on a screen she wasn’t even looking at anymore.

Jamie’s halftime whistle blew. He dropped the controller to the side and rolled his shoulders. “You good? You’ve been staring at me like I’ve got something on my face.”

“You don’t.”

“Cool. Then what’s up?”

Priscilla opened her mouth. Closed it. She pressed the pads of her index fingers together, tapped them twice. Little fingertip kiss. She didn’t even realize she was doing it until Jamie’s eyes dropped to her hands.

“What’s that?” He nodded at her fingers. “That little thing.”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing, that’s a vibe.” He straightened up a little, head tilted. “You’re doing the shy anime girl thing. The—” He mimicked her, pressing his own index fingers together in front of his chest. “The uwu, senpai, please-notice-me.”

“I am doing no such thing.”

“You absolutely are, quit fucking with me Pri. Your little fingers are doing a shy type of thing right now.”

She dropped her hands to her lap and pursed her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re blushing.” He grinned, but it softened fast, his expression shifting into something more curious.

“Seriously. What’s up? You can ask me. I won’t tell the group chat.”

Priscilla tugged at a loose thread on the Switch case. “Remember last Saturday.”

“We got tacos.”

“After tacos, dummy.”

“We watched the Matt Damon movie where he’s stranded on Mars and nothing explodes for like an hour. And come to think of it, I think it exploded because of poop or oxygen or something.”

“Yes. And during the nothing-exploding part, I kind of… you know.”

Jamie’s grin crept back, slower this time. “You fell asleep.”

“Before that.”

“Oh.” He said it on an inhale, the single syllable carrying a sudden understanding. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” She wasn’t looking at him. The thread of the shitty couch was suddenly very fascinating.

“And I was wondering if maybe we could do it again. Not like—not in a weird way. Or, like, in a weird way, but a good weird. I think.”

Silence. The halftime stats glowed on the TV, some midfielder’s pass accuracy much too high to be realistic.

Jamie said, “You want to put my dick in your mouth while I play FIFA.”

When he said it like that, it sounded absurd. She cringed. “When you say it that way—”

“No, no, I’m just—I’m clarifying. I want to make sure I’ve got the request right.” He wasn’t laughing at her, though. His tone had that careful, processing-this-in-real-time quality.

“You want to, like, just. Hold it. In your mouth.”

“Yes.”

“While I play FIFA.”

“And while I play Tomodachi Life.”

“While you play your little Mii game. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s… it’s a little—”

“Weird.”

“I was gonna say different, but yeah. Weird.” He paused. “Is it like a relaxation thing?”

Priscilla risked a glance up. His expression was unreadable. “Kind of. It’s—I don’t know how to explain it. My brain goes quiet. And I like the way you smell down there. Which I realize is a crazy thing to say out loud.”

Jamie blinked. Then he let out a laugh, a short, surprised exhale through the nose. “Babe.”

“I know.”

“You like my crotch smell.”

“I’m never speaking again.” She buried her face in the cushion.

“No, hey, come back.” He tugged at her shoulders. “I’m not making fun. I’m processing. This is me processing.”

His eyes searched her face.

“You like it. It makes you feel good.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re asking because you want to do it again and you were nervous to bring it up.”

She nodded. Her fingers had returned to the uwu senpai position without her permission, and this time she just let them stay there.

Jamie looked at those fingers, then at her face, then at the TV where the second half was about to start. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He shrugged, one shoulder higher than the other.

“I mean—frankly, Priscilla, my girlfriend is asking to put my dick in her mouth while I do something I was already going to do anyway. It would be insane to say no. It’s the least insane request I’ve ever received.”

He was already shuffling his hips, adjusting the waistband of his shorts. “Get over here. You’re gonna make me miss the second-half kickoff.”

She set the Switch on the armrest. “Wait. Right now?”

“You have a better time? It’s minute forty-six. My cousin has made tactical substitutions. I need to fuckin’ focus.”

He was half-smiling, but he’d already palmed himself through his shorts, rearranging things.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay. C’mon.” He patted his thigh.

Priscilla shifted sideways on the couch, curling her legs under her. Jamie lifted his hips just enough to push his shorts and boxers down to knee level. He was already starting to fill out, a flush of color rising along the shaft of his cock, and she felt her mouth prickle with anticipation.

“Second half’s starting,” he warned.

She lowered herself down, cheek to his bare thigh. The skin was warm, slightly damp from the heat of the couch. His scent hit her first. Laundry soap, the faint salt of dried sweat, and underneath it that darker, muskier note that she’d been salivating about all week. She breathed it in deeply.

Jamie had one hand back on the controller, the other resting light on her shoulder. “You good?”

“Mhm.” She parted her lips and took him in.

Not deep. Just the head, her tongue curling up to meet the underside of his cock. The weight of him settled on her tongue like something coming home to roost. She let her jaw go slack, let her breath find a rhythm through her nose, and the familiar fuzz of relaxation crept in at the edges of her thoughts.

On screen, a whistle blew. Jamie’s thumbs started moving again.

Above her head, he muttered, “That was offside, you absolute blind fucking bastard.”

Priscilla hummed against him in agreement even though she had no idea what he was talking about. The vibration made his thigh tense under her cheek. The FIFA crowd roared tinny and distant through the TV speakers, but Jamie’s grumbling faded into the background, same as the music, same as her racing thoughts. All of it just… slipped away. The weight on her tongue anchored her. She didn’t suck, didn’t bob her head to milk the nectar from his balls. Just held him, her lips sealed light around the shaft, her breathing slow through her nose.

At some point, her Mii baby asked for another lesson. At some point, the screen dimmed into sleep mode. She didn’t notice.

The next thing she registered was the absence of sound. No crowd. No whistle. Just quiet, and the living room darker than before, and Jamie’s hand rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades.

“Cil,” he was saying. Soft. A little amused. “Hey. Priscilla.”

She blinked. Her mouth was still full. She pulled off slowly, a string of saliva stretching and breaking against her bottom lip, and squinted up at him. The TV had gone black, the FIFA menu screen timing out. How long had it been?

“Did I—” Her voice came out gravelly and weak. She cleared her throat.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah.” Jamie was looking down at her with this expression she couldn’t quite parse.

Part disbelief, part tenderness, partly verging on smug. “About twenty minutes ago, I think. You started making this little snore sound through your nose. It was, and I cannot stress this enough, the cutest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Priscilla pressed her forehead into his naked thigh. “Oh my fucking god.”

“No, it was amazing. Ten out of ten. Five stars on AirBnB. Would get my dick used as a pacifier or sleep aid or whatever this is again.”

“Jamie.”

“I’m serious. You slept through two goals. The game was equalized and I didn’t even care. I was very relaxed as well now that I think about it.”

She lifted her head, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Her jaw felt loose, cottony. Her whole body felt that way, just heavy and warm and like she’d just surfaced from the best nap of her life. “What time is it?”

“Little after eleven.”

“Were you just sitting here?”

He shrugged, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Just doomscrolling. Didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful. Also, moving seemed like it would be a logistical nightmare, given the… arrangement.”

She glanced down. His dick was still out, but flaccid and limp where it rested against his belly, still glistening faintly from her mouth.

“Jamie.” She sat up, legs tingling from being curled so long.

“You didn’t finish.”

“I mean, it wasn’t really a finishing kind of thing I guess. You were asleep. I didn’t want to, like, tap your head and say hey, could you—”

“But you want to.”

He blinked. “I mean. Sure. Yeah. If you’re offering.” He paused. “Are you actually offering?”

Instead of answering, she shifted position off the couch, down to the floor between his knees. The rug was soft under her shins. She settled there, hands coming up to rest on his thighs, and looked up at him through her lashes.

“Hi,” she said sweetly.

Hey.” His voice had dropped half an octave. “What’s happening right now?”

“I fell asleep on you. Literally. That’s just…” she sighed in mock annoyance. “Terrible hospitality. Isn’t it?” She ran her palms up his thighs slowly, watching his stomach muscles jump under his shirt.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“Priscilla—”

“You sat there for twenty minutes with my drool on your dick. You deserve a reward.”

He laughed, a breathy, surprised sound that cut off when she lowered her mouth again. No teasing this time at all. She took him deep from the start, easily, sliding down until her lips met the base, until it started expanding in her mouth, she bobbed coaxing it grow. The most special plant in the garden of his pubes.

Eventually, the head nudged the back of her throat and her eyes watered. She held there for a beat, two beats, letting him feel the wet heat of her, before pulling back with an audible, messy pop.

“Jesus H fuck,” he breathed.

She grinned up at him, lips shiny and pink. “You like that?”

“What do you think.”

“I think you’ve been sitting here with blue balls because you’re too nice to wake up your girlfriend. I think that’s very sweet but I must say…very stupid.”

She dragged a flattened tongue along the underside of him, root to tip.

“I think you should stop being nice and let me take care of you.”

His hand found her hair again, but this time it wasn’t resting. This time his fingers tightened, a gentle grip at the crown of her head.

“Okay,” he said, rough. “Okay. Yeah.”

She took that as permission.

Her mouth worked him over now, no longer the calm, meditative hold from before. This was active. And Eager. She spit on her palm and wrapped it around the base, twisting in counterpoint to the slide of her lips.

Every time she pulled up, her tongue traced the ridge just beneath the head—the spot that made his hips jerk and his breath catch in his throat.

“You like it when I lick you right there?” she asked, voice syrupy and languid. She did it again, slow circles with the point of her tongue. “Right under the—”

“Yeah.” The word came out strangled. “Fuck. Yeah. Right there.”

She hummed, pleased, and took him back down. The sound filled the quiet living room—wet, obscene, rhythmic. She didn’t rush. She let her jaw go loose, let saliva gather and spill over her knuckles, let the slick slide of it make every stroke louder. Messy. She wanted it messy. She wanted him to hear what he did to her, what she was doing to him. She gagged and coughed up a wad of spit, tears coming to her eyes so she paused and squeezed and undulated her wrist around the tip which elicited a loud groan from him.

Jamie’s head tipped back against the couch. His throat worked. “Cil—I’m—close—”

She pulled off just long enough to say, “Good,” and then her mouth was back, her hand working faster, her eyes trained up on his face. She wanted to watch. Wanted to see his composure crack and crumble, wanted to see his jaw go slack and his brows pinch together, wanted—

“I’m gonna—” He tried to tug her back, a warning pull at her hair. “If you don’t want me to—”

She stayed. Locked her lips around him, sucked hard, and that was it.

He came with a groan that sounded like he’d been punched in the gut, one hand fisting in her hair and the other gripping the couch cushion. She felt the first pulse against her tongue, hot and salt-bitter, and swallowed without hesitation. Then again. Again. She worked him through it, gentle now, coaxing, until his grip loosened and his body slumped back into the cushions like someone had cut his strings.

She pulled off slow, careful not to oversensitize him, and sat back on her heels. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Looked up at him with a smile that was maybe a little too proud.

Jamie was staring at the ceiling. Breathing like he’d just run a sprint.

“So,” she said. “Good night?”

He let out a laugh that was mostly exhale. “Come up here.”

She climbed back onto the couch, curling into his side. He tugged his shorts up one-handed, still catching his breath, and wrapped the other arm around her shoulders. His chest was damp with sweat. The room smelled like sex and spit.

“You’re incredible,” he said into her hair. “You know that?”

“I know.”

“And weird.”

“Also that.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go to bed. My legs are numb and I think I got a rage text I’m going to enjoy reading in the morning.”

Priscilla pushed herself up, already reaching for her Switch so it wouldn’t get crushed or lost in the cushions. “One condition.”

“Name it.”

“We do this again. The thing. The—you know.”

Jamie stood, stretching his arms overhead until something in his back popped. He looked down at her, still rumpled and pink-cheeked, and he tried to tamp down his smile so he wouldn’t look overeager.

“Cil, you can have my dick in your mouth any night that ends in a Y.”

“That’s all of them I think.”

“Yeah.” He offered her his hand. “That’s the point.”