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Ferran’s chatting with a friend when on the other side of the couch, Pedri sets his controller down to stretch. Ferran can sense him staring through his peripheral – the prolonged and slightly odd nature of it has Ferran growing slightly self-conscious. He doesn't let it interrupt his own typing, eyes remaining glued to his phone screen. A few seconds pass before Pedri shuffles closer, close enough for Ferran to feel the body heat emanating off of him.
“Can I suck you off?,” he asks. The question isn't really out of place. With the way things have been developing the question even has a strangely casual tone, like he's asking Ferran if he wants something to drink. He's been taking note of the way Pedri always seems to treat it like Ferran's the one doing Pedri a favour, instead of the other way around. Of course, Ferran enjoys the dynamic and isn't dumb enough to complain.
And, as always, the answer to Pedri's question is: “Yeah.”
Pedri grins and gets up to get in position but Ferran's still trying to maintain a conversation on his phone – by the time Pedri's on his knees and waiting, Ferran's speeding through the words and ignoring spelling mistakes, trying to find a way to end the conversation without being awkward.
“Er,” he says as he struggles. “Just a sec.”
There's a slight pause before Pedri decides to ignore him, leaning in to press his face against Ferran's clothed crotch, fingers toying with the waistband of his sweatpants. It feels good, the contact starting to get him heated – still, he needs to find a way to leave the convo. He taps away, sitting back and spreading his legs to show that he does want this blowjob. Even though he looks kind of like a jerk right now.
Ever impatient, Pedri pulls Ferran's pants down enough to press his tongue against his boxers, making him feel the inviting heat through the fabric. He curses under his breath and brings a hand down to Pedri's hair, fingers burying themselves in soft strands. The action has Pedri making a quiet, breathy sound probably by accident, leaning up into Ferran's hand.
“Sorry, I'm almost done,” Ferran promises. He feels Pedri shift between his legs, thumbing at the elastic band of his boxers. Despite being distracted, Ferran's already half-hard, stirred by the feeling of a mouth against him. Pedri pulls away and Ferran misses the warmth immediately, hips tilting up before he can stop himself.
“It's fine,” Pedri says. “Keep chatting. It's kinda hot.”
Ferran blinks in bewilderment, finally able to direct his eyes away from the screen and onto Pedri. “What?”
Pedri grins and pulls the elastic band back a little, letting it snap lightly against Ferran's skin.
“When you ignore me,” he clarifies. “It's hot.”
I don't know if I can do that, he almost blurts out. Instead he shakes his head in disbelief, directing his visible attention back to his phone.
“...Whatever gets you off, I guess.”
He gets his hand out of Pedri's hair so he can type normally – it is kind of pleasant that he doesn't have to interrupt the conversation and still get his dick wet. Pedri pulls his boxers down enough to free his cock, spitting in his hand before wrapping it around him and jerking him with short strokes. It takes all of Ferran's willpower not to put the phone down and just be normal, to take what Pedri's giving him eagerly, not passively. Instead he somehow manages to keep a straight face and type a coherent sentence on his phone.
Ferran can't suppress a reaction when he feels Pedri's mouth on him, lips wrapping around the head before pulling back slowly, dragging it out and letting him feel the warm velvety pull before repeating the motion. He sinks back into the couch and repositions himself so the phone blocks Pedri out completely, trying to keep up the facade. Like he doesn't care, and couldn't be bothered to even fake caring.
God, he can't believe Pedri's into this. So far the only con (which barely even is a con anyway) of their relationship is that every encounter has to reveal something about Pedri, some weird, degrading shit that Ferran never would've guessed he'd be into. And here Ferran feared he'd be the kinky one – truth is that he's miles off.
He's barely able to maintain the conversation as Pedri sinks deeper, needing to reread messages over and over, struggling with simple spelling and grammar. Pedri's unfairly skilled with his mouth, knowing when to pull back and where to focus his attention. By now they've done this a handful of times and still, every time Pedri leans in and takes Ferran's cock to the hilt, he finds himself wondering where the hell Pedri learnt to do this. The way his jaw relaxes to take him, the way he hums to suppress his gag reflex, it's all so obviously practised.
Ferran shifts slightly as he tries to act casual, biting his cheek to muffle himself. Pedri swallows around him before starting to pull back and it's so hard not to hold him still, to keep that warm mouth around him until Pedri's squirming on his knees.
He doesn't do that. Instead he thrusts up slightly and mumbles, “keep doing that.”
His voice comes out sounding much more bored than he feels. While Pedri had asked Ferran to ignore him, Pedri’s muffled moan shows how much the words do for him. He complies immediately, sinking down and hollowing his cheeks to envelop him properly, tongue pressing up against the sensitive underside. It feels unbelievable. And it's Pedri, no less – Ferran's unsure if he's ever laid with anyone who even comes close to sucking his soul out of his dick like this.
When his cock is buried all the way inside Pedri's throat again he can't suppress himself anymore, he glances down to look before he can stop it. Big and dark eyes look back at him, cheeks pink and lips glistening. It's a satisfying sight, one that scratches a deep dark itch within him.
I get to see you like this. You let me see you like this.
Brushing stray hair from Pedri's forehead, Ferran watches him blink innocently. “Like that, yeah.”
He leaves his hand in Pedri's hair as he goes back to his phone, not applying pressure but just resting it there. Pedri makes another small sound before bobbing his head a little, his movements laced with a certain desperation that wasn't there before. It still feels heavenly, Ferran almost wants to tell him how good he's doing but (absurdly,) it'd ruin the mood. He's read the same message about five times in a row now, failing to multitask – it doesn't really matter, anymore. He's sure he hasn't been making any sense ever since Pedri got on his knees.
Ferran doesn't stop him when he pulls back to catch his breath. He looks down again because he really can't help himself – Pedri's eyes are black with lust, eyelashes dark with unshed tears, slick lips parted as he breathes hard like he's already ruined from the blowjob. Ferran moves his hand in his hair back so his fingers comb the strands, moving them away from his face.
“Can't take it?,” he asks, watching Pedri swallow thickly. In an instant, his gaze goes from aroused to daring.
“Think I can't?”
Ferran really can't help how affected he feels by Pedri in this state. He's always good-looking, but like this it somehow matters more. It has Ferran transfixed, almost powerless during the exchange no matter what position Pedri's in. Ferran pushes his head down to urge him back and he does, opening his mouth to take him. He sinks down until he's right back where he was, wet heat wrapping around Ferran's cock and it feels intoxicating. It's almost even better to feel the way he gags around him, unable to compose himself like he did before, throat squeezing and struggling with each thrust. When he lets go of Pedri's head he moves away immediately to try catching his breath.
“No,” Ferran answers then, even though he doesn't believe it whatsoever. “Not really.”
Pedri's eyes are hazy beneath his eyelashes. He swallows before leaning back in, full of intent. It's good to rile him up, Ferran's learned by now. To make him want to prove himself. There's a certain drive to Pedri's movements when he goes back in, which turns Ferran on just as much as the feeling of warmth around him. He retracts his hand and goes back to his phone – he's received a string of messages now that he has to read and respond to. He replies haphazardly, distracted by Pedri's ministrations. Unable to suppress a groan, he tilts his hips up and stifles the urge to tell Pedri to keep going – keep focusing on the tip, keep doing that motion with his tongue. Fuck, it feels good.
Not only is the sensation of Pedri going down on him hard to ignore – the wet sounds he keeps making with his mouth has Ferran's ears buzzing hard enough to drown his thoughts. Pedri takes him a little deeper, sucking around Ferran's cock yet still working the head with his tongue rhythmically, not faltering for a second. It's unfair, Ferran's so heated now that he's breathing hard, unable to calm down his heartbeat as he grows desperate. The muffled moan Pedri makes when he tilts his hips up once more goes straight to Ferran's core and suddenly he feels like he's pushed to the edge, veering on the brink of orgasm by Pedri's skilled mouth. With a shaky exhale he sets his phone down and digs his hand back into Pedri's hair.
“Close,” he mutters and Pedri seems to understand what Ferran needs immediately – dark gaze expectant as he relaxes his jaw and stills, waiting for Ferran to fuck his throat until he gets to swallow his cum down eagerly. The sight is enough to make Ferran's stomach tighten as pleasure stirs within him – he pushes Pedri's head down before holding him still and letting his hips move of their own accord, chasing the pleasured peak of his orgasm. He feels it building in his abdomen, red-hot arousal spreading through his body and making him sweat with each drag of his hard cock against Pedri's hot and wet throat. It feels so sinful – the bliss paired with the sight of Pedri's dark hair contrasting against his pink cheeks and lips. Ferran almost can't believe what he's seeing.
“You look good like this,” he says, tone slightly too breathless for his own liking. “You were fucking made to suck cock.”
Two weeks ago he probably would've kept that to himself. But by now they know each other, know what they want and what they wanna hear – Ferran's stomach churns at the way Pedri's blush deepens, his arousal always so easy to read. Ferran groans, tightening his grip in Pedri's hair until he hears him whine out in pain.
“Take it, shit,” he pants, losing himself as pleasure makes his abdomen tighten, the sweetest orgasm so, so close to crashing down on him. “Take it all.”
Pedri whines around him again, eyes glassy with tears that he blinks away rapidly – the sight is so pathetic it drives Ferran wild. It doesn't take much more for Ferran to cum, finally getting off on Pedri's willing mouth, holding him still as he cums directly down his throat.
It's unfair how good it feels.
“Fuuck,” Ferran sighs, sinking into the couch as the orgasm passes and exhaustion starts setting in. He pulls Pedri off him, letting his hand run through his hair briefly before withdrawing. “You're good at that.”
Pedri doesn't dignify him with a response, only whimpers softly and nuzzles his blushing face against Ferran's thigh like a cat. The sight is strangely cute – Ferran tries not to stare too much before tucking his dick away, the waistband of his pants fitting snugly around his hips like nothing occurred.
And… Well. Transaction complete. Pedri gave his blowjob and Ferran got his shit rocked. Unsure of what to do now, Ferran considers telling Pedri to come up so he can jerk him off to return the favour – but Pedri's hands are bunched up in the fabric of Ferran's pants as he squirms on his knees and Ferran can tell he'd rather stay there, that he'll either finish himself off or deny himself the satisfaction.
Ferran picks his phone back up, not minding that Pedri's still trying to catch his breath between his legs. It’s wild how such an idle act can feel so taboo, so much more than anything Ferran’s done before.
Pedri keeps squirming, hands borderline clawing at Ferran's legs as he presses his face firmer against Ferran's thigh. It's like he's so desperate that he can't control his fidgeting, yet still refuses to put a hand on himself, denying himself of what he needs. It's such a sick sight.
“You good?”
It feels weird not to ask. Ferran's hand comes down to toy with Pedri's hair lazily, letting the strands loop around his fingers as he moves them in circular motions. Pedri nods, humming in confirmation. He shifts, but Ferran doesn't really pay attention to what he's doing. He switches apps, feeling like he's in the mood to scroll mindlessly.
A moment passes before Pedri starts making noise, soft, quiet whimpers escaping him with every other breath. Ferran glances down at him – he's palming himself through his pants, brows furrowed like he's deeply concentrating on his pleasure, like he's worried it might escape him.
“Want me to touch you?,” he asks, finding that he really wants to. Pedri shakes his head in response, to Ferran's dismay. He tries (and fails) not to feel dejected.
Then, without really thinking, Ferran moves his leg so it's in the space between Pedri's thighs. It's an idle movement, one that happens automatically – but it has Pedri whining for some reason, looking up at Ferran with desperate eyes.
“Fuck,” Pedri says. “Can I…”
Whatever he wanted to say dies in his throat. He blushes bright red and looks down, shuffling slightly closer.
“Can you, …what?”
Ferran doesn't get a reply, but the press of Pedri's clothed crotch against Ferran's shin and the way Pedri’s whole body seems to shiver at the contact explains well enough. He trembles against Ferran's leg like he's still holding himself back, hands bunching up in Ferran's pants, exhaling shakily. Ferran can't determine if it's shame or pleasure that has Pedri so wound up – it's surely a sick mixture of both, a dangerous combination that makes Pedri's face bright red and gasps uneven.
Pedri grinds forward and the sight is so pathetic Ferran almost tells him to stop and have some dignity. But it's hard when Pedri's eyes are hazy with arousal, hands fidgeting like he's trying not to worsen his position by hugging Ferran's leg, or something equally humiliating.
How can he be dignified when he's on his knees for a guy who's nothing more than a friend?
“Holy shit,” Ferran says, voicing his true thoughts. He presses his leg forward and relishes in the sound Pedri makes – a high, needy thing that has Ferran's head spinning. He presses forward again just to watch Pedri gasp, hips stuttering as he ruts against him, keeping his head down and shoulders slumped as if the act physically wears him down. Ferran lets the hand in Pedri's hair tighten into a fist, gripping the strands hard which makes Pedri moan, hips jutting with fervor.
“Can you cum like this?,” Ferran asks. Pedri whimpers, nodding as he speeds up. He's breathing hard, the pace of his hips get increasingly erratic as he gets closer, small noises escaping him more as he loses himself. Feeling that Pedri deserves at least some pleasant sensation, Ferran lets go of the grip he has on his hair to instead massage his scalp lazily, letting his blunt nails scrape against him. Pedri moans at the feeling, voice high as his hips stutter – cursing, he finally cums, his body tensing up hard as he rides through it, gasps sounding loud and hiccupy. Wishing to see his face better, Ferran grips his hair to yank his head up – and what a sight it is. His mouth draws in quick breaths, eyebrows furrowed with pleasure and eyes dark, his face pinker than Ferran's ever seen him. His eyes flutter shut as his orgasm passes him, body slumping and finally relaxing.
Ferran lets his hand wander down to cup his cheek, his thumb teasing Pedri's bottom lip idly. Pedri sighs at the contact, opening his eyes and gazing at Ferran with lidded eyes.
“That was hot,” Pedri says. Ferran wonders where the hell Pedri draws the line.
“You're into weird shit.”
Pedri giggles, eyes crinkling as he smiles.
“I know.”
He's too cute for his own good, Ferran thinks solemnly.
Pedri stands up then, wincing as he unfolds his legs. He throws a glance at the TV and notices that the console is about to turn off due to prolonged inactivity. Mumbling a curse, he jerks the controller joystick to reset the timer. “Don't let it turn off, I need to shower.”
Ferran yawns. “Yeah.”
With that, Pedri heads off to the bathroom. Ferran sinks into the couch properly, picking his phone back up to find his notifications are absolutely clogged with messages. He sighs slowly, opening them up and answering them leisurely – no more distractions.