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Ian unlocks her front door, pocketing her keys in her—well, Anthony's jacket. Ian had left hers at the bar. Thankfully, Courtney had grabbed it for her before she and Shayne took their leave from the party, with the promise of returning it to Ian at the office once the winter break is over.
Anthony is right behind her, a warm and solid presence, and Ian hears him shut her front door, the both of them stopped in the entryway of Ian's house.
Ian hangs her purse on the coat rack next to the door. She isn't quite ready to shed Anthony's dark faux-leather jacket quite yet. It doesn't mesh with the soft velvet and silk red dress she's wearing, nor the sleek black heels, but it's too comfortable to give up. It helps that it smells like Anthony, feels worn in, feels like it belongs wrapped around Ian's figure.
Anthony doesn't drink much at all these days so he feels like he got hit by the alcohol a little harder than he meant to, but he doesn't mind it. His beer jacket (or more like a tequila coat) kept him warm enough that he was more than happy to slide his jacket around Ian's shoulders since she lost hers halfway through the night.
He would have done it if he'd been cold, too, but the tequila shot helped.
He leans back against the door, letting his head hit the wood with a little thunk, his eyes closing for a moment, and when he reopens them he sees Ian hanging up her purse, but notably not taking off his jacket. With his head tipped back he looks at her, reveling in the silence. It's just them. Anthony loves their whole staff, but things like the annual Smosh Christmas party take so much out of him.
The silence feels loud as it wraps them both up.
"Hey," he says quietly, eyes heated and bright despite the still darkness of the entryway.
"Hmm?" Ian asks, her hand sliding along the wall until she finds the light switch, using her palm to flick it up and turn on the hallway light. The glow of it spreads a halo of light between the entryway, the hallway, and creeps towards Ian's living room.
Ian turns to face Anthony who is leaning against her door and still hasn’t responded to her hummed non-question. When she sees him he has these big and moony eyes. Ian smiles at him, steps an inch closer, but still remains just out of Anthony's reach.
"What's up, light weight?" she teases, unable to resist fucking with him just a little.
"Fuck off, Margarita Queen," Anthony laughs. His hands fold behind his lower back, between him at the door. He doesn't need them. Ian's going to come to him.
"You look good in my jacket," he adds. In the back of his mind, he wonders if anyone else noticed—even just their Uber driver—how good Ian looks in his jacket. Probably. The real question is did they know it was his? That the hot girl was wearing his jacket? Probably not, but he likes to imagine they did.
"Yeah?" Ian asks, popping her hip out, striking a pose, really playing up the slit in her dress that rides mid-thigh, knowing Anthony won't be able to help himself from looking.
She leans in, a hand planted in the middle of Anthony's sweatered chest, her face close to his own, but just out of reach of properly kissing him.
"What's that saying? It will look even better on my bedroom floor?" she whispers.
Ian gets exactly what she wants as Anthony's eyes flicker to her strong thigh, the little divot of muscle that the heels accentuate. He could stand for that slit to go another inch or two higher. Or three. Or even right up to Ian's hip—
He has to fight not to grin wider when she plants a hand right in the center of his chest. He gets what he wants too.
"Hm, I'm not familiar with that saying, I don't think," he lies. "You wanna leave my nice jacket on the floor? Rude, Ian."
Ian rolls her eyes and she slips the jacket off, down to her elbows so her bare shoulders are exposed. She backs away from him just a little.
"Huh, I suppose I can get to my room all on my own and get this warm jacket off all by myself," she says, as she turns, akin to some Hollywood minx and looks at him over her shoulder, throwing him an exaggerated wink before she begins to walk away, her heels clacking on the wood floor.
Anthony sighs, both a little wistful as he watches Ian walk away, and a little fondly exasperated by his girlfriend's sheer stubbornness. He’s not surprised in the least, that just means he has to play a little harder.
"Ian," he says, sharper, deeper. "Stop. Come back here." He says it in that way he knows makes her spine shiver. And there's no use being coy, he also knows it makes her wet. "Or I'll call myself my own Uber," he challenges, because he knows Ian loves to toe the line, see how elastic the boundaries are. How hard she can push and still have him come back.
A terrible little smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth. "You don't want me to leave you again, do you?" It's a low blow, but Ian's playing dirty, too. "C'mon, Ian, come back here and kiss me."
Ian turns and her eyes are wide with surprise that he'd bring that up of all things. She walks back over to him, stopping right in front of him.
Then, Ian leans in and she barely brushes her lips against Anthony's not even enough contact to transfer the rose colored lipstick she's wearing for the night. With their faces still close together, she brings a hand to the back of his head, fingers sinking into his curls where she tugs, a little harder than usual.
"You forgot I survived without you before," she smirks, "A joint, my trusty vibrator. That’s all I need. Anthony Padilla, who?"
Anthony's smile breaks wide as he looks down at Ian despite the pain in the roots of his hair. It's wide and a bit too innocent for the moment, but what she's saying doesn't even really sink in right away.
"You came back," he says, tongue dancing behind his teeth with glee.
He's definitely tipsy. Not happy-drunk, but drunkenly happy.
A few moments later, Ian's words actually sink in and Anthony's smile turns a little more cock-sure.
"Yeah, but you know you like those better with me, too. I'm a team player. Your vibe and I are lowkey besties." His hands slip out from behind his back and under the jacket to hold her hips. "But I can go if you wanna hang out with those two tonight instead."
Ian snorts just a little fondly. Anthony is an idiot especially for her. It's a facet of them, of what they built, where they came from and when they joined together again. Anthony takes himself too seriously most of the time, but with Ian it's seldom the case.
"Mmm, I don't know. What's in it for me?" she says even with her body warming where his hands hold her hips through the fabric of her dress. His hands feel so warm, and huge, and heavy on her, not that Ian is complaining about that feeling of ownership when it comes to Anthony.
Anthony's eyebrows knit sadly, like he can't think of a damn thing that could be in it for Ian. Not a-one.
Oh, fuck it. He can't keep up the charade. Oops.
He switches their places swiftly, holding her back against the door by her hips while he gets to his knees, eyes glimmering as they look up at her. Without a word, he leans in and kisses from her knee, up her thigh, right to where the slit in her dress stops.
He should probably ask, and maybe it's a little wasteful, but... but to hear Ian gasp would be priceless to him; they can buy a new dress. His hands move down from her hips to the break in the fabric where he bunches it in his fists, and rips, right up to the crease of her hip.
"A new dress, for one thing," he teases.
Ian gasps, looking at this man on his knees both like he's lost his mind and like he's the single hottest thing she's ever seen.
"Okay, Alpha Male," she jokes, but she fails to stop the heat in her tone. Anthony is so sweet and kind despite at times looking so dark and rough around the edges, so when he gets a little more aggressive it lights up something inside her.
Anthony is kissing higher up on her thigh, but he pauses before he gets anywhere interesting and raises an eyebrow up at Ian. Maybe he's a little too drunk.
"Too much?" He asks. He's so incredibly, horribly down for his girlfriend but he's not like that. Not some freaky caveman type. Anthony likes to toss her around, make her feel girly, but Ian is fully capable of riding him until he's in tears, begging for mercy. "Sorry," he adds.
"My poor baby," Ian says, her words sincere as a feeling of fondness for Anthony swells in her chest all over again. He's a perfectionist at heart and can take the tiniest teasing to heart, like when they were kids and she made fun of his shoes.
Ian cups Anthony's face, gently, smoothing her thumbs over the scratch of facial hair, where he's got some salt decorating the pepper of his beard.
"You don't have to apologize at all. I liked it. You'll definitely have to buy me a new one and maybe some shoes to go with it, but...why don't you show me some more of that strength?"
Anthony's face lights up at Ian's touch, relieved and oh-so-predictable. If the promise of eating out his girlfriend wasn't enough to do it, he can feel himself start to get hard just from her praise. He basks in her hold for a moment, just gazing adoringly, if a little tipsy, up at her.
"Finesse," he says, the hiss of the 'ss' at the end of the word like a snake, and for emphasis he flicks his tongue out. "This part's all about finesse, baby. No more He-Man shit until I'm carrying you to the bedroom because your legs are jello."
He pushes the skirt of her dress aside to reveal her black panties. He finds it strangely kind of hot that they match her shoes, but before he can dwell on that too long, he opens his mouth and presses it right against her pussy, letting his tongue slowly heat and wet the satiny fabric.
Ian's fingers tighten in his hair as she lets out a half-surprised moan.
"Ah, there's my good boy," Ian breathes out, her voice a shudder of air.
She shivers at the way he's mouthing through the fabric of her panties, with the barest hint of embarrassment that even before he started kissing her pussy, she was wet and this is only going to make her so much wetter.
He has that effect on her.
Anthony moans without meaning to at Ian's words. He isn't quite embarrassed—Ian ought to know how to cut right to his core like that by now—but his cheeks still flame red.
He can taste her through the fabric, and it makes him smile. He pulls his tongue right up towards where her clit sits and rolls the fabric around it with the flat of his tongue. He probably looks a fool, staring up at her with his tongue on her panties, flushed, eyes glazed with both hunger and satisfaction, but he's her fool.
"Wet for me already?" He asks, retracting his tongue for only a moment to speak and press a kiss to her covered clit.
Ian trembles as his mouth moves against her and then up to her clit.
"Since we left the party," Ian admits, her face warm with the remnants of alcohol and the need for her boyfriend.
She slides her hand up to the top of his head, moving his hair out of his face, her thumb smoothing over one of the small braids she had woven into his hair earlier in the week.
Anthony hums, both at her hand in his hair, and the thought that Ian's been wet for him for a good half hour at that point, then.
He lips at her clit, still over her panties, but he slips two fingers beneath, easing down a little lower and yes, she's wet. So wet he can hear it as his fingers slide up and down her slit.
"Fuck," he murmurs under his breath, closing his eyes and he grinds his tongue over the silky fabric.
He sneaks his middle finger between her folds and sinks it in all in one go, to the base, and presses on her front wall with the pad of his finger.
Ian makes an embarrassing choked off sort of noise and her hands card through Anthony's hair. This is just one finger and his mouth and she's already feeling so good. Damn him.
"Anthony," Ian moans out.
Quickly, it feels like she needs more. More of him. More of anything he'll give her.
At the sound of his name, Anthony's eyes open halfway again. He pulls his finger back out so his hands can take either side of her panties and skim them down her legs. If one hand leaves a couple cool touches of wetness as he does, well, that's Ian's fault, technically.
He helps her step out of them since she has those dangerous little black heels on, but as her second leg lifts, he pushes it over his shoulder, giving him a gorgeous view of her wet cunt and the delicious weight of her thigh on his shoulder.
He doesn't even make a quip, he just leans in, holding her leg tight over his shoulder for balance, and gives a filthy, open mouthed kiss at the wettest part of her.
Ian's head falls back against the wall with a dull thud and Anthony pulls another moan out of her. He's gorgeous like that. On his knees in front of her, curls woven between her fingers and the pink of his tongue skating over her.
"Fuck," Ian breathes, biting her own lip, as if it will do any good, as if she could ever hide her noises from him.
Anthony smiles as his tongue laps gently at her. "Mm," he hums. "Tastes so fucking good."
Anthony kind of hates the phrase 'go to town' when it comes to this kind of thing. It doesn't encompass the nuance of how he knows to touch his girlfriend, the rhythm she likes or the small changes that make each time different little journeys. It doesn't account for both the enthusiasm and the reverence with which he laps and sucks and flicks at her clit or the personal arousal he gets from feeling his lips and chin grow wetter and wetter each time he dives in for more. But damn does it make him laugh when Ian says, ‘Fuck, you really went to town on me,’ afterwards, all breathless and dazed, so that's what he does.
Ian's hips roll forward of their own accord, pressing her cunt to his face to seek more of that heat and warmth, and that wetness of his mouth.
"Oh, fuck! Anthony!" Ian moans, holding his head with two hands to steady herself as she grinds somewhat shamelessly against Anthony's mouth.
Anthony's shoulders climb a little higher with excitement as Ian grinds up against him. He moans as his lips close around her again, his fingers digging a little deeper into her hips and thighs.
"That's it, Ian," he mutters, his tongue thick and wet with her taste, before blatantly sucking at her clit, letting her use her friction while he provides the rest.
The only drawback of eating her out is that his mouth gets too busy to talk, but he'll have plenty of opportunity for that later. Right now he just enjoys the way Ian's hips circle and push at his mouth, the way her fingers feel in his hair, and the pretty noises she makes.
Anthony's damp fingers grip her hips and thighs and Ian feels the cool air from where his slicked fingers had touched her, physical remnants of him mapped across her body. When he sucks at her clit she clutches his hair. The heat blooms in her stomach and as sure as Anthony had promised, her legs are already trembling.
"Oh fuck. I always forget how good you are at this," she pants out. His tongue is making it hard to think, hard to do anything except to roll her hips forward, lean into the stretch of her leg over his shoulder, how wide open he has her body.
Ian knows exactly how to cut to his core like a hot knife. The praise goes straight to his dick and his lips squeeze at her harder. He has to fight off a smile to keep from breaking his seal as he feels her legs begin to shake. He looks up at her through his lashes, her hands mussing his hair, and gives her heat in his eyes. Fuck a nectar of the gods, they never tasted Ian.
Ian, honestly, she's been keyed up since the party. Anthony looked good, he smelt good, the way he kept touching Ian's elbow and leaning in close to her ear so she would hear him when they talked. Ian can't help the way he sets her on edge, makes her hot and wet. The way he looks like a model on his knees sucking at her pussy like it's what he was made to do.
"Anthony," Ian whines, her chest heaving slightly, still trapped in the remnants of her dress and the tight structure of her push-up bra, her body burning up at Anthony's touch, "I'm getting close… I'm gonna come," she says.
Anthony nods slightly. That's exactly what he wants, but he doesn't dare break away and tell her, won’t set them back a minute or two. Instead he presses against her harder, circling his tongue around her clit relentlessly, feeling the way it trembles and throbs under his touch, he’s waiting for that perfect moment where she goes, the moment it all breaks and the tension inside her snaps.
Ian can feel her pussy pulsing, her clit throbbing. Heat winds through her entire body from head to toe and Anthony is relentless in the best way, pushing her until she’s falling apart.
"Fuck!" Ian moans, her head going against the wall, tipping back. Her body arches to meet him, bowing forward into his hold and touch. She's panting, mind blanking, and all she can do is hold him close and keep him there as she comes with a sharp cry.
Anthony hums in satisfaction and the sharp little electric thrusts her body gives against his mouth in the waves of her orgasm. He can feel his chin and lips soaking in her nearly-dripping wetness and the way her fingers scratch his scalp as she holds on too tightly, her pretty gasps in his ears.
He holds her tighter so she doesn't fall when she comes back down.
Her vision clears and Ian comes down from her high of her blissful orgasm. She releases her hand from Anthony's hair, where she had been using him as the only thing keeping her balance. She cards her fingers through the wave of his hair once more to fix where her grip had mussed his curls. He's looking up at her with hot, hot eyes, so dark, so gorgeous. His mouth is still on her, soaked, embarrassingly shiny, and Ian flushes in embarrassment at how wet she got him.
His tongue flicks against her, stimulating her even as she comes down, the tip of his tongue tracing the thick folds of her pussy, making her body jolt against his touch.
"S-Sorry, I soaked you," she says, blushing down at him.
Anthony smiles, giving her clit one last little gentle kiss (and if it makes her twitch then so be it), and pulls away, rolling his eyes.
"Shut up," he says, making a show of licking up what he can, then using the sleeve of his sweater to swipe up the rest. "You know I love it, and I know you're not sorry at all." He shoots her a toothy, devilish grin. "My own personal Super Soaker," he teases.
It shouldn't be hot to see the shine of herself on Anthony's face, how it clings to his facial hair. It shouldn't be hot to see him wipe it away, but it is. At this point, it would be difficult for Ian to name something she didn't think Anthony would look hot doing.
"Oh my God," Ian says, blushing but giggling, brushing her own hair from her face. “You’re so gross,” she complains, “And as much as I'm enjoying this. Stand up and unzip me?" She turns in his hold so her back is to him, showing the clasped hook and zip on the rear of the dress that keeps her trapped in the unforgiving fabric.
She had wanted to go all out for the Smosh Christmas party. Not because she was trying to one-up anyone, or because she was trying to get anyone else’s attention. No, she chose a velvety, silky dress with the high slit because she wanted to blow Anthony away. Now, Ian was reaping what she sowed because she’s stuck in her torn dress, her dangerously teetering heels, and tight push-up bra. As much as she was wanting to take Anthony’s breath away, she’d much rather be naked for him now.
Anthony is more than happy to do as Ian asks. He isn't particularly gentle with the zipper since the dress is as good as ripped anyway. Once the fabric falls away to the floor, Anthony is left with Ian's back, bare from her shoulders all the way down to the backs of her shoes, save for that little band of fabric of her bra.
God, he's hard.
And he lets Ian know it, pressing her up against the door, his hips against her ass, chin tucked against her neck so he's flush against her, even if he's still dressed.
"Better?" He asks, knowing full well he isn't helping.
Ian should have expected Anthony to press her into the nearest surface, but she hadn't so he does and then he's against her and even though he's fully dressed she can feel where he's hard through his pants. She reaches up blindly behind her, getting her hand on the back of his head and turning it, tilting her own face so her mouth can find his. Even though it's far more complicated than it needs to be and the kiss isn't that good, Ian doesn't want to shift them all that much from the hold he has her in.
"Getting there," Ian breathes against Anthony's mouth.
The way Ian kisses him and the way her hands feel in his hair makes him a little stupid for her, a little desperate. It means she'll always have the last barb, the last jab, the knockout punch between the two of them, but he'll gladly take those losses.
He groans deeply into the kiss, then even more deeply at her words. She's too sexy, it isn't fair.
His hands creep between them to unhook her bra, then press her a little harder against the door. Not enough to squash her, but enough that her tits are pressed against something hard and cold, all while kissing her. He's fighting the urge to fuck her right in her front hallway, trying to remember that the bedroom is where they have condoms, but it's enticing. They aren't teenagers anymore, but Ian always makes him feel a little more spontaneous.
Ian shivers as Anthony presses her into the cold wood of her own front door. Her nipples catch against the grain and she hardens up immediately. Her nipples are always very sensitive and she has no doubt that Anthony has that little fact memorized. He has such a steel trap memory, and the knowledge that she's included in there, it makes her warm in a totally different way from the surge of heat that burns in her belly.
Ian grinds back against him, feeling his hard cock trapped between layers of fabric. She wants to play coy, but it’s difficult when she can feel how turned on he is, how much he wants her too.
Ian has a great ass, and Anthony grabs it unabashedly as she grinds back against him. He can't help but give one cheek a nasty little pinch.
"Tease," he mutters into her ear, before spinning her around and scooping her up in his arms. He has to very decidedly not look at her tits where he knows her nipples are hard in order to keep enough blood in his brain to remember where the bedroom is.
He shoulders open her bedroom door and tosses her onto the bed with a laugh. He should probably be a little more suave, a little sexier, but sometimes fun is the stronger aphrodisiac for him.
Ian lands on her own bed, her heels managing to stay on, and she can't help the way she shifts into a pose on the bed, putting her heels together, sitting something like mermaid style, arching her back so her tits stick out. By this point she knows what works on Anthony, knows him as well as he knows her, strengths, weaknesses, turn-offs, and turn-ons and it’s just way too fun to exploit that knowledge at times.
"Your turn to get undressed," Ian tells him, her eyes scanning over Anthony in his expensive sweater now decorated with her cum, his black dress pants, and shiny shoes.
Ian naked in nothing but her heels is kind of criminal, in Anthony's opinion. Who needs to be that hot?
He slips off his own shoes, but crawls up on the bed after that, eyes shining with mischief. "I was thinking you could help me with that part," he says, dipping his head to kiss her as he climbs up her body, first her ankle, then her knee, her hip, the dip of her waist, her shoulder… "Please?" He asks as he meets her eyes with his own.
If Ian wasn't already so fond of Anthony this would have sealed the deal for her. She leans in and kisses him, chaste and quick, in favor of skating her hands down to the hem of his sweater. Her fingers dip under the fabric, fingertips gently tracing the skin of his back. Ian grabs the sweater and tugs it up, keeps tugging as Anthony helps her free his arms and gets it over his head.
Then, he's bare chested. He's a map of lines, and art, and words that mean so much to him. Ian can't help but lean in and press her mouth to the ink at his throat, peppering kisses down his chest, following that map of lines with her mouth until she shifts and reaches his belly where his belt meets her lips.
Ian sits back then and takes her time in undoing his belt, freeing the faux leather before popping the button on his pants.
Her hands leave him as she tugs down the zipper, choosing to take hold of his broad shoulders and drag him in for another kiss.
Ian is a marvel, and he tips his head back as she kisses his neck, eager to give her more. He's always eager to give her more, in every way he can. Maybe, he thinks, one day he'll have given enough to make up for those six-ish years. Or maybe he’ll never have given her enough because he's just really down bad. Either way, Ian deserves everything he has to give.
He feels his stomach muscles tighten as her mouth drifts down, right to the waistband of his pants, and he inhales sharply, face twitching involuntarily.
He's about to moan her name when Ian catches him in another kiss, deeper this time. He shoves his pants off without breaking the kiss, kicking them away as fast as he can.
One of his arms wraps around her waist to pull her close, then, and the other blindly reaches for the nightstand, trying to find the drawer with the condoms. "You good to go or do you want to come again first?" He asks breathlessly dazed when they break apart.
"Who am I to say no to coming again from my annoyingly sexy boyfriend?" She asks as she lays back on the mattress, getting herself comfortable.
Not that the idea of Anthony fucking her wouldn't get her off, nor him actually doing it, but if he's offering to let her get off one more time before they fuck, she'd be a fool to turn that down.
Anthony grins down at his annoyingly sexy girlfriend splayed on the mattress beneath him, his fingers crinkling the foil as he grabs a condom in his fist, along with his lowkey bestie.
He drops the condom beside them for later, but turns on the vibrator now and lowers it between her legs. "I dunno, seems like you'd be crazy to say no to that," he jokes. The vibe isn't truly pressed against her yet, just resting on her inner thigh. "Although you did say this was all you needed," he reminds her, tapping the head of the twitching little machine against her still-slick pussy.
Ian arches, certainly her own words coming back to bite her in the ass because now that she has Anthony almost fully naked above her and the promise of getting off from him and his talented fingers, and or mouth, and or cock, well, her trusty vibe just doesn't seem as appealing.
The touch of the toy is a tease against her, a tap that isn't enough but still makes her jolt with need.
"D-Did I say that? I don't remember that," she teases, though she's in no position to do so. She's very much at his mercy at the moment.
Anthony gives her a faux grimace, his other hand coming down to stoke at her flushed folds. “Yeah, sorry. I think your exact words were 'Anthony Padilla who?'"
Both his hands work in tandem, because he knows the second orgasm usually comes faster. He bumps the little silicone machine against her clit in an easy rhythm while his other hand sinks two fingers inside of her. She's wet and open enough that she can take two, but it's still a tight fit.
"But I guess my tongue knocked the memory out of you," he says with a filthy little grin as he curls his fingers inside her gently.
An embarrassing noise is pulled from Ian as she gets not only his fingers but also the toy. The vibrator is nestled against her clit and Anthony's thick and clever fingers work into her. She squeezes around his fingers, letting her hips roll in small waves as she rocks on to his fingers and increases the pressure of the toy against her clit.
That heat worms through her, spiking under the surface. Anthony's fingers are a tease to more, to his cock, to just how full she could feel once he sinks into her.
"Okay, I was wrong… so wrong," she admits, chasing the pleasure over trying to out-stubborn Anthony.
Anthony's face turns childishly victorious for just a moment. He can't stay that way, not when Ian's hips are circling and winding on his fingers, clenching her wet muscles around them, a glow emanating from her as he presses the vibe a little harder against her, but for one brief second he's won an argument with his smart, sexy, stubborn as hell best friend, and that always feels good.
He clicks the setting and the toy vibrates harder, faster, and his fingers press more insistently inside her.
"Told you, I'm a team player," he jokes. He folds forward without stopping either hand and licks at one of her nipples. "You're gonna come for me again, Ian," he breathes in a low whisper, letting the puff of his breath wash over her wet nipple.
Already the toy on the higher setting and Anthony's insistent fingers had her on edge, but then he's sucking her nipple and looking so self-satisfied. When his breath flushes over her wet nipple, the air tingling her sensitive skin, and his dark words tumble from his lips, Ian can't help but arch, parting her legs as her heels dig into the sheets and without even a proper warning—or a comeback—her second orgasm rocks through her hard.
It’s the kind of orgasm that makes her legs tense and shake, her toes curling, and her vision swim in delicious foggy pleasure. It’s the type of orgasm that makes Ian pant as she comes back down from falling off that blissful edge.
"Ho-Holy shit," Ian says, "worth losing the game for that."
He can see her better this time, and what a fucking sight. Her back arching, her heels slamming down into the mattress, her open and gasping mouth—Anthony runs his tongue along the roof of his own mouth just to stop himself from biting into something so delicious.
Of course, Ian has him chuckling the moment she can speak again, and Anthony shakes his head. He switches off the toy and tosses it off the bed, withdrawing his index and middle fingers and sucking them into his mouth to clean them.
God, he loves the taste of her.
"You totally lost," he agrees after popping his clean fingers out of his mouth. "We should have a scoreboard in here or something."
She holds back the groan that wants to leave her when she watches him suck her juices off his fingers.
"That's just one step from us having, like, a sex-swing," Ian says, though at the moment that doesn't sound like a bad idea either. "Welcome to my crib. Here's my sex scoreboard," Ian waves her hand miming showing off the scoreboard in question to an invisible camera crew.
"Okay? You're telling me you don't want us to get a sex swing eventually?" Anthony says, pretending to be baffled. "Wow, I need to reassess some things."
It's a joke, and clearly, as he bends over to kiss Ian on the lips where she's splayed out on the mattress. "You're just scared cause I'd be winning."
"Does winning involve me coming so hard I can't see? Because then you can absolutely win and I'll take that L."
She smiles as he kisses her, hums when he shares the traces of her own taste.
He's over the top of her, curls flopping into his face. He's gorgeous, an Adonis, and Ian wonders how she got lucky enough to be the one that gets to see him like this, to experience him this way.
Anthony pulls back from the kiss and smiles at her. He goes a bit crosseyed to look at her as he presses his forehead to hers. "Yeah, that's pretty much it. That's about all I want out of winning." He laughs softly, pressing his hips down on hers. "Think I can win one more time tonight?"
Ian rubs her nose against his, disgustingly cute she knows, but something about him brings it out in her. Then Anthony is pinning her and he's hard, achingly so against her thigh.
Ian skates a hand down his lower back, sliding her hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs and grabbing at his ass. Undoubtedly, she's a little sensitive from having just come, but her hunger for Anthony outweighs that feeling. She wants him, and she wants to feel him big and hard inside of her. Her pussy aching to be filled by Anthony.
"Yeah, show me how you win," Ian says, as a challenge, as she pulls him into another kiss.
Anthony gets a little thrill as she squeezes his ass, pushing him harder against her thigh. He nods into her kiss, all too eager to prove it to her. He's a little remiss to have to pull away, but he sits back and removes his underwear, finally bare and naked, fishing around for wherever the condom went flying when Ian shook the bed with her orgasm.
He can see how pink and twitching and wet her pussy still is, and it sends a rush through him. Fuck, she looks good spent.
Finally, he finds the wrapper and pulls it off with his teeth. "You wanna do the honors, or are you still a little wiped out?" He offers.
She leans up and plucks the condom from his hand, removing the rubber from the packaging. Ian takes him in her hand, feeling how big and heavy his cock is, how it twitches in her hold. Ian strokes him, unable to resist touching him. Already, she can see the way he's beading pre-cum on the pink head of his cock. Ian swipes her thumb over the slit, collecting the pre-cum and popping her thumb into her mouth, sucking the taste of him away.
Then, Ian carefully rolls the condom down his hard and throbbing dick.
Anthony, of course, watches Ian lick the taste of him away entirely spellbound. If his cock twitches in her hand in response, he isn't the least bit ashamed. His girlfriend is hot and he wants her to know that he knows it.
Thankfully, Ian rolls the condom on without too much teasing so that he can lay her back down on the bed, naked and open for him. Grabbing her hip with one hand he steadies her, and lines himself up with his other.
"Get ready to lose again, loser," he teases, absolutely unsexy and proud of it, before he sinks inside.
Ian lets out an ungraceful laugh and moan, a strange combo because Anthony is an idiot, but he's her idiot, and he feels so good inside her, big and hard, stretching her in the best way. She loves the feeling of being full of him, of being joined with him.
Ian's hands slide over his shoulders, nails digging into his skin just a bit. Anthony likes that little bite of pain, no matter how much he protests publicly.
"Yeah, make me lose my brains out," Ian teases, her mouth to his ear.
Fuck, Ian knows exactly how to turn him on. Well, he's already plenty turned on, sure, but that little whisper, twisting his joke—she's a monster that needs to be stopped. Unfortunately, Anthony's not going to be the one to stop her.
Being inside Ian never gets old. She feels perfect around him, warm and wet and tight and his. He pushes his shoulders back against her nails, digging them even deeper into his back. She can razz him for it all she wants as long as she keeps leaving tiny little scars no one else can see there.
He fastens her legs around his waist so she locks her ankles behind his back and kisses her while he pulls back out, almost all the way. "You got it, loser," he agrees in a voice far too husky for that stupid joke, but before she has time to bite back at him about it, he snaps his hips forward again.
Ian opens her mouth to complain but then his hips snap forward and he fills her in one go and all that comes out is a moan as her hands bite just a little harder than before. Ian keeps her ankles locked around him, her heels hooked against his lower back and there is something so devastatingly filthy and hot about that, fucking him in just her heels, legs around his waist.
Anthony breathes against her skin and he sounds good, his small grunts and groans that she collects and burns into her memories. If someone had told her just a handful of years ago that not only would Anthony come back to Smosh, but that Ian would also be having some of the best sex of her life with him, she would have laughed in their face.
This though, is reality, and Anthony is everything to her. Ian's cunt throbs, just this side of overly sensitive but in the best way, in a way that promises she'll feel him tomorrow in every movement she makes.
Every few thrusts Anthony can feel the sharp poke of Ian's heel like a spur against his lower back, urging him faster. He'd love to make love to her, take his time to really wash and soak and drown Ian in an ocean of pleasure, but he's been hard for what feels like ages now and there's no stopping the very primal urge to just ram himself in over and over again.
His breathing is loud, but the sound of their skin is louder. Ian is so wet it sounds downright raunchy. "Fuck," he rasps in her ear. "Feels so good, Ian."
"Mmm," Ian groans under him, reveling in the filthy sounds of their bodies meeting, of her wet pussy clutching at him as he fucks her into her own bed.
"Fuck me, Anthony. Don't stop," Ian says, clinging to him, keeping them close together.
Their bodies meld together so easily, fitting like puzzle pieces, perfectly aligned.
"You like fucking me, don't you? Burying yourself in my cunt?"
Those words burn a hot line from his ears straight to his dick and his pace stutters for just a moment, overwhelmed by her filthy mouth and her ability to pluck at each of his seams until he's entirely unraveled.
He nods against the crook of her neck, eyes squeezed shut. "Love it. Your cunt was made for me," he agrees. "Fucking love it, Ian."
There's a part of Ian that fully believes that. She was made for him, and he for her, in the very deepest depths of her silly romantic heart. She may not ever tell him that seriously, but the idea that she was made to take him perfectly, for every inch of his thick and delicious cock fitting into her cunt, it has her shivering.
"Fuck it. Fuck me. My pussy belongs to you, Anthony," she groans, hands in his hair.
He's too good at this. He's good at everything, she knows, but this too. Fucking her. Sex. Getting her off. He's perfect at it.
He exhales, shaky with effort and emotion. Ian couches it in jokes or filth like a sugarpill, but Anthony knows that's just to make it go down easier. He can always tell, now, what she means (even if he couldn't always tell, back when they were younger), and that's basically Ian saying their souls are intertwined, just in her Ian way.
He needs to please her, desperately. He knows three is a lot for her, that it'll be hard for him to push her past that sting of oversensitivity, but he needs to make her come again. More than he needs to get off himself.
People say people pleaser like it's a bad thing, but he likes to think in this instance it isn't such a bad thing for him to be. When Ian is wrapped around him in every conceivable way—her arms, her legs, her pussy—he can put his own orgasm out of his mind if it means putting Ian’s first.
He holds her, his forearm pressed up her spine and his fingers spreading between her scapulae, with his left arm, then slips his right in the tiny gap between their bodies. He's panting against her neck like a worn out dog and his hips are moving at lightning pace, but his thumb teases her clit so feather soft, so slow.
"Mine, Ian. All mine. Couldn't stop staring at you at the party. On the way home. In my coat. Fuck, you're all mine."
Ian moans deep, letting the burn of overstimulation root and take hold, but she embraces the pleasure under it. She's not sure if it's his words or his touch, most likely both.
"Yeah? I bet if I would have asked you would have fucked me at the party, huh? Up against a bathroom stall, trying to be quiet so no one catches us?" And maybe Ian is teasing him, but maybe she's letting out a desire of her own because the words stoke that fire in the pit of her belly.
Anthony whines, pressing his face harder against Ian's neck, like that will somehow relieve the pressure building inside him from her words. "You know I would have," he says, his voice straining. Anthony would do much worse than fall to his knees in a dirty bar bathroom for Ian. "Hand over your mouth, ‘til your legs were shaking. You wouldn't have been able to walk in those sexy fucking shoes the rest of the night."
His thumb presses a little harder, testing. He doesn't want to completely overdo it, he knows he needs to build her there for the third time, and too much will just shock her much past pleasant.
"Would have been hard for us to be quiet though," he says with a small smile on his mouth. "I like the idea of everyone knowing I'm fucking you. That I make you sound like that."
Ian shivers, gasping and arching with the dual sensation of Anthony's thumb on her clit and his cock hammering into her. She imagines it, pinned against the stall in a bathroom, eaten out, or fucked, and trying to stay quiet so the rest of the cast and crew doesn't hear them.
Someday soon, they were going to have to take that risk. Maybe at Vidcon? At Bucca Di Beppo? Maybe Anthony would even have to put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
"Uhn, fuck, why do we have to be good bosses? Why can't we just fuck at staff parties and traumatize our cast and crew?" Ian teases, the thought of every single person on cast and crew knowing what they were doing, who was getting her off, that Anthony was pinning her and fucking her senseless… it's good, really fucking good, and Ian twitches in that deep and hot pleasure.
Anthony groans, both because it is a drag being a good boss instead of throwing Ian over a conference table and letting her howl loud enough to stop recordings, and because he feels her cunt squeeze far, far deeper. Muscles she can't control, pulsing just at the thought of him.
Fuck, Ian is a monster.
"You wanna have a controversy?" He says in an overly husky voice, fighting off a laugh. "I'll HR violate you all day, baby." He can't get through that last one without snorting a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he holds onto her.
"Idiot," she groans fondly as he laughs and fucks her and it should be stupid, but it's them, to the core.
"I'm almost there, don't kill my mojo," she teases, even as his thrusts punch little 'uhns' and 'ahs' out of her body. Her clit throbs, pulses, and Ian is getting there, hot and needy all over again. She wants to feel Anthony too. Feel how he twitches inside as he fills the condom. She squeezes around him again, as if trying to milk his cock despite the fact he hasn't come yet.
Anthony chuckles but obediently shuts up. Can't let Ian lose her mojo, can he?
As much as he wants to roast her for saying something just as silly as he did, he can feel something more important under him. Ian's body feels warmer to the touch, a little mist of sweat making their skin tacky where it meets his.
Oh, Ian's getting close again.
She's getting close, which means she's trying to pull him over the edge with her. Her walls clamp and ripple around him, squeezing him base to tip. "Ian," he says breathlessly as his thrusts hit an uncontrollable, unsustainable pace. He's so close, the white hot heat in his stomach unfurling like a bloom.
"Fuck, Ian, I—"
His orgasm hits like a truck, blinding him, knocking him upside the head, forcing the wind out of him, but still he keeps his thumb going, wanting to bring Ian with him.
Ian feels that delicious way he pulses inside of her, the way he comes, how he sounds, the barest graze of his teeth against her shoulder. She follows right after him, moaning, whimpering Anthony's name as she has her third orgasm of the evening, body arching under the weight of him as she comes.
Ian twitches, her body jolting because even as she comes Anthony is still going, not yet registering her coming and that pressure makes her legs absolutely shake wildly, helplessly. She’s running mindlessly like a machine as he plays her with absolute precision.
Anthony can't stop his hips, can't slow them down—it's the drop of a rollercoaster, just physics and instincts. Even though he's tired, they don't slow until there's nothing left, until he's completely spent.
He can feel Ian arching up underneath him, her perfect tits pressed up against his chest, the base of her ribs lifting off the bed like it's being pulled up. Her legs squeeze his waist so hard they shake, and Ian makes the most perfect sound he's ever heard since the last time he made her come.
With the barest consciousness he has left, he knows that's the end, that Ian's body quite literally can't take anymore, so he withdraws his hand and just holds her close as they both come down.
In this warm afterglow she stays under him, held by him, shivering as they both come down from the high of fucking, of getting each other off.
She gets a hand at the back of his head, tugging his hair enough that he lifts his head and she catches him in a kiss. It’s all slow, lazy, the world around them has condensed down to just the two of them in Ian’s bed, joined and locked together. Her body is still wrapped around him, way too sensitive to do anything except stay together because even him pulling out would be a lot right now.
Anthony is boneless, heavy on top of her. He knows she likes the weight of it, and he likes the warmth, not quite ready to roll off just yet, although the condom is starting to feel gross.
She pulls him into another kiss by the sharp, sparking pain in the roots of his hair and he kisses her softly but deeply, all too delighted to melt against her pretty lips.
"Three to one," he says when they part, a stupid, dopey grin on his lips, but his eyes bleeding affection at her.
"So, really, maybe I'm the winner after all?" she jokes, still sliding their lips together in gentle little kisses in between her words.
It’s Anthony's fault. He's the one that likes to push her, not settling for Ian coming just once. He likes her to come multiple times during sex, not that Ian is complaining, and really, Anthony isn't either because he seems to enjoy it as much as she does. Of course, Ian’s had enthusiastic bed mates before, but something about Anthony, his nature, and their dynamic, it infuses their sex life in a way that she’s never had with anyone else.
Anthony lifts an eyebrow. "Maybe, but I think that makes me better in bed, technically," he teases.
Finally, he pushes back, pulls out, and ties off the condom, tossing it in the wastebasket. He unwinds Ian's legs from behind him and carefully removes her heels. "That was hot," he says, holding them up by the heel. "You should do that again."
"Yeah next time I'll wear them and put my legs over your shoulders," she says with a wink.
Now that they've fucked she doesn't ask if he's staying over, it seems obvious. More often than not, he'll sleep over on most weekends or after an event. He's got a drawer of old t-shirts and sweatpants in Ian's dresser. For a good amount of Ian’s life, more time than it’s not, they have been a unit, something tied, what’s hers is his and vice versa and that extends to even now.
Anthony is well and truly spent, but just that thought alone makes heat flare through him. "You're gonna kill me one day, Ian," he warns, pushing off the bed. He sets the heels down by the closet, then heads into the bathroom. They're both tired and still a little tipsy, so he doesn't bother with a shower, they'll do that tomorrow, but he cleans himself up a bit and grabs two glasses of water, a warm washcloth, and a whole bottle of Advil. The hangover tomorrow is probably going to be vicious, but he doesn't worry about that beyond being prepared, setting the water and meds down on the nightstand.
He crawls back into bed, cleaning Ian off with the washcloth while she lays there, gorgeous and even more spent than he is. "Can you even feel this?" He teases, giving her thigh a pinch.
She hisses a bit and swats his hand. But the care in his actions is sweet and makes her warm all over. It’s the show. The little ways he tells her he loves her without his words.
"Don't die. I don't want to run Smosh alone." she leaves off the again that begs to drop from her lips, but she doesn't because she doesn't want to hurt his feelings even unintentionally.
In the ways he loves her, cleaning her, making her come three times in a night, even staying at the party for as long as they did, that’s how he shows his love. She loves Anthony in all the ways she can, in the ways she tries to show.
With Ian clean and cared for, he pulls out the sheets and settles beside her, wrapping them up in a cocoon.
It would probably surprise most people, but Ian is a cuddler. She likes touch more than people assume, which has always been funny to Anthony. He was always much weirder about touching her growing up than she was about him.
"Well, then you shouldn't choke me so hard when you ride me," he jokes, but he catches what she leaves unsaid. "I promise not to die," he says softly, kissing her temple, when he really means I promise not to leave.
“Good,” she says, the two of them wrapped together in a sheet, her body around his, face to his chest. They had beat the odds in so many ways. How many people keep their childhood best friend the majority of their lives? Even despite losing each other they reunited, and then, they took it one step further and broke down that last barrier that had always existed in some peripheral way between them, and even then, crossing a line from friendship to more, it still worked. Ian knows it’s rare. It’s something that at times, feels like a fluke.
In the quiet of her own bedroom, with her face pressed to his skin and his heartbeat against her cheek, she whispers to him, something she may feign ignorance on in the morning.
“Because I need you.”