Work Text:
He walks into your shop late one Tuesday evening. You're always open late, after all, otherwise you'd never get any goddamn sales. People are so shy about sex and the darkness finds them drawn to your business like horny little moths to flames. This guy seems to be no different: cute little mustache twitching, hands wringing, eyes everywhere but you.
You glance up from the magazine you're reading on the counter.
"Hi there."
He bolts back out the door. The chime above it was still ringing from when opened it in the first place; it didn't even have time to settle where he was in and out so fast.
You'd say this was unsual but no, this happens more often than people would think. Most customers make it at least a few steps inside, though. You chalk it down to bad luck and go back to your article.
You don't expect him to come again the next day. Your gaze flickers up and you're definitely surprised but you make a conscious choice not to acknowledge him. Your plan seems to work and this time, he manages to make it to the first aisle before he turns round and leaves again.
He comes in every day and, every day, gets a little deeper into the store. You decide that ignoring him is the right call. It seems like even being beheld in a place like this is too much for him to bear so you just sort of… pretend he's not there.
That's not to say you don't let your eyes flicker over to him every now and then, when you're sure he's not looking. You like what you see. He's well-groomed and well-dressed, always with a cute and flattering knitted jumper on. He doesn't really seem to know what he wants - then again, he can barely bring himself to look at any of the wares you have on offer - and you think he's not the kind of customer who'd respond well to a frank conversation about that sort of thing. It's best to let him figure it out on his own.
On the tenth day, he does. He snatches something off of one of the shelves and practically runs to the checkout, where he throws the package down in front of you like it's going to bite him.
A fleshlight. You shouldn't be surprised. Simple, reliable, good to come inside. You ring him up without holding eye contact… but you do add a bottle of lube into the black plastic bag when you pack it up for him.
"On the house," you say, because damn it, you really want this guy to have a nice orgasm and you've become sort of fond of him over these past couple of weeks. He chokes out a noise which could be a thank you and flees out the door.
A beat.
Then he sprints back in, grabs the bag with his new fleshlight that he totally forgot to pick up from the counter, and sprints out again.
"What a strange man," you say aloud to yourself, voice full of poorly-contained lust.
You think that will probably be the last you see of Mr Cute-Stache.
"I don't know, Karin," you sigh down the phone. It's trapped between your ear and your shoulder so you can twiddle the cord with one hand and do stocks with the other. Your oldest friend makes a disappointed noise on the other side of the line.
"Come on, I wouldn't try to set you up with just anybody! He's a really nice guy. Kind of shy, but I think you'd help him come out of his shell."
"I don't know. You know how people are when they find out I run this place. They think I'm gonna stick a dildo in them on the first date, or make them come before we even kiss. It's just… they make a lot of assumptions."
"Lars isn't like that! He's sweet, honestly. Plus he has this sort of… he's a little touch-averse, so he wouldn't expect anything from you at all. Just one dinner. Or even one coffee! For me, please?"
You groan, because you know you'll give in to Karin. She usually knows best. She was the one who gave you the push to start up your shop, and it's been the best decision of your life. How bad can her brother-in-law be? What have you got to lose from one date?
"Alright, fine. If he wants to meet, let's do it."
"Oh yay! This is so exciting, I'll—" the sound of a baby crying in the background interrupts her, and she goes from matchmaker-friend to cooing mom in a heartbeat. "Oh no, Amelia, it's okay! We're just trying to set your Uncle Lars up, it's no big deal…"
You laugh. "I'll let you go. Just tell me where to be and when."
"Okay, sounds good! I'll talk to Lars and hash out the details for you. Awww, did you poop your pants?"
You assume the last part is directed at her infant daughter and not at you, so you hang up the phone with a chuckle. What the hell. You might as well see where this goes.
Where it goes is a local diner one lunchtime. Low-pressure, low-expectation, just two people grabbing a meal and having a talk to see if they hit it off. So why are you so nervous? Why do you keep tugging down the hem of your shirt and smoothing it out, like a little lucky ritual? It's just a coffee, maybe even a coffee and a sandwich, it's not like anything wild is going to happen.
Karin told you Lars would be wearing a brown jacket and a blue sweater. You see the figure sitting at a booth, fiddling with one of the salt shakers.
Then you clock his mustache.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Lars looks up and sees you, and you think he might be liable to actually run away again. His hand goes still, eyes go wide, and he freezes like a deer in the headlights. For a moment the two of you just stare at each other. It's been a couple of weeks since he walked into your shop but there's no mistaking it: sex-store retailer and sex-store customer have been reunited in a warm family diner.
You hold your hands up to show you're not a threat and carefully slink into the other side of the booth. His fingers are tapping now, relentlessly drumming against the table. He might be about to cry.
"Lars?" you ask. He manages the tiniest, stiffest nod. "Hi. Uh. Sorry. If I'd have known, I'd have never…"
You trail off, because… wouldn't you? You thought he was attractive when he was snooping down the aisles and nothing has changed since then. He is hot. Strange, but hot. Perhaps, to you, hot because he is strange.
"… I'm glad to be here with you. Karin said you were really nice and that I'd like you a lot," is what you settle on instead. This is just enough to knock him out of his stupor and he finally looks you in the eye for the first time, ever.
He has nice eyes.
"Oh," is what he manages. A beat. "She said… I'd like you, too."
His fingers slow. He's still nervous, but less likely to bolt.
"And anything… anything done my shop is private. It doesn't leave the walls."
That makes him actually relax. He lets out a breath he must have been holding for some time and his shoulders sag with the relief of it.
"Do you want a coffee?" he asks after a long pause. You smile.
"I'd love that."
You do have a coffee, and then another, then the promised sandwiches. He has pastrami on rye and you go for a grilled cheese which he eyes up. He's too nervous to take your offered bite, so you rip off a tiny corner and place it on the edge of his plate instead. Karin said he had that touch thing, right? You want to be mindful of where his comfort zone lies.
He stares at you after that, a little awestruck, and you think with that one simple gesture you might have won him over completely.
So you go out again, for a walk around the park the next weekend, steaming hot chocolates grasped in gloved hands (he pays for them. He paid at the diner, too, despite your offer to foot the bill). Then you go out again, after that, to the movie theatre in the next town. And then again, and again, and again…
You rarely talk about your work, except to say business is going well, and you certainly don't discuss the fleshlight. But he does touch you. Firstly it's just a pinkie finger linked through yours. Then he works up the nerve to hold your hand. On your third cinema date he puts his arm around you. Some dates after that, he manages to kiss you goodnight. It's quick and clumsy but it's maybe one of the best kisses you've ever had, and you can't get the tickly feeling of his mustache out of your mind.
He seems to be able to get over his issues with touch, slowly but surely. "It usually hurts," he confides one evening as you tangle your legs together, "but not with you. With you it's… good. Nice."
Ever so slowly, as you get used to each other's physical presence, you let him explore you. It's clear he has no experience whatsoever when it comes to intimate relationships - you gather that's why he bought the toy - so you're a willing subject for his experimentations. Nothing penetrative, not yet, but he traces your nipples when you take your shirt off for him, and he lets you palm him through his jeans until he's so hard he has to run outside and chop up an entire tree.
He's so fucking endearing.
A handful of slow, sweet months go by as Lars becomes your boyfriend-proper and the two of you fall into syrupy love with each other. Your affection is so lovey-dovey that people can't help but comment on what a wonderful - if unusual - pair you make. Lars seems more confident with you by his side, too. Karin was right again. You should never have doubted her. Long live Queen Karin and her exceptional skills in matchmaking!
It's late. You're staying over at Lars' and the two of you are snuggled on the sofa watching something on TV. It's not the first time you've spent the night, though it's rare anything racy happens and that is a-ok with you. Cuddling up next to him and falling asleep to his little snores is about as perfect as it can get in your book.
Lars is tracing little patterns on your arm. When he pauses, you can tell he's thinking.
"What's up, honey?"
A moment passes as he tries to find the shape of the words he wants to let fall off his tongue.
"I never used it."
"Used what?" But oh, what a silly question, because you have a pretty damn good idea what he's talking about.
"The… the toy. I never took it out the box. I was… nervous."
You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, and when you meet his blown-out pupils, you know what it is he's asking of you. What he's trusting you with.
"Do you want me to show you how?"
His hesitation lasts but a second before he nods.
You're directed to his wardrobe where you find the black crumpled bag hidden in its corner as if it was thrown there in a fit of shame. You take the toy out, and the lube, and carefully cross back over to Lars, grabbing a teatowel on the way for afterwards. When you get to your knees, he gasps.
"It's okay. If you want me to stop, if it gets too much, you just tell me, Lars. Tap my shoulder. I won't mind."
He knows you won't. He knows you so well by now and is so happy to put himself in your hands. He gives another little nod and forces himself to relax as you begin to massage his dick.
You've only seen it a couple of times, usually in low light and under the covers, but you know he's big. He doesn't know that, though, and it's pretty cute. So you take a moment to enjoy his fat cock through his pants, smiling gently as you feel it fill out to its full size beneath your careful touch.
"Okay?"
"Okay," he confirms, so you slowly begin to undo his fly. He yelps a little under his breath but lifts his hips so you're more easily able to pull his slacks down his thighs along with his boxer-briefs. His erection stands upright and hits against his stomach, thankfully not leaving a stain on his knitted sweater.
"I'm going to put some lube on you now, Lars."
"A-alright."
You squirt a generous amount of it into your dominant palm and start to stroke him properly. He squeezes his eyes shut tight at the newness of the experience but gives no indication that he wants to back out. So you keep going, smiling at the way your fingers only just meet around his girth, playing with speeds and grip-strength. Everything is good for him, it seems. Feather-light touches have him gasping, firm ones make him groan. It's a lovely symphony you're able to pull from your Lars' lungs. You wonder what other pretty sounds he can make.
When you let go of him he whines and his hips seem to absent-mindedly chase you, but you soothe him with a kiss dropped to his knee as you begin to lube up the toy.
"Just gotta get it ready, Lars. Nice and wet for your fat cock."
He never knows how to take those sorts of compliments, so he just stutters on a needy noise. Another kiss to his leg as you hook the hole of the fleshlight open. It's pretty standard: a peach-coloured pussy with realistic labia. Nothing new for you, but everything new for Lars. You make a conscious effort to slow down as you grip his cock and line him up.
"You good for me to put you inside it?" you ask. The straightforward dirtiness of your words has him spluttering and unable to meet your gaze again. He nods so fast that his face is a blur of beetroot-red.
You slide the fake cunt over his tip and Lars yowls. You pause, waiting until he can adjust, until his breathing slows from rapid to just fast. Then you slowly lower it the rest of the way and for a moment you're worried he's not going to fit because he's that big, but the toy has your back, and it dutifully seats his entire cock.
"There we go," you hum. "Doing so good for me, Lars. So good."
His balled hands threaten to rip a hole in the sofa's upholstery. The two of you sit there, allowing him to feel every tight inch of it.
"How does it feel?"
"G-good," he acknowledges. "W-will…"
"Hm?"
"Will it f-feel… this good… with y-you?"
Oh, that goes straight between your thighs. He asks it so earnestly that you can't help but fall a little bit deeper in love.
"It'll feel different. Warmer, probably. But we don't need to rush into that. I just want you to enjoy this for now, okay, honey?"
He nods one more time and lets you fuck him properly with it.
You don't go too fast, not at first, he's already excited enough as it is. No need to torture the poor man. Instead you lazily drag the toy up and down his shaft and admire the way the lube drips down into his neatly-trimmed pubic hair and lands on his sac in a little puddle. If you thought he was up to it, you'd lean forwards and lick it up. That might actually kill him though.
When he can take more, you speed up, and he whimpers.
"Good?"
"S-so good… it's… you're…"
He loses control over his sentence as it careens off into stammered, nonsensical praise. From the way his hips twitch and his breath hitches, you think he's about to finish.
"You can come, Lars. Come into this pussy for me."
He does, with a long, ragged moan. Warm spend spills out from around the opening in a salaciously delicious way, and even when he's made a puddle on the sofa he doesn't stop. He comes for what must be a solid twenty seconds before he's totally spent.
Oh so carefully you remove the toy from his cock and wipe him clean with the teatowel. When you gather him into your arms he automatically seeks out the warm, safe space of the place where your shoulder meets his neck so he can bury his face there.
"Was that what you thought it would be, Lars?" you whisper as you stroke his hair.
"Better… because it was with you," he replies, and if you weren't head-over-heels before, you certainly are now.