Work Text:
Your heart pounded in your throat as you stood outside the door to room 820. You checked the note you’d written on the back of your hand for what was probably the hundredth time in the past hour. Eight-two-zero. You were at the right place.
But anxiety gripped you and kept you rooted to the spot, unable to raise your hand to place the key card in the slot on the door.
Your final hour at work played on repeat in your head, a slideshow of events. He’d walked in. So tall he had to duck through the door. You’d had your head buried in some task, and didn't catch more than a glimpse of him when you greeted him. But then he spoke. Asked some question about if you carried this or that, you couldn't remember now. His voice reached your ears and made your head swim. At first, you didn't even recognize it as him, your subconscious playing it off as some voice double, someone who just happened to sound like him. It couldn't actually be him, right?
But you raised your head to look at him.
Long, dirty blonde hair, tousled by the winter wind. A pair of sunglasses that you would recognize anywhere tucked into the neck of his shirt. Black jeans, and a brown jacket under a fuzzy black one, sufficiently layered against the biting cold outside. And his face. That face you’d spent hours upon hours staring at from behind a screen. You had immediately forgotten all about the question he’d asked you, unable to answer as you stared at him, a thousand words running through your head all at the same time.
He’d spoken for you, seeing the stunned look on your face that you hadn’t bothered to disguise. He pointed at your shirt, a shirt with his face on it, and said two words: “that’s me!”
The simplicity in such a humble statement sent you into a spiral. You’d met other celebrities before, but they knew they were celebrities, they acted like it, they knew it when you recognized them in public. But it felt like nobody had told this guy he was famous.
You’d only been able to choke out “Bo?” to which he smiled, and offered his hand for you to shake. Something in you stirred at the way his hand dwarfed yours. You knew he had big hands, everyone knew. The guy was a giant. But it still shocked you to actually see it in person, and to feel it was another thing entirely.
You talked for what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. You told him how much you loved his work, how much it meant to you. He asked what your favorite song was, asked what your favorite special was, and he smiled sheepishly when you told him, saying it was a masterpiece.
Something about your short conversation with him felt very natural. You didn't feel the need to posture and be a polished version of yourself, you felt like you could say anything, and he would listen, responding kindly. And there was something about the way he looked at you. How his eyes seemed to be uninterested in anything else in the store except you. It almost felt flirtatious. But you brushed that idea off as ridiculous, immediately.
You had realized you were talking the poor guy’s ear off, and apologized for taking up so much of his time. He gave you a sweet smile, and said it was no problem at all, he enjoyed the genuine conversation. He bought a few things, and when he opened his wallet, a card fell out, and tumbled behind the counter.
One of those flimsy plastic cards. A hotel keycard. You bent down to pick it up for him, recognizing the name as one of the nearby well-known luxury hotels.
You offered the card back to him, and there was a sudden shift.
Something you still couldn't pinpoint exactly, just a change in the air. And you realized he was looking at you with an expression that differed from the kind one he’d held for the past few minutes. This one was...darker.
Flirtatious?
“You can keep it.”
You forced out a laugh despite the tension in the air now, and held the key out closer to him.
He asked a question, his voice lower now, quieter. “What time do you get off of work?”
There was no way.
This all had to be in your head.
You told him you only had about twenty minutes left.
He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and straightened up. Your breath caught in your throat a bit as he stared down at you, really feeling, for the first time, how much bigger he was than you.
“Well, maybe I’ll see you later. If you're not busy after work.”
You had to force yourself not to gasp, the breath caught in your lungs, like he’d spun a web inside your throat with his words. He turned to leave, and, with one hand on the doorknob, just loud enough for you to hear–
“Room eight twenty.”
It was an invitation.
And here you were. You looked at the number on the door again. It was correct.
This was crazy. You weren't even sure what you expected. You wouldn't let yourself even dream that this would be a hookup, the mere idea threatening to send you running the other way down the hall, overwhelmed by the concept that you would get to fuck Bo Burnham.
Half of your mind wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. You almost hoped that you’d put the key in the door, it wouldn't work, and you could leave, telling yourself it had all been a dream, or some ridiculous “prank.”
Just as you managed to lift your shaking hand towards the door, the handle turned. You jumped back a bit, startled by the sudden noise breaking through the static in your mind. The door opened, partially, light from the hallway spilling out into the dark entryway where a face peeked out. Blue eyes stared down at you from the level of the top of the door frame. You had to raise your head just to make eye contact comfortably.
It was him. Comfort and anxiety washed over you in equal parts at the sight of him. He stared at you for a moment, and you realized you’d been holding your breath, letting it out in an audible sigh. He smirked, undid the latch, and let you in.
Not even a second before the door closed behind you, you felt a pair of hands engulf your shoulders. He shoved you up against the back of the door, the air rushing out of your lungs with a gentle sound. You hadn’t even fully processed that this was truly happening yet, and he was already doing this?
Your gaze dragged up his body to meet his eyes. Those eyes that now looked at you with such fire behind them that you thought it might burn you alive.
And then –
He laughed. Just a short chuckle.
“That was a test.” His fingers dug into your shoulders a bit harder.
“A test of what?” You asked quietly.
“A test of what you’re willing to take.”
You fished for a response, feeling like the breath had been stolen from your chest. But he wasn't looking for conversation, apparently.
He bent down to capture your mouth with his. You leaned into it immediately, his hands gripping your waist, your arms coming up to link around his neck. It felt so natural, so comfortable, so right. As if you’d only been waiting for this moment your entire life. In a way, you had.
He slipped his tongue past your teeth, and you nearly surprised yourself at how easily you just let him. How had he managed to break down every single barrier so quickly, so effortlessly? It almost felt ridiculous.
In a display of strength that stunned you, he cupped his hands around your ass, and lifted you off the ground, your back still bracing against the door. You broke off the kiss with a gasp when he turned around and carried you to the bed, your face buried in his neck, kissing at the soft skin there, nuzzling against the bit of stubble at the base of his jaw. He went down with you as he lowered you onto the sheets. Neatly made, as if he hadn’t even touched them yet.
He positioned himself between your legs, forcing your thighs apart with his knees. His hands came up to cup the sides of your face, his fingers lacing through your hair, pulling you back into a kiss. He tasted sweet on your lips, and you wondered if you’d ever be able to get enough of that taste.
He pressed his forehead against yours as his hand trailed down the length of your body, stopping at the hem of your skirt, his fingers playing with the fabric that rode up your thigh. His eyes darted between yours, searching your face. Looking for a sign. A sign that he, evidently, found as he pulled your skirt up a bit higher until it was bunched around your hips.
It was so much, all at once, and despite the way he moved at a snail's pace, you felt like he was moving far too fast. There had been no seducing, no “pretending to watch a movie while he puts his hand on your thigh,” you hadn't even pretended to be interested while he explained the fine nuances of some obscure film from a kid in Europe or something. Although, you knew all of that would have been pointless.
You now realized it had been clear from the way he looked at you, and you're sure you showed it in subconscious ways he had picked up on. You both wanted this. And the pace he was setting was intentional, just slow enough to make you need it.
He locked you into another kiss as he dragged a finger over your panties. Judging by the way he groaned against your lips, the intricate lace was already soaked. Your breathing caught in your throat when he pulled it aside, running a finger over you, dipping into the wetness at your entrance. Slowly, just teasing, just enough to make you buck your hips against him, silently begging for more.
“Aw, baby. Is this what you want?” He slid a finger in, only halfway, and you whined in response.
He pushed in further, and you briefly recalled the handshake from earlier, how much bigger his hands were than yours, just one of his fingers as big as two of yours.
“How's that feel?”
There were no words to describe it. Too much, not enough, all at once, and it was him doing it, of all people. You could only make little whimpers, followed by desperate moans when he curled his fingers with perfect precision.
He added another finger, and you were almost a little embarrassed at how easily it slipped in. And he noticed.
“So ready for me, you desperate little whore.”
Oh, god. You liked that.
He felt you tighten up, saw the way you arched your back a little more. But he, apparently, needed confirmation.
“You like it when I call you that?”
You nodded, letting out a “yes” between moans.
He made a tsk sound with his tongue, almost like he was disappointed. “I knew it.”
He had you close, in an agonizing way, his speed just shy of enough to make you come. You figured that was on purpose. How was he able to read you, read your body, so perfectly?
He withdrew his fingers, and you groaned at the loss, suddenly feeling so empty, but butterflies danced in your stomach knowing what was to come next.
You watched, your heart in your mouth as he undid his belt. You felt yourself start to salivate at the size of the bulge under his jeans, and your head spun at the reality of this situation, this was really happening, this wasn't just a dream.
And then he was shoving down his pants along with the boxers underneath, and his cock was just–
Right there, long and thick, proportional to his giant frame. His facade cracked as he hurried a bit, lining himself up between your legs, hitching one of your thighs up to wrap around his waist.
He pressed inside of you, only just a bit, but enough to knock the wind out of you and draw a gasping moan from your lips. And then he was still.
You looked down at him, stunned for a moment by his appearance. His face flushed, one hand on your knee, the other digging into your thigh locked around his hip. His hair was disheveled, a few strands matted to the sides of his face with sweat. He looked so gorgeous.
And then he spoke.
“Beg for it.”
You found yourself speechless, breathless, unable to find the words to express how badly you wanted him in this moment.
He raised his eyebrows at you, a motion that made you tense around him. He leaned his head back a bit, and gave you a look of contempt, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Well?”
You tried to stammer out the right words, a combination of “please, I need it,” and “please fuck me” between labored breaths.
His expression changed into a smirk. “God, you’re pathetic.” And he shifted his hips, sliding himself in to the base. And it felt so– oh, god.
His words would have been enough. Your fingers tightened on a fistful of sheets as he filled you, so perfectly, so entirely. No other man could compare to him. Not after this, not after hearing the way he groaned as he slid into you, in that gorgeous, gravelly voice. Beyond your own moans and gasps, you could faintly register his fingers digging in harder on your thighs, hard enough to leave bruises. And you hoped he did. You wanted a reminder of this night, one that you prayed would never fade.
He paused for a minute, buried inside you, his breathing labored, a sheen of sweat coating his bare chest. He gave you time to adjust to the sheer size of him, although you knew you would never get used to this. He mumbled something about how fucking good you feel, and you almost felt as if you were floating in this moment, that voice you’d heard so many times speaking words you had imagined but never dreamed you’d hear from his lips.
He moved his hips a few times, short, shallow thrusts that only served to leave you even more breathless.
“Look at you,” he panted. “Coming apart like this. It's a dream come true for you, isn't it?”
You nodded with a force that made your head spin.
He transitioned to deeper, longer strokes as he spoke. “Aw, baby. You’ve been desperate for this, haven't you?”
It was nearly too much. This was so far beyond dirty talk, this was something else entirely, something that felt like it threatened to break your mind.
“A brainless little slut for me, and you didn't even know me.” He devilish grin spread across his face as he started to truly fuck you, faster, harder, each snap of his hips pulling a moan from you. “And look at how well you're taking it. You must have needed this, huh?”
You were almost angry at how well he was keeping his composure, his voice steady and level despite the way you were literally unraveling under him. Your cheeks burned with shame, yet – to your despise – if only served to turn you on even further. The humiliation his words imparted on you was something you'd never experienced during sex before.
Sure, maybe a guy had called you a slut here or there before, but it had never been like this. It was like he knew you, inside and out, your flaws, your weaknesses, exactly how to get to you, how to get under your skin. And he did it so well, you weren't sure if you’d ever be able to get enough.
His hands gripped your hips and shifted you up in his lap a bit, changing his position to loom over you with his hands on the mattress at either side of your head. He dwarfed you like this, and you felt a pang of something like fear, truly realizing how big he was, so much bigger than you.
He pounded you into the mattress, his thrusts a bit less controlled now, the facade of complete control cracking just the smallest bit more. You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and down his neck, your thumbs brushing over the coarse hair of his beard.
His fingers wrapped around your throat, pressing against the sides of your neck with perfect pressure, but just gentle enough to make you want more. You pushed your head back against the pillows, arching yourself into his grip. He gave you that look again, the one that bordered on disgust, in a way that made your stomach twist delightfully, only heightening every sensation.
“This what you want?” He squeezed a bit tighter, and your breathing constricted a bit. “You're disgusting.”
Disgusting.
You should have been mortified by this point. You should have wanted to push him away, call him an asshole, and storm out of the room. You should have felt disrespected and disgusted, horrified that someone would ever speak to you this way. But–
Somehow, it only made you wetter. When the words left his lips, you felt yourself involuntarily tighten around him, and he felt it too, judging by the way his scowl deepened, and his hand wrapped even tighter around your throat, leaving you gasping for air, clawing at his fingers.
“You like that, don't you?”
You tried to gasp out a yes, but found your breath stolen by his hand around your neck.
“Knew you were nothing but a desperate little whore the minute I laid eyes on you.”
His hips stuttered, his breaths coming quicker now. You felt the coil in the pit of your stomach start to tighten, and it wouldn't be long now before you snapped.
Your vision wavered, and black creeped into the edges, your frantic pawing at his hand slowing down to a halt as your strength ebbed. The only thing consuming your mind now was the sensation of him inside you. All at once you understood the phrase fucked senseless.
He ripped his hand away from your neck, and you drew in a grateful gasp of air as he braced his palm on the mattress, bringing his other hand down to your clit.
You were so fucking close now, his words and his size and the way he was touching you just right completely overwhelming you. It was all too much, and you made a sound you didn't even think you were capable of making when he shifted his hips the smallest bit to graze against your most sensitive spot.
“You're really gonna come? When I’m talking to you like this? God.”
It was humiliating, in the most delicious way, to moan out a yes.
But as you were just on the brink, he took his hand away from your clit. You whined, bucking your hips, desperate for more, just a little bit more–
“Beg.” Just one word, and it had you falling apart.
You stumbled over the words that threatened to be screamed from your mouth, saying things you were certain you’d remember tomorrow and cringe at. Please let me come, I’ve tried to be so good for you, I need it so bad, I love the way you fuck me–
It was enough.
He fucked you into the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life, your vision blacking out, your back arching to an almost painful degree off of the sheets while you moaned loud enough for the entire hotel to hear. Every thrust was a new dose of ecstasy like you’d never felt before, waves of blinding pleasure cascading from your head to your toes as you gripped onto him for dear life, your nails scratching his back hard enough that you knew you’d be leaving marks, while you called out his name in between gasping demands for him to not stop, it feels so fucking good–
And as you clenched around him, coming on his cock, he snapped. The degradation shifted to praise as he came, too, telling you how fucking good you feel, how you're so good, such a good girl for him, how he’s gonna fill you up, and, god, fill you up he did.
Your breathing evened out to slow, heaving breaths, and he gradually slowed his pace to a stop. You noticed he was shaking, and you were, too. Shuddering with the residual force of what he had just done to you. He collapsed a bit, propping himself up on his elbows, kissing you between breaths before resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You tried to keep this moment in your mind forever, as he laid down next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as he could. You breathed him in, the scent of sweat and sex.
He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Was that too much?”
That shy nature was back, but it was tainted a bit now, in a lovely way.
“No. It was perfect.” Your voice was small, matching the way you felt in his arms.
You laid like that for a while, feeling wetness drip out of you, slowly drying on your thighs. You feared to speak. The afterglow was pleasant, but there was an unsaid question hanging in the air.
He said it first, something you weren't expecting.
“Will I see you again?”
You nodded against his chest, hopeful, but unsure. You needed this more than anything. The idea of it being a one-time thing was almost unbearable. But he was him, and you were just you.
“I know you probably think I do this all the time. But I, uh...don't.”
The sentiment was nice, though you weren't sure you entirely believed him.
He sighed, and took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for what he was about to say.
“It's late. You don't have to leave if you don't want to.”
You pulled back, and scanned his face, looking for some sign of insincerity. “Really?”
His face was flushed, but you could swear you saw a blush creep across his cheeks. “Yeah, really. Stay.” He squeezed his arms around you a little tighter.
Yeah. You’d stay.