“Who do you belong to?” You look into my eyes until I squirm under your gaze and have to look away.
“You, Daddy.” *Fuck, I belong to you.*
***
I don’t think either of us intended our housing situation to become this. It might’ve even been a joke at first, sitting on the couch together watching movies and getting high, casually dropping comments about our sexual frustration into the ether between us. ‘I’m down if you’re down,’ but both a little too nervous to actually be *down* down. To say something directly.
Somewhere around April, that changed. Now there *wasn’t* a possibility of a world outside our apartment, and we both were cooped up and pent up. You’d never been with a nonbinary person before and I hadn’t slept with a cis-het dude since high school, but a few tokes in and I was more than happy to spend the night screaming your name.
The next morning you were humming while you made me pancakes. When I shyly looked into our shared living room through *your* door in *your* t-shirt, you didn’t hesitate to stride across the room to push me roughly against the wall. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, you dragged me back into your room and shoved me face first down on your bed. You quickly got a condom on before thrusting your cock deep inside my cunt.