Work Text:
Your wife left behind a lot of things. For starters, a massive hole in your heart that can't be filled, no matter how beer you rot your liver with. She left a few miscellaneous items, such as a bottle of shampoo that smells so painfully like her that your guests often use when they shower. Everytime you get a waft of it you want to bash your head against the wall until your brain matter join that of the visitors you shot who's remains weren't able to be scrubbed off the wall. The smell makes you sick.
One of the things she left behind just so happened to be a bit more risque than just the bottle of shampoo left on the grimy bathroom counter. That said thing was a set of lingerie, tucked away in the dresser under some old T-shirts. It had been bought for a very special occasion. Your guy's honeymoon, and more specifically, the first time you two had sex after marriage. You two had sex before but marriage made it seem a bit more ... official, in a way. When your wife had put on the little, lacy number, you were sure you were the horniest anyone had ever been. The sex itself was amazing, on top of the view of your new wifes body outlined in lace. So, like Pavlovs dogs, you associated that lingerie with good sex. After your honeymoon, she didn't wear it often. But when she did, you came as quick as a teenager watching their first porno did. Turns out, your wife didn't have to be wearing the lingerie for its effects to stand. If she was out and you were horny, you'd jerk off with it, and it was nearly the same feeling as her warm walls gripping your cock ever so deliciously. Well, maybe not physically, but psychologically? Definitely.
You found yourself pulling out that lingerie from her dresser drawer more and more often. For Christs sake, you missed your wife, and this was the last thing you had left of her. However, when you pull out the lingerie today, you toss it to the guy sprawled out on his back on your bed, rather than use it to jerk off like you usually do. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't grow close to anyone after the world went to hell, because it wasn't safe and they'd probably be dead soon, anyways. You weren't sure why you grew so close to this guy. He isn't particularly witty or attractive. He doesn't exactly bring much to the table, and he's not even a warm body. Maybe your mind was so rotted by loneliness that you simply didn't care who owned the hole you were fucking. You had began fucking him a few weeks ago, and the sex was subpar. You just liked to close your eyes and pretend it was your wife underneath you instead of him. If you didn't use lube, him and your wife had basically the same tightness, and the feeling had made you come fast, on his back like your wife had you do when there were no condoms nearby, to prevent pregnancy. Obviously, you could come inside him if you really wanted with little to no repercussions, but still. You'd do anything to make sex with him feel a bit more like the intimate acts you shared with your wife. However, fucking him dry had made him cry and scratch at your forearms, so you decided you'd just have to use lube, otherwise he'd make noises and act like your wife never did, and that ruined it for you. What was his purpose, if not to be someone to fuck while you squeezed your eyes shut and pretended he was someone else?
"Put it on," You mutter as you scrub your hand over your face, as he sits up on the bed and peers at the heap of lace with his large, dark eyes. Your patience, alongside the tent in your pants, is rapidly growing.
He doesn't argue aside from his initial ignorance and borderline resistantance to the lingerie, and once it's on him, you can feel your cock throb in it's confines. Even though it hangs off his bony shoulders and is baggy in the stomach area where the void in his abdomen lays (it'd probably stil fit awkwardly in that area even if he lacked the hole there, as his ribs poke outand his stomach would probably be sickly flat), rather than hugging curves like it did on your wife, it's not a half bad sight.
You step in between his stick like legs and he gazes up at you with blown out pupils, but you turn him over onto his back. You find it harder to imagine your wife if you can feel his eyes burning into your closed eyelids. Once his laced clad ass is in your view, you trace your finger on a fresher cum stain on his lower back, before stepping away to retrieve the bottle of lube you keep handy in your nightstand drawer. You tug your pants and boxers down your thighs, to free your painfully hard cock, and slather lube onto it. You shudder as your finger brushes over your sensitive tip, covering it with nearly lukewarm lube. You have half a mind to jerk yourself off and use the man in front of you as muse, but you noticed he had a boner straining against the lace earlier, his pre cum staining it. Not that you particularly cared if he got off or not, so more importantly you wanted to feel something other than your hand wrapped around your cock.
You pull the fabric to the side, and line yourself up with his hole. No matter how roughly you'd fucked him previously, he was still so tight and it still took a good amount of work from you and another slather of lube on your dick for you to finally bottom out. You slide your hands up the loose corset and run your hands up and down his sides, feeling skin and bone rather than the warm, thick flesh you'd feel if you performed this action on your wife. You haven't began to move, too stuck up on imagining your wife in this position, and you only notice when he begins to fuck himself back onto you. This makes you slightly angry, because your wife wouldn't have done that, no matter how horny she was, she would've waited patiently, so your first thrust is brutal and sharp. He lets out a sob, and you want to cover your ears, but you continue at a slightly more subdued pace.
His sobs grow quieter until they morph into soft moans of pleasure, and needless to say, that's a noise you can get behind. Your hands move around his void, accidentally slipping a fingertip past the entrance, to which he lets out a whimper. Your hands find their way to his flat chest, groping the skin there, as you imagine your wifes plump breasts in your hand. You lean down over him to groan in his ear and occasionally press a kiss along the side of his nek as you near release.
Your bite down on his shoulder as you shot your load into him, your teeth nearly meeting bone through the thin layer of skin over it, rather than the supple skin you wish your teeth had trapped between them instead. You rest your head on his icy skin, which acts like an ice pack against your sweaty forehead, before you slide out of him. He hasn't came yet, so you stand up, tuck yourself back into your boxers and tug your pants up, to turn around to give him privacy to finish himself off. As he does, a few whimpers and 'oh fuck' s escape his lips. You hear the bed creak as he stands up to presumably change back into his regular clothes, which were at your feet as you fucked him. His eyes meet yours as he exits your bedroom, and he hangs his head before opening your door and slipping out of your room.
Your wifes lingerie is left on the bed, a new cumstain on the lace. You'll need to wash it now.