Right Here 𖦹
pairing: rafe cameron x reader
summary: rafe comes home exhausted after a shitty day at work, you comfort him, one kiss turns into another, and lots of needy couch sex.
word count: 1.9k+
content warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, exhaustion, pet names: baby, smut: pinv (unprotected), strong sexual language, nudity, breast play, soft sex, hair pulling.
author’s note: wish that was me … sigh. I hope you enjoy!!
“Baby?”
The front door swung open, sending a gust of wind into the first floor of your house. You felt it brush the hair from your shoulders, followed by the heavy clamber of his footsteps over the ageing floorboards.
You could tell he’d had a bad day.
His voice was strained and hoarse. The top button of his shirt was undone, his tie hanging loose around his neck because he’d been yanking at it since breakfast. Faint little blotches of red dotted along the sides of his neck where his ironed collar had been rubbing it raw all day.
He was still kicking off his shoes, a stack of paperwork tucked carelessly beneath one arm, when you reached him.
You noticed the way his buzzed hair looked somehow tussled, like he’d had a headache and tried to divert his pain by tugging at his roots, and the crease between his brows that only formed when he was stressed had appeared.
You met him halfway on his path to find you. Your mind racing with what could’ve upset him but you didn’t say anything. Not yet. Just wrapped your arms around his middle and he melted almost immediately. He let his head drop into the crook of your neck with a little hum, his arms curling around your waist as you scratched gently up and down his back like maybe you could soothe whatever part of him was hurting.
“Are you okay?” you muttered, your head tilting to the right to take in his expression. He didn’t bother to come up with a lie. You already knew that he’d been working ridiculous hours lately, first one in and last one out of the office these days.
He didn’t answer right away, too tired to speak. He just nodded, squeezing you tighter.
Your fingers found the back of his head, softly scratching the short hair at the nape of his neck. His grip on your body relaxing as he drew back to look at your face. You met his gaze gently, a shiver rolling up your body now that there was room for air between you both. Your movements stayed slow and deliberate, your touch soft as you brushed your fingers along the side of his face.
“You wanna sit down?” you whispered. Your fingers lowered to cradle his cheeks, thumbs tracing invisible shapes. You didn’t need a response. You knew him too well for that.
You took his hand, leading him into the next room.
The curtains were still open, letting the last of the evening light spill across the room. You shut them while he wandered over to the couch, joining him once you’d switched on the lamps.
A TV show drifts in and out of your hearing as you shift on the couch, eyes sliding toward the kitchen and the pile of things you’d abandoned the second Rafe walked through the door. Quiet stretches between you both. He’s rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to physically shake the day off, one large hand dragging over his eyes.
He turns towards you and says your name slowly, your head snapping towards the sound of his voice.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough and looking at you through half-closed lashes.
You blink, soft confusion and something far warmer flooding your face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you fine?” A quiet laugh slips out as you inch closer until you’re halfway in his lap.
“C’mere.” He mumbles, pulling you the rest of the way, settling you properly so that you’re straddling him. A soft yawn breaks across his face as his hands steady themselves on your hips. “Mhm… yeah. Had a shit day.”
“Talk to me about it.” you say, hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
He looks at you for a long second, then leans in and gives you a quiet almost careful kiss. When you pull back you’re still close, noses brushing, forehead to forehead. You’re so close that you’re sharing each other’s air and he stays there, breathing you in.
“Later,” he murmurs. “Right now I just… need this.”
You kiss him again, slower this time. One of his hands slides up your back, warm under your shirt, palm flat against your skin like he’s grounding himself. The kiss deepens. When his lips part under yours he makes a low sound in his throat that you feel more than you can hear.
You shift a little, meaning only to take the weight off him after the long day. His hands lock on your hips immediately, fingers digging in just enough to still you.
“Stay,” he says against your mouth, voice still hoarse. “I want you right here. Don’t move.”
You freeze. He keeps you there, thumbs stroking soft circles into the soft give of your sides, and rolls his hips up once—a controlled drag of the hard line of his cock against you. The friction pulls a soft sound out of both of you.
“I thought you were tired,” you whisper, a small smug smile tugging on your mouth.
“I am.” He does it again, slower, watching your face the whole time. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
Then he sits up fully.
Chest flush to yours. Chin resting against the upper curve of your breasts so he can tip his face up to look at you while he keeps rocking into you in small, careful rolls of his hips. His eyes are darker now, the crease between his eyebrows still there but softer, but focused entirely on you. Warm breath fans against your skin through your top.
“I need you,” he says certain. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, palms spanning your waist, then higher, mapping the shape of you. “I need to feel you.”
You answer by rolling your hips once, letting him feel every inch of the friction. His head drops forward for a second, forehead pressing to your chest as a broken sound leaves him, before he tips back up and kisses you again. Deeper this time and more desperate.
Your hands go to the buttons of his shirt. One by one. Pushing the fabric open so you can feel the warm skin of his chest, the faint sheen of his exhaustion still on him. He helps you shrug it off without breaking the kiss, then his fingers are under your top again. You lift your arms and he pulls it over your head, tossing it aside. Cool air touches your bare skin for only a second before his hands are back and cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they tighten. He makes a soft, almost pained sound at the sight of you, then leans in and takes one nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking and sucking gently.
You arch into it, fingers sliding into the short hair at the back of his head, holding him there. The wet heat of his mouth and the soft scrape of teeth against your skin goes straight through you. When he switches to the other breast you rock down harder against him and he groans, the sound vibrating against your middle.
His hands drop to the waistband of your bottoms. He tugs and you lift just enough for him to work them down over your hips along with your underwear. Cool air hits you again, then the heat of his palms as he smoothes them up the bare skin of your thighs. You can feel how wet you already are before his fingers brush between your legs, sliding through the slickness there. He presses two fingers against your entrance, circling slowly without pushing in yet.
“Fuck,” he breathes against your chest. “You’re so wet for me already.”
You reach for him, undoing his belt, the button, the zipper. He lifts his hips to help you push everything down far enough to free him. His cock springs free, hard and already leaking at the tip. You wrap your hand around him, stroking once from base to tip, spreading the wetness, and he shudders hard beneath you, forehead dropping to your shoulder as a long, shaky groan leaves him.
You guide him to your entrance. The blunt head of him presses against you and you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, feeling yourself stretch around the thick length of him. He holds completely still except for the fine tremor in his thighs, breath coming in short, harsh pants against your neck. When you finally seat yourself fully, hips flush to his, he makes a sound like he’s been punched, low and guttural at the back of his throat.
“God—” you moan as his hands grip your hips, holding you there, not letting you move yet.
“Just—stay like this a second,” he says, voice strained. “Wanna feel you.”
You nod, staying still, feeling the way he pulses inside of you, the way your body clenches around him in answer. Then you roll your hips in a slow circle and he breaks. Raw, open-mouthed sounds tearing out of him. His chin stays against your breast, eyes looking up at you through his lashes while you start to move. Lifting and sinking in a steady rhythm. Every time you sink down he meets you with a short upward thrust, the sticky sound of it filling up the entire room.
His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer so your chests are pressed together, skin to skin. The new angle lets him go deeper and you feel every ridge of him dragging inside you. His mouth finds yours again, kissing you messy and open while he moves with you. Little mewls and breathless curses escaping you when the head of his cock rubs that perfect spot inside on every downward stroke.
You pick up the pace gradually. He matches it, one hand sliding down to grip the back of your thigh, guiding your movements, the other staying between your bodies so his thumb can find your clit and rub slow, tight circles. The dual sensation makes your thighs shake. Your forehead dropping to his.
“Harder, baby,” he says again, voice cracking a little on the words, hips snapping up harder now. “Tell me what you need.”
“That—yes—” you gasp, rocking into him faster, chasing it. “I’m close—”
“That’s it,” he murmurs breathlessly. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
His thumb presses firmer, circling faster and the coil in your belly tightens fast. When it breaks it pulls a long, shaking moan out of you. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses, whole body locking up as the orgasm hits, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open. While you grab at every part of him you can reach.
He follows almost immediately, his hand flexing and fisting in your hair, the motion of his hips stuttering as his brows pinch together. Another loud groan leaves him as he comes inside you, arms wrapping tight around your waist as if to keep you from floating off.
You stay like that afterward, still joined, while both of you catch your breath. The air hot and sticky between you. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your breast, then tips his face up to look at you again, eyes softer now.
“Stay,” he says. “Just like this a little longer.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “Do you feel better now?” a chuckle comes out of you on top of him, it comes out softer than expected, all the punch knocked out of you.
He huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Yeah. I feel pretty good now.”
Your arms loop around his neck and hold tightly, your shoulders moving up and down as weak and tired little laughs escape your throat.
“I’d sure hope so.”