This one's been knocking around in my head for a few days and I feel like I've been neglecting my boi Robert--
During all those years of him being a solo hero, I wonder if Robert found the perfect way to make extra money and blow off his stress...
NSFW-ish rambling below
Being a bi guy, Robert could take any client. When he wasn't fighting crime he was pocketing a few hundred a day absolutely railing someone. Not always, though. Lots of clients were just lonely. Needed someone to talk to. Sometimes Robert walked out of a hotel room completely untouched, save for a long hug. The irony hardly lost on him because this was, in fact, a crime.
Shouldn't be, though.
Nothing wrong with needing some heat for a while. Or a shoulder.
The split between "lonely" and "horny" was irregular, often converged. You were an interesting blend of it. The first time was nervous, and you chickened out. You'd just gotten out of a long relationship and you missed having someone. You hated sleeping alone. You met your lost love before you even started your life, so you were never without them. Until now.
You seemed lost. And he wasn't surprised. You had never been alone before, it was driving you insane, but you also...well, you weren't a prude, per se. You tried to explain it but got all tongue tied. He laughed and assured you he's a professional. You don't have to justify anything to him. But it seemed like something you had to say out loud. Maybe just for you.
You weren't sure if casual was your thing, much less with a stranger. You ached for companionship but also had this determination to stay single long enough to be okay. Your friends' idea. They didn't want you hopping from lover to lover because you didn't want to be alone. Wise friends.
So, you figured. Maybe this would work. Robert wouldn't expect anything of you, mooch off you, or be an unsafe person for you. He was getting paid to do a job. Just. The job was a bit more intimate than a typical one.
Though, nervous, shaking, so unsure if you could even do this, he declined your offer to just pay him for nothing and leave. "C'mere," he'd said.
You spent the rest of the night in the hotel room with him, in his arms, watching TV. Fell asleep, even. Fully clothed. Just needing something more than a release. He felt bad taking two fifty from you for just a cuddle session, but you insisted on no discount. He had bills to pay, too, you said.
You didn't have sex until, if he remembers right, your sixth meeting. Everything between that was just comfortable chatter, lying together, and he kind of became a really, really expensive Netflix date for you. He started bringing you dinner just so that he didn't feel so bad about draining your finances for no sex, but, this was what you wanted. For now, at least.
You could only afford him twice a month on a good day, so that particular night took a while to build up to. He even broke his golden rule close to the event; meeting you at your apartment instead, where you're more comfortable. He shouldn't have. It just made everything feel too close. He tried to ignore it, and that night, he wanted to gently tell you he'd like to go back to meeting you at the hotel, but he knew something was wrong when you opened your door.
You ran into your ex. It was a bad, bad day. They'd already moved on. You asked him what was wrong with you, after telling him your life story. And, mind, this wasn't something he thought with disdain. He didn't listen because you paid him.
He liked you a bit more than he should, actually. He didn't break his rule from a customer service angle. He broke it because he saw someone that reminded him of himself, someone who wasn't getting what they needed. Someone he wanted to give that to.
He knew this meant he was in trouble, but he came inside anyway.
You said you knew you weren't the hottest person, but wanted to know, from a professional, what was wrong. Because you've tried dating since and nobody swipes. Nobody looks at you. You approached someone that seemed intrigued the other night, but they'd been looking past you. You cried. You asked him if you were really this unloveable.
And, well, fuck. That really hit him in the chest.
Robert saw nothing wrong with you. And the fact you really thought you weren't worth attention...
He felt a little guilty, but he tracked down your ex after that night.
Stopped himself from crumpling the fucker's car with the suit.
But, back to that night -- you were crying, apologizing for "being pathetic", and he took it slow.
"Can I just kiss you?"
You nodded. Let him in.
And it escalated.
Within the hour you were screaming his name, and yes, he did this as a side gig. Yes, it was not his first, or even third orgasm of the day. But. He liked you too much. So it was the most notable one. It was the first time he broke his other rule, and he stayed the night. Fucked you again that morning, no extra charge. Kissed you too deep. Held you too soft.
Knowing it would be another month, probably, before he saw you again, Robert told himself that was enough time to reel this right the fuck back in before he got himself into something too complicated, because he couldn't juggle freelance hero work, freelance sex work, and a significant other that probably would want him to stop all at the same time.
Because right now, you were obviously fine with the fact he was sleeping with a lot of other people. But Robert himself avoided romance because of this. Because he, at his core, was all-or-nothing about it. He could either fuck for extra money, or have a stable partner. There were absolutely people who wouldn't care and he could do both. But this was a him thing. If he had someone, he wouldn't bring his A game anymore.
He'd save it for you.
And he needed the money. No other job was this flexible. Or paid this much. His plan always was: fuck around now, settle down later.
Weeks flew by and it really felt like you called him only days later, but it'd been two months. Car trouble, you said. Couldn't afford shit, and the worst part was the repairs didn't even work. So now you were paying off a credit card, had a dead car in your parking lot, and leaving for work at 4am because it was a two hour walk.
But still, you scraped up some cash for him, because you really needed to forget for an hour, and in your agreeable words, "even broke people deserve to have fun."
He showed up with his tools, fixed your car, then fucked you silly in the back seat after a thank-you hug got a little too heavy. Good thing it was 1 in the morning, though he's sure some night owls saw what you two were getting into under the shadows of the oak tree that loomed over the sidewalk.
And you looked at him a little different, just for a second.
You shouldn't have called a, God, you don't even know the respectful term. You shouldn't have called Robert. Ever. You were in it bad, now. He brought you such lovely dinners, held you so good, and by God could he make you come like you've never felt before. Always so professional, always safe. Condoms and dental dams, plenty of lube, and all the passionate kisses you could handle.
It's been a year since you got his contact info from a friend-of-a-friend and he's fucked all the stress from your body about twenty times.
You add up all the PayMe transfers and cringe, though.
You have spent a lot of money.
But it's good; no, incredible dick. And he smells good. You can't get enough of his voice. And this is when you realize, it's gotta stop before you break down again.
So. You settle for your toys. You call him one more time; on your birthday, just because. You deserve at least one more spectacular night. At a treat. And then you delete his number.
You can't fucking fall in love with your...organic maintenance man. He is not doing this because he loves you. This is his job, and now you've crossed the line he drew at the start of this. People sometimes get this way, he'd told you; they feel like there's more to it, but there isn't. It's work. It's work he likes, but it's work. The professional boundary must remain, or he takes you off the list.
You felt so embarrassed over it, you didn't even want to tell him why. You just took yourself off the list instead, and went about your life.
Robert thought he'd never see you again. You abruptly stopped contacting him. It was not customary in his work to reach out to old customers like hey, we haven't banged in a while, all good?
He assumed you found someone at last, and left it at that.
Maybe with a little too much sadness.
Life went on. He did something stupid. Got into a coma. Headbutted a reporter. Stopped a crime ring. He didn't have to run his side gig anymore. And to be honest he was too tired to dick down five people a day, anyway. He chucked the burner and nobody was ever the wiser. Except for the guy in the mail room at SDN. But they had a professional, silent understanding. Past is the past.
But here he is now, in a goddamn Trader Joe's, dropping the pint of ice cream he just picked out, because it's you. Right across from him. Staring at the popsicles. You look like you've had a rough day; dare he say, you may have been crying in your car before you came in here, even, and he can't help the shocked laugh that gets your attention.
"Holy shit." You step back, eyes wide.
You blush. But you hug him like he's just an old friend you went to school with and not the guy who punched you through a mattress every couple of weeks. You ask him how he's been, desperately dancing around the hidden question -- do you still, you know...? -- and he nods as he adds his frozen treat to the basket, shrugging a little. "Got a regular job. Pays enough, so I don't need to...fix cars anymore."
You laugh so knowingly, the blush working into permanence. He asks you how you've been, and your face falls. "Same old, same old. Well. I, uh. Don't have a mechanic anymore so, worse, actually. But I'm getting by. Surviving. Got a better job. Got a dog."
You're still lonely. He can see it. He can nearly feel you yearning, and he wonders so many things, but he can't just whip out a conversation about the ins and outs (heh) of fucking at a bougie grocery store.
He tells you about Beef. You show him pictures of a ridiculous muppet you adopted from the humane society named Kahootz, which makes him laugh. It's some kind of wire-haired mutt with a natural mohawk, a crooked jaw, and one blue eye. Robert wants to meet this dog immediately.
"She keeps me from going nuts," you laugh. "She's hilarious. I've got a soft spot for the 'ugly' ones. She'd been there for four months. I said what the hell. Everyone needs some love."
You ask him if he's got someone. "Almost, once. It was too complicated, though. What about you?"
The look on your face tells him you didn't consider he would ask, or maybe you were making conversation without thinking, because you get a little sheepish. "I, uh. I just kinda, gave up on that. Wasn't worth all the trouble. Spent enough going on dates to nowhere, I should've just called y--" You stop yourself with a stifled laugh, looking around.
Robert snorts, but now he's curious. "Why'd you stop at all? Were you okay?"
Blushing again.
It's cute. He tries to make his face behave, but he bites his lip just a little.
"I, well. Um. It was." You puff air. "The whole, no feelings thing, wasn't working for me. I'm just, I was kind of forcing myself to be a way I just can't be, you know? I was starting to. You were gonna take me off the roster anyway, let's just say that."
God.
Everything's just rushing back to him.
"I actually missed you," he mutters. His body does what it wants, stepping closer to you.
You're speechless.
"You wanna...get dinner?"
"Uh. Oh. Y-yeah! Yeah!" All your laughter is nervous, and that blush is creeping up your ears now.
Robert checks the time. "Like. Now? I've gotten pretty good at cooking."
A paper thin veil. Robert will put this ice cream back and abandon all his plans tonight just to take you to the Italian place across the parking lot, but if you come home with him...
"I." You swallow.
"Too fast?" He cracks a smile. "Coffee?"
"N-no," you start, then catch yourself. "I mean, to the too fast, it's just, I'm surprised--"
Nobody's around.
He kisses you. Just a quick, simple thing. Maybe he lingers a little bit. Maybe you moan a little. Still, he'd rate it PG.
"Tomorrow?" He asks, figuring...maybe you need to sleep on it.
You agree. Trade numbers. He sends you his address. And Robert, he knows you. He remembers you, at least. You might not show. You might chicken out. That's okay. He's patient. Bring Kahootz, he adds. Beef needs a friend.
You heart react it. That's a good sign, right?
He doesn't want to press you. It's been a long time. He sends you a cute picture of Beef the next morning, you chat a little bit between work breaks, and he doesn't ask if you're still coming. He just prepares.
Kahootz is even cuter in person, and you, well, you've always been special to him. Robert oddly viewed you as one that got away, for a while. A client he got too close to, in a way he thought was one-sided. And you both laugh about how that's how both of you felt.
But this couldn't have happened any other way. How the hell would he have kept you around when he went full revenge and hunted down Shroud? Nearly died? Went through that self destructive phase of damn-near suicidal recklessness? No. It's good, he thinks. It's good you show up now.
Mmmhmm I'm chewing on this. This is going in the pile of Longer Fics To Write.
What if you only see Robert again because you have a job at SDN now. In the crazy funny thing is you've been working there for 3 years but you are not a dispatcher. You are in the data entry side of things, in administration, a spreadsheet jockey with a knack for keeping everything organized. You are actually the only person in your department technically, though you do work closely with accounting to keep everything on the up and up.
You've been on the other side of the building right under his nose this entire time.
You only run into him because they're remodeling the break room on that side of things, leading you to use the one he frequents because you still need coffee.
He talks to you because your coffee mug is hilarious (it's an Excel screenshot that just says "Freak in the Sheets" under it) And it takes him a couple of beats to recognize your face but when he does his heart falls out of his ass.
And you have already gone pale because you don't know many men who are missing a chunk of their ear, and he's not exactly the kind of guy he wouldn't recognize on the spot. Not after what you've been through with him. You damn near drop your mug.
He still low-key moonlights sex work. Just a few dedicated clients. It's not really about the money anymore so much as it is the other part - stress relief. Being able to feel awesome for a little while. Feel close. He still never "settled down". He figured he didn't need to. Figured he was content with it. Until he ran into you again.
And he thinks that both of you have moved past the way you met, and he's eager to start a normal friendship with you. And then you confess that the reason why you stopped calling him is because you were catching feelings. He has to stop himself from saying, "Well that's kind of funny because I was struggling with keeping things professional with you too" because it has been a number of years since you've seen each other and there's no reason to dredge up old feelings now.
And then he learns you're single. He wasn't the last man you slept with but it seems like, if he reads between the lines, you couldn't really find what he was giving to you. It seems like you haven't connected the dots, either; he wasn't just fucking you, but *loving* you, and that's what you're missing.
Which makes him sad because it means that the rest of your dating exploits before you hung up your hat on it all amounted to you being with people who really didn't take the type of care he thinks you should get.
He lies to himself for a while that is just a friendship, and you are happy and comfortable the way you are. He tells himself if you were still interested in him you would say something even though he knows you're a bit too shy for that.
Most of all, he lies to himself that he doesn't feel the same, if not stronger now. He slowly absorbs you into the colorful social group of the dispatchers because you are kind of by yourself and don't have many friends and he's still lying to himself. You could use some fun in your life, he says to himself. No way does he just want to spend more time with you. Nope. He pleads the fifth.
But then someone in the group is starting to kind of get sweet on you and you're starting to notice. And maybe you kind of like them back a little bit.
And maybe that makes Robert extremely jealous.
Panicked, even.
Because he wants to take the shot and the window is closing. The every-other-night fuck sessions aren't really doing the same things for him anymore, because he remembers how you'd hold him, the idle way you'd play with his hair, how you seemed actually interested in the fake life he made up on the spot whenever you chatted about your days (you actually never found out he was Mecha Man, and when you learn, you shit bricks).
All of your social interactions that he has dragged you into made you better it reading people, and you know something is bothering him. His friend is talking to him about inviting you to his lake house in a few weekends, and Robert is dying inside, and you keep asking him what's wrong and eventually you won't take his avoidance for an answer.
But now he will feel like a dick swooping in on his buddy's potential girlfriend, and he wants you to be happy, but he also is really bad at hiding this emotion. He feels like he's losing you all over again but this time it's not a professional cut of the wire that he can chalk up to business being business. This time it really fucking hurts and you just wants to hold you all night.
So he thinks maybe he should just tell you. Get it out in the open. It might just feel better to say it. And you guys can move on. So he does.
"I got attached to you," he says. "Really attached."
You go to say something, face red, but he cuts you off before he loses his nerve. "I actually really missed you."
Suffice to say. You never wind up at that lake house.
This one's been knocking around in my head for a few days and I feel like I've been neglecting my boi Robert--
During all those years of him being a solo hero, I wonder if Robert found the perfect way to make extra money and blow off his stress...
NSFW-ish rambling below
Being a bi guy, Robert could take any client. When he wasn't fighting crime he was pocketing a few hundred a day absolutely railing someone. Not always, though. Lots of clients were just lonely. Needed someone to talk to. Sometimes Robert walked out of a hotel room completely untouched, save for a long hug. The irony hardly lost on him because this was, in fact, a crime.
Shouldn't be, though.
Nothing wrong with needing some heat for a while. Or a shoulder.
The split between "lonely" and "horny" was irregular, often converged. You were an interesting blend of it. The first time was nervous, and you chickened out. You'd just gotten out of a long relationship and you missed having someone. You hated sleeping alone. You met your lost love before you even started your life, so you were never without them. Until now.
You seemed lost. And he wasn't surprised. You had never been alone before, it was driving you insane, but you also...well, you weren't a prude, per se. You tried to explain it but got all tongue tied. He laughed and assured you he's a professional. You don't have to justify anything to him. But it seemed like something you had to say out loud. Maybe just for you.
You weren't sure if casual was your thing, much less with a stranger. You ached for companionship but also had this determination to stay single long enough to be okay. Your friends' idea. They didn't want you hopping from lover to lover because you didn't want to be alone. Wise friends.
So, you figured. Maybe this would work. Robert wouldn't expect anything of you, mooch off you, or be an unsafe person for you. He was getting paid to do a job. Just. The job was a bit more intimate than a typical one.
Though, nervous, shaking, so unsure if you could even do this, he declined your offer to just pay him for nothing and leave. "C'mere," he'd said.
You spent the rest of the night in the hotel room with him, in his arms, watching TV. Fell asleep, even. Fully clothed. Just needing something more than a release. He felt bad taking two fifty from you for just a cuddle session, but you insisted on no discount. He had bills to pay, too, you said.
You didn't have sex until, if he remembers right, your sixth meeting. Everything between that was just comfortable chatter, lying together, and he kind of became a really, really expensive Netflix date for you. He started bringing you dinner just so that he didn't feel so bad about draining your finances for no sex, but, this was what you wanted. For now, at least.
You could only afford him twice a month on a good day, so that particular night took a while to build up to. He even broke his golden rule close to the event; meeting you at your apartment instead, where you're more comfortable. He shouldn't have. It just made everything feel too close. He tried to ignore it, and that night, he wanted to gently tell you he'd like to go back to meeting you at the hotel, but he knew something was wrong when you opened your door.
You ran into your ex. It was a bad, bad day. They'd already moved on. You asked him what was wrong with you, after telling him your life story. And, mind, this wasn't something he thought with disdain. He didn't listen because you paid him.
He liked you a bit more than he should, actually. He didn't break his rule from a customer service angle. He broke it because he saw someone that reminded him of himself, someone who wasn't getting what they needed. Someone he wanted to give that to.
He knew this meant he was in trouble, but he came inside anyway.
You said you knew you weren't the hottest person, but wanted to know, from a professional, what was wrong. Because you've tried dating since and nobody swipes. Nobody looks at you. You approached someone that seemed intrigued the other night, but they'd been looking past you. You cried. You asked him if you were really this unloveable.
And, well, fuck. That really hit him in the chest.
Robert saw nothing wrong with you. And the fact you really thought you weren't worth attention...
He felt a little guilty, but he tracked down your ex after that night.
Stopped himself from crumpling the fucker's car with the suit.
But, back to that night -- you were crying, apologizing for "being pathetic", and he took it slow.
"Can I just kiss you?"
You nodded. Let him in.
And it escalated.
Within the hour you were screaming his name, and yes, he did this as a side gig. Yes, it was not his first, or even third orgasm of the day. But. He liked you too much. So it was the most notable one. It was the first time he broke his other rule, and he stayed the night. Fucked you again that morning, no extra charge. Kissed you too deep. Held you too soft.
Knowing it would be another month, probably, before he saw you again, Robert told himself that was enough time to reel this right the fuck back in before he got himself into something too complicated, because he couldn't juggle freelance hero work, freelance sex work, and a significant other that probably would want him to stop all at the same time.
Because right now, you were obviously fine with the fact he was sleeping with a lot of other people. But Robert himself avoided romance because of this. Because he, at his core, was all-or-nothing about it. He could either fuck for extra money, or have a stable partner. There were absolutely people who wouldn't care and he could do both. But this was a him thing. If he had someone, he wouldn't bring his A game anymore.
He'd save it for you.
And he needed the money. No other job was this flexible. Or paid this much. His plan always was: fuck around now, settle down later.
Weeks flew by and it really felt like you called him only days later, but it'd been two months. Car trouble, you said. Couldn't afford shit, and the worst part was the repairs didn't even work. So now you were paying off a credit card, had a dead car in your parking lot, and leaving for work at 4am because it was a two hour walk.
But still, you scraped up some cash for him, because you really needed to forget for an hour, and in your agreeable words, "even broke people deserve to have fun."
He showed up with his tools, fixed your car, then fucked you silly in the back seat after a thank-you hug got a little too heavy. Good thing it was 1 in the morning, though he's sure some night owls saw what you two were getting into under the shadows of the oak tree that loomed over the sidewalk.
And you looked at him a little different, just for a second.
You shouldn't have called a, God, you don't even know the respectful term. You shouldn't have called Robert. Ever. You were in it bad, now. He brought you such lovely dinners, held you so good, and by God could he make you come like you've never felt before. Always so professional, always safe. Condoms and dental dams, plenty of lube, and all the passionate kisses you could handle.
It's been a year since you got his contact info from a friend-of-a-friend and he's fucked all the stress from your body about twenty times.
You add up all the PayMe transfers and cringe, though.
You have spent a lot of money.
But it's good; no, incredible dick. And he smells good. You can't get enough of his voice. And this is when you realize, it's gotta stop before you break down again.
So. You settle for your toys. You call him one more time; on your birthday, just because. You deserve at least one more spectacular night. At a treat. And then you delete his number.
You can't fucking fall in love with your...organic maintenance man. He is not doing this because he loves you. This is his job, and now you've crossed the line he drew at the start of this. People sometimes get this way, he'd told you; they feel like there's more to it, but there isn't. It's work. It's work he likes, but it's work. The professional boundary must remain, or he takes you off the list.
You felt so embarrassed over it, you didn't even want to tell him why. You just took yourself off the list instead, and went about your life.
Robert thought he'd never see you again. You abruptly stopped contacting him. It was not customary in his work to reach out to old customers like hey, we haven't banged in a while, all good?
He assumed you found someone at last, and left it at that.
Maybe with a little too much sadness.
Life went on. He did something stupid. Got into a coma. Headbutted a reporter. Stopped a crime ring. He didn't have to run his side gig anymore. And to be honest he was too tired to dick down five people a day, anyway. He chucked the burner and nobody was ever the wiser. Except for the guy in the mail room at SDN. But they had a professional, silent understanding. Past is the past.
But here he is now, in a goddamn Trader Joe's, dropping the pint of ice cream he just picked out, because it's you. Right across from him. Staring at the popsicles. You look like you've had a rough day; dare he say, you may have been crying in your car before you came in here, even, and he can't help the shocked laugh that gets your attention.
"Holy shit." You step back, eyes wide.
You blush. But you hug him like he's just an old friend you went to school with and not the guy who punched you through a mattress every couple of weeks. You ask him how he's been, desperately dancing around the hidden question -- do you still, you know...? -- and he nods as he adds his frozen treat to the basket, shrugging a little. "Got a regular job. Pays enough, so I don't need to...fix cars anymore."
You laugh so knowingly, the blush working into permanence. He asks you how you've been, and your face falls. "Same old, same old. Well. I, uh. Don't have a mechanic anymore so, worse, actually. But I'm getting by. Surviving. Got a better job. Got a dog."
You're still lonely. He can see it. He can nearly feel you yearning, and he wonders so many things, but he can't just whip out a conversation about the ins and outs (heh) of fucking at a bougie grocery store.
He tells you about Beef. You show him pictures of a ridiculous muppet you adopted from the humane society named Kahootz, which makes him laugh. It's some kind of wire-haired mutt with a natural mohawk, a crooked jaw, and one blue eye. Robert wants to meet this dog immediately.
"She keeps me from going nuts," you laugh. "She's hilarious. I've got a soft spot for the 'ugly' ones. She'd been there for four months. I said what the hell. Everyone needs some love."
You ask him if he's got someone. "Almost, once. It was too complicated, though. What about you?"
The look on your face tells him you didn't consider he would ask, or maybe you were making conversation without thinking, because you get a little sheepish. "I, uh. I just kinda, gave up on that. Wasn't worth all the trouble. Spent enough going on dates to nowhere, I should've just called y--" You stop yourself with a stifled laugh, looking around.
Robert snorts, but now he's curious. "Why'd you stop at all? Were you okay?"
Blushing again.
It's cute. He tries to make his face behave, but he bites his lip just a little.
"I, well. Um. It was." You puff air. "The whole, no feelings thing, wasn't working for me. I'm just, I was kind of forcing myself to be a way I just can't be, you know? I was starting to. You were gonna take me off the roster anyway, let's just say that."
God.
Everything's just rushing back to him.
"I actually missed you," he mutters. His body does what it wants, stepping closer to you.
You're speechless.
"You wanna...get dinner?"
"Uh. Oh. Y-yeah! Yeah!" All your laughter is nervous, and that blush is creeping up your ears now.
Robert checks the time. "Like. Now? I've gotten pretty good at cooking."
A paper thin veil. Robert will put this ice cream back and abandon all his plans tonight just to take you to the Italian place across the parking lot, but if you come home with him...
"I." You swallow.
"Too fast?" He cracks a smile. "Coffee?"
"N-no," you start, then catch yourself. "I mean, to the too fast, it's just, I'm surprised--"
Nobody's around.
He kisses you. Just a quick, simple thing. Maybe he lingers a little bit. Maybe you moan a little. Still, he'd rate it PG.
"Tomorrow?" He asks, figuring...maybe you need to sleep on it.
You agree. Trade numbers. He sends you his address. And Robert, he knows you. He remembers you, at least. You might not show. You might chicken out. That's okay. He's patient. Bring Kahootz, he adds. Beef needs a friend.
You heart react it. That's a good sign, right?
He doesn't want to press you. It's been a long time. He sends you a cute picture of Beef the next morning, you chat a little bit between work breaks, and he doesn't ask if you're still coming. He just prepares.
Kahootz is even cuter in person, and you, well, you've always been special to him. Robert oddly viewed you as one that got away, for a while. A client he got too close to, in a way he thought was one-sided. And you both laugh about how that's how both of you felt.
But this couldn't have happened any other way. How the hell would he have kept you around when he went full revenge and hunted down Shroud? Nearly died? Went through that self destructive phase of damn-near suicidal recklessness? No. It's good, he thinks. It's good you show up now.
I don’t know if you’ve done this before but man all I want to do is lick, kiss and suck on Herms hard on through his suit, just go to town on it, I don’t care if I’m getting small mouthfuls of water while it happens, I’m still swallowing it and using my teeth to tug and pull at the fabric just a little UGH I want to kiss it and tease him till he does something about it..perhaps this could be classed as bratty behaviour?
👁️🫦👁️
Ohohoho I like the way you THINK
NSFW drabble below. Pure smut. Reader has powers they use very improperly, Waterboy's a hot mess in many ways because of it
WaterboyxF!reader, Herman being a spicy dom (well, spicy for him lmao), bit of brat taming, teasing, edging, PIV sex, HR violations, fluffy aftercare, HERM deciding to be the brat--
Something about Herman sets him apart from anyone else you could possibly care to look twice at. And it's not the elephant in the room. Yeah, he's hung, but that's not why you can't keep your hands off him.
Not even close. He could have a completely normal dick. Fuck, even a small one. What drives you crazy is the fevered way he holds you, kisses you, fucks you. How desperate he is. It's like he's worried this is all some kind of elaborate prank and any given time could be the last. So he's enjoying it to the fullest extent.
You've never had a guy so thoroughly around you in all facets of affection. Cuddling? He's a koala. Making out? His weight's fully on you, arms coiled, not a single inch of negative space. Fucking, though. Holy. Shit. He always starts deceptively slow, hard, altering gravity with how insistently he pushes into you, needs to be close, so close.
You can't focus on a damn thing today. It's been a busy week. Some Shroud wannabe is trying to start up a whole new crime ring and everyone's pulling double shifts, attending update meetings, and you haven't even been able to brush against your boyfriend in two weeks.
Herman is the kind of guy who can focus on other things, get wrapped up in them, forget his own needs and wants. You are not equipped with this talent. You are climbing the walls.
His hero suit is the fucking best for your tomfoolery. There will be no mistaken identity. Appearing with a soft, unheard crackle beneath the conference table, you spot him instantly. Legs spread to make room for the fucking behemoth that's snaking down his right thigh, jostling around softly with every jiggle of his impatient knee.
He's picking the corner of his thumb beneath the table, too, and you crawl silently over, carefully smoothing your hand over his. He suppresses this little yelp, disguises it with a cough, and scoots back calmly. Through the sliver between the edge of the table and his torso, he stares down at you with only his eyes, this kind of cautioning look in them but also...that other look.
You wink, sit back on your heels, and gently pull his chair back into place. He squeezes your hand while Robert goes on and on about the next strategy, while Visi derails with her jokes, while small arguments break out. You kiss his knuckles, then take his thumb in your mouth and suck him in.
A very quiet wheeze exits the man, and his legs twitch.
The shape to your right does, too. Grows. Thickens.
There is no way to get to it. Not without pulling that zipper out of his collar. And if you do that, the element of stealth is lost. Some time ago, with the help of SDN's costume department, Herman got a new suit. A flexible, waterproof, quick-dying blend upgraded worn neoprene. Breathed better. Let him move better. He barely left puddles anywhere now, in part due to the suit, but also, his growing confidence deserved credit.
It's damp, cool to the touch. You put a hand on his knee and mouth around his growing cock, pressing it with your tongue, breathing your heat through the weave.
The tiniest squeak. Herman squirms.
Above you, Prism whispers, "you okay baby?"
"Ngh--mmhmm! S-stomach. Hurts."
She coos softly. "You gotta stop putting red bull in your fuckin' coffee."
You're going to scold him about that later. The taste alone must be awful. What the food crime bullshit has he been up to without you around to pack him snacks and energy?!
No, don't get off track. Ruin him.
You get back to it. He pins you between his knees, gripping your hair. You can almost hear his thoughts.
Not here. Are you insane?!
Yes. Yes I am.
He does not wish he had a different girlfriend. He wishes you did not have teleportation powers. What the hell are you doi--ohGOD.
Herman chews the inside of his lip to keep from moaning. His face is boiling hot, so he knows he's already failed to play it cool. You couldn't wait?! He was going to have two hours after this. He texted you! Once the meeting's over, Herman could nail you to the wall of the janitor's closet to your heart's content, if you'd just wait.
But he's here. Breathing manually. Feeling your tongue, your mouth, through a barrier he would actually cut through if he was close enough to Coop to pilfer one of her knives. She's nodding off. But she is miles away. Ebbing heat tingles against his dick, and you find a way to suck him, clinging to his thigh like a lifeline.
Only one side of it's getting any of the fun, twitching and throbbing in his suit. He rolls his hips as he pretends to stretch, hoping it'll magically work its way out of his pantleg and snap up against his stomach, but physics are not on his side. Wherever your mouth isn't, your hand is, rubbing, caressing, applying just the right amount of pressure.
He can move a little. It slides against the lining of his suit, against your touch, your mouth, but it's not enough for him. Torture. This is torture. He thinks about just sliding under the table. Forgetting the consequences and really derailing the whole meeting. But he knows, rationally, that he can't do that.
Not because of the rules, but because he's still not over the embarrassment of getting caught with you at the Christmas party. Which is the wrong thing to think about. Up until the moment Sonar just had to pick the office nobody uses to do a bump he shouldn't have, Herman was quite happy with the events of that night.
He flushes deeper, remembering. It made his year. Deep in you, soft heat gripping him, your nails in his skin. It'd been the first time. Not in general, but for you two. He thinks about it probably too much. Especially that little gasp you did when he eased in, the one that melted into a moan; the way you grabbed his hips and urged him faster--
"You sure you're okay?"
He's dripping like he just stepped out of a shower. Prism's got her hand on his shoulder, which is kind of making this weird, because--
You've got some suction going now. He feels the collecting water flow past his aching length, the heat of your breath, the way your tongue flexes. You're specifically abusing his tip, which is not fair on any level, gently kneading his shaft. All while one of his friends is touching him and, it's, it's weird.
He shifts awkwardly and nods at her, taking a deep breath. "I'll--it's, fine. I'll. I can make it."
You seem to take that as a challenge.
The words in the air mute around him. Blood rushes in his ears. You prod through fabric until you find his balls and rub them through his suit; slow. Savoring. Mouth locked around the hard line against his leg.
Herman's gonna fucking cry.
"So, we've all got our assignments."
Meeting seems to be wrapping up. You wonder how far you can get him, just like this. You want him to come hard, bite his finger so he doesn't scream. You want to feel his hips jolt, that pressure on your scalp whenever he balls your hair in his fist. God, that's the stuff you can't sleep off. When he's close, he's so beautiful. There's something hot about not being able to see his face, but boy are you missing it.
You suck harder, swallowing down cool, sweet water, losing yourself to the fun. You rub his thigh, his shaft. You work on his balls to the best of your ability with the barrier, smiling when he locks his free leg around your back. So into it, you nearly forget not to moan, dripping wet at the thought of that cute face he makes when he's past the point of no return.
"Take two hours. Get some sleep, protein. I know this sucks guys. I know it's not enough, but it's what we can do. Backup's coming this afternoon. After that the shifts should get a lot less awful. Hang in there. I've got us approved for hazard pay on top of overtime for this."
Murmurs of a positive nature erupt around you.
"Well shit, boss, that's like..." You can almost see Golem counting on his massive fingers, then giving up. "A lot of money. Hot damn."
The rest of the conversation tunes out. You got back to your goal. Testing Herman's poker face. You know those twitches so well, now. He throbs hard; his leg shakes. He's close. You move to suck him even harder, but his hand scrambles around, cups your cheek, and yanks you into his other leg.
His hand's trembling.
He can't let you go further. Herman can't be fucking quiet. You're out of your mind. He is actually a bit upset with you. And now, sexually frustrated. This meeting's been going on for thirty minutes and you've been edging him for all of them. Prism thinks he's trying not to shit himself. Now Punch-Up is staring at him.
Maybe he pulled you away a little too rough.
Maybe you need to know better. Learn better.
He frowns. That was a dark thought. What's wrong with him?!
But now he's unspeakably horny, annoyed, and all you had to do was wait.
You try to move, but he grips you tighter. With purpose, emphasis. Wait.
You go still. The only reason he doesn't worry is because you wind your arms around his calf and settle. He can almost hear the pouting. See that smirk. Generally, the way you smile at him is enough to flip his heart and melt him into a puddle, but for some reason, right now, it kind of fans the fire. He's not upset anymore. He's mad.
But the wires are crossed. Between the exhaustion of this week, the burning fire in his woefully trapped dick, and his annoyance with your mischief...
Do you think he hasn't been missing you? That his hand is even close to a satisfying replacement? That he hasn't been counting the seconds to his approaching free time so he can spend it pushing you through a mattress? You sneak into this meeting and torture him like he deserves it, like he's neglecting you intentionally; and you're probably grinning under there.
He wants to fuck that smile right off your face.
You know you're in trouble.
It's not how rough he's grabbed you, how hard he's pushing you away. It's the air around him. You hug his leg softly in a quiet kind of apology, the fog of lust giving away to some reason in your mind. Maybe this wasn't as sexy for him as it was in your head. You're still oddly prideful, knowing you almost made him blow a load down his pantleg in the middle of a meeting without even touching his bare cock, but--
"All right. We'll reconvene tonight. Rest up, guys."
You watch as feet shuffle, legs withdraw, and one part of your plan unravels before your eyes. Punch-Up. He hops down off his chair and locks eyes with you. Stops mid-step. You raise a finger to your lips and mouth, Shhhhhh.
He stifles laughter and keeps going.
"Waterboy, you good?"
Now you'll know for sure. He talks different when he's fuming.
"Y-yeah, yeah. Just. Gonna hang back. Tired. C-can you actually. Lock it? Might just. Nap here."
Oh.
Oh no.
"Sure thing, bud."
The silence that follows the click of that lock almost convinces you to teleport away. But you know for certain that will make him angrier.
Herman has never hurt you. He never even would. There's not a single cell in his body capable of such a thing. But you've got a feeling you have just triggered your first real fight, and you're already working on your apology speech when his chair squeals back. He lets you go finally, you blink, and he's under there with you. Nose to nose, wild-eyed, dripping like mad.
"Why?!" he breathes.
"I." A nervous laugh. "I've missed you."
"N-not when, this, not in a ser--important meeting."
"I know, I'm sorr--"
He kisses you. Tongue invading, teeth capturing your bottom lip, he's animalistic in the way he moves. You wore that skirt he likes, and his hands are already under it, fingers roughly seeking your underwear, and he's himself again when he finds you're not wearing any. That soft whimper that drives you insane. You bite your lip.
"H-how s-sorry?"
He's pulling his gloves off, fumbling his zipper down, hunched over you beneath this table. Pulling the straps of your tank top down low around your shoulders, exposing your breasts, licking his lips.
"Really sorry," you return, biting your lip.
He frowns, though. "I don't--you're lying. You just want..." He drags you closer, sliding his fingers towards your slit.
You thrust towards his digits, smiling a little, frustration rearing its head when he doesn't let you have a single one. "Maybe."
He shimmies out of his sleeves, careful not to crack his head on the table, and runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. "G-gotta be. Sorry. For real. Y-you could--I could be in. Trouble. You know?"
You arch back. He painstakingly drags his tongue up the inside of your leg, then sucks and kisses everywhere except where you want him to. "Herm," you whine.
His tongue skates dangerously close. You try to guide his head, but he just grabs your wrists in one hand. "How. S-sorry. Are y-you?"
"I'm sorry! I am! I swear."
Finally. Hot. Wet. He slips his tongue over your sex, the tip pressing into your clit, inching a finger inside. One knuckle. Two. Then he slows. He forms a seal around your swollen arousal, pulling back with a loud, sucking kiss. And he looks at you like you've never seen him before. "I just. Don't believe you. S-sorry."
"Herm." You sit up a little, moving to kiss him, and he flips you on your stomach.
His breath's against your ear, his pulsing head notched and ready between your folds. "N-not gonna. Let you--then give you. What you want. I s-seriously. If they saw. Th-this is. My job."
Nevermind the fact he is currently about to fuck you senseless under a conference table, he does have a valid point.
"I'm th-the only. Person my, who takes care of my grand--I need this. Job."
This is by far the hottest argument you've been involved in. He pushes inside and you exhale a quiet moan, face rubbing into the rough carpet. He's clearly not mad enough to give you rug burn, because he stuffs his hand under your cheek after the first slide, cradling you with a gentleness that contrasts with what the rest of him is doing.
Long, hard strokes. But slow. So slow, you're not jolting against the floor. Helplessly fluttering around him, utterly pinned, you try to throw back into him but he will not let you. "S-so. D-do you--does it make sense, now?" he grunts, bearing down.
You reach to play with your clit and he catches you in the act, pinning both hands above your head at the end of the playful struggle, that loving part of him breaking through the hard shell of his anger. You have no idea how someone can be rough and kind all at once, but he's not leaving a single mark.
Well.
Except for the ones he's sucking into your shoulders. He bites your neck for good measure, a silent command. Well? Say something.
"I--ahhn. I get it. I'm, I'm sorry. I am. I was just so fucking horny and--"
He fucks you a little harder to interrupt you, lifting your face to rest it on one of your restrained arms. He smooths it down, down, curving around your thigh, ever-so-slightly brushing your clit with his fingers. "Y-you need to. Think about me, too," his voice is wrecked, and you have a feeling he's already trying not to finish. "It's. Us. You, you know? We're, together. S-so. What you want. Isn't--shouldn't be, the only, thing."
He returns to the slow pace, every now and then indulging you with soft, eye-rolling circles. Every time you clench around him, he stops. You let out a sobbing whine. "I, okay. I get it. I really get it. I was being selfish and stupid--"
There's a soft laugh when he silences you again, burying himself flush, kneading your clit while he stills his hips. "D-don't, you're not. Stupid." A soft kiss, then another; from your shoulder blade, to your neck. He repeats himself, softer. "N-not stupid. M-maybe not even, selfish. J-just. Think about. Things. More. Didn't you get--I sent you. A message."
He's got you there.
"Wh-what you are, is, impatient."
Herman loses composure for a moment. For a moment, the confidence, the domineering air -- it falls away. "God, you feel s'good."
He closes his eyes. His grip softens. A long, relieved sigh follows, and the tension ebbs away. "J-just. Please. Wait, n-next time."
You're squirming against him. Fucking hell, please move. Please. He's rubbing your clit, throbbing inside you, and he knows it's not enough. He knows he's driving you insane. Fuck. He's getting back at you.
"I'll, hhah, I'll wait. Next time, I'll wait."
He drags himself out, then starts the rhythm again, but he pulls his hand away.
You almost cry. "Heeeeeerm," you whimper. "Please, please just--please."
"Promise." He lazily thrusts, like he's got nowhere to be for the rest of the week. You're getting sore in the shoulders. There's a muscle cramp creeping up on you in your thigh.
"I, I promise," you whine out, tensing too much. Trying too hard. He won't let you move the way you want to, and he won't move the way you crave. Not until he believes you. "I won't, I won't do anything that could get you in trouble, ever again, I promise. I'll wait. From now on, I'll wait."
"And. You're not j-just saying that, so, you can...?" He speeds up. Goes back to rubbing you just right. Smiling as he watches you go dumb. All you can do is nod, or shake your head? Cock-drunk, you do both out of pure inability to put a thought together.
He stops.
You actually do cry a little. Frustrated sobs through clenched teeth, and you snap at him. "I fucking said I promise!"
That takes him aback. You've never actually had a true blue argument before, with anger and cursing. He falters just a moment, and you don't want him to stop. Not now. You just want him to fuck you. So you hurry out, "don't, I'm, I'm sorry, I--I'm getting a cramp and it hurts and I just want you to fuck me. I missed you. I..."
He changes gears almost immediately. The weight shifts. He lets your wrists go. To your dismay, he pulls out of you, but the moment you're on your back, he guides himself right back in. Squeezing your thighs as he smooths his hands up and down them. "B-better?"
Nearly delirious, you just nod at him.
Herman lowers himself, kisses you sweetly, and uses an arm to protect your skin from the rough floor. "S-sorry," he mumbles. Then that look comes back; he slips his thumb between your lips, kissing your nose. "I b-believe you, now." A shuddering thrust gives way to more fluid ones, at the pace that makes you see stars, rolling his hips to grind into you when there's no more road to travel, watching you with ruby-red cheeks as you pant and moan around the thumb you've caught between your teeth.
He pulls it loose, trailing spit down your chin as he moves to cup your face, kissing you with a hunger only he can summon. You dig your heels into the carpet, bucking up into him, then ultimately lock your ankles around his back. The pressure's building to an unbearable degree, you choke out a please don't stop between his kisses, deeply fearing he will do just that. Just to tease you more.
But it seems he's satisfied. The score is settled. You're still in the middle of SDN, and this room is not soundproof, so you bury your face in his neck and fight so hard not to cry out too loud. You keep your mouth closed, clenching around him as the orgasm tears through you, setting every nerve in your body on fire.
He whimpers and fucks into you, desperately, hard, fast, skin slapping, haphazardly discarded clothes rustling, until he's straining through his teeth less than a minute later. Regularly Fucked Herman has huge loads. Pent Up Herman is trying to drown you from the wrong end.
There is a substantial mess on this carpet when all is said and done. A water spot. And a very. Very. Very large sticky spot. You quell the panic in his eyes with a kiss.
"We have forty-five more minutes. I can teleport. Tell me what to get out of the janitor's closet."
You hurry your outfit back together and kiss his forehead. "I'll clean it. My fault anyway."
He snorts. Looks a little guilty. Grabs your hand. "I'm. I. I was. Mad, I'm. I hurt..."
You hug him. He groans when you suck his earlobe. "That was the hottest fucking thing. Makes me want to piss you off again."
"Pl-please don't--we can just. Uh. Can't we, just. Pretend. We're mad? Or j-just tell me you...wa-want. That."
Now his hands are roaming for different reasons. Checking for rugburn. Soothing touches. Soft, loving holds. You cuddle close. "Mmm. Be more comfortable in a bed, too. How's your night looking?"
"I-if. The LA branch can spare, uh. The teams they said, I'll. Have th-three days off after. Today." He swallows. "Y-you?"
"Same." You're grinning, biting your lip. "I want you to fuck me like that all day tomorrow," you whisper in his ear. His needy whine cuts off when you teleport to get the supplies he asked for.
On his life, he doesn't know how he pulled you. He also doesn't know where any of that came from, or why he liked it so much, or why you liked it so much. He felt mean. Cruel, even.
He sits there observing the ground zero of his handiwork while you presumably fill a bucket with cleaning supplies so nobody sees what appears to be the aftermath of a water balloon fight in which some sick freak filled a few with cum.
Next time, though, he thinks. Next time it'll be on purpose. It won't feel like he was too much if it's planned, right?
When you return, he delays the plan further. Holding you close, curled up under your little table fort of debauchery. He trails fingers the way you like, soothing you, kissing you. Because he needs you to know he's not mad anymore, that he feels kind of bad.
"It didn't hurt that bad," you assure him, kissing his jaw. "I know. Herm. I'm never unsafe with you."
"I j-just never. I've. I'm not exper--I don't. Know where, um. I'm not. Usually like that."
"Well. You aren't usually having to get through a meeting with your girlfriend between your legs."
He barks out a laugh. "Y-yeah. Yeah. I guess. That's. True."
Mess cleaned. Evidence disposed of. Backup arrived, and he got his long weekend, in which you both fucked until you could barely move.
And, maybe, you awakened something in him. Aside from the domineering, teasing thing, at least.
Because he's under your desk at home a week later, giving you a taste of your own medicine while you try to get through an important phone call. He's got a feeling he'll be in for it once you're done, but for now, he finally sees your side of things.
She likes romantic touches. She likes soft kisses and longing suckelings on her neck. She likes hands tracing her waist and gripping her hips. She likes fingers intertwined and pushing her hair from her face. She likes gental presses on her belly or her back with a thick warm palm or rough calloused fingers trailing over her lips on long, soft nights.
But sex? Getting off? Being touched on her sensitive areas until she moans and begs? That's not for her. It's not enjoyable.
What is enjoyable, however, is watching.
And commanding.
The preparation before and the care after.
She likes choosing the partner. Likes flirting and trailing her fingers over their skin. She likes bringing them home, holding their hand and trailing them into the bedroom like an enthralled puppy dog. She likes laying them down and undressing them. She likes tying them up and gagging their pretty lips. She likes poking at and preping their holes. She likes licking her fingers clean and calling Colm in. Letting him take over, watching like a hawk from her chair in the corner. Legs crossed and lips upturned into a sadistic smirk.
She likes telling them faster. Harder. Pull back, move closer. Suck here, touch there.
She likes watching them obey and unfold.
And when they're done. She likes putting them back together. Washing them gently. Praising them. Kissing their tears and tipping sips of water between their lips.
She gets a strange satisfaction. Warm and happy. Curling into Colm's chest at night. Thanking him for being so soft, so romantic. And for accepting her just how she is.
Roberts never really celebrated his birthday. Chase tried when he was younger, but even he got too busy with hero work and then his dad died, so most of the time, it was Robert alone in the house with a candle in a twinkie and an empty feeling in his chest.
And he's fully prepared for the same thing to happen this year. A twinkie in the dark and beef panting out the candle. And it almost is, buying the treat from the vending machine and tucking the twin pack into his bag as he gets ready to head home.
But then Herm is tapping his shoulder. Smiling at him and handing him a Tupperware container of something. He frowns, turning and looking properly, seeing the team behind him all holding balloons and wearing party hats. Even Chad whoes arms are cross, clearly grumpy about it.
"Whats....all this?"
Chad huffs and Coupé blows a party horn without breaking her blank expression.
"You're old, Bob Bob. We're taking you out for drinks. So hurry the fuck up. I need to get drunk so fucking bad right now"
He rips the hat from his head and tries to fix his hair as Robert looks back down at the container and opens it. A comforting smell filling then air. Making his heart still.
"This is..."
Miyeokguk. It's Miyeokguk.
"Herm insisted. Said it was traditional or something"
Robert can feel his eyes stinging. Looking down at the beef floating in the broth. The seaweed plump and green. It's smells like his mum.
"Grandma helped-assisted with the beef and some-some of the chopping. Wet hands...you know. Slippery"
Herm chuckled awkwardly proud but nervous as Robert just keeps staring. Looking and dripping tears. Quickly closing the container before it can be ruined by his own salty liquid. Sniffling and wiping his eyes on the cuff of his work shirt. Trying to change the subject.
"How did you-"
"Yeah, mother fucker. I blabed. What you gonna do about it? Kick my ass with your skinny fucking twig legs? Yeah right. I'm taking Beef, have a good night and get shit faced, you deserve it"
Chase peaked from over his booth wall. Holding a leash and tossing a card onto his desk. Picking up beef and letting him lick Robert goodbye, getting pats from the team before they both head out. Chase shooting him a soft look full of a love so pure Robert forgets he isn't blood related for a moment.
"Come on. Bring your soup, you can eat it at the bar. I reserved us a booth"
Mal is gripping his shoulder. Picking up his bag and guiding him towards the group and into the trum of bodies. All slapping his shoulders and ruffling his hair. Wishing him well and teasing his age. Walking to the bar, soup in hand and a strange feeling in his chest.
He doesn't break down sobbing until he gets home. Soup and beer filling his belly. Carrying way more gifts than he deserves. Cheeks covered in lipstick marks and Chad's horrible singing voice still ringing in his head.
He blames the alcohol.
But he knows that's not why he's sobbing so hard he can't breath.
Swirling tongues, his taste, running your hands along soft damp skin 🤤
Maaaan -🧵🐯
thread tiger anon, i’ve missed you dearly! thanks for this lovely ask :))
suggestive content below
it’s important to preface that herm is a wet kisser. it comes with the powers, but hey! his lips are the softest and prettiest you’ll ever experienced
you’re gonna have to initiate the makeout during the first month or so of your relationship with herm cuz of his insecurities and anxieties (aka him being criticized for being a ‘poor’ kisser)
herm unfortunately has a genuine fear of his hydro breath activating during a makeout session and accidentally waterboarding you
he won’t use tongue at first, makeouts with herm in the beginning of your relationship are tender and chaste with herm giving you closed mouth kisses repeatedly and letting you slip your tongue in from time to time
then again, once he gets comfortable and you’re further along in your relationship, that’s when things get spicy (or as spicy as it can with sweet moist herm)
he’s more handsy, having a hand or both on your waist while you kiss. his lips taste like honeydew, even more so when you finally get a taste of his tongue inside your mouth. you can’t help but squirm a bit whenever you two make out, you can’t help it! you’re just full of love for this soggy noodle of a man (/aff)
also suck on his tongue, that’s a one way ticket to boner town lol
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