now @ chaseadrian @chaseadrian-archive - Tumblr Blog

Aug 28, 2025

here the whole time

it's been the longest winter of your life, the longest time of your life, and when you decide to try and reunite the group for a weekend trip in the woods, Adrian is the only one on board. he already calls you every day, a weekend alone might not be the worst thing in the world. maybe. [MASTERLIST]

pairing: adrian chase x f!reader tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, friends to lovers, weekend getaway, nip slip, light angst to mega fluff, caught masturbating, handjobs, blowjobs, adrian's a munch, facesitting, unprotected sex, happy ending, lowkey caught word count: 7.1k+ a/n: it's been a long two years. bye love u.

Nerves rattle your prickled skin as you trudge up to the old cabin, feet crunching days old snow. It wasn’t that you were necessarily scared to be in a cabin—alone, in the woods—with Adrian, just that you were scared to be in a cabin, alone in the woods—with Adrian. In the best of times, the team was a family of shelter dogs learning how to play for the first time, and sure, he was by far the least intimidating, but you were skittish anyway. Shelter dog and all that.

Things had gone mostly radio silent since Leota’s press conference, small concessions like a coffee with Chris here, beer with Harcourt there, phone calls and phone calls and phone calls with Adrian always. That was something you could count on, and as the weather chilled he ended up being the only one to jump aboard your pathetic reunion plans. Nothing seemed to be going right for anyone, and as the frosted door handle shot ice up your wrist, this seemed like just another thing gone wrong.

The cabin is quiet, lofted ceilings echoing your entrance, resounding silence feeling sinister in the quieting sunset. You’d discovered this defunct safe house a few years prior, coordinates on some outdated documents from an agency that ceased to exist in the revitalization of ARGUS and scuffle of superhuman bureaucracy. Once or twice a year you’d drop in to make sure it was, in fact, still safe. Sometimes you needed the weekend. When the world felt disorienting, this could right the ship.

You roll dusty sheets off and away from the furniture, revealing plump Tuscan Revival couches with tasseled pillows and wrought-iron tables inlaid with beige mosaics. It was a lovely little ritual, uncovering this time capsule, hearing the generator hum to life, figuring out the water pump yet again.

Stepping into the hot shower was a well earned reward, steam clouding the room, settling the tension in your shoulders. You cut past the sick swirl of disappointment in your stomach, knowing the team seemed disinterested in what felt, to you, like a huge gesture. The sensation curdled into a kind of warm seasickness when you thought instead about Adrian, the hours upon hours you must’ve spent listening to him on the phone.

“You call your mom this much?” You’d asked him once, eyes skirting a book you’d read before.

“No, why would I?” He laughed, “I see her at dinner every day.”

It wasn’t exactly a surprise, he did work a meager food service job and you’re certain those paychecks went straight to the Vigilante arsenal. Still, the shameless admission got your attention back to the conversation.

“Aw, wait, you live with your mom?”

“Yes.” Point blank, almost mocking as he continued, “All my Vigilante stuff is there. What, am I supposed to transport heavy artillery to an apartment? That’s real smart thinking.”

“No, no.” You chuckled, “It’s sweet, actually, but is it the safest thing for her?”

“Did you hear me? Heavy. Artillery.” He raised his voice, leaving a beat between words, “I think there’s something wrong with your connection. I’m gonna hang up and call you back.”

“No—”

The memory made you laugh out loud in the shower, and you floated in and out of similar distinct conversations. The first time he made an objective statement about your good looks, when he seemed to know exactly what book you were reading for the fifth time, the surprise breadsticks left outside your bedroom window and the phone call that followed, feigned ignorance. You didn’t even have to pay attention half the time, but the longer your call history got, the more attentive you became without really meaning to. There was communion, companionship, conversations about nothing and here you stood, stomach flipping in anticipation over a weekend face to face after so long apart.

You were counting on the others to ease relations, neither you nor Adrian could be called socially adept in any scenario—he too chatty, you too sparse. Still, it was nice he came through, you supposed, no matter how harrowing his full attention may end up being. Nerves shake away the nice memories, and you turn the heat up, zoning out in the scalding stream until it turns cold.

Water pools on the floor as you step onto the stone tiling, terry cloth bathrobe loose around your shoulders, shaking moisture from your hair like a wet dog. You toss your dirty t-shirt on the puddle, scuffing your feet on the sleeves to dry them before daring to step foot on the decades old carpet. Who knew what kind of random viscera you’d pick up walking around here with damp feet.

The hallway upstairs looks out over the living room, and you lean on the loft balcony rail, head on your forearms. It was still quiet, snow falling in gentle wafts as the last slats of sunlight overlaid the house in golden stripes. A still moment like this was always inevitably interrupted by Adrian calling, and you instinctively turn your phone in your hand. You weren’t sure when he meant to arrive, and the safe house cell jammers kept you from even checking in.

What used to be peace now felt like loneliness without his voice as the punctuation.

—

You make your way to the bedroom closet where you’d left your bags, singing under your breath. It was probably overkill, the amount you’d packed, for just a weekend, but there was something about dutifully filling the dresser each time. A little sense of permanence where you’d scarcely ever find it, making this place something of a secret home.

You’re just squishing down the last of your shirts when a voice startles you.

“Wow, you’re being so responsible.”

You spot movement behind you in the mirror of the closet door.

“Jesus Christ, Adrian.” Turning to face him, you pull the lapel of the robe shut, crossing your arms, “Why didn’t you announce yourself sooner?”

He slides off the bed to walk over, shrugging, “You’re always telling me to stop interrupting you, I dunno. Hey, that was a nice little song you were singing. Cascada?”

“What? No, not every song is Cascada.” You search his face for any sign of faltering, some guilt, anything other than his immovable ease. There was nothing, just a pleasant smile and an indestructible sparkle in his eyes.

“You like Cascada, though.”

“Sure, but like, just the one song.” Running a hand through your damp hair, you catch a couple knots and turn away from Adrian to work on them in the mirror.

“Should I get into pajamas too?” He puts his hands on his hips, nodding in your direction. “I did only pack my sleep boxers, though.”

“Sleep boxers?” It was a lot easier to look at him through the mirror, to pretend your attention was split. You’re not sure you had the bandwidth to handle full force Adrian right now.

“Uh, yeah, sleep boxers. You think I fight crime in the same underwear I go to sleep in? That’s gross.” He tugs off his long sleeve polo, undershirt jumping up his torso, having come untucked as he stretches to wrest the buttoned collar over his head. Your eyes flit to the curve of his pelvis in the mirror, and you yank too quickly on a knot, hissing to yourself.

It did annoy you that he could be so ridiculous and still look...like that.

“I—just leave the undershirt on. It’s not strip poker in here.”

He laughs, a hand over his belly, “That would be some high stakes, one round and you’re donezo.” A pout overtook his lips, “Peacemaker would love it.”

You turn to leave the bedroom, shoving your hands in the pockets of the robe, “Yeah, well, they’re all too busy, apparently.”

Adrian trails behind you, “Have you heard from anyone lately? Adebayo let me bring her dog a hat last week, but there was yelling and she wouldn’t let me inside.”

“I—” You freeze in your tracks, and Adrian brushes against you as he stops short. You knew things were bumpy with her and Keeya, but they seemed to be on the right track when you’d seen her last. But then, when was the last time you’d seen her? You shake your head, continuing down the spiral stairs to the living room, “I haven’t seen anyone in a few weeks. Economos texts me which, is nice, but he’s obviously stuck at Belle Reve.”

“Tell me about it. He hasn’t answered five of my calls in the last two weeks.”

“Oh,” There was a sting, knowing Adrian’s attention wasn’t entirely yours, that perhaps Economos was a better sounding board for his nagging, if you were still trying to convince yourself that’s what it was, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m learning all these cool new things, and if you don’t answer, and Economos doesn’t answer, I’m just memorizing facts for what?”

“For the betterment of the self?”

“Yeah, right.” He laughs, and you spin on your heels at the base of the stairs to flick the mop of curls on his forehead.

“Whatever, at least your hair’s evolving. Looks good.”

“It does?” His heel slips off the last step, and you reach out for each other, your hand finding the base of his bicep, his hand clasped on your shoulder.

Adrian’s lifts his gaze from the floor to you, his mouth stretching from a startled ‘o’ to an incredulous smile, “Woah, imagine I just died.”

“You wouldn’t have died.” Taking your hand away, you roll your eyes.

“How would you know? Half a million people die from head height falls every year around the world.”

“Seems like bullshit.”

He raises his hands defensively, “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

“See, now me shooting you? Much more plausible.”

“Me? What’d I do?”

You give him a firm shove square on the torso, “I’m just messing around. Come on, I need a drink.”

—

Six beers and one pair of sleep boxers later, you’re both stretched out on your respective love-seats, three decks of cards dumped in a pile on the coffee table between you.

“Do you have uhhh 8?”

“Go fish.”

“Fuck.” Adrian has his wrist propped on the edge of the coffee table with his cards splayed, he’s laying on his back, and he strains to reach into the pile with his free hand, “We should just go back to playing War, Go Fish is just a game of chance.”

The night hadn’t been as awkward as you anticipated. You jumped between card games, Adrian rattling on about his coworker’s recent promotion, his latest busts, and all the times his mom asked to meet you. Two or three times you’d overheard her in the background of your phone calls, “Is it that girl?” She’d say, sweet motherly voice, and Adrian’s impatient response, “Yes, mom, stop.”

It was flattering to be “That Girl” to his mom, even if you were far from it currently and unlikely to ever be so. Adrian never talked about sex in his own words, only parroted anecdotes from Chris, who was apt to embellish. Even if, big if, there was some part of you that was curious about him from a non-platonic angle, it didn’t seem like that part of life crossed his mind. At least, not in regard to you.

The best you could hope for, the best you could achieve, was right now. Tipsy on a comfortable couch, the ego boost of winning something low stakes, and Adrian’s eager attention.

“War took two hours, no. Any queens?”

He grumbles, handing over three cards and following your hand as you lay out another set of four.

“Sevens?”

He hands over a card, “Maybe the team didn’t want to come because they didn’t want to just drink beer and get smoked in card games.”

“Hmph.” The statement burst your content bubble, and you throw your hand of cards in the pile, “If this is so boring for you, you can go back to Evergreen.”

Pushing up on the heel of your palm, you take your beer to the kitchen and slide onto a barstool. It’s lukewarm by now, but you take a swig and try to ignore the resurgence of disappointment. Try, at the very least, to let yourself settle into apathy.

“What? No!” Adrian leaps over the armrest of the couch, “I’m not bored, I just know those guys can be sore losers, sometimes. But not me, this is fun.”

“Look, Adrian, you don’t have to lie.” You rest an elbow on the back of the stool, spinning to face him. “Things are bad, I think, for everyone. I thought, maybe, this would be what we needed to get everyone back on their feet. Beer, stupid card games, time together. But you’re the only one who showed up, so, you’re just stuck here with me and really, you don’t have to be.”

“The last thing I am is stuck, I have all weather tires, and I called out of work to be here.” He speaks plain, as always, and you feel like a prick for putting your own insecurities on his intentions.

You’ve seen, more than once, how willing he is to build bridges with people who’ve pulled the rug out from under him. It’s a betrayal on your part to presume he’d ever be disingenuous with his interest, with his time. He won’t hold it against you, which only serves to turn your hurt to shame.

“I bet the other guys would be here if they could. Like, Economos, yeah he missed five of my phone calls but then he sent me pictures of five cool birds he saw.”

You mull in silence. You didn’t want to feel placated so easily. It was confusing and frustrating that you could bare a bit of your heart and have him treat it so kindly.

“I guess...maybe, I’m just more lonely than I thought without them.”

“Yeah, it was nice to be part of a bona fide superhero team. I gotta be honest—and don’t tell Peacemaker I said this—those corporate weirdos in the Justice Gang just seem like freaks.”

“Isn’t he like, trying to join them?”

Adrian laughs, leaning toward you and bracing himself on the stool next to you, “He has an audition in six months.”

“Audition?”

You both laugh into each other, your hand coming up to cover your face, Adrian readjusting his glasses as they slide down his nose.

Everything feels easy in this moment, whatever small hurt that blurred your brain has instead faded to a light delirium. Beer and nerves and the sight of Adrian’s wide smile all that you seem to need.

He straightens up, clearing his throat, trying to hide his grin, “I didn’t think I would ever say this, but it’s good Peacemaker isn’t here. I think he’s great in pretty much every single way, but he doesn’t respond well to playful banter like you and me.”

You sat in the statement for as long as was reasonable. ‘Like you and me.’

How nice, you thought, to have a mutual dynamic. So often you were just bouncing Adrian’s words back at him, deflecting his attempts at deeper conversation with cavalier witticisms and sometimes downright mocking. It was a pleasant surprise to know it’d become its own entity between you two, unique marker of the friendship you had apparently built. For a long time, you only ever thought of your connection to Adrian as part of the larger team that was the ‘11th Street Kids.’

You were grateful that missed phone calls weren’t ever held against you, that he showed up when it counted, that he seemed entirely unfazed by the moments when you really just had nothing to say at all. This was your easiest relationship to maintain, but you never wanted to use that as an excuse to take him for granted. It was some kind of accomplishment, you realized, having a relationship with him that existed independent of anyone else.

“I’m still gonna give him shit next time I see him.” You run a hand through your hair, hopping off the stool, “Wanna get back to the game? We can play War if you really want to.”

Adrian’s eyes flit to your chest, “Your robe is open. Is that on purpose?”

You cross your arms over your chest, “No!”

He looks from your chest to your face and back again.

“Why on Earth would I have my tits out right now? Stop staring.”

“I don’t know!” He takes a step back in defense, eyebrows raised, eyes closed.

You hasten to re-tie the robe, pulling the lapel as shut as you can get it, “That was real egregious, Adrian.”

“Hey, I’m a feminist! Your boobs are totally sick and all but it’s no different to me than when Pea—”

“You know what, on second thought it’s like 2 am, that’s call time for me. Goodnight, Adrian.”

“Wh—”

“Goodnight!”

You’re already to the base of the stairs by the time he opens his eyes again.

—

You were far from tired, the thick red comforter swishing against your body as you try and fail to settle into the mattress. The silk pillowcases frizz up the back of your hair, and the fan whirs off beat above you. The robe lay discarded beside the bed, abandoned in favor of a soft tee and basketball shorts you’ve had since high school.

You’d taken a moment in the mirror after shucking the robe, pondering your figure. Could your tits be called sick? You never would’ve used that word, or, really any word. Sometimes you looked in the mirror and made note of a deepened smile line, a rough patch of skin at the crown of your cheekbone, the ebb and flow of muscle tone over your time in and out of the field. Flattery descriptions of a body that did its job never seemed useful to you.

Sick, though, that was kinda nice.

Kinda nice coming from Adrian, his innate ability to speak to what he believed to be objective fact. Nuance and subjectivity weren’t his forte—anything he said was the universal truth as far as he was concerned. So, great, cool, your boobs were sick.

His voice wouldn’t leave you alone when you slid into bed. The brief, flickering giddiness before he realized it was just a slip up, the weight of his eyes as they pulled to your chest.

This lifestyle wasn’t conducive to long term connections. Sure, you could pull up to a bar and take care of yourself with some stranger, but to be seen in that way by someone you had an established relationship with was entirely alien to you. To look in the mirror and know Adrian’s truth was that you were attractive, that you had worthwhile tits, and more than anything that these things never seemed to eclipse your foundation, it left you with a strange marriage of discomfort and satisfaction.

You’d seen the way Chris’ attraction to Harcourt colored their dynamic in the team, and even though she’d come around to some sort of acceptance, it was still a steady through-line nobody could ignore. The last thing you wanted was for some overt sexual fascination to change the way people treated you.

It was a fear that one day they could, but a comfort that Adrian, at least, never would.

Hours passes in similar form, tossing and turning in half-sleep, listening to the faint music from the living room. Beer bottles clink every once in a while, and when the beer bottles quiet they’re replaced by the early birds waking up outside your window.

Sunlight can’t penetrate the thick Venetian curtains in the room, but you’ve given up on real sleep at this point.

Rolling out of bed, you duck behind the curtains and stare into the winter dawn. The snow is a pale blue, trees fading into the distance. There’s a robin perched on Adrian’s car, its orange belly bright against the powdered roof, head tilting before it flits off into the tree line.

The allure of fresh coffee pulls you from the bedroom, and you drag your feet down the hallway, admiring the steady snowfall from the lofted windows, a hazy glow cascading over morning shadows.

And then, less than a whisper from the living room below, “Fuck.”

You duck down to peer through the railing, squinting as your eyes searched for the source of the muted muttering below.

Adrian’s silhouette was faint, facing away from you and carved out by the thin highlight of damp biceps, a knit throw obscuring his waist. You can see the slow up-down underneath, one of his legs pulled up and to the side, his knee resting on the lip of the coffee table.

You grip the railing on either side of your head, crouching on your tip toes, stunned by the sight. His moans die as they reach his throat, but the choked whimpers shoot warmth through your body. It felt good—right—to be seeing him like this. A small intrusion, but harmless if he never knew, harmless if you kept it to yourself. Burned the image into your brain, kept it tucked away in your chest, in your stomach, between your legs. You fixate on the way he presses a hand through his mess of hair, the curve of his hips, up, into his hand, and the way he sounds when he says—

...Your name.

You slip and drop to your knees, bones knocking on the iron, and Adrian shoots up on the couch, sitting against the back and looking around. Fuck, alright, well, it’s fine. That’s one slip for each of you this weekend, one’s allowed. Tit for tat, might as well have some fun with it.

“Having fun?” You stand up and cup your hands around your mouth, leaning forward on the railing.

“Fun? No, what, you just startled me awake, you’re lucky you’re not an intruder.” He yawns and stretches on the couch, reaching for his glasses as you climb down the stairs.

“Yeah, talk about lucky.” Propping an elbow on the banister, you stare at him in the dark. There’s a bulb of sweat rolling down the side of his face, his curls stick to his forehead, and the blanket bunches over his waist. He knots a hand further into his lap, throwing his other arm back over the couch.

“Quite a sight first thing in the morning, I thought you might’ve been in trouble, what with the way you were calling my name.” You prod, relishing the flipped script, markedly one of the first times you can recall having him at a disadvantage. He was bad at being dishonest, cues of truth writ in his body language.

“No I wasn’t, I said...” He trails off, working his mouth into a few different rhymes and abandoning each one, “Hey, you should’ve knocked.”

He felt awkward for once in his life, and you swallowed the power like a stone, smooth and hard and weighty in your abdomen as you poked at him, “Oh yeah? On what wood?”

Excitement swirling in your head, you cross the living room to kneel in front of him, resting back on your heels, edge of the coffee table pressing into your spine.

“I—whoa,” His arm falls from the back cushion as his eyes follow you, vice grip on the blanket loosening, “Is this on purpose?”

You nod, and Adrian pushes up on his knuckles, posture straightening against the cushion, the pale glow sculpting every tendon in his neck.

Pushing up on your toes, you knit your fingers into the blanket and tug it down his lap.

He watches with innate curiosity, but you shy away from the eye contact, leaning down to his thighs to press kisses to either knee. His breath catches, and he re-situates a hand on the couch, fingertips digging into the suede upholstery.

“It’s okay, Adrian.” You grab his hand, bringing it to your lips and pressing his thumb against your bottom lip, teeth parting as his other fingers situate against your chin and he pushes into your mouth. The pad of his thumb presses into your tongue, and he shudders as you bite down, scraping back over his skin.

Before you can move, Adrian hunches forward to meet your lips with his, swallowing your mouth in a furious kiss. It’s messy, teeth bumping, noses smashed, but it settles into a firm wash of sloppy tongues and exalted breath. His hand curls around the back of your neck, fixing into your hair, and he gives you a slight tug upward.

You climb into his lap, breaking the kiss to hover over him, admiring the glossy, far-away look on his face. The hand against your neck grazes down your back, playing at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I see your tits again?” He traces a finger from the base of your spine around front to your bellybutton, grabbing at your hip on the way.

“Go on.” You settle onto his thighs as he pulls the shirt over your head, his mouth ducking to envelope your nipple, free hand palming over the other. His tongue circles the prickled skin, groans vibrating from his throat, breath hot and sticky as he leaves behind wet kisses.

“Fuck, fuck.” Adrian mutters, sucking a hickey between your breasts, “Thank you, this is so—”

“Sick?” You finish for him with a laugh, and he slides forward, slotting your bodies together. A quiet yelp escapes your lips, and Adrian spatters kisses up your neck, whispering behind your ear.

“Helpful.” He kisses the base of your jaw, his hips hitching against you, hands firm on your hips, “I can picture you clearly now.”

You let your head fall back a moment, grinding down onto his pelvis, shivering as his mouth drags down your throat. If ever there was a second that you had him at your mercy, it was long gone by now.

“It really was an accident.” You slip a hand between your bodies, pawing the erection over his boxers, fabric slick with precum sticking to your palm.

“Oh, I believe you.” He spreads his legs further, sliding one out from under you, gently prodding you to get comfortable over his thigh.

Bracing yourself with one foot on the carpet, you drive your forehead into his, fingers wrapping around his erection as he encourages you to grind into him. Your nails dig into the couch behind him, the rhythm of your hand on his shaft faltering as heat builds in your cunt.

Adrian pries two fingers into your mouth, sliding to the back of your throat. Spit pools over your tongue, slicking up his fingers as he pulls them out and closes his hand over yours, forcing you to keep rhythm on his cock.

You let your eyes flutter closed, let yourself fall into his shoulder, rutting against him until you can feel the fabric of your underwear soaking through. You bite down into his neck, and he cries out in surprise.

“Shit, sorry, did that hurt?” You pull back, running a thumb over the mark.

“Yeah,” He nods, but the grip on your hand tightens, “It was really hot, though. Just, lemme—” He yanks his shirt over his head, hand coming back to grab at the back of your neck, guiding you back in, “There. Full access.”

You kiss at his cheek, nipping the corner of his jaw, pausing your own pleasure to focus on how taut he grows under your hand. His Adam’s apple hums beneath your lips, and as you regain a steady rhythm both his hands find home on either side of your face, bringing you back to his lips. His thumbs crest over your cheekbones, tongue breaking into your mouth, all spit and hungry kisses and the firm knotting of fingers and strands of hair.

Squeezing the base of his shaft, you swallow down his heady moans, bringing your hand up to the underside of his tip, thumb flicking over leaking precum to slick up the bulb of his cock. Adrian chases your mouth as you force yourself back from the kiss, and the desperate parting of his lips lights up your body with a giddiness you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before. You placate with a thumb in his mouth, yanking the boxers down and away as you drop to your knees.

His eyebrows knit as he closes his lips around your thumb and you close your mouth around him, sliding your lips down to his base and licking stripes back up the length of his shaft, salt and sweat on your tongue, free hand coasting up his abdomen. The muscles flex beneath your palm, and you moan onto his cock, bobbing slowly as he loses his composure entirely.

You can feel him struggling to hold back, letting your thumb fall from his mouth with a string of expletives. His hands stay at his sides, white knuckles cratering the suede fabric.

A pit forms in your stomach at the absence of his touch, the part of you that admired his attempt at chivalry was overwritten by furious need. Your cunt aches, a breeze in the cabin cooling the marks and moisture he’d left behind on your tits. Chill wanting eats at your entire body. You swirl your tongue over his head, feeling him up, hot flesh straining over tense muscle.

“Hey, um, I’m—if you, fuck.” Adrian sputters, and a hand comes to the side of your face, encouraging you to pull away.

You meet his eyes, sinking down.

Warmth floods your mouth, and you can feel his cock jumping with the succession of his orgasm, waves of cum hitting the back of your throat.

Adrian pushes you onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, cloaking you with his body like a weighted blanket, kissing into your mouth with renewed vigor. He mutters little platitudes between each kiss as he works his way down your body, you’re gorgeous and fuck, that was hot and scores more that you’re too dizzy to comprehend.

He pulls at your shorts, kissing at your hips when you hitch up to get them off, hands grazing back up your legs after he’s thrown the shorts off into the abyss.

This is more attention than you ever anticipated getting this weekend, even if sex was on your mind from the outset. Adrian liked to look at you, he talked a lot, and it was the most pleasant surprise that this attentiveness extended to the way his lips lingered over your body, the way he splayed his fingers out over your stomach and cupped you with his free hand, circling your entrance before a quiet, accidental ‘please’ from you concentrated the full spectrum of his focus to making you plead.

He latches his mouth to your cunt, lapping up your slit, saliva pooling on his fingers as he works you inside. It’s slow, almost torturous the way he presses his tongue against you. Subtle flicks of his tongue that just nick the nerves of your clit have you impatient, arching up into him. You knot your hands in his hair and fruitlessly signal your desperation. All you feel is the hard resistance of his teeth as he smiles up at you, pursing his lips to suck kisses between your folds.

“Fuck, Adrian, I need more.” You choke out, the back of your head falling heavy on the floor, a dull ache pale in comparison to the antifreeze in your veins. The shitty carpet yanks at your hair, and you stop pushing at Adrian’s head, opting instead to tug on the curly strands. “Please.”

A soft hum escapes his lips, and he circles the tip of his tongue over your clit, moving down as he presses it flatter against you. He breaks to nip kisses on your inner thighs, hands squeezing up your calves, “Would you sit on my face?”

“Anything.” You’ve given up the pretense of casual by now, if this ends up being just a one time thing fuck if you aren’t going to get everything you want out of it.

Adrian lays with his head nearly against the base of the couch, everything below the waist hiding underneath the coffee table, “C’mon.” He pats the cushion, a satisfied, dopey smile on his face, “Rest your head.”

You lean up on your elbows, laughing, out of breath, “What a considerate lay.”

It’s impossible to stop yourself from bowing down to kiss him as you crawl over, hand soft on his chest, heart jumping as he covers it with his own. This feels like an intimacy you aren’t used to, and you both settle into minutes of kissing, letting yourselves build from slow, languid kisses to exchanging the same air until you’re both gasping and he’s prodding you up to his face.

Sinking onto his mouth, you stretch your arms out over the suede, resting your head against your bicep.

He curls his arms around the back of your thighs and forces your full weight onto him, rocking your hips back and forth over the wet pressure of his mouth.

Your thighs buckle, hands scraping at the couch for something, anything to grab onto, and finding a throw pillow to dig your nails into. You bite the curve of the cushion, taking Adrian’s cue to ride his tongue. Grinding onto him, he groans and you crane your neck to see him tentatively stroke his tired erection.

“Don’t—” You try to speak between moans, but Adrian makes up the difference when you slow your hips, his nose prodding at you, a mess of saliva and arousal and you’re powerless to comprehend anything but the knot of pleasure that ties itself around your organs.

Breathing shallow, stomach flipping, you choke on whimpers. Where you falter, Adrian flourishes, both hands firm again on you, elbows spreading your legs apart, fingers splayed on either side of your hips. He drives you down, and you couldn’t decipher what he was doing with his mouth if you tried, but you know it sends rockets through you one after another.

Cacophonous moans crash over one another as your orgasm erupts into a cascade of shocks through your body. You can feel Adrian humming against you, his hands combing over your abdomen. He slides them around your back, tracing your shoulder blades, soft caresses converse to the filthy work from his mouth. He supports your weight when you start to lean away from him, his forearms a warm pillar of relief, fingertips curling over the slope of your neck.

Your breathing hitches, and Adrian keeps you on his tongue until you’re squirming away from his touch, the sensation curdling in your body, only an ache between your legs now. You fall away from him to the side, a leg splayed over his torso while you regain your composure, gaze fixed on the wobbling ceiling fan.

Adrian wriggles out and up next to you, pressing chaste kisses to the side of your breast before he flops onto his back, your shoulders sticking together, “I’m probably going to be hard for like, the entire morning, now.” There’s disbelief in his voice, no indication that you should necessarily do anything about this for him, just amazement to have experienced it at all.

Turning, you crane your neck up to kiss him, swallowing the whimper of surprise that falls from his lips as your hand coasts down his body and back onto his shaft.

“All that and you think I don’t want you to fuck me?” You tut, squeezing at his base, thumbing his head, making quick work to get his cock as hard as you had before.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” He stutters, frozen underneath you.

You laugh into his mouth, and he reaches a hand up to your jawline, smiling with you before giving a quick pinch to your chin. His body envelopes you, knee slotting against your cunt, his other leg hooking underneath to spread you open.

“Oh!” Adrian hovers above you with a hand on either side of your head, “Do you need a condom?”

Leaning up on your elbows, you peck at his mouth, “If you need one, but I’m not fussed either way.” Grazing your teeth along his jaw, you bite into the sinew of his neck and suck a harsh hickey into the skin, whispering against him, “You can cum inside me for all I fucking care, Adrian.”

He buckles toward you, erection brushing the curve of your stomach, that beautiful, glossy look in his eyes once again.

You skate an arm around to his back, guiding his weight onto you, hips hitching up as you reach down and grab him. You slide the slick bulb of his cock along your cunt to line it up at your entrance.

As he fucks into you for the first time, Adrian tries to meet you with a kiss, but the sensation is overwhelming for you both, moans mingling in the space of your failed kiss, his hand coming around to cradle the back of your head.

The pressure in your cunt is overwhelming, every thrust hitting you with renewed sensation. He ruts against you, free hand on your hip, whining into your mouth as you tug on his hair.

“God, Adrian, you feel fucking ridiculously good.”

“I like—fuck,” He kisses your cheekbone, muttering, “I like how my name sounds when you say it.”

Overwhelmed as you may be, in this moment you feel safe more than anything. His hand cradling the back of your head, lips making their way over your face, the eager acceptance of your need and moreover the gentle encouragement of your affection. You would be lucky to have Adrian’s attention all the time, to be the person he always looked at like this.

He broke the moment to replace his cradling hand with a throw pillow from the couch, arms hooking underneath your thighs to hike you off the ground and fuck you on his knees. His eyes rake down your body, fixating on the way your tits bounce and the pout of your open lips.

You admire the glistening sweat on his abdomen, the tendons in his neck straining, glasses askew on his face. It’s a struggle keeping your eyes open, every pulse of pressure driving your head back into the pillow, screwing them shut, but you furrow your eyebrows to meet Adrian’s stuttering gaze.

“Kiss me.” You plead, and Adrian darts down to satisfy you, moaning as you wrap your legs around his lower back, hands on his shoulder blades holding your bodies together.

It’s never been so intoxicating before, kissing someone. Sex was sex historically, and kissing felt like a necessary introduction to casual intimacy where history didn’t exist as a crutch. With Adrian, this was every pause at the end of a conversation, all the times you let your touch linger as you stitched him up, one and a billion more moments of his eyes on you and yours on his and the rest of the world blurry in what felt, at the time, like nothing more than your usual social confusion. For so long, clarity felt like something you would earn when you figured him out, a well deserved reward for making strides toward camaraderie.

And clarity did come.

With his mouth on yours and the feverish bucking of his hips, you found yourself crashing into another hot white light, sensation burning behind your eyes, fuzzing your brain. You clamor for him, for the heat of your bodies together, for the security of his arms around you as spasms courses through you in electric waves.

Adrian obliges, sliding his hands underneath your neck and behind your back as you arch upward into the orgasm.

“I—ah,” He slows, “I can cum inside you? Really?” The words fall out of his mouth into a jumble of syllables, and he jolts as you whine an affirmative into his mouth.

“Yes, Adrian, please, please.”

Fatigue is creeping into your body, the lack of sleep catching up to the moment. Your grip on Adrian goes slack, but as he careens into his orgasm you card fingers through his hair, offering soothing platitudes as he fills you. There you go, and good boy, Adrian, and you feel so, so nice.

He settles onto your chest, arm heavy over your stomach, leaning into your touch as you smooth your fingers over the back of his hair, working out dried knots in the curls.

“That was...” You pause, bringing a hand up to comb through your hair and Adrian high fives you.

“Badass, definitely.” He presses a kiss to your chest.

“Yeah.” You laugh, yanking the discarded blanket over your bodies, “Totally badass.”

“This was a good idea. We always have great conversations, and it was sweet that you wanted to do a whole weekend of them, but you certainly can’t do that over the phone.”

“Well, you can do a version of it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not as fun.”

“Definitely not.” Pausing, you look down at him, “Does that mean you, um, want to...hang out more?”

“I would love that, I’d also be down to have sex more.”

You scoot to meet his face, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, “Yes, I’m sure we can make that work.”

“Good, cause those are once in a lifetime tits, I’m not even sure my memory would do them justice.”

Laughing, you wipe exhaustion from your eyes, “I didn’t sleep at all last night, I’m gonna make coffee.”

Adrian sits up next to you, stretching his arms up, “I have sugar packets in my car. I’ll grab them.”

“Don’t worry about it, I have sugar and cream.”

“Mmm,” He grazes a knuckle over your cheekbone, shaking his head, “They just taste better in the packets.”

“Suit yourself.”

You both yank on clothing, and Adrian runs a hand over the indents left on your skin from the harsh carpet, shuddering at the texture.

As he trudges out the front door in a big winter coat, you hear a muffled, “Oh, hey guys!” from outside.

You tip toe to the door frame to peer out, expecting him to be greeting a squirrel or maybe a flock of birds by his car.

“Look who made it!” Adrian notices you as you notice them.

The entire team, sans Economos, sitting irate with their collars buttoned halfway up their faces.

Harcourt is the first to get up, “You guys having fun yet?” she says as she turns to offer Adebayo a hand.

Everyone stands in silence for a beat before Leota takes one step forward to embrace you in a loose hug, giving you a stilted pat on the back. She wipes her hand on her coat, forcing her lips into a smile.

“Surprise?”

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