laying my head in steve’s lap so he can scratch my head with his big hands
waaaahhhhh.... Yeah. steve's the ultimate snuggle bug and dotes on you like it's his full time job
there's some movie playing on the TV that neither of you are paying particular attention to. the volume is low and it's late and you're just enjoying each other's company after spending most of the day apart. you're curled up together on the couch, all tangled with limbs lazy and you feel like you could melt into him. so you do. you let yourself reposition to where your head is in steve's lap and your arm is dangling down to do something stupid like stick your fingers underneath the elastic of his sock to stay warm
and steve thinks this is the most normal thing in the world. he doesn't even think twice about bringing a hand up to your head and smoothing over your hair. he's using his calloused fingers to sweep some of it out of your face and to gently tuck some hair behind your ear. and then he's lacing those fingers into your hair that's been freshly shampooed and is still a little damp and just mindlessly moving along your scalp, applying a little pressure here and there in small circles. the short edges of his nails press in every so often as he moves his hand up and down and around the crown of your head. he's twirling strands up into his fingers before letting them fall back down and smoothing over your hair again. he's practically brushing through your hair and pretending to find tangles just so he can keep running his fingers through it from the base of your skull. your eyes are getting tired and you feel sort of weightless and steve looooves the small hums of approval you give him when he applies some sweet pressure near your temples and behind your ears
and yeah definitely do not think about how large his hands are. how they're bigger than your face and practically envelope the back of your head. how the other hand that's not giving you a full on scalp massage is rubbing up and down your side soothingly, is curling around your hip, is tucking underneath the waistband of your sweatpants to swipe his thumb over your skin for comfort and nothing more. definitely do not think about that
hi Lev… this morning I am thinking about Steve Harrington and his new freckles… he did yard work yesterday and there are four new ones on his jaw… I want to call him Stevie and kiss on him and make him blush…. that is all!!!! 🫡
sorry this is soo late but ily for this lulu... what started as a smutty drabble abt scent/sweat kink evolved into something very soft... still, 18+ mdni!
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
You find him in the kitchen, chest heaving where he's bent over the sink. One hand braced against the countertop, the other gripping the edge as cold water streams straight into his mouth.
It spills faster than he can keep up, dripping over the curve of his lips, tracing shiny rivulets down the column of his throat. His neck works with each swallow—slow, heavy gulps that make his Adam’s apple bob.
You watch, mesmerized, as the water escapes his mouth in scattered drops, sliding down his chest and into the damp fabric of his tank top.
The shirt clings to him the way summer clings to skin, thin white cotton turned sheer in places, stuck to the soft swell of his stomach as he breathes through the exhaustion.
Still flushed from being outside all day, the gold-burned tone of someone who overcommitted to the idea of a backyard garden because you mentioned—casually, just once—that homegrown tomatoes would be nice this summer.
Steve Harrington heard that and thought, I should build an entire garden from scratch.
He notices you staring and emerges from the basin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What?” he huffs, chest still heaving.
“There’s new ones.”
“Hm? New what?”
“Freckles, Stevie.”
The nickname alone turns the tips of his ears pink.
You grin, slowly closing in on him until he’s cornered between your body and the cool marble countertop he insisted on installing himself last year, because trust me, baby, it’ll look classy.
Now, he’s very much trapped.
Pinned against it while you slide between his knees, fingers hooking into the sweat-damp collar of his tank top.
Steve stumbles forward, laughing breathless, both hands landing on your waist to steady himself.
“Baby,” he pants, “I’m so gross right now.”
You shush him softly, fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. His face is hot beneath your touch, flushed with exertion and sunlight.
When you tuck your fingers under his chin, tilting his head toward the late afternoon light spilling across the kitchen, he goes easy for you.
Four new freckles bloom along his jaw.
Tiny, perfect sunspots on golden skin.
“Baby...”
You kiss the first one before he can keep talking.
Just a small press of your lips at the edge of his jaw, his skin hot under your mouth—salt from sweat and the faint sweetness of coconut sunscreen, baked in from the July sun.
Sweat and sun and Steve.
You could drown in it.
The next kiss lands on the second freckle.
Then the third.
By the fourth, he’s laughing, helpless, shoulders shaking under your hands while his whole face turns steadily pinker.
“Okay, okay,” he huffs, ducking his head, grin wide and embarrassed. “Jesus.”
You smile against his jaw. “No, hold still. I’m inspecting.”
You love him like this.
Your confident, smooth-talking boy caught off-guard, flushed and vulnerable. Blushing so hard you can’t tell if it’s the sun baking him pink from hauling lumber all afternoon, or the way your lips won’t stop chasing his freckles, dragging across sweat-slicked skin.
Your nose drifts to the side of his neck, the first deep inhale rushing to your head.
Like the first burn of a shot on an empty stomach. The dizzying high of a drag held too long in your lungs.
Warm and earthy—that sharp tang of sweat and the musk of a body that's been working hard all day so you wouldn't have to lift a single finger—all mixed with that clean citrus of his shampoo in a way that’s entirely, uniquely Steve.
Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his tank top, pressing into the feverish heat of him. His muscles tense under your palm as your nails drag light, teasing patterns over the sensitive skin around his happy trail.
You feel the steady rise and fall of his ribs, the faint shiver that runs through him when your fingers inch toward the waistband of his jeans.
He tries to pull back.
“Baby, wait—” he laughs weakly, flushed everywhere now. “Let me shower first, I—”
“Nope.”
“I’m all sweaty.”
“I know.”
“Sweetheart.”
“You smell so good, Stevie.”
He makes this helpless sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan—a slow, burning smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. His forehead drops against your shoulder while you keep trailing kisses down the side of his neck.
You inhale again, deep, practically tasting him, and he shivers right through you.
“Wanna suck you off right here,” you murmur against his throat.
Steve chokes on air.
“Jesus—”
The soft thud of your knees on the tile cuts him off entirely.
His head snaps down toward his chest, one hand flying back against the counter, the other threading into your hair without thought.
“Hah—baby, you…” His laugh is weak, dazed already.
He genuinely doesn’t know what to do with you sometimes.
Whatever thought he had dissolving completely at the sight of you there, on your knees, lashes lowered, hands gliding slowly over his thighs.
His head tips back against the cabinet with a soft thunk, lashes pressing together for a moment as sweat beads at the corners.
You rest your chin against his stomach, watching as his eyes slowly flutter open.
And there’s always a moment—every time you love him like this—when he gets this look on his face.
Soft and open, clearly a little overwhelmed by how fiercely he's adored.
The freckles you find before he even notices.
The faint lines gathering at the corners of his eyes, earned from a lifetime spent laughing.
The way his old shirts fit a little snugger now, molding to his chest and stomach in ways that make your hands itch to explore.
Even the faint silver strand at his temple you discovered last month, one he tried to laugh off until you kissed it so softly he forgot how to make it a joke at all.
You love all of it. Every changing, ordinary, beautiful piece of him.
And what seems to undo him most is the wordless certainty that none of it ever makes you look away. That every freckle and every line is held, treasured.
It's the certainty that you'll still be here years from now, counting the freckles that shift and multiply, tracing smile lines as they deepen, pressing gentle kisses to every new silver strand, learning the changing map of his face the way someone memorizes the way home.
And Steve recognizes something in that.
Because it lives in him, too.
The same instinct to memorize you as time carries you both forward—to notice the smallest changes in your expression, the subtle shifts in your voice, the way your laugh sounds different depending on the day, the hour, or the light spilling through the window.
To love you, not just as you are, but as you are becoming.
summary: still living with your ex was the absolute worst. you don’t even know what the hell you saw in gator tillman to begin with! but you two should really invest in separate beds.
cw: 18+, minors dni, angst, smut, lots of arguing, oral (both parties receiving), p in v
wc: 5.5k
You and Gator had been broken up for an entire month now. An excruciating month and not because you missed him. No, the complete opposite actually. Because you and Gator still live together. You signed the lease together, it was hard to get out of and well, rent is expensive. You didn’t have the kind of funds to move out and neither did Gator. So here you were, separated yet still sharing the same bed.
And it was hell, truly, truly and deeply hell.
Most days, you wondered what the hell you saw in Gator to begin with. The first big argument was about who would sleep on the couch, and you and Gator are equally stubborn so the result was a barrier made of pillows between the two of you. But the arguments increased exponentially. You guys couldn’t have a conversation without bickering.
You get home from work, open the door and trip on Gator’s boots. Because he took them off. Right when he got in the door. And left them.
It feels like it’s on purpose, like Gator’s doing everything in his ability to piss you off. You can’t remember if he did these things when you were madly in love and you just ignored it or if he’s actively trying to irritate you. You kick his boots to the side and call out, “Gator! Move your fucking boots!”
He doesn’t respond, and you walk into the kitchen where he’s made an absolute mess. And you know he wasn’t like this before, Gator never left messes after cooking. You heave a sigh and start to call out again, “For fucks sake, Gator! What the fuck is your—“ you turn and see him standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his underwear, holding a plate, “problem.”
You used to actually really enjoy Gator’s disdain for wearing clothes around the house. Now it’s extra annoying. Because he looks good, he always looks good. All your friends think you’ll get back together unless you move out but you’re determined. Just to prove to everyone you can do it. There’s no way Gator’s irresistible. You can resist him.
He looks at you and smirks, “My problem is standing right in front of me.”
Oh, yeah, you can resist him.
“Do the fucking dishes, clean the kitchen, you made a huge fucking mess,” you complain with a roll of your eyes.
Gator snorts, moves past you and drops his plate in the sink, “Alright, mom.”
“Don’t do that,” you huff, moving to the refrigerator and opening the door. You’ve been thinking about the last of the lemonade all day. There was enough for one glass. However, upon inspection, Gator’s drank it all and left a tiny bit at the bottom. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“What?” he turns to see what you’re upset about as you hold the plastic jug up. Then he shrugs, “I left you some.”
You slam the jug on the counter by the sink and huff out, “You’re so annoying. I’m going to change and then I’m going to the gym. So you can go ahead and do whatever it is you do.”
“Wait!” he whines, “I wanna go.”
You freeze, because you and Gator used to go to the gym together every time. But he hasn’t gone with you since the break up. It was a pretty big way you two spent time together. In fact, you’d hated going to the gym until you went with Gator. Him going with you blurs the lines a bit and you’ve been really good at keeping them crystal clear.
“Gator, we’re broken up,” you say.
He scoffs, “Yeah, I know. It’s just the gym, ain’t like I’m asking for sex. Jesus Christ.”
Your heart beats a little faster at the mention of sex because if you’re totally honest with yourself, that is something you did miss. Quite a lot. Hell, you haven’t had an orgasm since the last one he gave you. A whole month ago. Your routines were still the same, waking up and going to bed at the same time so there weren't a lot of opportunities to get one by yourself in.
“Fine. But you’re cleaning the kitchen as soon as we get back,” you huff before stomping to the bedroom to get changed.
At the gym, it’s even worse. You’re on the stair master and you can see Gator across the way, and you’re just watching in awe. He’s sweaty, his muscles are flexing and you’re thinking about how it felt to be wrapped in his arms.
He lifts his weights and the muscles are truly bulging. You should look away. You have a very good reason for breaking up with him in the first place, but watching him work out has you practically forgetting that reason.
Gator was definitely toxic. He’d gotten a bit better the longer you two were dating but it just wasn’t enough. Perhaps you guys were just too different. It was a snowball effect, basically. Enough little things that piled up to the point you couldn’t handle it anymore. You had to break up with him.
But there he is, looking so fucking good so effortlessly. And you forget every awful thing he did in the three years you’ve been together.
You think about your friends and how upset they’d be, how they’d tell you they told you so. Hell, they probably have a bet going. This isn’t exactly the first time you and Gator have broken up, but it’s lasted the longest. And that’s a good sign. So you peel your eyes away, lock your eyes back on your phone.
Gator keeps tossing and turning in bed. Every time he does, he pushes the little pillow barrier into you. And you push it back every time. The struggle goes on five or six times before Gator’s yanking the pillows up and tossing them off the bed.
“Would you go to sleep?” you seethe, turning to look at him.
“I’m fuckin’ tryin’,” he groans, kicking his legs in irritation. Sometimes Gator gets restless legs at night. When you were together, you’d help by rubbing lotion on them and giving him a bit of a massage. But you’re not together, so you’re not doing that.
Looking at him a little closer, you realize that’s not his problem. His face is flushed and he looks over at you with all too familiar eyes. He chews on his bottom lip and has the nerve to look needy. Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. You two are not doing that. You broke up for a reason.
You open your mouth, about to scold him but he speaks first.
“Could we cuddle?”
And you almost break. Almost. The longing tone in his voice ignites embers deep in the pit of your stomach and nearly takes your breath away. You clear your throat before asking, “Hypothetically, if I say yes, is something hard gonna poke me?”
Gator laughs, that raspy voice is tempting you to say yes to cuddling. Regardless if he’s got a boner.
And he does admit, “Yeah, probably.”
“Alright. That’s definitely a no, then.”
He whines then, “Come on! Please? I just wanna cuddle, I can’t sleep. It’ll help me sleep. I won’t do anything.”
“Gator, I know you,” you argue. “You’ll start humping me.”
He scoffs, “It’s not my fault, it’s your asses fault. For being humpable.”
Which makes you giggle and shove at him. He grabs your wrist and keeps your hand against his bare chest. Pouts his lips and says, “Come on. Just a cuddle.”
“No, Gator,” you pull your hand back and roll over.
“Geez, alright, you’re a real fuckin ice queen,” he mumbles, rolling over onto his other side.
Another bout of him tossing and turning before he grabs his phone, rolls out of bed and goes stomping toward the door.
“Are you actually gonna go jerk off in the bathroom?” you guffaw.
“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” he groans, slamming the door on his way out.
And you lay there, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about what he’s doing. You can picture it clearly. You’ve watched Gator jerk off a handful of times, you know how he does it. Well, at least how he does it when he knows you’re watching.
He likes it to be really wet, either with spit or lube or lotion. And you have a big bottle of lotion in the bathroom, so you imagine him pumping some into his palm and spreading it over his impressive cock. That was part of why letting go in the past was hard, impossible even— Gator had a really, really nice dick. Long and thick, round head, curved slightly to the right. You used to be obsessed with it. Fuck, maybe you still are because you’re imagining him stroking it with a ton of lotion. His phone is probably playing some porn, set on the bathroom counter while he tugs at his cock. And it’s making you uncomfortably wet. You can feel it on your thighs, you consider touching yourself but you’re certain you don’t have time. Gator will be back soon.
So what you actually do is put the pillow barrier back up and lay back down.
Gator comes back a couple minutes later, heaves a really dramatic but happy sigh and dives into the bed.
“You’re disgusting,” you say for good measure.
“Jerked off to your nudes,” he snorts, rolling on his side and pulling the blankets to his side.
The thing is, Gator hasn’t told his dad that you two are broken up. So every Sunday, you go with him to church and then brunch at the ranch. And you hate it, you’re not really the religious type but in the past, you compromised because it’s a big part of Gator’s life. Or, well, his dad makes it a big part of his life.
Gator’s behavior isn’t exactly god honoring. You’ve never seen him pray aside from church and meals with his family. You know he’s got some secrets, he won’t ever really talk to you about work. Always says he can’t and you never really pushed, because you didn’t want to know what Gator got up to. You knew the way his dad ran stuff was pretty corrupt so you figured the less you knew the better.
“Why haven’t you told him?” you grumble, in the passenger side of Gator’s pickup.
He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on the road and takes a long pull from his vape. The smoke billows out, acidic and artificial strawberry scent filling the cab. You roll down your window, watching as the smoke is sucked out down the highway.
In a stern and strained voice, Gator says, “I can’t.”
You know better than to push right now. You don’t need Gator in a bad mood at the ranch. That never ends well. So you sigh, look out the window and prepare yourself for the lying. Roy always pressures you and Gator to get married and start making babies. It’s a whole thing.
The sermon goes fine, all things considered. Gator holds your hand during it and you let him because otherwise his dad would know something was up. He picks up on body language. Like he has some sixth sense for it.
At one point though, Roy mentions how couples living together premaritally are living in sin. And he stares right at you and Gator as he says it. Gator goes rigid at that, so you squeeze his hand. You get it a little bit, but seriously, Gator is a grown man. He should stand up to his dad at some point.
During the meal after, Roy says to you and Gator, “Glad you two could make it.”
You guys come every single Sunday.
Then he says, “What did you think of the sermon?”
You nod, “It was lovely.”
Gator puts his hand on yours and nods in agreement. Then Roy asks, “And the premarital part? Mentioned that especially for you two. You can repent and repent but there are some things the Lord just won’t forgive ya for.”
God, the strength it takes for you to not roll your eyes. You just look at Gator, he’s the one that put you in this mess in the first place. He nods again, “Heard loud and clear. I’ve been thinking about it, praying on it.”
“It’s in your hands, son,” Roy says, “God and I have given you all the guidance we can, you just gotta get your shit together and listen.”
“I know, dad, I will,” he says, looking like a scolded puppy.
And you just look at him because this is just making it all worse. His dads just gonna be more pissed the longer they drag this on because Gator is not planning on marrying you, you’re fucking broken up!
You help clean up, like the women do at the ranch while all the men sit around the table and talk. Gator looks so stiff, on edge and you feel guilty. You’re the one who broke up with him, but there was only so many times you could tell him you were unhappy. He wasn’t doing anything to fix it. But you feel bad, so you rub his shoulder comfortingly between picking up things from the table. You play nice with Roy’s wife and daughters, along with her parents.
But you’re so relieved when Gator walks into the kitchen and says to you, “It’s time to go, darlin’.”
You have Gator some time to stew on the way home. You wanted him to feel bad. But as soon as you get in the door, you tell him, “You have to fucking tell him, Gator. I can’t do that shit anymore. I feel like they’re all staring at me and judging me and think I’m this big fucking whore just because you and I live together.”
“I know,” he whispers, sits on the couch and starts taking his boots off.
It’s quiet, you don’t like that. You want him to fight back, you realize. So you put your hand on your hips and say to him, “Well, fucking do it. Stop being a fucking coward.”
That seems to work, he stands and raises his voice, “I can’t fucking do it, you don’t get it. You’re just a fucking selfish lil brat. You ain’t ever thinking about anyone but yourself.”
“I spent way too fucking long not being selfish, Gator! I did— fuck, I’m still doing it for you, I can’t do it anymore,” you exclaim, your heart racing as you feel tears prickling your eyes. You always cry when you’re angry, you wish you didn’t. Especially because Gator usually bitches about it. Like he does now.
“Oh, my god, don’t start fuckin’ crying! I already feel bad, stop trying to make it worse,” Gator spits out, stepping closer to you.
“I ain’t doing it on purpose, Gator! I can’t help it, I just fucking cry when I’m mad,” you explain, wiping the tears away.
“Why are you so mad? Was I that fuckin’ awful?” he asks, stepping even closer and raising his brows.
You look up at him, hating that he can be so intimidating. Gator never gets physical, but he will yell at you. He’ll scream in your face until he gets what he wants. But you can do it too, can’t you?
“You were! You were really fucking awful! You never ask about my day, you never wanna talk about things, you never ask what I wanna do. It’s all about you and I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you argue back, poking his chest for emphasis.
His eyes drop down to where your finger is, and he smiles. It feels eerie, but also, Gator has a lovely smile and you can’t help but warm up to him a bit. Especially when he grabs your wrist and moves it behind your back, using his experience to his advantage. His other hand grabs your other wrist and he’s got you detained easily. You hate that it turns you on, but it does.
He leans down, you can feel his breath fan against your face as he asks, “Yeah? You want me to fucking worship you, is that it?”
Heat bubbles in your core, you inhale sharply and lean into him. You do want that. Your voice is shaky, quiet when you say, “Yes.”
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he laughs, “See, that makes things a bit complicated, darlin’. I wanna be worshipped, you wanna be worshipped… how we supposed to manage that?”
“We can’t,” you exhale, “That’s why we’re broken up.”
“But you want me to worship you, and I want you to worship me. So we ain’t gonna be all that happy apart, are we?” Gator points out, and he isn’t wrong.
“Uh…”
“You want me, I want you. Why should we deprive ourselves of that?” Gator purrs, nose nudging against yours. His eyes are dark, needy again.
You swallow then, “‘Cause one of us is gonna be unhappy.”
“Compromise, baby,” Gator leans down an inch more, captures your lips in a kiss. It’s not urgent, it’s hesitant, like he’s giving you an opportunity to reject him. And it’s a bit of a compromise from him already. Giving you more agency in the situation. He compromises further by letting go of your wrists, but your hands immediately go into his hair while you deepen the kiss, messing up the gel cast. You like when his hair gets all floppy.
His hands cup your jaw, catching up with the pace, he licks against your lower lip and you open for him. Gator kisses you filthy, walks you backwards to the dinner table and pushes you back onto it. He stands, pushing your dress up and tugs down your underwear. You kick your heels off and aid in the movement, lifting your hips so he can expose your core. This is definitely a compromise. Gator never goes down on you. But here he is, pulling your ass to the edge of the table before getting on his knees. You spread your legs, gazing down at him in awe.
Those big eyes look up at you, large hands wrapping around your thighs as he inches closer. Gator kisses your pussy, tenderly. Then you feel his tongue, rigid as it moves up and down your folds. You gasp and cry out, watching him as he licks at you. His tongue circles your clit, teasing you. He won’t quite put his tongue on it, so you narrow your eyes at him.
“Don’t tease, Gator, that’s not nice.”
“Who the hell said I’m nice?” he snorts as he pulls back, squeezing your thighs.
“No one,” you admit on an exhale, “but I want you to be nice to me.”
“Hmm,” he thinks on it, “Yeah, I guess you deserve it, huh?”
You nod at him, “I do. I’m so nice to you all the time. Just want you to be nice to me.”
“I’m nice to you,” he rolls his eyes, and then he finally gets his tongue back on you. Broad on your clit, moves his head up and down and then side to side.
Your back arches, feeling waves of euphoria run through you. Gator keeps his eyes on you, like he’s gauging your reaction. He needs the guide, because he really doesn’t ever do this to you. And it’s unfortunate because really, Gator is actually so good at it.
Curling his tongue around your clit, he pulls a hand from your thigh and you feel two fingers prod at your entrance. He gives a short laugh, because he feels how goddamn soaked you are. He pulls them away though, like he was just checking but then his tongue sinks down and slides into your center. You moan out, hand slipping into his floppy hair and you pull him closer. His strong nose bumps against your clit and the sensation makes your eyes cross.
Gator laughs again, but you like that he’s watching you so intently. He stays at it for a bit, tongue lapping at your hole. Slides in and out, while his nose continues brushing against your clit in the most delicious way. And you think, Gator looks really good like this, his mouth out of view but his nose rubbing against you while his eyes gaze up at your face. His brows lift with it, causing small wrinkles in his forehead. You tug his hair, writhing against his face.
Now, you’ve not had an orgasm in a month and Gator doesn’t usually eat you out, so it’s not a huge shock that you’re approaching a climax this quickly. But you are a little bummed, because you wanted this to last longer. So you pull his hair back, pulling him off.
“Fuck, I’m close,” you explain, chest heaving.
Gator squints at you, “Isn’t that a good thing? Why you pulling me away?”
“Don’t wanna cum that quick,” you complain.
“Takin’ that as a compliment,” he says before diving back in, licking enthusiastically. This time his eyes close and he starts basically making out with your pussy. Sloppy, yet firm. It pushes you over the edge, legs snapping closed and trapping him there. You shake with the orgasm, crying out as you tug at his hair.
“Fuuuck! Gator, yes! Oh, my god!”
You collapse, letting him go as you lay back on the table and attempt to catch your breath.
But Gator’s pulling back, standing up and undressing himself. Practically rips the buttons of his shirt off and then goes for his pants, “Okay, it’s my turn.”
You sigh and sit up, but his excitement is unfortunately cute. So you can’t be too annoyed. And really, you used to give Gator a blow job pretty much every day. He hasn’t had one in a month.
You stand then, pulling the hair tie from your rider and tying your hair up. Gator pulls his briefs down and his cock springs out, fully erect and god, is it gorgeous. You really did miss it. He leans against the table and you get on your knees, looking up at him.
“Thought about you doing this every fucking day,” he groans out.
With a roll of your eyes, you wrap your fingers around his cock, “See how I spoil you? All I’m asking is you return the favor sometimes.”
“I make you cum all the time,” he points out, his voice a little shaky as you squeeze the base of his cock.
“Uh huh, you do, but I want to feel like it’s all about me sometimes,” you tell him before rubbing the tip of his cock against your lips. You give him a lick before asking, “Think you can manage that?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, eyebrows furrowed with those needy eyes looking down at you, “Promise.”
You wrap your lips around him, licking against the ridge where the tip meets the shaft and Gator whines out. You have to admit you missed this. Turning him into a whiny mess was so fun to do. He grabs the edge of the table for support as you continue to tease at his sensitive spot. And Gator has a real pretty voice. Especially when he’s whimpering and whining. It’s so cathartic to get through that tough guy exterior and bring him to a desperate puddle. And honestly, it’s probably good for Gator too. He wasn’t an awful boyfriend all the time, sometimes he’d rub your feet while you made him watch trash reality television.
His hand wraps around your ponytail and he pushes you down further on his cock, the stretch makes the corners of your lips sting but that’s because you’re a little bit out of practice. You inhale through your nose and follow his guidance, sinking down on him until your nose meets the curly hair at his base. The musky aroma fills your nostrils, makes your eyes roll back because you absolutely love the way Gator smells. Whether it’s because it’s genuinely good or just pheromones, you may never know, but you bask in it as you swallow around him.
Gator groans, low and drawn out. Then he pulls your hair, dragging your lips back towards his tip. Repeating that a few times before he lets you decide the pace. Compromise. Look at him learning.
“Fuckin’ perfect, love the way you take it,” he mumbles out, head tilted as he watches you. “Like being a good girl for me, don’t you?”
You answer by swallowing around him again, blinking up at him with wide eyes because you do. You like when he praises you. Your hand moves from his thigh up to cup his balls, cradling them in your palm and he whimpers out. Looks down at you all pathetic and needy and fuck, you can’t let this man go. You’re a fool to think you could in the first place.
Pulling off his cock, you use your hand to stroke him while you move your mouth down to his balls. You lick, broadly at the seam before sucking one into your mouth. Gator cries out, head falling back a bit while his hips jerk forward. His stomach muscles flex and twitch as you roll his ball around against your tongue.
You move to the other, not wanting to neglect it as you continue stroking Gator’s pulsing length in your hand. He’s vocal, so vocal. A mess with it, really.
“Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it, oh, shit, fuck, you’re such a good girl, holy shit…”
Now, you wrap your lips around his tip again and sink all the way down until your nose meets that mess of curls again. Gator thrusts into you and you let him, he fucks your face for a beat before he’s pulling you off, hand grabbing your ponytail.
“Fuck! Almost came, holy shit,” he pants out, lips turned up in a smile that makes you melt.
“Isn’t that the point?” you tease.
“Nah,” he pulls the hair tie from your hair and pulls you up, “That’s just the warm up, babe, you know that.”
He kisses you, which is also something he doesn’t usually do. Not after you’ve had his cock and balls in your mouth. More of that glorious compromise. He lifts you up, you wrap your legs around him and Gator carries you to the bedroom. He puts you down gently on the bed, crawling on top of you and continuing the kiss. Deepens it, licks into your mouth as he grabs the hem of your dress and starts to pull it up. The kiss breaks so he can pull it over your head, leaving you just as naked as he is. Your hands skate across his hairy chest, as his lips connect with your jaw and down your neck. Then, across your clavicle and move down to your breasts, he cups them in his hands, pushes them up as he plants sloppy kisses against your cleavage. Then he licks against your pert nipple, pulls back and blows on it.
You whine, back arching at the sensation. Fuck, he’s listening. He’s giving you what you asked for.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, before wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking. He licks again, eyes looking up to see how you react.
Biting your lip, you smile, nodding softly. Gator mirrors the smile, then moves to the other nipple. Licks and sucks, the pad of his thumb toying with the other one. Your body shivers from the stimulation.
“Feels so good, Gator,” you tell him.
He pulls back, pushes your hair back and smiles, “I know how to do that, ya know.”
“I do know,” you admit, reaching up to caress his face. He leans into it. Because he needs it. You know he needs softness, it’s the only way he can heal from his upbringing. You feel a little guilty.
Then he leans down and kisses you, writhes against you and you feel his cock against your pussy. Hot, rigid and pulsing. You meet the movement, grinding up against him. Gator moans into the kiss, rolls his hips a little harder this time. The tip of his cock catches against your clit and it’s your turn to moan. He stills, keeps the trajectory right and then rolls his hips again. Your clit rubs against the head of his cock and it’s delicious and heady. Makes your legs spread on their own volition, inviting the pleasure.
His hand moves between your bodies, gripping his cock as he guides the tip through your folds down to your entrance. He pushes, just slightly. Teasingling, he circles your hole. You gasp, Gator licks into your mouth as he simultaneously slips his cock inside you. Then, you moan in sync and you can feel the vibration of his voice in your mouth. Gator sinks in deeper, inch by inch, excruciatingly slow until he’s as deep as he can get. Your body tingles, warm with euphoria as you cling to his biceps.
Gator stills for a beat, licking and moaning into your mouth like the desperate and needy boy he is. Your hips roll up, though Gator’s own hips have you pinned down but you’re eager for friction. He doesn’t let you have it. He presses down a little firmer into you, grabbing your hands like he thinks you might do something with them. He pins them above your head, licks again, real filthy into your mouth. Your tongues meet, it’s sloppy, messy.
You feel anticipation building, needing Gator to move so fucking bad you might explode. But he doesn’t. He licks once more before he pulls back, “You my girl?”
“Huh?” you blink, confused by him.
“Are you my girl?” he repeats, looking down at you expectantly.
“Gator—“
“Tell me, tell me you’re my fuckin’ girl and I’ll give you exactly what you want,” he says, voice gruff, “But I gotta hear it.”
You swallow hard, you need him to move but you’re a bit stubborn. However, you’re realistic. This whole thing means you’re getting back together. So you lock your eyes on his, lick your lips and say, “I’m your girl, Gator. All yours.”
Gator grins, “Always were, huh?”
“Yes,” you confess with a nod.
He finally, finally, rears his hips back, dragging his cock back against your spongy walls before slamming back into you. The force of it punches a moan out of you, loud and piercing.
He lets go of your hands, moves his hand to your throat. Not applying pressure, but keeping a grip on you as he thrusts back and forth. The friction is exactly what you’d been dying for, Gator’s fat cock stretching you out in such a satisfying way. You can’t believe you gave this up for a whole month. Your hands move to his shoulders, then scratch down his back and he pumps in and out of you.
“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as his cock drills deep into you and then he pulls out completely. You whine at the loss, but he slips back in.
Gator presses his face against the side of yours, moaning as he drives his hips in and out. Your lips lazily find each other’s, kissing sloppily. His hand reaches down, thumb finding your clit and he rubs quick, firm circles against it.
It’s not long before that powerful bliss finds you, crashing into your body in eye rolling waves. Your vision goes white as you writhe against Gator. When you come down from the high, he’s pulling out and painting your navel in thick white ropes. He collapses next to you and catches his breath, his spunk going cold as you lay there. But, he does something he doesn’t usually do. Again. Compromise.
He rolls over and kisses your cheek, cups your jaw and tilts you over for another soft kiss on the lips. Then he’s up and retrieving a towel to clean you up with.
As he’s doing so, you ask him, “So, now that we’re back together, why couldn’t you tell your dad we broke up?”
Gator sighs, tossing the towel to the floor. He puts his hands on your waist as he looks at you, “It’d be just another thing I failed at. Just another fuckin example of me being a fuck up.”
“Gator…” you sit up and caress his jaw, “You’re not a fuck up… life throws shit at you. Failure’s happen. It doesn’t mean you’re a fuck up. You’ve always managed to find a way, huh? You don’t give up. You adapt. You’re good, Gator.”
He can’t look at you, eyes aimed down towards the bed. He shrugs, “That ain’t how he sees it.”
You lay down, pull him with you. Hooking your leg over his waist, curling up into him and kissing his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you.
Then he says, “Plus, I knew you didn’t really mean it. Why tell him when we was gonna get back together?”
“Oh, fuck you!” you roll your eyes but you’re smiling. Because he’s right.
Thinking about hooking up in gators jank ass bedroom with musty walls and p*rno pics on his wall.. he has no shame when he brings reader over but when he sees her face at the disarray of his room he gets self conscious
The Tillman ranch house sat at the end of a long dirt drive outside Lehigh, far enough from Dickinson that the city was nothing more than a faint orange wash beyond the highway at night. He'd talked about bringing you out there the way he talked about everything, like it was already decided, and you hadn't argued with him. Five dates in, maybe six if the diner thing counted, and his truck was parked crooked in the yard and his hand was low on your back walking you past his stepmother’s flowerbeds toward a side door he used instead of the front.
“House is empty,“ he said, easing the door shut behind you. “Karen’s got her church group or whatever. Dad's out at the Solverson’s till late. The girls are with their mom’s folks, or somethin’.”
The hallway smelled like woodsmoke and something fried a few hours back. He led you upstairs, past two closed doors to a third at the end, pushed it open with his shoulder, and reached for the light switch without a second thought, like it hadn't once occurred to him there was anything to think twice about.
You stopped in the doorway.
The walls were dark, wood paneling gone nearly black with age, and every inch of it was covered. A wolf's head mounted over the headboard, glass eyes catching the lamp. A bleached skull beside it, horns still attached. A Metallica poster tacked up crooked. And past that, taped edge to edge with no logic you could find, a spread of pinup photos, women in bikinis and less, alongside a Confederate flag with a coiled snake stitched over the stars and DON'T TREAD ON ME in block letters underneath. An iron bed frame with a thick mattress covered in a heap of blankets that hadn't been made in what looked like a long time, a set of handcuffs hanging suspiciously from the one corner. A bottle of Jack sat on the nightstand, half gone.
He caught you looking. You watched something shift in his face, quick, there and gone, a kid caught out before he could sweep it under the bed.
“Yeah, alright,” he said, stepping half in front of you like that would fix anything. “I know how it looks.”
“Gator…”
“Been my room since I was ten. Never really saw a reason to redo it.” He was already moving past you, yanking the wolf's glass eyes into a different angle for no reason at all, like adjusting a mounted head two inches to the left might undo the whole wall. “Some of it was my Dad's, some of it's mine, I don't know, it just sorta built up over the years.”
“Hey.” You caught him by the wrist, and he went still the way he had at the door earlier, like you’d found the one switch in him that worked that fast. He stood there holding nothing, just his own hand suspended in the air, looking like he'd rather be back in the truck.
It undid you a little, watching it happen. Five dates running you’d had him pegged as a man built entirely out of nerve, the kind who walked into a bar like he'd bought the deed to it, who put a hand on your back like there'd never been a version of the world where you might have told him not to. And here he was in his own childhood bedroom with his ears going red over a flag and a taxidermied wolf, like your opinion of his walls was the one thing that could actually take him down.
“I don't care about the shit on your walls,” you told him, tugging on his arm.
“Maybe you should. It's a lot.”
“It's a lot,“ you agreed. “I still don't care.”
He looked at you like he was deciding whether to believe that. Whatever he found, it let something out of his shoulders. He dropped his hand from the wolf's head, let the whole display go back to whatever it had been before he touched it, and crossed back to you, hooking two fingers into the front of your jacket, not pulling yet, just holding on.
“Well…” His voice found its usual pitch again, easy, sure of itself. “Room's not the reason you came out here anyway.”
“No,” you smirked up at him. “It really wasn’t.”
That got the corner of his mouth working, the confidence sliding back into place now that it had a reason to. He kissed you slow, like picking up a conversation from somewhere else, one hand sliding into your hair while the other worked your jacket off your shoulders and let it drop to the floor. You didn't look to see where it landed - you had better things in front of you.
“Bed's not much either,” he murmured against her mouth. “Fair warning.”
You looked at the ancient-looking frame. “Looks noisy.”
“Y’got no idea.”
“Think I’m about to find out, right?”
He laughed under his breath, low, and it loosened the last of the tension out of him. He walked you back toward the bed with his hands doing most of the talking, catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, tossing it toward the chair already buried under clothes. You got his flannel shirt open button by button while he stood there and let you, watching your hands with more attention than something that small should have gotten.
“You always this patient?” you asked.
“With clothes, no.” He shrugged out of the flannel, and pulled his undershirt off in one motion. “With you, though? Seems like I am.”
The backs of your knees found the mattress. He eased you down onto it, ignoring the wolf's head glaring down from above, and followed you, one knee braced beside your hip. For a second he just looked at you there against the old iron frame, under the flag and the mounted skull, like he still couldn't square the two things sitting in the same room.
“What?” you asked him
“Nothin'.” He bent to your collarbone, your throat, slow with his kisses on you. “Glad you're not headed for the truck, is all.”
“Give me a reason to go and maybe I will.”
“Bad time to threaten me. I'm bein' very charming right now.”
“You're really not.”
“Workin' up to it.”
He worked up to it. His mouth found your breasts and stayed there long enough your hands twisted in the blankets, long enough his name came out rough, and only then did he move lower, hooking his fingers into your jeans and dragging them down your legs with an efficiency that undercut every bit of the fumbling he'd done over a wolf's head five minutes earlier. He got you bare and settled his weight between your thighs and looked up at you with all his usual cockiness fully restored.
“Gonna need you to be a little patient right back,” he smirked, and put his mouth on you before you could answer.
You lost track of everything after that. He was thorough in a way that didn't match the chaos of the walls around them, adjusting when your hips told him something before your mouth caught up. Your hand found his hair and stayed there, tugging harsh enough to make him hiss against you. When he finally drew back your thighs were shaking and his mouth was glistening wet and he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Yeah,” he said, mostly to himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay. Shoulda done this sooner.”
“Get up here.”
“You’re fuckin’ bossy -”
“Gator.”
He came up over you, reached blind for a box on the nightstand, and tore the foil wrapper with his teeth without breaking eye contact. He rolled the condom on, then went still for a second, head tilted just slightly toward the window, listening. No tires on the gravel, no doors, nothing but the house settling around them. Whatever he was checking for, it didn’t come, and he settled back over you, and pushed inside you slowly, his forehead dropping to yours once he was fully settled inside you.
“Christ,“ he hissed, sharp and already a little wrecked with it. “Jesus, you feel fuckin’ good. Tight- tight an’ soaking fuckin’ wet for me…”
You pulled him closer, your legs around his hips. “You always talk this much?”
“Y’say that like y’don't like it.”
You didn't answer with words, just pulled him down by the back of the neck and kissed him while he started to move, slow at first and then not, one hand braced by your head and the other finding yours and lacing your fingers together against the sheets like it was nothing, like it wasn't the kind of thing his whole personality was built to avoid. You felt him notice himself doing it. Felt him decide not to stop.
The iron frame complained, old joints with old opinions, and he adjusted his rhythm without being asked, slower, quieter, like some part of him was still tracking the door down the hall even now. When you came apart under him it was with his name caught low in your throat and his hand tightening around yours, and he followed not long after, face buried against your neck, the sound punched out of him, barely more than a breath.
For a while neither of you moved. His weight was warm and you didn't mind it. Above the bed, the wolf watched the whole thing with the same glass-eyed indifference it had probably watched thirteen years of his life, and neither of you looked up at it after that.
“So,” he said eventually, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Room's still a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“Gonna hold that against me, long term?”
“Little bit.”
He huffed something close to a laugh, rolled onto his back, one arm coming up automatic to pull you into his side like you’d done this a hundred times instead of once. “Might take some of it down,“ he said, like it took a lot for him to admit. “Eventually.”
“There's an eventually?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
You smiled against his chest and let it go, and downstairs the ranch house stayed silent and empty, and neither of you mentioned the dumb flag or the wolf’s head again.
Robin spam called you early in the morning, well actually you thought it was morning. It was 12pm.
“Robin what do you want?” you murmured still half asleep
“Listen we’re going to the lake house today and you’re coming no excuses”
“mhm” you just said, too tired to register what she was saying.
“Only one night, you are coming, be there at 7pm”
“Okay fine fine” you agreed and hung up.
You kicked off your blanket and stood up, heading towards the bathroom. You looked like you went through a zombie apocalypse, your curls were flying everywhere, eyes baggy from sleeping and you just realised that your pyjama was upside down.
You ate some breakfast and slowly started packing. You packed your favourite sundress, two pairs of bikinis, t-shirts and shorts. You wanted to go to the lake house, but at the same time you didn’t. Only because Steve was 100% going. Steve is one of Robins close friends, and you couldn’t stand him. And made sure he knows it.
You two never get along, always harassing each other or arguing.
Robin tried a few times to help you two get on good terms, but nothing worked.
Nancy will definitely be there you thought. You will stick to her side and try to survive the night.
You drove to the lake house alone with the windows rolled down and the wind tousling your hair as the music blared.
You arrived there at 7:10pm, Robin mentioned that she would arrive there earlier, but there was no sign of her car. Only Steves stupid BMW parked right there. You thought maybe she came here with Steve.
The lights inside the house were turned on, assuming they were inside. You parked your car next to Steves, and made your way to the house.
Ringing the doorbell, you could hear footsteps from the inside slowly approaching.
The door swung open and Steve stood there. His face instantly changed when he saw you.
“Oh for fucks sake” he said
“Easy don’t cream your pants Harrington” you said, walking past him, your shoulders brushing.
“Where are the others?” Steve asked, closing the door.
“What do you mean? I thought they were here?” you asked confused
“Robin told me she would arrive with you”
“Robin told me that she would come earlier”
Realisation hit both of you. You were set up by Robin.
“You have got to be kidding me”
“I wish” Steve said
You reached into your back pocket for your phone and unlocked it to call Robin but there was no signal.
“Oh amazing”
“What?”
“There’s no signal”
You signed, throwing your phone on the couch, arms resting on your hips.
“What do we do now?”
“Wait for the others to come?”
“Steve you cant be that stupid. They set us up!”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because Robin would’ve been here, she’s never late”
Steve just sighed and plopped down on the couch.
“We’ll sleep the night and return home in the morning”
“Spending the night here? alone? with you? I would rather sleep outside in a dumpster” Steve said
“Okay then go ahead, no ones stopping you”
You walked towards the kitchen, to grab a cold drink. The temperatures were so high, you might as well consider taking a night swim in the lake.
“Where are you going” Steve asked you, looking back from the couch
“To jump off a cliff” you replied.
“Can you give me a normal answer for once?”
“No”
“Of course you can’t” he murmured
“I can actually, i just don’t want to”
You found some orange juice and poured into a cup and added 3 cubes of ice.
“You’re so annoying”
“Thanks you too” you replied, giving him a sarcastic smile
Steve reached for the remote, skipping almost every channel in search of a movie.
“Jesus Harrington, pick a movie. I’ll grow old and you’ll still be searching for a movie.”
He shot you a glare “If this annoys you so much then thats your problem”
“Seems like you have a problem” you smirked.
“Yeah, your existence is my problem”
“Aww that’s the nicest thing ever” You placed the cup on the coffee table and left. Walking upstairs to one of the bedrooms, you unzipped your bag, searching for your bikini.
You quickly changed into your black bikini and oversized tee, grabbed a towel and headed downstairs.
Walking towards the door that leads to the lake Steve asked “Where are you going”
“To drown Harrington” you said walking outside.
You placed your towel on the rocks, and slowly removed your T-shirt (knowing that Steve is watching all of this.)
Stepping slowly into the water, she shivered as the cold seeped through her skin.
But you got used to it quickly and dived in. Steve watched you from the window, thinking you didn’t know, but you knew.
5 minutes later he got outside too, he changed into his red swim shorts.
“Wow Harrington you cannot survive 5 minutes without me awwh” you said swimming.
The moment Steve saw your triangle swim suit his mind went blank. For the first time he had no comeback.
“Cat got your tongue?” you teased him
“Shut up before I drown you”
“Yeah? I’d like to see you try. Bet you’re scared to get in the water”
He simply stared at you before darting off at a dangerously fast pace and plunging into the water.
You were caught off guard and attempted to swim backwards but he was far too quick. He got out of the water in front of you, shaking his head like a wet dog.
“Steve you asshole!” you said as you splashed water towards him.
He swam around you stopping just behind you. You could feel his mouth next to your ear “Now who’s afraid sweetheart”
His whisper in your ear made you have a questionable feeling in your core. No you can’t feel like that because of Steve. Your body was betraying you.
“You”
“What makes you think that” His fingers traced your hip. He pressed himself even closer to you, you could feel him hard against your lower back.
“What makes you think that I’ll tell you”
“Always talking back tsk tsk” Steve said, now stepping in front of you.
“Claiming that you hate me, but i don’t see you running away from me” his face was inches away from yours. You started slowly moving backwards, but his hand gripped your wrist pulling you back against him.
“Let. me. go.” you said, you hated how much your body liked his touch.
“Where’s the fun in that sweetheart?” he smirked “Although you seem to be enjoying this” his hands roamed around your waist. You never thought you’d find yourself pressed against Steve this close.
“Hmm I’d rather to be with Caleb” you teased him. Steve hated Caleb so much. He always got into fights with him.
“Don’t you dare say his name” Steves blood boiled inside his body.
“Why? He’s hot, I can’t lie I’ve thought about having sex with hi-“
You didn’t finish your sentence as Steve’s lips met yours, closing the distance between you two.
You pulled out catching your breath, looking at him, his eyes were filled with lust.
“I hate you” you kissed him again. This time he kissed harder, more with hunger and desire. His hand gripped the back of your neck, trying to pull you closer.
“Yeah sure sweetheart”
You grabbed his neck, and wrapped your legs around his torso.
Both of you moaned when your core was pressed against his hard on.
“I need- you” Steve said between kisses.
“You have me”
He broke the kiss, cupping the back of your thighs and walking back to the house.
He walked into one of the bedrooms. He grabbed a towel drying himself off, and then a different towel for you. He slowly dried you, wiping the water off your body, while looking deeply into your eyes.
“Quit being a tease and do something” you said
“Patience baby patience” He hovered over you, resting on his forearms around your head.
His mouth found your neck, attacking it with kisses. He somehow managed to suck on your most sensitive spots which made you arch your back.
His hands found the strings of your swimsuit, slowly untying them. He looked so shocked seeing your breasts, as if a victorian man was seeing a woman’s ankle.
“Holy shit” he whispered
“What you ah like them?” he started sucking on your right nipple.
“Can’t believe you *kiss* hid them from *kiss* me”
His mouth was so good against you, making you wetter and wetter.
“Steve I-“
“What is it sweetheart” He looked up at you, pupils blown wide.
“I need you”
“Now it wasn’t so hard was it” he chuckled, giving your breasts one last kiss as he removed your other piece of swimsuit and settled with his head between your legs.
“Shit you’re dripping” He spread your thighs more.
His tongue licked your folds, earning a loud moan from you.
He first started sucking on your folds and then his tongue entered your aching hole.
You couldn’t resist gripping his hair.
“So wet for me”
Every time he moved his mouth, his nose teased your clit, making you come closer to your orgasm.
Steve felt that you were close, and stopped pleasuring you.
“Why did you stop no-“
“Shhh baby girl I’ll let you finish on me”
He removed his swim shorts and boxers. And holy shit, he was huge. You thought the rumours were fake, turns out it was all true. Could he fit in you?
“Steve-“
“Relax I’ve got you”
He teased your entrance and slowly pushed in. You let out the loudest moan ever, he stretched you out so much. It hurt but also felt so good at the same time.
“Good girl taking me so well” He started slowly thrusting in “You were made for me”
His praises made your head spin. You felt your legs slowly starting to shake.
“Harder”
“Yeah you want more?” he asked “What my girl wants is what my girl gets” he started thrusting even harder. His grip on your hips was so hard, probably already leaving a mark.
“Gonna ruin you for everyone else” He said “gonna fill you up so much you’re gonna feel me for days”
You could feel yourself get closer and closer.
“Come around me cmon babygirl”
You finished all over him, your orgasm making your head blur and legs shake.
“Good girl so - so good for me”
“Steve-ah”
After a few more thrusts Steve finished after you, filling you up.
“Good job baby”
He kissed you. You looked wrecked, hair messy, eyes half lidded and breathing heavy. Although Steve enjoyed the view.
“Hey you okay?” he asked, brushing your hair out of your face.
“Mhm- yes”
His forehead rested against yours.
“Wanted you for so long” he said “I don’t know how I kept up with your stubborn attitude every day”
“You liked it admit it”
“Hell yeah I did, you turned me on every time” he admitted
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: When your lover's spat with Steve leads to a cold war in the WSQK booth, Robin decides she's had enough and leaves you two alone to work it out. You refuse to say a word to him even when she's gone, but Steve has his ways of getting you to talk.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒/𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, smut (mdni), porn no plot, no use of y/n, established relationship, make-up sex, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected piv, cre*mpie, praise, soft dom!steve, semi-public sex, accidental exhibitionism (?)
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k
𝐀/𝐍: hello! i have two other wips i should be working on but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. hope u like it xoxo
It started with something stupid. An empty Coke can left on the counter that spiraled into an argument way bigger than it should've been. Names were called. Doors were slammed. It didn't help that your AC unit crapped out right in the middle of a heatwave either, leaving you both sweltering before you'd even stepped out of your shared apartment.
By the time you two make it to the station, you're already giving each other the silent treatment.
You storm inside first, leaving him in the dust as you bolt for the coffeemaker. He lumbers in after, scowl on his face, hair wrecked by the humidity.
It's easy enough to avoid each other before the broadcast, but once you're forced into the booth together, you drop into the swivel chair without a word. Your body angled away from him toward the console.
Robin lasts until lunch before she finally says something.
"Okay! So I'm gonna go." She stands, shooting a look between the two of you. "Whatever this is, please fix it. Or at least… try not to stare each other to death while I'm gone."
When neither of you respond, she just backs out slowly, nearly tripping over her own feet before the door creaks shut behind her.
The booth is deathly quiet when she leaves. Which is ironic, because you're pretty sure you've been in actual morgues with more noise than this vacuum that's formed between the two of you. But you don't look up. Not when you hear him let out a dramatic sigh, or when he snaps a cassette case louder than necessary.
No. You let him pout, giving him nothing while keeping your eyes glued to the playlist sheet on the desk. Crossing your legs and bobbing your ankle up and down. Letting your pleated skirt hike just a little bit higher up your thigh.
You aren't the least bit surprised when you hear the tapes stop clattering.
There's another beat of quiet before his foot nudges the leg of your chair. You don't move. So he does it again.
Finally, you turn—slow—and give him a look.
His mouth quirks. "You gonna ignore me all day?"
You frown, ignoring him while you flip a page.
"Wow," he scoffs. "You know, I was gonna apologize, but with this attitude—"
"Apologize, then," you interrupt. Calling his bluff.
He sits back and crosses his arms. "Well, look at that. She speaks."
"Look at that," you echo, turning back to the console. "He listens. For once."
You hear movement, then his hand is on the back of your chair before you even realize he's gotten up. The room blurs as he spins you back, planting both hands on the armrests once you're facing him again.
You stare stubbornly at the wall over his shoulder. Arms folded over your chest. Steve sighs and takes a seat in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"I was saving it for the recycling, okay?"
You huff. "Then why was it in the middle of the counter?"
"I told you, I didn't want to forget!"
You shake your head, still refusing to meet his gaze.
"…Fine," he mumbles. "I'm sorry… alright?"
You arch a brow. "For?"
"For being a dick," he mutters, sliding a hand over his neck. "And…"
He leaves the sentence hanging half-finished. You tilt your head, waiting, but Steve doesn't look up. His gaze is stuck below your waist, where the hem of your skirt has ridden up even higher, fanning in a pretty arc across your legs. He swallows audibly and leans in closer.
It happens slow, his hand wedging between your thighs to grip the base of your seat. Your breath stutters as he tugs you forward, the stool skidding across the floor.
You finally look at him. No other choice really, with your faces inches apart like this. But where you expect to find him smiling or smug at having flustered you, instead his gaze is just… dark. His eyes heavy and locked with yours. Beneath the light, you catch the faintest sheen of sweat across his cheeks, fresh and dewy on his skin.
Warmth pulses between your legs in a way that's practically Pavlovian at this point. Because you know what it means when he gets this look. Where it always leads. You swallow a little as the woodsy scent of his aftershave reaches your nose, your fury fading fast into a different kind of heat that sits warm and low in your stomach.
Steve shifts then, your knees bumping together. He slides one of his forward between your thighs, slotting you two together and pulling you close.
"You wore this on purpose," he breathes low into your ear. You shiver as he brushes your hair back over your shoulder, his knuckles grazing the soft skin just beneath the hem of your skirt.
You exhale slowly. You did wear it on purpose. Something takes over him every time you wear this fucking thing, which is why you'd put it on in the first place this morning, a flirty little tilt to your hips. Five hours ago, you figured you two could sneak into the closet, or out to his car on your lunch break, maybe tease him with it until you had a chance to be properly alone.
But then you'd gotten into that fight, and you kept it on out of spite. You knew it would drive him crazy, having to see you in it and be forced to keep his hands to himself.
Only his hands were already disappearing beneath it.
"Steve," you breathe against his neck, barely pretending. "We're at work."
He noses the soft spot beneath your ear. "No one's here."
"The walls are glass."
"We'll be quick," he promises.
You're about to argue, but the gentle, warm press of his tongue over your pulse rips the protest from your lips. You melt, your eyes closing with a quiet sigh of surrender, and he groans into your skin at the salty taste of you, one hand snaking up into your hair to hold you in place while the other coaxes your knees apart.
"What if Rob comes back?" you whisper, already short of breath.
"She won't. She literally just left." His lips graze your forehead. "Now c'mere… let me apologize."
He curls a hand under your knee, tugging you toward him those last few inches. You let him guide you to the edge of the seat, until your chin's hooked over his shoulder and you lose sight of what his other hand's doing. You sigh into his hair when you feel his palm finally disappear between your legs.
He gives a testing little press against you, smiling to himself at the quiet noise you make for him.
"Yeah, baby. That's it," he whispers, his breath hot against your temple while he cups you more firmly. You gasp and clutch onto his sleeve, the contact making the damp spot on your panties bloom out even further at the edges.
"Oh, honey," he soothes, his free hand still cupping the back of your head. "Look at you. All worked up already."
You huff over his shoulder, even as your hips curl forward on their own, seeking the heel of his palm.
"I'm still mad at you," you mumble into his neck.
He hums, thumbing your panties to the side in a slow arc. "Yeah? You gonna let me fix it?"
Without waiting for your answer, he parts you gently down the middle. Your gasp is sharp against his shoulder, and he hushes you softly, groaning at the way you're already coating his fingers as he traces your slit.
"Fuck, baby," he breathes, his voice rough now.
He slides right through you, nice and easy. His thumb brushes through your curls before dipping down to circle you where you're softest. You muffle a whimper into his shirt and feel his grip tighten on the back of your neck.
"There?" he whispers, mouth pressed to your hair.
You nod breathlessly, panting now and barely able to hear him. He sucks softly beneath your ear and starts working that sweet spot, pulling more broken sounds out of you as you spiral quickly toward the edge.
Your hips shift forward again, thighs weak and shaking. You're nearly there, whining and clenching around nothing, when you thrust too far and start to slip off the edge of the seat.
"Shit—" you gasp.
Steve catches you before you can fall. His arm hooks around your waist, lifting you up like it's nothing. Your hands automatically find his shoulders as he hikes you up onto his thigh, your skirt settling even higher around your hips while you straddle him. He wets his lips when your bare skin presses against his jeans, the heat between your legs making his pants go tight around his hardening cock.
"Easy," he murmurs, sliding a hand up your back to steady you. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you breathe out, a little embarrassed. A pretty flush warms your cheeks as he brushes back a curtain of hair that's fallen in your face. He gives you a big, breathy smile that makes your heart burst wide open.
"Okay," he pants, glancing around to check that the station's still empty. With no sign of Robin, he plants a soft peck on your cheek and lets his hand drop to your hip. "Ready?"
You nod, your thighs squeezing around him as he rocks you forward, guiding you to grind against his leg. Your head tips back with a moan just from the friction of it.
"Steve—"
"I know," he mumbles, dipping down to suck at your collarbone as you writhe on him. "Use me, baby. It's okay."
You bite your lip, rolling your hips shamelessly now as you chase the pressure. The orgasm you lost starts building again. You feel it coiling deep in your belly, but it's not nearly enough to get you off just riding him like this.
He tries to help, tugging one of the buttons free on your shirt and mouthing gently at the swell of your breast. You moan, fingers sinking into his hair and keeping him there while your knee lifts high enough to brush at the bulge between his legs. Steve buries a groan between your tits, his hips bucking up before he can stop himself.
"Fuck," he grits out, forehead dropping to your chest. "That's not fair."
You smile into his hair and do it again, dragging your thigh slow and careful just beneath the heft of his balls. His head snaps back, tendons straining in his neck as a strangled moan rips from his throat.
"Babe, fuck—" he chokes out. "I'm serious. I'm gonna come in my fucking pants if you keep doing that."
Your hand drops between your bodies, finding his belt buckle by feel as you hold his gaze.
"Need you," you pant against his cheek, unlatching him. His head falls back against the chair as you work the button open next, then the zipper. He's rock hard by the time you're peeling the denim apart, a damp patch already darkening the fabric of his boxers.
Steve watches you with glazed eyes.
"Here?" he rasps, like he wasn't the one that started this.
Your answer is a hard kiss while your hand slips inside his boxers. He shudders out a moan into your mouth the second your fingers wrap around him. He's hot and thick in your palm, the head slick where he's already leaking. You hum softly against his lips while you give him a slow, gentle stroke.
"Jesus," he breathes, hips jerking up into your fist. You swallow the next filthy sound he makes, licking into his mouth while you twist your wrist on the upstroke.
"Wait, baby, wait—" He catches your hand. "Wanna be inside you."
You heave out a sigh of relief. Finally.
You release him and shift forward on his lap, lifting your hips while he shoves your panties to the side blind, your skirt covering both of you from the waist down. He grips himself at the base, dragging his tip through the dripping seam of you a few times to get himself nice and slick. Then your foreheads are pressing together, both panting as he eases toward your opening.
"Look at me," he whispers, his free hand reaching up to hold your face.
You look. His brown eyes are blown almost black, lashes dark and damp. Your hands find his face—a face you're wondering how you could've ever been mad at over a Coke can—and sweep your thumbs gently across his cheeks.
He pushes into you soft and slow.
Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. Only a thin, shaking breath that he swallows with a kiss as he fills you. His hand drops down to cradle the curve of your ass, guiding you as you sink down onto him.
The stretch pulls a broken sound from somewhere low in your chest. Steve catches that against his lips too, kissing you deep and filthy while your bodies slowly connect, the front of your skirt bunching up between you.
"There you go," he groans when you finally take all of him. He wraps his arms around your waist and sighs into your neck, low and rough. "Fuck, you feel good."
You whine into his hair, unable to speak as you adjust to him. No matter how many times you've done this, he always splits you open at first, as careful as he is. His hands rub over your back in wide soothing circles as he presses kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your neck. All the little spots he knows makes you soft.
You sigh appreciatively, braving a slow, tentative roll of your hips when you're relaxed enough. The sensation drags a low groan out of you both. His fingers dig into the soft dough at your waist, guiding your rhythm until you find it on your own.
Your pace doesn't stay slow for long. The chair creaks beneath you as you ride him harder, his breath puffing soft and fast against your throat.
"Fuck, that's it," he growls. "Don't stop."
You don't stop. Not when you already feel the tension starting in your abs again. Your weight shifts as you try to deepen the angle to take more of him, and you gasp when you lean too far back.
His arm locks around you in an instant, hauling you flush against his chest without breaking the rhythm you've set.
"Here, baby," he pants, nose brushing yours. "Hold onto me. I got you."
Your arm loops around his shoulders and stays there, fingers twisting in his hair while he fucks up into you. Wet, slapping sounds fill the booth, but you can barely hear them while you're gasping his name. Your walls start to tighten around him, squeezing and clenching with each pump of his hips.
"Steve," you beg.
"I know, I know," he grits through his teeth. His hand snakes between you again. "Come on, honey. Give it to me."
He circles twice, and that's all it takes. Your spine locks, the orgasm tearing through you silently at first, mouth open with no sound, before you choke out a broken cry against his throat.
"Oh fuck—" His voice cracks as you clamp around his cock in helpless pulses. Steve locks his arms around you and pulls you down, burying himself deep before you feel the first hot spill of him inside you.
You gasp, still coming by the time he starts. Your chest heaves against his while he fills you up, stars swirling in your eyes with every twitch of his cock inside you. Steve crushes his face into your neck, muffling a low groan as he rides out the last waves, hips circling lazily while he empties himself into your soft, pretty pussy.
He holds you there as you both come down, your body limp and sated in his grasp. Slowly, your breathing evens out against his neck, his hand combing gently through the hair spilling down your back while he softens inside you.
You lift your head finally, just enough to look at him. His hair is even more of a wreck than it was before, half of it sticking out in every direction and the other half plastered to his forehead. You brush it back with a fond little laugh at how ruined he looks.
"You okay?" you murmur with a tilt of your head.
Steve blinks up at you, dazed. His lashes flutter like he's forgotten where he is for a second, and then a dopey grin spreads across his face.
"Mhm," he hums. "You?"
You nod, tucking a damp strand behind his ear. His eyes close at the touch, and you let your smile stretch a little wider.
"So," you say. "Are we done fighting?"
He cracks an eye open. "We were fighting?"
You flick his shoulder. He yelps and grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before you can do it again.
"Yes. Done fighting. I'll clean the whole apartment. Scrub the floors. Bleach the—"
"Just throw away your cans, Steve."
"I will throw away every can. Every single can. I'll throw away cans that aren't even mine."
Your eyes roll. "Steve."
"Neighbors' cans, too."
You snort, dropping your forehead against his. He catches your chin between his fingers and pulls you in for a lazy, salty kiss that sends a fresh lick of heat down your neck.
"Careful," you warn against his lips. "Or I might just—"
Down the hall, you both hear a door open.
"Is that—" he starts, eyes wide.
"Shit," you hiss, shifting in his lap and stopping when you feel the mess between your thighs. "How is she back already? We need… napkins. Or something."
Steve glances around the booth. His eyes land on Robin's stack of handwritten song request cards. He lifts one eyebrow.
You poke his chest. "No."
"She'd never know."
"Steve."
The doorknob rattles. You both freeze and look over slowly.
"Uh… guys?" Robin's looking at the floor, hand over her eyes as her voice carries through the glass. "The uh… the mic's been live this whole time."
thinking about having to go on an annual camping trip with ex boyfriend!gator because you still share all the same friends. you’ve been doing a decent job of avoiding one another over the past few months, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little bit nervous about being in such close proximity this weekend — especially when it’s clear that gator doesn’t intend to ignore you like you’d been planning. instead, he decides to tease you, so by the second hour of the trip, you’ve also decided that it’s only fair you play dirty, too.
that means wearing your skimpiest bathing suit when everyone ventures out to the lake, bending down right in front of him so he gets a perfect view of your ass. in retaliation, he cups his bulge while making eye contact with you, making you grit your teeth; a wordless acknowledgement of the game you two are playing.
the rest of the weekend passes by in “accidental” touches — gator’s hand brushing your ass or him squeezing your hip as he walks past you. you slowly licking a watermelon popsicle and stealing his tee-shirt to throw on after a dip in the lake.
dry chuckles, playful smirks, impatiently waiting for the other to break.
you’d be amiss to say you aren’t disappointed that the weekend doesn’t end with a heated hookup in one of your tents.
that is, until em, your mutual friend, drops you off at your place after driving back from the campsite. you’re tired, gross, and in desperate need of a long, hot shower. you’re kicking your shoes off and setting your bags down when there’s a knock at the door. assuming you forgot something in em’s car, you quickly answer it, only for your eyes to instantly widen at the sight of gator on your doorstep.
cocky as ever, vape in hand, his truck in your driveway — like you never even broke up to begin with.
“you gonna invite me in or what, lil fuckin’ tease?”
