thinking about gator who’s fallen for the local farmers daughter 5k+
Since Roy was the way he was, he wanted the finest, freshest meat and dairy produce that was in town, taking Gators patrol time away to go fetch them.
He didn’t meet you the first few times he visited, only handing money to your father and collecting what he paid for.
It was always early in the morning, messing his schedule, and setting him in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.
He finally met you one morning where he had nothing to do, so he decided to get it over with. The sun was starting to rise and he felt a twisted feeling in his stomach, and not the good kind. His body was always guarded up regardless.
He pulled up in his big and flashy truck, hat firm on his head and eyes direct.
The tires skidded across the dirt when he turned and looked at the porch of the farmers house. White wooden walls, plants in the front, and a nice yellow bench swing just in front of the windows.
And you.
His eyes only widened slightly, mostly out of shock because he never knew the only well farmer in town had a daughter. One that looked close to his age, that was.
He started to fumble with the wallet on his lap, wanting to just drive away when he realized he was way too early. He didn’t want to talk to some girl. You probably didn’t know much about the farm, probably spent all day flipping through magazines like you were doing just now.
He cleared his throat and started to take off the thigh holster that had his gun. He didn’t want you scared, didn’t want you annoyingly screaming this time of morning. He didn’t care. He still bit the inside of his cheek.
His feet dragged as he hesitantly walked over to the front porch, leaning over the wood and peering over what you were doing. He tried not to smile smugly at how you didn’t even look up at him.
“Hello.” He says.
You look up, see his uniform and his badge, and blink your eyes back down.
“My daddy’s not here.”
He was taken aback by your voice. Well, not really. It was soft, gentle and practically laced by innocence- and you looked like the type. That morning you wore fuzzy socks, short and small plaid pj shorts that was peeking through your silk sleep shirt.
“Looks like it.” He mumbles, “can’t I just tell you what I ordered and ya grab it?”
You looked up at him again, eyes finally meeting his. You saw how they were hazel and filled with tension and rigidness. Like they’ve looked that way for years, never released or calm.
“I don’t know where he keeps his things.” Your eyes flickered back and forth with his. He did the same. “He’ll be here around lunch.”
“Fuck.. fine. Yeah. Just let him know I’ll be here round that time.”
“Okay.” You say before looking back down, flipping a page.
He stayed quiet and glared at you, watched you in a certain way. He didn’t know if it was good or bad. You were pretty, sure, your body and face so soft that it made him question the type of girl he desired. Something along the lines of you, he imagined. He watched you some more, expecting maybe a glance, maybe another chance for him to insist on getting his order.
This was all his dads fault, wasting his time and energy instead of working.
Gator huffed and quickly went back to his truck after that, not bothering to look at the porch again when he drove away. He didn’t know what to think, his mind clouded, but he for sure wasn’t expecting a girl like you.
——
A few months passed and Gator was convinced his life was changed for good. Some bad moments shined into his life, though, like always.
He found himself arriving at your farm while the sun rose, so he could see the lace curtains of your bedroom open and your warm lamp flicker on. He’d quietly wait for you just outside, leaning against the white wood while you routinely sat down on the bench across from him.
Conversations flowed about nothing, quiet but calming as your voice coaxed him from morning sleepiness.
You would talk about stupid things. What you two liked, sweet memories, and it was easy to joke around with him. Your friends painted a picture of Gator, a guy you needed to stay away from and who’s heart was stone cold. They were wrong, apparently. Because the Gator in front of you was smiling up to his eyes, his laughs a bit more high pitched.
It was hard at first, earning his way into your life. He was still snarky in some moments, still full of attitude. It slowly started to leave. But you never seemed to mind. It confused him.
He quickly learned the girl you were, and for the first time, he didn’t batter up his walls and pretend he didn’t care. Because he cared so much that it hurt his heart. Gator knew you didn’t deserve him. With your cute little socks and your babydoll dresses, compared to his rough hands and gun hiding in his truck.
He learned the sensitivity that always lingered in your personality, how you preferred quiet over loud, warm over cold. He stopped scowling like he usually did, and he didn’t think you were weak for being soft and codependent.
Deep down, he knew he wanted someone like that. He wanted someone to love and to come home too, kissing tears and comforting them to sleep. He’d never felt that before.
Some nights where his mind was clouded with his dad, he thought back to you. To the day something shifted.
It was early morning again. The farm felt still, the soft chimes on the patio singing delicately into the summer air. He saw you like usual, curled up in a ball, your lips parted and smushed to your knee. You were asleep.
Somehow you fell asleep with a book in hand, your pretty pajamas still on.
You stirred awake to the noise of his boots crunching on the ground, face flooding with embarrassment when you realized he saw how you looked fresh from slumber.
“Mornin’”. He said.
You blinked tiredly.
He only chuckled and gave you a smile that didn’t seem malicious.
When he said gruffly bye to you with bags in his hands, it seemed like he already forgot. He never mentioned it again days after, didn’t tease. Your heart settled at that.
He honestly surprised himself. It took almost years for someone to finally make Gator feel a tinge of happiness, of contentment outside of his job. He tried to stay tough every day though, regardless of this change. He knew his harsh demeanor wasn’t for attention, for pity, it was for himself.
He didn’t know how to navigate without it.
He was still stubborn when he wanted to be. It quickly escaped him the moment you fluttered your eyelashes up at him and gave him the most delicate smile he’s ever seen. For once, Gator Tillman’s cheeks turned pink.
“Hey honeybee.” He mumbles with a small smirk, when it was really a smile in disguise.
He managed to escape his afternoon patrol, something he would rather die than do, so he could drive over to the farm and see you. If his dad ever found out, he’d never let it go, yelling that he had gone to soft for some girl who never even left the house. He didn’t even have produce to pick up. He got it that morning.
He started to ask Roy about the orders, what time, how many days of the week. Gator cherished every given moment.
He knew why he was doing all this, waking up every early morning to the thought of you, your voice, how his voice changed around you.
He liked you. Deeply and scarily. Even after knowing you for 3 months.
Gator didn’t know what it was that brought you and him to this relationship, so close. Your different personalities clashed so beautifully and easily that it exploded into one.
“Hi Gate.” Your smile was so wide, it made your face glow.
He was leaning against the doorframe of your house, your dad not home because of some other business with property. Your father enjoyed the deal he had going on with Roy, and he found Gator respectful. But he’s obviously noticed the string between you and Gator, and it wasn’t rare when he reminded you over dinner to watch out for him. You’d agree and tell him empty promises, only for you to go up to your room and call Gator over the phone.
He would tell you he was thinking about you, and at first it was hard to believe, maybe he was just messing around with you out of boredom.
But the calls would extend late into night, simply listening to your breathing or your whispered goodnight.
It felt like he’s known you his whole life.
“Hm, I smell cinnamon.” He looks behind you.
You nod and shyly let him in.
“M’ startin to think you just come here for food.” You teased but you had a pout, “and my daddy’s gross meat.”
He chuckles. “Ya know damn well that’s not why I come here.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He spins around. Gator hums in response and laces his arm around you, skin warm against his. You two have had close touches like this, hand holding and hugging. But it was never out in public, out for others to see. It was on your porch early in the morning, just outside his truck, or moments like these. When no one was around expect him.
His fingers thread with your baby blue dress, slipping just under the strap.
“Bought this the other day.” You admit quietly after some seconds.
But he wasn’t even looking at the dress, not the way it clung perfectly to your hips like he’s always imagined you. He was looking at your face, your plumpy pink lips and your eyes blinking up at him.
“Looks real pretty on ya.” He hums again.
You couldn’t pinpoint what this tension was. It always lingered between you two, but your grasp escaped his whenever it felt too close. Too real.
“You know… I’ve actually never seen you outside of your scary uniform.”
He tilts his head and smirks.
“You sayin’ you want it off?”
Your face turns red and you gently shove him off you. “Shut up, weirdo.” Your hand was still laced with his as he followed you to the kitchen.
Quiet romantic music played on the radio in your kitchen, the dishwasher was running, and you sat on the counter with Gator standing right next to you. There was silence between you two as you ate your cinnamon buns, his fingers gently tapping to the music on your knee.
He was talking about his morning and how an officer spilled coffee on him, earning the sweetest laugh out of you. Gator thought it must’ve been physically impossible to look away from you.
“Holy hell, your smile hon.” He whistles, still a little shy. “Cutest I’ve ever seen.”
It grew wider.
“I like yours. The way your lips look when you do.”
“Nah, I look dumb as shit when I smile.”
“Not possible, Gate.” You peck his shoulder that was close to your mouth, “You’re very handsome.”
He looked down at the counter and bit the inside of his cheek to stop another smile creeping in.
It was always like this over the phone, or in real life even if it was just for five minutes. He cherished every word you said rather than ignoring it and denying. You two continued to talk here and there, mouths full with frosting and thoughts stormed your mind with him. How he smelled like deep piney wood, a strand of hair slowly falling over his forehead, eyes shinning instead of it’s dullness.
“When’d ya get this?” He feels your finger gently trace a bruise just under his jaw.
His eyes flicker to yours and he saw your frown. He usually didn’t feel bad when someone cared about him, because he never allowed it to happen. Somehow, he wish he never got hurt so he didn’t have to see the way your eyes fell at the sight.
“Just last night. Dad got me jumbled up with some guys on this case.” He says, “doesn’t hurt though.”
The lie was only proven wrong when he softly winced at how tender it was, even under your light touch.
“Does he work you a lot?”
“…No.” He huffs and looks down at his purple knuckles, stretching out his hand and squeezing air, “he doesn’t put me on enough. I want more.”
“I feel like you get hurt every single time.”
“Comes with the job, bee. Can’t do anything bout it”
You stay quiet, too quiet, so he looks back at you. Your eyes seemed to never leave his figure and he wasn’t sure how to react. All this time, he’s bottled his rage about his father, about how he desired to be admired and accomplished. He felt like expressing it made him seems like a daddy’s boy, following around his orders. Somehow, the way you seeped your way into his heart made him forget the reasons why he was like that in the first place.
That afternoon he left before your father got home, walking with you to his truck.
That was the first time you kissed him. Well, not on his lips, but a part of him wished it was. He pushed the feeling away. You kissed him just below his bruise so it didn’t press, and then another one just above it, your feet tipped in reach.
He was painfully aware of his tense shoulders and neck, unaware that a moment like this meant he could relax. He still didn’t, but god he wished it did. He wanted to be good for you.
His cheeks felt warm but you didn’t seem to notice.
“Just know that someone cares, Gator.” You whisper, reading his mind. “Call me like ya always do, okay? Don’t be stubborn and hold back.”
He smiled faintly at that because how could an innocent girl like you know him better than himself?
“I’ll try.”
Your frown from a few minutes ago was still there, but it slowly curved up, although it was hard to believe him. He knew you were a concerned, that’s just how you were when you cared deeply about someone. He felt lucky thst specific someone was him.
“…Okay. Be safe.”
He nods, squeezes your hand one last time before hopping up into the drivers seat. You give him a small wave as he drives off and he let out a shaky breath he’s been holding the moment he arrived.
He knew right then that he was done for.
——
It happened so soon, over whispers along town and discussions over the dinner table. That Gator Tillman was flirting with the farmers pure hearted daughter. That he was corrupting her and changing her path for the future, that he was too violent and snarky to be hanging around you.
Eventually, your dad found out.
You tried not to think about the night where he yelled at you like never before, banning you completely from Gator. Your dad called off his arrangement with Roy, little to know explanation being told to him, but he did it coldly.
You cried into your pillow that night, a warm lamp on and your door locked. Why’d it feel like a piece of you was ripped away? Had you fallen that easily, gotten so attached? It felt silly in a way, but so very right, because he was the one who truly understood you. The one who made you squeal like a little girl.
There was no possible way you could be seen with him again. The whole town was looking out for you, while they looked away from him. You felt helpless.
Your eyelids grew heavy when your phone started to ring. You quickly answered it and you heard it.
Gator’s breath shuddered.
In his room, out on the ranch, he felt a new feeling of devastation. Roy took his anger out on him, like always, and Gator did what was normal for him now. Call you. He just wished it was for different reasons.
“G-Gator.” You whine in desperation and you two knew what this was about.
“I hate this stupid fuckin’ town, always talkin bout other peoples business.” He immediately said, “I mean, w-who the fuck cares about us? We should only care.”
You stayed quiet on the other end and he noticed it, but he was so upset about the ties cut loose that he couldn’t stop. He took breaths in between, his fingers stained with salty tears that were slowly escaping him.
He didn’t know it’d hurt this much, especially since you two weren’t even dating. Hadn’t even confessed.
“I’m sorry.” You hiccup.
“What are ya sorry for, bun? Don’t be.”
“I- You were just a… a customer and I b-brought myself into your l-life. I feel awful.”
“Hey hey, no.” You heard his sheets shuffle and you knew you two paralleled.
Messy bed, tears staining the cotton, looking out the window for what could’ve been.
“Don’t think like that, ever, okay? I- hell… I’m glad how we turned out, ya know? I like what we have.”
He admits with hesitance in his voice. He’s never openly said he liked the concept of you and him, and it made your stomach turn inside out.
“You do?”
“Course’ I do. It’s the best moment of my day, seeing you sittin pretty on the porch with that smile, all for me. It makes me feel better, not like I got dragged in.”
You let out a sob at that, not even feeling embarrassed that you were crying over being separated like a teenage girl. Something in your gut told you that your daddy was wrong.
“You make me so happy, Gator. Happiest I’ve ever been.”
He groans.
“Shit, honeybee, don’t say stuff like that. Not right now.”
His mind couldn’t wrap around what was happening. He had this girl on the phone, sobbing her eyes out because she missed him. He missed you so badly, even if it’s been a day, but it made his heart ache and burn.
You seemed to have wanted him, needed him like air, just like he needed you. It was new and it suddenly washed over him way too fast. He felt like crying again.
“I don’t know what to do.” You say weakly. “D-Daddy’s got me stayin’ here. I can’t even go outside cus of us.”
He thought for a split second, already grabbing his keys that rested on his nightstand. He changed into some quick, not his uniform, and he didn’t even bother to slick back his hair. He felt raw, exposed, but in the best way.
“We’ll figure something out, I promise.” He says sternly, “Stay in your room. I’ll be there in 10.”
“Gator wha-” He hung up and you stared at your blank screen.
When he got to your house in five minutes, it was dark inside, except for the familiar orange light that peered just inside your room upstairs. It seemed like you’ve been waiting this whole time, lace curtains pushed back to see him. You’ve never snuck out before. This was wrong. Dangerous. Your dad’s reputation of being the best farmer could get ruined by a reckless daughter who snuck out with the sheriffs son.
You reached for your phone and texted him.
‘Meet me at the back door.’
You saw bubbles appear and disappear, only for him to respond with a thumbs up emoji. Despite your heart racing out of your body, it seemed to calm you down. It was Gator, after all. Your feet gently padded against the wooden floors as you tipped downstairs, wearing nothing but small shorts and a big shirt, shivers running down your spine.
“Hey- okay, okay.” He lost his footing when you rushed and lunged towards him, sobbing uncontrollably into his neck.
You’ve never been this close. With your bare legs brushing against his jeans and his warm hands sliding under your shirt. He breathed into your neck and he stiffened, trying to stay strong. He tried so hard.
“Don’t cry, bun, the world ain’t ending.” He pleas.
It seemed like his desperation wasn’t helping, so he gently tugged you to start walking, pressing his lips to the side of your head.
“Let’s go to my truck, yeah? I’ll take us somewhere quiet.”
You nodded and hiccuped between tears, his arm around you while wiping your wet cheeks with his thumb. You felt like your body was weighing down on you, like the whole world just collapsed over a boy. But he wasn’t just that, and you knew it. He was an opening to a life you’ve always wanted, romantically free.
——
It was quiet, still, cold. Gator brought you to a far expanded creek that was just on the edge of town, covered in trees and seeping into the moonlight. He’s told you about this specific spot the first month he knew you, confessing he’d often go at night to clear his clouded head.
Your legs were draped over his lap, feeling the gruffness of the denimn. His fingers trailed up and down your legs like feathers, gulping down all the words he wanted to say. That he’s gained feelings for you that he’s never felt before, that his heart flipped when he saw you.
“Was your dad upset?” You whisper timidly.
“That the deal cut off? Yeah. He was too disappointed to talk about… us, so he just ignored me.” He says, “Your daddy didn’t hurt ya, did he?”
“No.”
“…I’d go right now and end all of ‘em, the ones spreadin rumors bout what we got.”
You turn your head and look at him, the straight line of his nose and how it glowed under the moon. You wanted to ask him, tell him, what did you two have? It sure felt intimate right now, with his fingers trailing just under your shorts but never more. You noticed his two little moles that paired close to each other, his hair falling foward.
After looking at him, you said, “You’re not in your uniform.”
He wore normal dark blue jeans, a dark plain shirt over him with a brown jacket on. He looked soft, comforting. It made your lower stomach feel funny, legs pressed together.
He smirks faintly and gently squeezes your thigh, turning to look at you.
“M’ supposed to wear it anytime I go out. Doesn’t really bother me, it’s Roy’s rules. Heavy as shit, though.”
But from the gleam in his eye, the way his frown stayed, told you otherwise. Your eyebrows furrow at his response, slowly leaning foward and running your fingers through his hair, crusty and raw from day old gel. His eyes fluttered shut and his light touches stopped, like he became completely undone by you.
“You don’t regret it?” You whisper.
“What?”
“Comin’ back every morning. Before my daddy was even up.”
He scoffs and shakes his head, eyes opening again and squinting towards the water.
“Look at where were at right now.” He says softly but firmly, “I don’t have a damn regret. Haven’t had one these past few months.”
You sit there for a while. “I don’t regret it either. Getting- getting to know you.”
He hummed.
“I remember you said I was scary the second time I saw ya. Almost broke ma heart, bun.”
You swat his arm and he chuckled at that, his eyes flickering to yours. You two held eye contact for a split second, before you rolled them shyly and looked at the trees.
“That’s because you had a gun against you.”
“Ah, that stupid thing.” He mumbles, “I don’t really have a choice in this type of place.”
You two played and fidgeted with each others hands, listening to his soft voice as he recalled memories of childhood at that very creek. You could hear his small smile when he talked. You never looked away. He knew he needed this, needed his mind to be filled with the sight of your face and past stories that made him lighter.
It felt like it all happened in one second. The jacket that he here wore was eventually wrapped around you, his smell bringing a comfort you didn’t understand. He could still tell that you were upset, your hands tense like you needed something closer.
You ended up on his lap.
His nose brushed against your jaw as your face grew inches apart from his.
“So that’s where you got this from?” You giggle at the little scar just under his chin when he recalled an accident.
“Oh god honeybee, thanks for lettin’ me know you’ve noticed it this whole time.”
“No it’s not bad! It’s small but very… manly?”
He laughed at that, a genuine one, and his fingers twisted with yours. You wish you could stay in this moment forever, where your eyes danced around his in a long tensioned dance.
“I was the stupidest kid, really, whole town laughed at it. Still am.”
You shake your head and gently lean foward to cup his cheek, facing his gaze towards you.
“You’re anythin but stupid, Gator Tillman.” You whisper. “It’s the total opposite of that. I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.”
“Damn pretty eyes.”
“Gator, m’ serious!” You giggle, hair fallen foward to which he tugged behind.
“Fine, serious girl. Maybe I got the smarts from you.”
You roll your eyes and bury yourself in him, your shorts riding up and allowed his hand to rest there. You’ve never felt someone this warm. This good. He was like a blanket, and you were melting into it by the second. He seemed to notice the subtle shift, his demeanor growing quiet and soft, fingers tracing your thigh.
You slightly pull away to look at him, nose nudging his.
“You’re so warm.” You hum.
“My serious girl is warm, huh?”
“Mhm.”
For once in a while, he didn’t doubt you. Because he could see it in your eyes, the way you looked and sounded. You were actually craving his touch, actually tugging him closer because you liked it and wanted it.
He liked it too. He wanted it, wanted you. It scared him.
Before he could even respond, you dipped your head and started to place tender kisses along his jaw. They were deep and lasting, making a quiet sound each time you pulled away. All over his cheeks, his jaw, near his eyes, whispering what you wished you said before about how much you liked his face.
It was like he couldn’t take it anymore.
He slightly nudged his face away, scanned your features, and moved your hair away. Then, his lips met yours.
You let out a soft noise in surprise but quickly melted in his arms when you realized that this was very real. That Gator was breathing in through his nose by how deep he was kissing you, latching your upper lip into his mouth and softly sucking. It felt new to him, kissing someone with actual purpose and gentleness. But with you, it felt like he’s done this a thousand times.
“Fuck.” His voice vibrates down your throat.
And it felt physically impossible for him to stop. He kissed all along your jaw and around your face, your eyes fluttering shut in the pure pleasure of his warm lips on you. Your back arched beneath his hands and he tugged you closer, fingers just etching under the back of your shorts.
You two finally pulled back, and he almost wanted to cry.
You were glowing.
The moon was just perfectly behind you, but shinning you at the same time, highlighting the glisten of your lips. You looked kissed stupid, which you were, your chest heaving up and down. It was a soft, intimate moment, and he craved to press against you.
You slowly leaned forward and gently pushed back a loose strand of his hair, kissing his forehead in the process.
That’s when his eyes started to swell. So he quickly tugged you closer and kissed you again.
It was so slow. His lips slotted like a puzzle to yours, pillowing against you and purely taking his breath away, hands sliding deep into your hair. And when you continued to kiss him back, you tasted a mix of him and salt, your cheeks starting to feel slick.
You pulled away with furrowed eyebrows and saw it. His eyes were glossy and his face was wet.
“Oh, Gate.” You whisper, wiping them away with your thumb, “it’s just me, don’t worry.”
He started to sniff again at your understanding for him. He’s never felt something so real, so pure, and you could tell how deeply it was affecting him.
“Shit, I- fuck.. sorry.” He mumbles, “I’m not cryin’.”
“You don’t have to hide it, it’s okay.”
He shakes his head like all he’s ever done was wrong. “No it’s not. We’re over here kissin and ‘m actin like a baby.”
You stayed quiet and let his last tears fall down his pink cheeks. He hated when people saw tears, and just watched him as he grew more upset and emotional. It didn’t seem to wrong when you did, the way your eyes were gentle and patient.
“Let’s stay here tonight. Okay?” You whisper and all he does was nod, his bottom lip slightly sticking out.
“…Thank you.”
He stayed quiet for a long time, replaying all those sweet moments where you actually enjoyed when he was around. He remembered the way it made him feel seen, like him being there wasn’t something to scowl at.
It escaped him faster than light.
“I like you a lot.” He whispers gruffly.
You blink at him.
He takes a heavy deep breath, knowing that you were letting him continue. “And it… it scares me. I’ve never felt this safe round anyone before, like I can finally relax. I spent my whole damn life isolating myself to focus of work, on my dad. Now I have you, a part of you, and I’ve never wanted to be around someone more. I just… I wish I could take all those years back when I buried myself alone- and I.. I wanna open to you. I’ll try my damn hardest because you deserve that. I’ll try so hard for you.”
Tears started to form in your eyes now, and you looked away out of embarrassment. He just opened his heart out to you, his view, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
“Gator…” You whisper proudly.
He gives you a flat, shy look. “I said something dumb, didn’t I.”
“No no god, no. You said everything just perfect.”
“Then why you cryin?” His lips reach to kiss them away.
“Cus I like you too.” Your voice shakes, “a lot lot.”
He chuckles quietly at that, his smile reaching his eyes and with his ears turning pink. He couldn’t strain his eyes away from you and you curled up like a flustered little girl.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Doing that! Staring at me.”
“You wanna know somethin?”
“Oh no.” You bit back your smile.
He leans foward and gently cups your ear, his lips brushing against it, “…You’re pretty.”
The gesture, his rough voice, was so dear that you wondered if this was even real. You never imagined something this romantic would happen to you after staying at the farm. But there was Gator, looking untouched and himself all because of you.
With the nerve wracking confessions finally done, it was only left with one ending. Sealing the whispered words off with a kiss, so tender that he felt like the world was given to him right then and there.
It was around midnight when everything started to settle, when the summer heat turned mild and breezy. He was emotionally exhausted, filled with feelings for you, and it wore him down. You reassured him a lot after that, and he kissed you in between each word.
Eventually you fell asleep with your face nuzzled into his neck, wrapped in his jacket and listening to the sounds of crickets and gentle water. He held you tighter, eyes trained on the ground as he just thought. You were here, in his arms, away from all the drama at home that was slowly forcing him away from you. He kissed your forehead one last time. He lulled to sleep shortly after, making sure you were completely safe and sleeping against him, like he couldn’t relax until you were.
Gator Tillman knew you. He had you.
And he was finally ready to love.
——
𖦹 holy shit i genuinely reached a flow state because i just love gator so much like pleaseeee i need him
i also miss stranger things so much i tear up anytime i think about it come back to me
pairing: Walter "Keys" McKey x Female!Co-worker!Reader
summary: When Keys learns you're into dirty talk, he can't help but indulge his curiosity late one night at work. Thanks to an accidental headphone swap, you get to help him with his…research.
tags: MDNI [smut] [co-workers to lovers] [listening to a spicy audio together] [dirty talk] [nervous] [SWITCHY] [blowjob] [flustered to confident msub] [praise] [use your words] [semi-public sex] [fingering] [thigh riding] [kinda sweet, really slutty] 9k words.
God, Keys really needs to stop eavesdropping.
It’s already a bad habit of his—listening in on other people’s conversations at coffee shops, or when he’s sitting on the bus.
He just can't help it, okay? It's not his fault he's a curious guy by nature. And it's not like anybody ever sprints over to his corner office to tell him the new gossip, so he’s literally the last to know anything.
Like now, for example, standing at the shared coffee bar at work. He really should walk away and give you and your co-worker, Briana, some privacy for your conversation.
But he can’t.
Because he’s pretty sure he just heard the word sex.
His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, opening packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.
Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you.
Briana’s voice filters through his thoughts, tuning him back into the conversation. “I like him and everything, but the sex is just—I don’t know—”
“Bland?” you offer.
Briana pauses, giving you a weighted look before correcting. “Silent.”
You make a sympathetic sound, oblivious to your eavesdropper, whose cheeks are turning a charming shade of pink.
“There’s nothing worse than a silent man in bed,” you say, stirring your coffee. “I mean, we want to hear what we’re doing to them, you know? Like, moaning a little won’t kill them. And add in a little dirty talk? God, that shit never fails to get me off.”
Another sugar packet rips in his fingers and he pours without really thinking. Good lord, this coffee is going to be undrinkable.
But the cup of joe is the literal least of his worries, since he’s shoving his hips up against the edge of the table just to keep from getting a hard at hearing you talk like that. You’re his co-worker. You sit across from him every day.
He can’t be getting hard at work. And especially, not right next to you.
“Exactly!” Briana groans, enthusiastically. “So, I don’t know what to do about it.”
Keys’ head turns towards the open office floor, but his feet feel like they’ve grown roots, planting him right there in the dingy carpet, forcing him to listen.
You hum, a familiar sound that means you’re thinking. “Well, if he’s into it, maybe listen to some spicy audios together? There are some really talented creators out there that can give you both some inspiration.”
He glances up just in time to watch Briana’s dark eyes cut over to you mischievously as she takes a sip.
“Good idea,” she says, “I’m going to…”
Somehow, Keys finally uproots himself and slips away with his cup of sugary bean water.
He barely registers the rows of cubicles and windows swirling around him in colors of gray, blue, white, and black, too busy replaying your words over and over in his head.
…nothing worse than a silent man in bed.
…add in a little dirty talk?
…never fails to get me off.
His office chair squeaks under his weight and his glasses land on his desk with a clatter. Planting his elbows on his armrests, he breathes a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face.
Focus, Keys.
He replaces his glasses, and shifts forward in his chair, forcing his eyes back to his waiting code. The predictability of numbers—those never changing zeros and ones—usually settles him. But, not today.
He tries hard to force all thoughts of you from his head but—oh, it’s useless.
There you are, spread out on his navy sheets, writhing underneath him. His mouth trails soft kisses down your throat, over your shoulder, and lower…
You let out a needy whine, hands twisting up in his hair, legs parting for him on instinct. And in his imagination, he opens his mouth to say something hot—anything—but no words come. He wouldn’t know what to say.
He has a few trademark moves in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And the girls he’s been with always leave happy.
But…is he silent? He doesn’t really know, actually. Never recorded himself…or anything…maybe he should—
“You good?”
The world whips back into focus, and Keys jumps in his chair. Suddenly, the overhead light’s too bright, and the AC feels like an icy blast, and you’re there, standing over your desk, staring at him with concern.
“What?” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
You shrug, and take your seat across from him. “I don’t know, you just look…tired, I guess.”
He just grunts and returns his gaze to his computer screen. “Just…work stuff.”
You hum in agreement and turn back to your screen as well.
As much as he bitches about being shoved up in the corner of the floor, the only space with a huge window immediately to his left, the spot really does have its perks.
It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?
He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything.
Shit. Now he’s staring.
Irritated, he forces his gaze away and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose.
His hand finds his mouse and he navigates to his work, but for one fleeting second, his curser hovers over the new tab button.
Now, Keys is a complete and total nerd, so, of course he’s no stranger to the internet. Especially the deep, dark parts of it. He’s fallen victim to those late night deep dives on reddit pages more times than he can count. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers coming across those ‘spicy audios’ you gushed about earlier.
What did you call them? Talented creators? Which ones were you talking about? What things did they say? What did you like about it?
All it would take is a few clicks on his keyboard, and he’d get all those answers to his questions. But he quickly shakes his head to clear it and pulls up his code with a guilty look over his shoulder.
The white wall stares at him, disapproving.
What the fuck has gotten into him? He cannot be looking this shit up at work!
He really has it bad.
When he’s back home, in the comfort of his own gaming desk, only then will he let himself investigate this newfound scrap of information on you.
Later, he promises himself. Later.
Well, it’s later.
And Keys hasn’t got a single fucking line of code done yet.
Which is why he’s stuck at work late, miserably trying to catch up on his project after everyone else has left for the day.
Everyone, that is, except for you.
Apparently, you also got behind, and you can’t afford to. Not with the new launch coming up.
Vinny came by to collect the trash a while back, and he didn’t see you in the back corner, so he turned off the lights, plunging you both into darkness. Neither of you have gotten up to turn them back on, choosing instead to work by the dim lights of your computer monitors. And even though the two of you keep saying you’re going to leave “any minute,” those minutes turn to hours, and you’re both still here.
Alone.
The printer hums in the corner, and that blinking blue light on the side is driving Keys crazy. It keeps catching in the edge of his glasses, and the clicking of your mouse fills his ears.
It’s constant. Unlike his. Which means you’re actually getting work done. Unlike him.
Finally, your voice breaks the silence.
“The street’s kinda loud tonight, isn’t it?”
Keys makes a noncommittal sound in this throat and doesn’t look up.
Honestly, he hasn’t noticed the traffic humming far below the window, and he’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to think about you, that he doesn’t notice when you reach across over and grab his headphones by accident.
It’s easy to get them confused. They look exactly the same, tangled up together at the edge of where your desks meet. Black. Standard issue. Company logo on the side.
When Keys glances up and sees you with the headphones on, he sighs quietly in relief.
It’s ridiculous, but up until this moment, he was hyper-aware of everything he was doing. Was he breathing too loudly? Could you hear his heartbeat? Was he readjusting himself too much when every thought of you in his bed gave him a hard-on?
He tries to focus, he really does, but the numbers blur together on his screen.
Music.
That’s what he needs.
He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is.
He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no.
The foam cuffs press into the ear piece of his glasses, reminding him why he usually prefers the wired earbuds. But he’s lost them somewhere, and he can’t afford to go looking at the moment.
The click of his mouse is silenced as he maneuvers it to pull up his music library. But, his cursor gets distracted on the way, hovering over that damn new tab icon in the corner.
He risks another peek at you.
Your brows furrow and you readjust your headphones, eyes still on your screen.
Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face in frustration, he turns his gaze back to his computer. If he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to get any substantial work done until he satisfies his curiosity.
It’s risky, doing this at work. But there’s no way you can hear anything, and Keys is getting desperate.
After a few hasty searches, he’s navigating the depths of…erotic audios.
His eyes widen as he scrolls past the sprawling inventory of tropes and storylines. There are so many different kinds of fantasies, how would he know what you’re into? He leans in closer, scrolling carefully down the list until he hesitates on one in particular.
Talk Nerdy To Me.
The small blurb underneath catches his eye.
Your tutor tries a new tactic to get you to study for your big test. Just how sexual can his acronyms get before you decide to study anatomy a different way?
His cursor hovers over the LISTEN NOW button.
This is harmless enough, right? There’s even a little story. Like an audio book. Just way shorter. And way more explicit. And…yeah, this is so wrong, on so many levels.
Beneath his conscience, however, sits a burning curiosity. Keys is analytic at heart. If there’s a question, he wants to find the answer. And, if listening to this will help him figure out what to say in bed…
Fuck it.
The silenced click of his mouse through his headphones is as loud as a gunshot.
He waits, breath caught in his chest, heel tapping restlessly on the carpet as the little blue progress bar starts to move.
But he doesn’t hear anything.
He frowns and readjusts his headphones.
Nothing.
On impulse, he skips to the middle. Just in case there was a silent lull there at the beginning.
Still nothing.
He leans towards the screen nervously, and as he shifts, he glimpses you from behind your computer screen—and freezes.
You’re staring at him, cheeks flush in the dim lighting, chest fluttering with every breath. And small smirk begins at the corner of your mouth. It’s rueful and sinful, and…
His stomach drops.
Oh no. It’s in your headphones, isn’t it?
Oh, no, no, no, no—
His heart leaps in his chest as his hand flies to his mouse, scrambling to turn it off.
Oh, God, where’s the stop button?
There. That’s pause. Oh—he accidentally presses it twice. Now it’s playing again.
HOW DO YOU CLOSE THIS FUCKING THING?
You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply push the little red X on the top right of his screen.
The mouse starts to slip around in his sweaty palm and Keys gives up, slamming the power button on his computer, and enveloping the both of you in silence.
You stare at each other over your desks for a long second.
Then, Keys rips his headphones off and rakes a hand through his hair.
See? This is what he gets for being fucking curious. It gets him in trouble. He just needs to stick with what he knows—
He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain, to—beg for his dignity back? But you just slip the headphones down to hang around your throat and level his gaze with a soft smile.
“Was that Bennett Brooks?”
“W-what?” Keys croaks, shoving his glasses further onto his burning face.
“I recognize the voice actor. Haven't heard his stuff in forever, though. He’s good—voice is a little raspy for my taste,” you shrug prettily. “But good.”
He swallows. “Oh.”
The silent office presses in around you, so quiet he can almost hear your lashes click together when you blink at him. Suddenly, you whip his headphones off your neck and thrust them onto his desk.
They land with a clatter.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to take yours. By all means, don’t stop on my account.”
Keys lets out a choked sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. This is definitely making it into the top three most embarrassing moments of his life.
“I’m n-not...” he stammers, “Not into that. Like…that.”
You shoot him a knowing look. “No?”
“No! Listen, I just—” he scrambles for an explanation as you just fucking sit there watching him. Smiling at him. “It was just research. Okay? Not a big deal—”
The words barely escape his lips before he realizes his mistake.
“Research?“ Your eyes light up and you lean forward in your seat. His eyes drop to the white V-neck button down you’re wearing—that third button you leave unfastened haunts him every single day. “Research is my specialty, Keys.”
Yes, he knows that. You’re a data analyst for the company. One of the best in the region, actually, wasting your time at the desk next to his. He should apologize again, or confess he overheard your conversation at the coffee bar.
But the embarrassment burns hot, so instead, he clears his throat and hooks a finger in his shirt collar that’s currently suffocating him.
“It’s stupid, really,” Keys says at long last, and he hates how it comes out crackly. He clears his throat again, like that will help dislodge the panic in his chest.
It doesn’t.
You shrug, tilting your head in that cute way you do. “Didn’t sound stupid to me.”
You’re being so nice about it. Why are you always so nice? “You know, I could help.” Your eyes linger on him and the air seems to grow ten degrees hotter. Then softer, you add, “…if you want.”
And just like that, all thoughts of project and deadlines glitch and vanish from his mind like a crashed browser.
He’s nodding before he’s even really given it much thought.
You smile and sit up in your chair. God, you’re radiant. “Okay. Let’s start with what exactly you want to research. Is it audios, specifically? Or—”
“No, no, it’s just…I think I…” Keys’ bottom lip catches between his teeth before he heaves out a heavy breath. “I want to get better. I guess.”
“Better at what? Sex?”
This time, Keys doesn’t hesitate. “Dirty talk.”
“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
Keys adjusts in his chair, his dick is already twitching in his pants. “Yeah? So, you like this sort of thing? Guys’ voices dirty talking you and stuff. That…” He swallows hard. “Gets you off?”
You shrug again casually, like you’re talking about the weather. “It’s one way, yeah.”
Keys nods again. Too fast. Way too fucking fast.
“So, do you have anyone in mind?” You ask.
His pulse leaps. “What?”
“Well, you’ve got to be researching this for a reason, right? I mean, curiosity is a valid enough, don’t get me wrong. But is there someone…?” you trail off, unsure of how to finish.
A silent moment stretches out between you as Keys decides how to answer. The digital clock on the wall, the rise and fade of the passing lights, all seem to look between you—waiting for something.
Finally, Keys sighs. “Well, there is this girl.”
“Aha!” You lean your elbows on your desk, eyes brightening with interest. “Tell me.”
“It’s new. Like—” he chuckles, averting his gaze. “Really new. So.”
“It’s okay, Keys. We’re friends! We can talk about this kind of stuff.”
“I know!” he says defensively, although he’s not really sure why. “She’s just…into this sort of thing. Dirty talk. I think.”
“You think.”
“Yeah.”
You nod slowly, encouraging, if not a little teasing. “Okay…so, give me the rundown here. When’s your next date?”
“Uh. First one, actually. And…it’s…Thursday,” Keys stammers.
“Thursday? Okay.” You look out the window. A passing car’s headlights shine across your face for a second before the computer light consumes you again. “Lucky girl. Where are you taking her? I mean—before the inevitable trip back to your place.”
You swallow hard and busy yourself with re-organizing your pen cup as he scrambles for an answer.
Chinese.
You love that.
He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure.
Yeah, he has it bad.
“Uh. I was thinking that Chinese joint on the corner of Cross and Elm."
Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
When you look up at him again, there’s a hint of a smile on your lips.
“Okay, so, we have three days to prepare you. What questions do you have?”
Leave it to you to make this sound like a standardized research paper. Well, now’s a good a chance as ever. He might never get this chance again.
Keys straightens in his chair, heel tapping the carpet so fast his leg is bouncing.
“What do you—do girls,” he quickly corrects himself, “—want guys to say?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
Heat rushes to his face. “I mean, like, do they tell you how to…touch yourself? I don’t—I can’t even—”
“You’re overthinking it. There’s no magical combination of words to use." You gesture to his computer. "Here, let’s listen to the audio, it’ll help me explain—”
“Oh, no! We don’t have to do that!” Keys squeaks.
You shoot him a look. “You said this is for research, right?”
“Yeah! Obviously. Totally.”
“Then you can’t half-ass it. If you really want to learn how to dirty talk for this girl, you gotta commit.”
He hesitates.
“C’mon, Keys.” Your teeth close over the end of your pen and you gesture to his computer with your eyes, smirking as you settle into your chair. “Press play.”
Fuck.
Your coworker, Keys, has been acting weird as fuck all day, and now you finally know why.
He totally overheard your conversation with Briana at the coffee bar, earlier.
Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here.
From behind your desk, you watch him eye the power switch on his computer like it’s some gigantic red button that says ‘don’t touch’ or else it will somehow World War III.
Come to think of it, you might start World War III if it means getting your oblivious-as-he-is-cute-coworker to finally make a real move.
Still, though, there’s a part of you that feels for the guy. He’s so nice, and good, and sweet, and fuck if you don’t want him to corrupt him a little.
Only in the ways he wants to be corrupted, of course. Which, apparently, involves digging into ancient audio porn on reddit after work hours.
Oh, you are so into it.
“Why are you so embarrassed, Keys?” you say gently. “Look, this is normal, okay? Being curious. And you want to make this girl feel good, right?”
The girl has to be you.
After all those coffees he’s brought you from that fancy place that he insists only adds three minutes to his commute, but in reality, probably adds, like, twenty? And the way his hand accidentally finds ways to brush yours, and then he acts as if he’s not jumping out of his skin at the contact?
If this girl is not you, then this crush you have on your nerdy, hot co-worker is about to be devastating.
Keys blows out a breath. “Okay, fine.”
His computer powers up with a familiar hum, and blue light cascades over his features again.
God, he looks nervous. Why is that such a turn-on?
He looks so alone over there behind his desk as one lock of brown hair falls over his eyes, brushing the rim of his glasses, and suddenly, you get an idea.
“Wait, actually, no—” you mutter, standing up from your chair.
Keys jumps like you’ve shot him. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling to turn distract himself with something else on his computer. “Yeah! No, we don’t—this is—”
“—I’m coming over there.”
“What?” Keys’ gaze snaps to yours. Then, he gestures to the space beside him in his workspace. “Here?”
But you’re already rolling your chair over the carpet and behind his desk. It’s a tight fit, with these ergonomic chairs. Their wide armrests knock together as you slide in beside him.
Keys’ cubicle is different.
Technically, it’s the exact same as yours. The dimensions are the same, as well as your surroundings, but it smells like his cologne, and there’s that stack of board games he keeps hidden under his desk.
“Okay,” you sigh, settling back in your chair. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. Which means, starting from the top. Clearly, you know nothing of the subject—”
“I—” he starts, but you shoot him a look that has his jaw snapping shut.
“Now, dirty talk is a broad subject, so, what kinds of things are you into?”
Keys shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, it depends on what she’s into. I mean…” He threads his fingers behind his head and leans back in his computer chair in an obvious attempt at casualness. “What are you into?”
Smooth. Real smooth.
You decide to go along with it.
“I like a little of everything. Praise, instruction, degradation, fantasizing…but not every girl is the same—”
“Okay, let’s just do that, then,” he cuts you off, nodding once like it’s been decided.
You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Okay, I’ll press play.”
You shift lean forward and your palm closes over his mouse. It’s slightly damp, like Keys’ fingers were clammy when he last touched it.
“Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “Like…out loud?”
You gesture to the darkness beyond. “Keys, no one is here.”
“No, I know, but…” his eyes sweep the empty floor, shoulder hunched to his ears. “Okay fine, just do it.”
You nod and turn back to the monitor. “We’ll just pick up where you left off, okay?”
“Oh. I didn’t—”
Bennet Brook’s voice cuts him off, filtering through Keys’ computer speakers with that deep, raspy voice of his.
“—was pretty good. Okay, now let’s do the carpal bones. I have a mnemonic for this, actually, you want to hear it? Okay. Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. Yeah, it’s a little…suggestive? It just—it helps people remember okay? Yes! The sluttier the better. Look, it goes from thumb to pinky proximally, then pinky to thumb distally. Here, I’ll show you…”
You risk a glance over at Keys. He sits perfectly still, breath bated as Bennett leads the listener through the scene.
“Now you’re getting distracted,” Bennet laughs breathlessly. “What positions do I—I’m trying to help you study. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. Look. If I answer, will you study? Yeah? Okay, fine. My favorite is—”
You reach forward and press pause. The silence in the office rushes in to fill the empty space, and your stomach swoops as you turn to Keys.
“What’s your favorite sex position?” you ask abruptly.
He looks at you, eyes wide. You don’t miss the way his knuckles whiten around his arm rest, clearly doing that thing where he resists the urge to push his glasses up again out of habit.
“What does this have to do with—”
You sigh. “Just trust me, and answer the question.”
“Uh…missionary?”
“God, okay.” You roll your eyes and reach over to hit resume again. “That’s such a lie, but whatever.”
Keys stops you with that hand on your wrist again. “Wha—lie?”
“Yes. Lie.”
He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”
Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”
After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”
“Oh! That’s not a problem.”
You reach for his keyboard, and before he knows what’s happening, you’re opening a new tab, and then, right in front of him, is a list of sex positions.
With pictures.
“Jesus!” He hisses, looking over his shoulder as if the wall behind you is somehow going to open up and reveal your boss or something. “I’m going to have to scrub my search history clean after this.”
“Relax,” you say, settling back in your chair. “Now, point.”
Keys lets out a heavy, resigned sigh and sits forward, squinting at the screen. Ten seconds later, he shakes his head.
“It’s not there.”
When he looks over at you, he immediately rolls his eyes, because the look on your face is the clearest I-told-you-so look he’s ever received.
“God, with how freaky you are, Keys, it’s a wonder you’re silent in bed—”
“Hey!” He interjects, glaring over at you. “I never said—woah, okay, why are you standing up? What are you doing?”
You plant hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Look, just maneuver me into whatever position it is, and I’ll find the name of it for you.”
“This is ridiculous.”
You huff. “This is a part of the research. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, we—”
Without looking, he reaches out and grabs your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds through your thin work shirt and a surprised squeak escapes you as he tugs you down.
You land in his lap with an undignified plop, facing him. Your stomach plummets as his knee presses against your core, but he makes a disgruntled sound, and grabs your thigh, pulling one leg up and over until you’re straddling him.
Your pulse hammers in your ears as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and peer down at him.
The dim blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses and as his gaze meets yours, his expression makes your chest ache. There’s something so sweet there. Soft. Like flower petals against your skin. Fragile, too.
“This is it?” you whisper.
A small smirk crosses his lips.
“Okay, so, this is just straddling…” you say, but your voice trails off as his hands spread over your waist. They’re so big. How have you never noticed how big his hands were before?
You swallow hard. “Or, I think, it’s technically called seated cowgirl.”
“Really?” he asks, squinting up at you with a hint of cockiness you could get drunk on.
In your next breath, Keys’s fingers dig into your hips, and he spins you around on his lap. His chest is warm against your back, and his computer desk digs into your belly. You wiggle your hips back slightly to get away from the sharp edge, but still when his hard length presses into your clothed core.
“What’s this one called?” His voice is deeper now, threaded with heat, and it makes your hands clench against the cool metal of his desk.
“Reverse seated cowgirl,” you say, fighting to keep your tone even. “So, this is your favorite? Tell me why.”
His breath stalls in his chest, you can feel the way he hesitates against your spine.
The printer hums in the far corner of the office, and a car horn blares distantly from the street below.
After a long moment, he exhales, and his breath ghosts over your ear, making your lashes flutter.
“I like the view,” he admits softly. “Painted in blue-light, all needy—” Then, he lets out a quiet, “Fuck.”
Heat pools deep in your belly. He sounds…wrecked. Already. And you’re just sitting in his lap fully clothed.
God, you could make this man beg.
You tilt forward and look over your shoulder. His eyes lift to yours, then drag down to your mouth, your hips, and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth.
“What else?” you whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”
His words—so filthy and shy—stir hot embers of arousal between your hips.
“Shit, Keys,” you say with a breathless laugh. “That was so good!”
His eyes meet yours again. “Really?”
“Yeah! Okay, I’m pushing play again. I’ll skip forward a little, too, just so we get to the good stuff.”
He clears his throat. “You’re going to stay right here?” He taps your leg and his fingers linger on your skin.
You pretend to jolt in his hold. “Oh! Sorry, I can move if you—”
“No, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
‘It’s fine’, he says, as if he’s not raging hard underneath you, holding onto your leg like he might die if you slid off him right now.
He’s too easy.
You press play.
Immediately, sounds of kissing and rustling fill the room. Keys inhales sharply, his erection growing against your ass, and you barely resist the urge to grind down on him.
“That’s it,” Bennet croons. “You take it so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re incredible.”
The wet sound of hips meeting has Keys’ mouth dropping open. His eyes dart off the screen, like watching the loading bar is somehow equivalent to seeing these imaginary people fuck.
“That’s praise,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Obviously.”
Keys looks at you, then. Really looks at you. You can feel the way he takes in the slight shift of your hips as you try to find some friction to release the building ache.
He’s reading you. Analyzing the data. Recalculating.
Classic Keys.
The sight pulls at something in your chest. Truthfully, that’s the reason you like him so damn much, the reason you’re pulled to him like a ship to a lighthouse.
Because with Keys, you would be fully, and utterly known.
“…always so needy?” Bennet groans. “Just wanna be bent over a desk and fucked, huh, baby? This what you need? So dirty, I swear to God.”
“Degradation,” you murmur, turning back to the computer.
Bennett keeps going. “Oh yeah, just like that? C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. Use your words.”
“Instruction,” Keys says, beating you to the punch.
You’re grateful your back is to him so he can’t see your self-indulgent smile.
“…thought about this a lot,” Bennet groans, the sound effects growing faster and louder. “Like in the library on campus? When we’re trying to study but you’re sitting across from me, and I can’t focus…”
Your breath catches at the exact same second Keys goes still beneath you.
“…I see it, you know. The way your hand brushes mine when you hand me a pencil. You think I don’t notice? Fuck—of course I’ve thought about you. Are you kidding? Every time I jerk my cock I think about you. How you’d sound when I’m fucking up into you like this. Oh, you like that, huh? Get you so cock drunk— oh, baby, that’s it—”
You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry.
That’s fantasizing.
But for some reason, you can’t even bring yourself to repeat it. To solidify it. To make it any realer than it already is.
Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?
You’re soaking through your underwear now, but mostly from listening to Keys’ uneven breathing behind you. His fingers flex over and over against your work skirt, like he can’t quite get up the courage to slip them under the hem that’s riding up your bare thighs.
In an effort to relieve his aching erection, Keys shifts in his chair. It’s a small enough movement, but it’s just enough to send his elbow into a cup on his desk. It falls with a dull thud, the water inside instantly soaking into the carpet.
You smack the space bar on his keyboard, cutting Bennet off mid-moan, and leap to your feet.
Keys cringes and moves to stand, but you disappear behind your desk before he can blink, and reappear a second later with a roll of paper towels.
“Here,” you say gently as you kneel in front of him. “Let me.”
Keys reaches down at the same time you raise up on your knees, and when you lift your chin, you find your faces only an inch apart.
He doesn’t jerk back like you expect. Instead, he just finds the paper towel on the ground and gently pries your fingers off it, resuming the blotting himself.
Your hands find purchase on his knees for balance, and they spread wider under your touch, almost subconsciously.
Almost.
You swallow. “Keys?”
His shoulder muscles flex under his T-shirt as he works. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to keep listening to the audio…or…do you want to practice?”
“Practice?” He doesn’t look up, but his voice cracks.
“Only if you want.”
Keys sits back into his chair, tossing the wet paper towel into the nearby waste basket. Then his eyes settle on you for what feels like the first time all night.
Through his work khakis’, his erection presses an angry imprint. God, it looks so hard it probably hurts, confined like that. The air between you shimmers with that unsaid tension, the kind that releases butterflies in your stomach and in the chambers of your heart.
But while exciting, it’s equally terrifying, putting yourself on display like this. You feel strangely vulnerable, even though you were just teasing him a few seconds earlier.
“What are you thinking about right now?” you ask, voice soft.
Keys looks away, jaw clenching.
Suddenly, you wonder if you’ve misread this. Have you made him uncomfortable? What if there actually is a girl, and it’s not you, and you’ve just—
“Your mouth,” Keys says, cutting off your thoughts.
Hope renewed, your gaze snaps to his.
“Where?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, and his glasses slant adorably on his nose with the motion. His chest rises and falls once, twice, and then he whispers, “My cock.”
God, just hearing him say that makes your panties slick.
“Good,” you breathe. “Now, put it together.”
He huffs, a surprised laugh slipping from him before the heat returns to his gaze. “I’m thinking about your mouth on my cock.”
The damp carpet fibers dig into your knees as you watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.
“Do you want me to do that?” you ask carefully.
There’s a certain irreversible tension sitting between you right now. It feels a little like waiting behind an ancient door, not sure if it will creak open and invite you in or vanish into a cloud of dust.
After a long moment, Keys nods.
A triumphant thrill zips through you, but you keep yourself together and hold his gaze. “You have to say it—”
“Fuck, I want it.” The words rush out of him in a gasp, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth, waiting their turn the whole night. “I want my cock in your mouth. Please.”
He’s barely got the words out before your fingers fly to his zipper.
“Forgot about begging,” you mutter more to yourself, but he hears you anyway.
How could you have forgotten that very important category of dirty talk? It’s one of your favorites, and it flew from his lips unprompted.
He’s perfect.
“W-what about the—cameras,” he protests weakly, even as his hips lift from the chair to help you slide his pants down his thighs.
“The cameras don’t reach back here,” you assure him.
Hooking a finger in the band his underwear, you pull them down and reveal his cock. It sits hard and heavy against the happy trail on his lower stomach.
He sputters. “W-what? Wait—really? How do you know that?”
It’s only natural, digging into dark spots in the security systems at a new job. Especially when you have a coworker as hot as Walter McKeys.
Instead of answering, though, you shuffle forward and take him in your hands. His head tips back on a ragged groan and you relish the hot, velvety feel of him. It’s long and hard, and somehow, you always knew Keys would have a big dick.
It’s always the nerds.
Your pussy throbs, fluttering around nothing as you imagine him easing his length inside your slick core, whispering in your ear, telling you how well you’re doing, how much he’s wanted this.
Keys sits ramrod straight, breathing sharply through his nose as you let your hands explore him. You stroke him from base to tip, fondle his balls, then reach down and palm his thighs. His stomach flexes beneath his shirt, and on impulse, you reach up and lift it until the fabric bunches just below his ribs.
Soft tummy with muscles flexing underneath. A dark happy trail leading down. A glimpse of thicker hair littered across his chest.
God, he’s delicious.
What you wouldn’t give to have this man naked in your bed right now. Saliva builds in your mouth at the thought.
Can you die by horniness? Better research that later.
You stroke him firmly a few times, and when you lean down, he groans softly.
Glancing up, you search for any sign to stop, but his eyes aren’t on yours anymore. They’re glued to your chest.
You tilt your chin down to see what he’s looking at.
The three unfastened buttons of your work shirt give him a clear view of your cleavage, and the glow of the computer monitor illuminates the dips and valleys prettily.
A relieved gasp escapes him as your hands start undoing the rest of the buttons. He nods as if you read his mind when your shirt falls open, revealing your black bra.
Thank God it’s your cute one. Not lingerie by any means, but your nipples harden under his gaze, poking against the fabric.
You keep your shirt hanging loosely over your shoulders, just in case someone were to walk in. Although very unlikely, the thought of getting caught with Keys still shoots a wicked jolt of pleasure through you.
Wordlessly, you run your hands up his legs again until your fingers find his cock and resume your attention.
Keys says something—more like whines it—but it’s too quiet for you to hear. The carpet presses into your knees as you lean in. His thick thighs bracket your shoulders, and when your breath ghosts across the head of his cock, they go hard as rocks. He makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat, then clears it roughly.
You lean back to catch his eye.
“Whatever your voice, or breath, wants to do…just let it happen,” you say. “Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one here.”
He nods, drunk on the sight of you, desperate for your mouth.
Those big hands reach down and gather your hair, and you scoot even closer, close enough to tap his dick against your lips with a soft smack. When you blink up at him, Keys curses under his breath, then stops himself.
“Stop swallowing it down,” you chide. “Let me hear.”
Before he can say—or do—anything, you lick a broad, wet stripe up his length. His hips jerk in your hold, a ragged moan tumbling from his lips, unabashed. Your eyes shine with pride when you look up at him. And fuck, he’ll do anything to see that look again.
You stroke him lazily. Like you have all the the time in the world here in the office after hours. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a long, long, time.
Drool pools in your mouth as you coat him with your tongue. Then, your lips wrap around him and you slowly work your way down, inch by inch, listening to his whimpers, feeling the way his body vibrates underneath you.
He’s still holding himself back, so you draw back up and suck gently on his tip before popping off him.
“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fu-forgot I was supposed to talk.”
You nod. “That’s okay. How do you like it?”
He starts to respond, but you envelop him in your warm, wet mouth again, and all words die on his lips.
“Feels so good, I can’t—can’t—mmmph,” he groans as you relax your jaw and take him deeper, then whimpers pitifully when you come off him again. “My brain’s fried. Like, actually short circuited. I can’t think—”
You press your tits together and tilt your head. “It feels good, right?”
He chuckles, a ragged soft sound. “Fuck—yeah.”
“Just talk to me, then,” you murmur, fluttering your tongue along the ridge of his cock as it twitches in your hold.
Something seems to click in his mind at those words, and his eyes harden as he stares down at you.
“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the time. Because of you!”
You decide to reward him for that little speech—a great example of fantasizing and degradation—and relax your jaw again, sliding him deep into your throat. Deeper than before. Keys throws his head back on a groan. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them back so you can look at him properly.
His hair looks so pretty illuminated in soft streaks of blue from the computer, and gold from the street far below. Like a painting.
Arousal floods your core, coating your underwear, and you can feel your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You slide up and off of him to let your lungs expand and he inhales with you, like that took his breath away as much as it did yours.
“Can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like under me,” Keys pants. He watches you with heated eyes as you suck on his tip, stroking the rest of him steadily with both hands. “Or—or on top of me. What you’d t-taste like.”
Without thinking, you shove two fingers past your waistband, and straight through your soaked folds. The contact has you moaning around his cock, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine.
Then, you slowly withdraw them. They glisten in the glow of the monitor as you raise them up to his face, and Keys wastes no time leaning forward and capturing them in his mouth. His tongue strokes up to your knuckles eagerly, and as the first taste of you floods his mouth, it seems to unlock something in him. Some rusty, spider-web filled, creaking lock shoves open.
“Aghhh yeah,” he moans when you withdraw your fingers and suck him deep again. “That’s how I like it. However you do it, that’s how I like it, baby. Holy fuck.”
Your eyes actually roll back at that, and your hand flies down to circle your clit without thinking.
His eyes track the movement and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you like that? You like hearing how well you’re doing?”
You whimper. Fuck, yeah, you do.
He bucks underneath you, like your mouth is just the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Just—fucking—on your knees for me? Shit."
Your eyes slide shut, lost in the salty taste of him as his precum mixes with your spit. His hand leaves your head and reaches down to tap your chin.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open in surprise.
You swallow around him in response and his jaw drops. He grips your hair again on instinct and you moan in encouragement as he starts to push you gently up and down his shaft.
“Is t-this okay?” he asks, breath ragged.
You nod, lashes fluttering as he hits that soft spot at the back of your throat.
Truth is, you love this.
Taking your rigid, calculating co-worker and turning him into something needy and honest. He’s wild, but with an edge of control. And somehow, you just know Keys could take you to the brink and keep you there like no other.
You hollow your cheeks as he grinds in and out of your wet mouth, pulsing against your tongue and spitting out the filthiest words you’ve ever heard him say in your months of working across from him.
You rub your throbbing clit faster, and he blinks down, watching you touch yourself to the feel of him in your mouth for all of three seconds before he’s yanking up on your hair.
Your scalp tingles as you disobey his silent order, determined to have him come in your mouth. His base is slick against your puffy lips, and he damn near chokes on his tongue when your nose hits his stomach.
He breaks off with a ragged moan as you grip his thighs and swallow around him—and then he’s spilling down your throat.
His abs tense and release over and over in your view, and the view is so intoxicating, you’re only a few seconds away from your own release when he finally slips from your drooling mouth.
You don’t know what you expected him to do when he finished. Maybe probably crawl back into that shy, nice-guy, missionary shell of his. Instead, when his chin falls to his chest, his soft brown eyes have gone molten. He reaches down and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back into his briefs, but he doesn’t bother with the zipper.
“C’mere,” he demands, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you up. Your legs wobble, but he catches you easily and pulls you down into his lap. “Ride my thigh.”
Your mouth drops open. “Ride your—”
“You heard me.”
In one smooth motion, he plunges a hand under your skirt and yanks your panties down your legs. His knuckles brush your wet folds and you gasp against him, grinding down instinctively against his knee.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “Taking instructions. Soaking through my pants like that? Fuck yeah.”
Your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath, but now, you start to wonder if maybe you’ll just be in an oxygen debt forever at this point. Because with the way he’s looking up at you right now, there’s no way you can breathe.
Your hips roll smooth and fast, and when he shifts his leg up slightly, meeting your movements, sparks shoot up your spine. Your head drops back, eyes slipping shut, but Keys is quick to pull your gaze back to his with a hand around the nape of your neck.
He clicks his tongue. “No, I want to watch you. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”
“God, Keys,” you pant, “you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that—”
He cuts you off by pinching your nipple through your bra, and when he grabs a handful of your bare ass under your skirt, your lungs officially forget how to expand.
“Please,” you beg. “Keys—”
His hands fly to your hips, helping you rock back and forth on him. “What is it? What do you need? Need me to touch you?”
You whimper. “Yes.”
“Tell me where.”
You grab his hand and guide it under your skirt, but he pulls back at the last second.
“That’s not telling me.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, breathless and irritated.
He smiles, then. And it’s positively radiant, white teeth winking in the dim light.
“C’mon, use your words, or else I’ll have to stop,” he warns.
But you’re not listening, because at that moment, he dips his head and captures your aching breast in his mouth, pulling a deep moan from your throat and putting an arch in your back.
Your thighs burn, hips slowing to devastatingly desperate swivel in order to keep his mouth on you. The threads of his pants are warm and completely soaked through underneath you, and he’s licking and sucking your breasts through your bra like he’s trying to find a way to imprint his smell, his taste, onto your body.
The duel stimulation feeds that sprawling drive for more. Tremors start to run through your hands, making them claw restlessly at his shoulders and dive into his hair as your orgasm grows closer.
Suddenly, Keys pulls back. He ignores your whine of protest and blinks up at you from behind his glasses. Your tongue darts over your bottom lip as your eyes drop to his mouth.
His perfect…perfect fucking mouth. Soft lips, parted just slightly as he breathes heavily beneath you. The timber of his voice reverberates against your stomach as he talks. God, it’d be so easy just to lean in and press your mouth against his, feel that gentle glide of his tongue against yours…
Wait, is he saying something? You can’t fucking think—
“…not going to tell me, I have to stop.”
It’s only when his hands leave your body that the world slows to a stop.
Cold air rushes in where his hands just were. Now you’re just needy and wet, grinding down on his pants leg in the middle of a dark office.
“W-what?” you ask dumbly.
He shrugs. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t use your words.”
Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are traveling through a cloud, all the blooding your body pooled in your clit instead.
“But I...” you whimper, “But, what—”
He rolls his eyes.
“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock.
He smirks at the look on your face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What? you thought I wasn’t serious? You made me do all this—and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I watched you getting off on the power trip of it all, and now it’s my turn. So, go ahead. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
Where the fuck did your nerdy, shy coworker go? And who have you turned him into? Your breasts heave in his face as you blink down at him, but he doesn’t so much as glance at them.
“I’m right here,” he urges. “Go ahead. Ask for it. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”
After a moment, you finally find your voice.
“I-I want you to touch me.”
His hands instantly resume their place on your hips and your breath shutters in relief.
Then he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, huh? Where do you want to come? On my fingers?”
“Yes!” The word leaves your mouth broken and desperate.
He hums. “Put it together.”
You exhale sharply, panting towards the ceiling in frustration. “Walter, I want you to finger fuck me until I come.”
He smiles against your throat. “Good girl.”
His hand finds your clit immediately and he rubs tight, hot circles that have your back arching.
“Oh, God, don’t stop!” you beg.
Your shirt slips from your shoulder and then his mouth is there, kissing the soft skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it.
The muscles deep in your core flex with your impending pleasure and you writhe against him desperately. Through it all, his hands stay steady, never wavering. Constant, and grounding.
You raise up on shaky legs as his two middle fingers circle your entrance and your pelvis tilts, eagerly seeking that internal friction.
He presses in, just a little, and your body welcomes him greedily. The sound of his fingers disappearing inside you making him groan out a slurred curse.
“Shit, baby—both at once? So wet for me, oh my God.”
When his fingertips brush that spongey spot that makes you see stars, your chest vibrates with your moan. The pressure on your clit is too much, and not enough, and everything all at once—it’s overwhelming. It's perfect.
Your hips snap into his palm, driving his fingers deeper and he lets out a choked sound as you whine, needy and breathless.
“There you go. That’s it,” he murmurs into your neck. His glasses knock into your throat as you tip your head back to give him better access. “Take what you need.”
That white-hot band of pleasure finally snaps as you clench around his fingers, and your orgasm rushes through you in a torrential wave of bliss. Keys slowly withdraws his fingers and helps bring you back to each with soft kisses to your chest, thumbs tracing circles into your thighs as you collapse on top of him.
“Holy shit,” you gasp, running a hand through your hair, gazing down at him through heavy lids. “That was…”
“Good?” he asks eagerly.
You smile. “Perfect.”
And you mean it. You really do.
His fingers brush over your bare shoulder and your breath catches again as your eyes connect with his. The stoplight on the street below turns green, reflecting in his glasses, and because you can’t help it, you smirk down at him.
“So, about this girl...” he murmurs.
Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”
“This date—”
“Yeah?” you say again, eagerly, cutting him off.
As you stare at each other, chests heaving, faces flush, a laugh builds behind your ribs.
He clears his throat. “I was kinda hoping…you’re free Thursday? I was thinking about that place on Elm and Cross—”
“Fuckin’ knew it,” you murmur, and the rest of his words die against your mouth as you lean down and kiss him.
a/n: Oh, hi. So, the way I feel about this fictional man, is actually pretty close to the actual definition of feral. Also, I just want to say, there are many more kinds of dirty talk out there, but these categories just fit the plot lol
Also everyone blame Jules (@tellcherhesgone) for putting this idea in my head, because she posted one thing about Keys definitely knowing what GoneWildAudio is, and that shit stuck with me lol
kurtsworld96 is your biggest fan and the last thing he expects is for you to follow him back.
pairing: kurt kunkle x twitch streamer!reader
words: 3.1k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) mutual masturbation (fem and male), sexting, phone sex, dirty talk, lil bit of drooling, kurt's packing, pet names (angel, baby), kurt is a massive sub, virgin!kurt, praise kink, kurt likes loves being told he's a good boy, pussy pronouns, no use of y/n, female reader, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: day 5 of the 2k followers special! my first kurt fic. kurt smut has a special place in my heart, he's my favourite loser. stardew valley mention because i fucking love that game. please enjoy some shameless smut.
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
kurtsworld96: want to cum on ur tits
You see the comment before one of your mods deletes it and your lips twitch as you try not to laugh. You got a lot of creeps—like a lot—and this kurtsworld96 just seemed to be another one.
“This Kurt guy—dude, you’re probably like a twelve year old virgin. Go watch porn or something instead of harassing me on stream,” you say bluntly before your eyes flicker back to your monitor where you were in the depths (level 84 to be exact) of Skull Cavern in Stardew Valley.
You had been streaming for nearly five hours and the last two of those had been trying to reach level 100 of the caverns. It was your first time trying and your body felt tense from the adrenaline that had been steadily pumping through you throughout the game. You told yourself you would stream for six hours but your body felt like it was thrumming beneath your skin. You wanted to end the stream early, perhaps have a glass of wine and use that new vibrator a brand had sent you.
You manage to make it to level 90 before a serpent kills you. Again.
“Stupid fucking thing!” You huff, slamming a hand down onto your desk as your chat explodes with messages of encouragement to ‘try again!’ and ‘keep going!’.
But only one message really catches your eye.
kurtsworld966: ur really fcking hot when you rage quit. gonna fuck my fist think about it later
Maybe it was the fact that you really, really needed to get laid. Maybe it was the fact your body felt so tense but that message sent something hot and electric straight to your neglected cunt.
You blink. The familiar soundtrack to the game fades into nothing as you become acutely aware of the sudden urge you had to press your thighs together.
The message clears. One of your mods had deleted it.
You figured that this Kurt guy made a new account just to send through the new message. There was some sick part of you that hoped he’d make another one.
And he did just that. Barely five minutes later.
kurtsworld9666: bet your pu$$y tastes fucking incredible
One of your mods messages you privately and asks if you want him permanently banned but you’re too busy imagining the faceless stranger’s nose buried deep in your cunt to reply.
Fuck—you needed to get end the stream.
“I’m going to head off guys,” you announce as you squeeze your thighs together beneath the desk, rubbing yourself against the chair beneath you for a small slither of relief. Your clit nudges the steam of your shorts and something warm jolts through you. You take a breath before plastering a smile on your face. “I’ll be streaming at the same time tomorrow so catch you all then! Good night!”
You click off before you can see all the messages roll in before your mods and followers could ask what was wrong. But instead of turning off your PC, you head straight to kurtsworld96’s Twitch page.
“Fuck,” you mutter when you realise he was blocked. One of your mods must have done it. Probably for the best. He was definitely some creep you shouldn’t want looking at your profile.
But you were horny and curious and it was a dangerous mix that made you hover over the ‘un-block’ button. Your finger taps without really thinking.
Your eyes widened when his profile finally loads.
It was an aggressive clash of colours, of memes that told you this guy was very clearly chronically online. There was an entire section of his profile dedicated to clips of him rage quitting Fortnite. Your eyes flicker to his profile picture and the first thing you notice about him are his eyes—big, brown like a damn puppy dog. He was cute—sure, he looked a little pathetic and he could probably do with a shower or two but he seemed sweet.
The next thing you notice was the stats next to his username. The fact he had been following you for over a year—since your very first steam in fact.
That turned you on even more and you weren’t entirely sure why.
You shut down your computer, grabbing your phone before leaving your streaming room. You were still stupidly horny and didn’t even think about grabbing a glass of water after a long stream. Instead, you headed straight to your bedroom.
You fell back onto your bed as you opened instagram. You hesitated for maybe twenty seconds before you typed in ‘kurtsworld96’ into your search bar.
His instagram profile was almost identical to his Twitch. Same aggressively cringe graphics, same big brown puppy dogs eyes. The fact he was already following you.
You click on his latest post and your pussy clenches around nothing as you're met with the sight of his bare chest. It was a video of him messing around with what you sure was a fake samurai sword. But you didn’t give a fuck about the sword, too busy staring at this guy’s body. Because fuck, he was pretty. He had a generous smattering of chest hair which was unexpected but you found yourself staring at, mouth hanging open. He had moles and freckles dotted over his body and a soft tummy that you openly ogled.
You swallow, squeezing your thighs together as your fingers scramble to zoom in on those dark sweatpants he was wearing where you were sure you could see the outline of his cock.
But the sudden appearance of a large red heart stops you.
Shit.
Fuck.
You lock your phone. Your heart hammers in your chest. You feel hot in a way that had nothing to do with how horny you were and everything to do with the accidental like you had just left on his post.
Stupid, stupid, stupid—
Your phone buzzes and you groan, suddenly fighting the urge to throw your phone into the nearest body of water. You take a moment before you glance at your phone but it was just your best friend who had texted you.
Maybe you had imagined it. Maybe you hadn’t really liked Kurt’s post. Maybe you should look again just in case. But one look at Kurt’s profile and you quickly realise you hadn’t imagined it.
You could block him. You could bury the evidence and save yourself from embarrassment. But you don’t do that. Instead, you bite your lip before you press ‘follow’.
And you wait. Ten seconds, maybe a little more before your phone buzzes pnce again.
This time, it wasn’t your best friend.
holy fucking shit
you followed me?!
fuck
you’re fucking beautiful
i love your streams. you’re so pretty
hi
Your lips twitched as you try not to smile. You were right—he was sweet.
Hi
It was the only thing you could think to type back. You weren’t sure what you were doing, giving this guy attention. He could be crazy, he could be insane. He could be—
Your phone buzzes as Kurt sends through another message. You look down at your phone and—
“Holy fuck.”
You had received a lot of unsolicited dick pics throughout the past year of streaming on Twitch but this one? It had your attention.
Because Kurt’s cock was fucking beautiful. It was thick, long, veiny. It looked fucking heavy as it rested against his soft stomach. A large hand was wrapped around his length and you found yourself focusing on his fingers—on the veins in his hands before you went back to looking at his cock. Your eyes flickering to the tip which was flushed a dark pink and glistening with pre cum. Your mouth feels incredibly dry as you stare at the image for longer than necessary and that coil of desire stirred back up in your gut.
took this when watching ur stream earlier
You swallow, wetting your lips before you shakily type back a reply.
I saw your messages on my stream
You hesitate, your thumbs hovering over your keyboard as you see the three dots to indicate Kurt was typing a reply.
u like my cock?
You figured that this guy had probably never sexted someone before and had you not already seen his glorious cock, you may have thought twice about indulging him. But there was an ache between your thighs that had become impossible to ignore.
Yeah, I really like your cock Kurt
He doesn’t reply instantly. You wonder if you had broken him. You figured you may have done since you would have placed money on the fact that this guy had very limited—if not zero—experience.
You wondered if he was jerking off. If he was touching himself while texting you and you found yourself annoyed at the idea of not being able to see it.
Your fingers fly over the keys before you could stop yourself.
FaceTime me.
Your phone number follows.
You wait for perhaps ten seconds before your phone rings.
You sit upright in your bed, running your hands through your hair quickly before you take a deep breath. You hadn’t yet changed from your t-shirt and gym shorts you had been wearing during your stream and you were a little self conscious about it. You glance at your phone screen to see an unknown number FaceTiming you. You rest your phone back against your pillows before accepting the call.
“Hi,” you say as Kurt’s face flashes across the screen. Like you, he was laying in bed. His phone seemed to be propped up on his bedside table. He looked completely breathless as he lay back against his sheets, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, those big brown eyes wide and lips swollen and wet as though he had been biting them. You can see yourself in the bottom corner of the screen, perched on your bed with your legs slightly spread and you feel yourself flush with pleasure when Kurt lets out a small groan at the mere sight of you.
“Holy fuck,” he mutters. “You’re fucking—you’re gorgeous. And real. Thank fuck. Not a catfish. That’s good. That’s—”
He was rendered speechless as you stretch your t-shirt taunt over your chest, giving Kurt a clear view of your pebbled nipples through the material.
“Fuck me,” he gasps out, lips parting. “I mean—fuck—I wanna fuck you so bad. Wanna fuck your brains out. Wanna see your pussy stretched over my—”
“—have you done this before, Kurtie?” You ask in a soft voice, head titled.
Kurt whimpers at the nickname and frantically shakes his head. “No, no, I haven’t. I’ve never—”
“—that’s okay,” you practically purr, your clit throbs in anticipation as you watch Kurt’s face twist in pleasure. “Just watch me.”
“Holy fuck angel, you’re fucking perfect,” he babbles, eyes wide as you shift your position so he could see the globes of your ass peeking beneath your shorts. “Fucking gorgeous and perfect and—”
He cuts himself off, seeming to choke on his own saliva as you begin to lift up your t-shirt to show him your tits.
“Fuuuuuuck,” Kurt gasps out and you watch as he begins to palm himself over his sweatpants. The bulge there was hard to miss and you hastily tug off your t-shirt so you could run your hands over the sensitive flesh of your breasts.
You hum, head thrown back in pleasure as your fingers circle your nipples, your hips moving of their own accord as you grinded against your sheets. Your panties and shorts were starting to feel damp from how wet you had become. You desperately wanted to peel them off but you pulled your focus back to Kurt as you continued to play with your sensitive peaks.
He was whimpering, hand still desperately palming himself—eyes fixed on you and a bit of drool hanging from his mouth. It was pathetically hot.
You smiled at the screen sweetly as you trailed a hand down to the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down enough to expose your baby blue panties.
“Show me your cock, Kurtie,” you tell him breathlessly. “Wanna see your pretty cock.”
You could have told him to throw himself in front of a car and he probably would have obliged.
His hands scramble to tug down his sweatpants and boxers at the same time. You hear him curse several times in his haste to do as you say. You continue to roll your nipple between your fingers, biting back your own small moan at the sensation as your other hand moves to cup your needy cunt over your shorts.
“Shiiiiit, you’re so fucking hot, baby,” Kurt tells you in a strained voice. You hear the faint sound of skin slapping against skin and your eyes flutter open just in time to see his cock slap against his stomach.
Your mouth feels dry again and suddenly, the pressure of your hand against your cunt isn’t enough anymore.
“Shit—are you going to—”
Your hands slip inside your shorts before Kurt could finish his sentence. You were soaked. That much was immediately clear as you ran your fingers along the damp patch your slick had left in your panties. Your hips bucked instinctively and you let out a soft moan as you repeated the action.
“Shit—fuck—you’re so fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.”
You smile a little, eyes closed as you press down on your clothed clit and mewl out Kurt’s name.
Kurt felt like he had died and gone to heaven.
There was a brief moment of silence and then—an obscene sound of slickness on the other end of the FaceTime call.
Your eyelids flutter open just in time to see Kurt—a hand wrapped around his thick cock—as he stares at you.
“You’re so fucking perfect. Fucking beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. Touching yourself because of me? Fuccccck.”
He’s babbling, complete and utter nonsense and that leaves your body buzzing. He was so eager—so fucking eager to please you, even over the phone and each compliment went straight to your cunt.
Your hand slips out of your shorts so you could tug them off, along with your panties and Kurt’s movement stops for a brief second as you lay back so he could get a clear view of your glistening pussy.
“Holyfuckingshit, holyfuckingshit—”
The needy tone of his voice was everything you needed and more, your fingers glided easily between your folds and you didn’t think twice before you plunge a finger inside of yourself.
“Fucccck,” you hear Kurt gasp out. You could hear him pumping his leaking dick frantically, eyes feasting greedily on the way your finger pumps in and out of your dripping hole, your breasts bouncing with each and every thrust. “Look at her. Fucking looking at her.”
You let out a high pitch moan as you add a second finger, your head falling back against your sheets as you continue to fuck yourself with your slick fingers. Your hips bucking upwards to meet your movements, your eyes rolling back into your head and Kurt’s name falling repeatedly from your lips.
“You’re such a good boy, Kurtie,” you moan out as you plunge your fingers deep into your sobbing pussy, slick sounds filling the room obscenely. “Such a good boy. S’fucking good f’me.”
Pleasure was spreading through you—white hot and making everything around you feel sharper. The coil in your gut was pulled tight and all you could hear was the schlick, schlick, schlick from Kurt fucking himself with his fist.
“I’m gonna be so good,” Kurt was babbling desperately, whimpers falling unabashedly from his lips as he stroked his length over and over again at the sight of you. “I’ll be such a good boy. I’ll be so fucking good f’you.”
Slick was dripping down your wrist as your other hand joined the fray—your finger circling your clit once and causing your hips to jerk upwards as pleasure pulsed through every nerve in your body.
“Fuccck, I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum. Let me cum angel, please? I need to cum. Please. Please. I’ll be so good. I’ll be so fucking good—”
“Cum. Cum for me, Kurtie. Please be a good boy and cum for me,” you gasp out as you continue to fuck yourself with your hand toys with swollen clit.
And Kurt? He does exactly what you ask of him.
He lets out a strangled whimper of your name as he spills his release all over his fist and stomach. You watch, memorised, at the amount of cum that was spilling out of him. Fuck, it was hot. Watching his hips desperately jerk as he babbles your name like it was the only word he knew.
And it was that—him whimpering out your name like that—was the thing that pushed you over the edge. Heat surged through you, sending shock waves through every nerve in your body as your orgasm crashed over you. Your thighs shook, your juices dripped down onto the sheets beneath you and your breasts heaved heavily as your body attempted to recover from the intensity of your release.
The only sounds that came from you and Kurt was the both of you trying to catch your breath.
“Can we do this again?” you hear Kurt ask tentatively. “Soon?”
You blink slowly before sitting upright, your eyes flickering to your phone to see Kurt looking at you. His stomach was painted white from his own cum but he didn’t care as his big brown eyes looked at you pleadingly. Honestly, he looked as though he might cry if you said no.
Lucky for him, there wasn’t a part of you that wanted to say that word.
“Of course Kurtie,” you say with a gentle smile. “You wanna come round tomorrow after my stream?”
Kurt’s eyes practically bulge out of his head.
“You want—this—in person? Are you—”
“—I’m sure,” you say before he could second guess himself. “I’ll text you my address.”
Kurt swallows before nodding frantically. “Yeah—that’s um—great. Perfect, yeah. I’ll be over.”
You smile because fuck, this guy was sweet. So fucking sweet and you couldn’t wait to make him a whimpering mess all over again.
“Cool. See you tomorrow Kurt.”
You lean forward, picking up your phone to end the call but Kurt says your name and you pause, looking at him expectantly.
“You look really pretty when you cum,” he tells you softly. The words make you feel hot and it had nothing to do with the orgasm you had just had and everything to do with the guy with the big brown eyes looking at you like you hung the stars.
“So you do,” you tell him sincerely, your heart thumping in your chest as he flushes pink. You need to hang up before you tell him he looked pretty when he was flustered too. “See you tomorrow, Kurt.”
You tell Steve that you don't think you're capable of orgasming with a guy. He's determined to prove you wrong.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 4.2k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) mutual masturbation, porn with very little plot, hint of friends to lovers, pet names, steve is packing, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: request by @djobriens | this is inspired by that scene from off campus!! recently watched it and i am forever changed. this was yet another request that started as a blurb and ended up being way too long.
Telling one of your closest friends that a guy had never made you come had seemed like an okay idea at first. Unless that guy was Steve Harrington who took the news like it was a personal insult.
"What?" He asked, a look of horror on his face as he stared at you as though he was waiting for some sort of punchline. "Never? You're kidding right? This is some sort of sick joke—"
Your face feels hot as you look away from Steve, suddenly regretting telling him about your disappointing date from Saturday night. Suddenly regretting being too honest with him, about the lack of orgasms that you had received from men over the years. You would usually talk about this sort of stuff with Robin but she was on vacation with her family and you needed someone to vent to. And so, you had showed up to Steve’s under the guise of a movie night and general catch up.
But maybe venting to Steve had been a bad idea.
"Forget I said anything," you say quickly, leaning over to grab the large bowl of popcorn that had been sitting on Steve's lap and stuffing a large handful into your mouth just to avoid answering any further questions.
But of course—Steve wasn't going to let you off that easily.
"I'm serious!" Steve says, snatching the popcorn back and placing it on the coffee table before shifting on the sofa to look at you properly. "This is—this is abhorrent. Do you exclusively date selfish assholes or something?"
If you hadn't had a mouthful of popcorn, you would have probably argued with him. But instead you settle for sending him a glare as you chew what was left of the salty popcorn in your mouth.
"Do you finish when you touch yourself?"
You nearly choke on a popcorn kernel.
"Jesus Christ, Harrington!" you gasp out, your face now so hot you were surprised that steam wasn’t rising from your skin. “You can’t just ask me that—”
“—what?” Steve asks, seemingly confused why you were so taken aback by his question. “I’m trying to help—”
“—by asking me about masturbation?”
“I’m just trying to understand the situation!”
You huff because you knew deep down Steve had good intentions. You knew he wasn’t asking to be a creep—he was asking because he genuinely cared about you and wanted to help you with the situation. But talking about something so intimate with Steve made you feel a lot of things that you weren’t quite sure what to do with.
“Yes,” you say finally, determinedly not looking at Steve as you answer. “Yes, I um, I finish when I—you know—”
“—touch yourself?” Steve finishes for you and the words send heat coursing through your entire body. You shift on the couch beside him, eyes on his TV that was currently playing some sitcom you were no longer paying attention to. “C’mon, don’t be coy about it! Masturbation is normal! I do it at least three times a—”
“—Steve!” You scold him, your face somehow even hotter as you turn to glare at him. “I don’t need to know about how many times a week you jerk off—”
“—actually, I was going to say that I do it three times a day.”
You look at him and suddenly, any intelligent thought you had disappears. Because now all you could think about was Steve and what he’d look like fucking his fist with his cock. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about Steve in that way before. He may be a good friend of yours but he was also stupidly attractive and wore jeans that hugged his lower half a little too well. Sometimes, if you had a chance to look at him for long enough, you could see the imprint of his thick cock over the denim. And his ass—
“You know I’m kidding right?” Steve asks you, seeming to take your lack of response as disgust—when in reality it was anything but. “I don’t—that’s just excessive. Few times a week is enough for me—”
“—okay, okay! I get it!” You interrupt, wanting him to stop talking because his words were going straight to your core and you didn’t want your traitorous eyes to shift down to his lap. “I don’t need to know your…schedule.”
Steve smiles a little before nudging you with his elbow. “It’s pretty rigorous, I’ll tell you that—”
“—Steven—”
“—sorry,” Steve grins at you before he finally looks away from you. You pray that he drops the entire conversation, that he doesn’t ask anymore questions so that you could finally take moment to relax—
“So, it’s not you—it’s just the guys that you’re seeing?”
“Steve, can’t we just—”
“—no, we can’t,” Steve says, sitting up and looking at you with a careful expression. “Listen—I know you feel awkward talking about this with me but—I just—I care about you and I care about the way guys treat you. And if they’re not making you come, not taking the time to work out what you want, then they’re not treating you right. I—I just want to make sure that you know it’s not you that’s the problem here. It’s them.”
You swallow because, god, why did he have to be so caring? Why did he know the exact right thing to say? And why did you have the sudden urge to press your thighs together?
“I dunno,” you say finally, your throat a little dry for reasons that had everything to do with the man sitting right beside you. “What if—what if guys just can’t make me come? Like I’m too complicated down there or—”
“—stop right there,” Steve interrupts, not unkindly but in a firm sort of way that shuts you up almost instantly. “What did I just say? It’s not you. You said you can make yourself come so I promise you—you’re not the problem. They are. They’re being selfish. They need to—they need to take the time to learn what your body needs. Ask you what you like, how you respond to what they’re doing to you.”
It was good advice, genuinely. But all you could think about as you listened to Steve was what he’d be like in bed. If he would take the time to learn what your body needed, if he would ask you what you liked, if he’d watch—lips parted and eyes wide—as your body writhed beneath him, as your plushy walls squeezed around his—
“I don’t know Steve,” you say quietly, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you try not to think too hard about the image you had of Steve’s head between your thighs, of his lips wet with your slick dripping down to his chin. “I don’t know if it’s just that. I mean—it’s not like what they’re doing is really bad because I get close, I—it’s like right before I get there—I just seize up or something.”
Steve listens carefully, his attention solely on you as you try your best to explain the issue and when you’re done, he takes a few seconds to mull over what you had just told him.
“These guys,” Steve begins, hazel eyes flickering between yours as he studies your expression. “Do you trust them?”
“What?” You ask, a little confused at the question. “I don’t know what you—”
“—do you trust them?” Steve repeats the question, not elaboration or clarification—just a small quirk of his brow as he waits for you to respond. “Do you trust them enough to let yourself go completely?”
The question takes you by surprise and you want to say yes—but the word dies on your tongue and the lack of a response was enough of an answer for Steve. He looks at you for a moment too long, hazel eyes studying you as though he was trying to look inside your brain.
“Do you trust me?”
You don’t even think as you nod—because of course you trusted Steve. You trusted him with your life. After everything that had happened in Hawkins, it was hard not to.
“Of course I—”
“—then make yourself come in front of me.”
The silence that greeted Steve’s words was deafening. You stare at him, eyes wide as you let his words truly sink in. You let yourself come to terms with the fact that you weren’t having some strange sex dream. That your good friend and guy you occasionally had inappropriate thoughts had just asked you to make yourself come in front of him.
“Why?” You ask him finally because though you were shocked—there was a large part of you that didn’t want to say no to his offer.
“I just—I think it might help,” Steve shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but you notice the way the tips of his ears redden. “I mean sex is pretty fucking vulnerable so you might just need an experience with someone you trust who cares about you. So you know it’s okay to—to let go in front of someone.”
The way he says it—with so much care in his voice that it almost makes you forget about the whole making yourself come in front of him thing. He makes it sound so sweet that you find yourself lost for words again.
“You think it’s weird,” Steve says, shifting away an inch or so away from you on the couch—in your state of shock you had barely noticed that he had begun to inch closer to you. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have—”
“—n-no, no, no,” you stutter out before you could stop yourself with a subtle shake of your head. “I mean—yeah, it’s weird but—as you said I-I trust you.”
Steve blinks and then—seems to realise that you weren’t completely disgusted by his proposal and sits up a little straighter on the couch.
“Really? You—you’d want to try and—”
“—yes,” you say before he could finish his sentence because you were feeling incredibly turned on by the thought of Steve watching you touch yourself and you didn’t want to let rational thought creep in now. “It could help and if it doesn’t then—”
“—then we just forget it ever happened,” he finishes with a quick nod. “Yeah, totally. Like it never happened.”
You look at each other then, apparently both waiting for the other to back out. But when neither of you do, Steve visibly swallows as he stands up from his couch, holding out his hand out for you to take..
“You wanna—go somewhere more comfortable?”
Steve’s bedroom was surprisingly tidy considering the fact he hadn’t been expecting company. Still, there’s some clothes strewn across his bed that Steve makes quick work of tidying up.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he dumps the clothes onto his desk before gesturing towards his bed for you to sit down.
You glance down at his bed before you look back at him. Because now you felt nervous—now you were thinking about lying on his sheets and fingering yourself in front of him. And perhaps you were just starting to realise how insane that would be and—
“Hey.”
You feel one of Steve’s large hands on your arm and it pulls you back to reality. You hadn’t even realised that you had been staring blankly down at his plaid sheets, already too in your own head about what was about to happen. Steve’s gentle touch, his fingertips brushing over your skin help to ground you—remind you that this wasn’t a stranger you had met at a bar or someone you had been set up with by a mutual friend. This was Steve. Your good, totally platonic friend, Steve.
“You’re okay,” he says gently, thumb rubbing gentle circles in your skin and unknowingly turning your insides into goo. “I’m gonna put on some music, okay? Help you relax a bit. Just take a seat.”
You listen because you did not know what else to do, sitting on the very edge of his bed and watching as he walks over to his vinyl player perched on top of a chest of drawers. You continue to watch him from the back as he sorts through the small stack of vinyls he had, apparently trying to find the perfect record.
A few moments later, the sound of Baby Now That I’ve Found You by the Foundations starts to play and you feel your shoulders visibly relax before Steve turns around to look at you.
“Really?” You ask him with a faint smile. “Is this you trying to set the mood?”
“That obvious, huh?” Steve asks you as he steps towards the bed—towards you.
You watch him, your lips parting as he stands a foot or so away from you now. The room feels five times smaller as Steve’s eyes are on you.
“What if it doesn’t work?” You ask Steve suddenly. “What if there’s something wrong if me or—”
Steve cuts you off by saying your name and the way he says it steals the air from your lungs.
“There is nothing wrong with you,” Steve says firmly, as though he believed every syllable. “Absoluetly nothing.”
You nod, choosing to believe him as you look at his face, the smooth voices of the Foundations putting you a little more at ease. “Okay so—we’re doing this. Okay. Are you just going to watch me or—”
You stop when you see Steve shaking his head. Your body suddenly feels hot, as though all the blood in your body had been replaced by fire. It was almost as though it seemed to know what Steve was going to say before he said it.
“No,” Steve says in a low voice that goes straight to your aching centre. “You’re going to show me. And I’ll show you.”
Everything became very still after that. The both of you just looked at each other—your chest heaving and his eyes flickering over your face as though trying to find any hint of uncertainty. You wanted to be the one to make the first move and you almost do, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you as you build up the courage to do so. But before you could find the hem of your t-shirt, Steve begins to lift up his top.
The first flash of his soft stomach, of his happy trail and you seemed to forget how to breathe. God, he was gorgeous. Moles and freckles were dotted over his skin, there was a generous smattering of hair over his chest that made your thighs press together and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it. In truth, you could have looked at him for hours.
But instead, you take a deep breath before you very slowly get to your feet.
Steve is watching you carefully as you begin to lift up your own shirt. His eyes on you should have made you feel self conscious, should have made you think twice of the very unsexy bra you were wearing, should have made you think of all the parts of yourself you didn’t like. But there was something about the way he was looking at you as you let your shirt fall to the floor that made you feel the very opposite of self conscious.
And so, before you could second guess yourself—you made the next move before him.
Your fingers fiddle momentarily with the button of your jeans before you unzip them, the sound making Steve’s eyes widen slightly. And when you begin to tug your jeans down over your hips and then your thighs, leaving you in just your mismatched underwear, you watch in fascination as a faint blush creeps up Steve’s neck.
You step out of your jeans, not looking away from Steve for even a second so you didn’t miss a single facial expression. So that you didn’t miss the way the flush had crept up his cheeks and right up to the very tips of his ears, how his breathing had started to become shallow.
“You look—”
“—don’t,” you say, surprised to find that your voice was barely a whisper.
“Why not?” He asks gently, head tilting to the side as he begins to unbuckle his belt.
You lick your lips, eyes still on his face but desperately wanting to shift lower to watch as he unzips his jeans.
“Becuase I might think that you’re just saying it to make me feel better,” you say. “Considering what we’re about to do.”
“I would never lie about how beautiful I think you are,” Steve says simply, his eyes still on you as he finally pulls his jeans down.
You barely have a moment to comprehend Steve calling you beautiful before you catch sight of him in only his boxers. He was—shit, he was perfect. You let your eyes dip down to feast on his delicious thighs, his boxers that had a large, noticeable tent in them that made your core throb.
Your throat felt dry, you didn't quite know what to do. All you knew is that Steve Harrington was hard just by looking at you. The thought sends a hot surge through your body, as though every damn nerve was suddenly burning beneath your skin. And perhaps it was that thought—the idea that you had made Steve hard without really doing anything—that you reached carefully behind you to unclip your bra.
Steve visibly swallows as your breasts spill out, finally seeing your hardened peaks as you let your bra fall to the floor alongside your t-shirt and jeans.
There was a beat and then—
He begins to tug down his boxers.
You had imagined what Steve Harrignton’s cock would look like more times than you cared to admit. But every mental image you had conjured up was nothing—nothing—compared to what was standing to attention right in front of you. His cock was long, thick and heavy, so heavy in fact it had made an audible sound when it had slapped against his soft tummy. His cock was beautiful—he was beautiful. Slightly curved in a way that you knew was made for hitting that spot inside of you just right. The ruddy tip of his cock was already leaking precum, which you shamelessly watch drool along a vein bulging along his length. Your mouth felt incredibly dry as you ogled the sheer size of him, imagining what it would be like for his thick cock to split you open—
You come to your senses just enough to discard your panties. They stick to your cunt briefly due to how fucking drenched you already were and Steve notices—his bottom lip between his teeth as he marvels at how your lips cling to the fabric before giving way, his cock twitching when he sees the damp patch your wetness had caused.
And there you both were, both finally completely bare in front of one another for the first time. Both looking shamelessly at the other’s body, both clearly desperate to touch the other but not dare to do so.
And then, without a word to each other, you sink back down onto his bed while Steve reaches blindly behind him to pull out his desk chair.
It was only now beginning to feel real, as you look at Steve’s face at the same time he looks at you.
“Still with me?” He asks you breathlessly.
You take your time to answer, spreading your legs a little wider and watching with immense satisfaction as his eyes flicker down to your soaked pussy. Another surge of something hot like molten lava surges through you as you notice the way his hand twitches towards his cock.
“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Still with you.”
You could have looked at each other for hours, days even. But your pussy was clenching around nothing and more precum dribbled out of Steve’s cock and you both knew you couldn’t wait any longer.
Steve moved first, one of his large hands wrapping around his thick cock before giving himself one, two gentle strokes. The sound of his own precum wetting his cock was obscene and it was that noise that made you trail your fingers delicately over the skin of your inner thigh before making contact with the soaked, sensitive flesh between your legs.
The relief was instant. You felt your entire body relax, your eyelids flutter for a brief moment before you made sure to look back at Steve. He was already watching you and for a moment you just smile at each other—almost shyly despite the situation—before you both focus back on pleasuring yourselves.
Your fingers glide easily through your folds, your slick allowing you to plunge two fingers inside of yourself. A breathy moan left your lips before you could stop it. You were almost embarrassed by it but then you notice the way Steve’s jaw clenches at the sound, the way he squeezes his cock a little bit tighter.
His words—his filthy fucking words—go right through you. Your cunt clenches around your fingers and you briefly wonder if you had died and gone to heaven, if Steve Harrington was really dirty talking to you right now.
“C’mon pretty girl,” Steve grits out as he pumps his dick that little bit faster, eyes not leaving yours. “Don’t hold back. Please, baby. Don’t you dare hold back on me.”
You could barely believe it, the words that were falling from his lips, the pet names he had just called you. But you didn’t question it—too busy fucking yourself with your slick fingers as you let out another soft, almost pornographic moan.
“That’s it,” Steve murmurs, the schlick, schlick, schlick of him fucking his fist filling the room as he watching your soaked fingers move in and out of your needy hole like it was the best damn thing he had ever seen. “Soak your fingers f’me. That’s so fucking hot.”
You let out a whimper at that, his words having such an impact on you that your hips buck upwards to meet your fingers, your eyes fluttering again as pleasure floods into every pore over your skin.
“Steve,” you mewl out as your fingers pump in and out of your hole, your breasts bouncing with each and every thrust. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so fucking good.”
Steve hadn’t been expecting you to dirty talk but god, had it been the most welcome surprise.
“Yeah? Gonna make yourself come for me, sweet girl?” Steve asks you, now pumping his dick frantically as he watches you roll your hips against his bed—your slick soaking his sheets. “Gonna get my bed all wet? Make me smell you on my sheets for days?”
You whimper and nod desperately as you curl your fingers, hitting that spongey spot inside of you that had you mewling out yet again.
“Gonna touch your clit for me?” Steve asks you, breathing heavily as he tries to hold back as the sight of you pleasuring yourself on his bed was suddenly becoming too much for him. “C’mon, please. Wanna see you lose it, baby.”
It was like Steve knew exactly what you needed, almost as though he knew your body better than you did without even touching it.
Your other hand—the one that had been curled into the sheets beneath you—journeys to between your legs. And that first brush of your fingertip over your swollen, arching clit had you seeing stars. You’re pretty sure you moan out Steve’s name but it also could have been nonsense. All you could focus on was Steve’s own pleasure dancing across his face and the dual sensation of your fingers plunging in and out of your soaked cunt and the other that was circling around your clit.
Pleasure was consuming you—it was white hot and you could feel it pulsing in every nerve in your body. You could feel the blood in your veins burning as the coil in your gut was pulled tighter and tighter while you played with your swollen clit.
“That’s it,” Steve gasps out, his eyes only on you as you neared the edge. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come for me. You can do it, I know you can.”
You wish that you could have held on, that you could have prolonged your pleasure by a few more seconds. But your orgasm had snuck up on you—crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook, your toes curled and Steve’s name fell from your lips as you came all over your fingers, your juices soaking Steve’s bed.
And it was that—watching you finally trusting him enough to let yourself go completely that made Steve follow along right behind you. You watch in awe as his toes curl, as his stomach clenches and how his head tilts back against the back of the chair in ecstasy, his release spilling all over that soft tummy of his. Steve lets out a loud groan, followed by your name and you swear, you could have come for a second time from that sound alone.
You withdraw your fingers as you catch your breath, your chest heaving and body still buzzing after the intensity of your orgasm.
Finally, after taking a moment or two to prepare yourself, you finally look at Steve’s face. He was already looking at you and smiling.
“See,” he breathes out. “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s all about trust.”
“Steve Harrington being right for once?” You say, smiling. “It must be a miracle.”
You both laugh and though you both clean up, get dressed and promise each other nothing will change between you—deep down you both knew that after tonight? Things would never be the same again.
Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.
WC: 18k+
Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.
A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine
♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬
This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.
Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.
Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.
Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.
Yeah, lucky you.
This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.
You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.
It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.
And that's never your call to make.
Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."
"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.
He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.
Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"
"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."
"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.
"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"
"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."
"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."
"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."
"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"
"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."
Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."
"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"
"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.
Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."
There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.
Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.
Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?
It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.
Until you just… left.
Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.
No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.
You'd drift in, drift out.
Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.
In, out.
All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.
So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.
Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.
When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.
What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?
What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?
What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?
If you stayed… would it have been worth it?
The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.
It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.
That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.
No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.
Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.
Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?
Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.
You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.
Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.
Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.
That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.
Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.
The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.
That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.
You can only tread water for so long, though.
"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"
Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.
"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."
And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.
"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"
"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."
His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.
Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.
What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?
Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.
Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.
"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."
He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."
"God, you're such a bitch."
"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."
"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"
"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"
"Stop!"
"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"
"I meant the van, asshole!"
Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.
Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.
You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.
"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"
Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.
His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"
You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.
Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.
"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.
"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"
He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."
Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.
She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"
You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.
"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"
Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."
"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.
In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.
Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."
"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."
So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.
Fantastic.
"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."
Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.
"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"
"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"
Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"
Hopper.
Oh, boy.
Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.
Well, can't say you didn't try.
Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."
You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.
"Okay, where are you exactly?"
The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.
You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.
Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."
"Language."
"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.
"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."
So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.
Way off.
"I- I don't know."
A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.
"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"
Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.
There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."
Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling the flu.
You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.
"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."
You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."
Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."
"I didn't lose the fucking—"
The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.
"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"
"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."
Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.
Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.
"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."
Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.
"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."
There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.
Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.
He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".
"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."
Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."
Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."
Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."
That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.
Together.
Alone.
"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"
A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.
"Yeah, kid. I got it."
In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.
It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.
Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.
"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"
"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"
Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?
"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."
Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"
"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."
"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.
"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.
There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.
Unless…
There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.
You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.
"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."
But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"
"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."
"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."
"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"
His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.
"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"
"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."
"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."
He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"
Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"
"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"
You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"
"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"
"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."
"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"
"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."
"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."
"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.
Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.
The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.
If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.
Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.
The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.
Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.
Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.
Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.
He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.
And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.
So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.
He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.
By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.
Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?
What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.
To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.
To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.
The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.
The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.
He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.
Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.
You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.
Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.
It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.
Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?
In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.
There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.
"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.
You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.
"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.
When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.
"Ow… S'loud," you groan.
"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.
"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.
It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.
Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.
Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.
"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.
Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.
And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.
Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.
Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.
"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.
He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.
Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."
"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."
"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."
The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.
Yeah, you're worse than he thought.
"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"
"M'yeah, s'kay."
If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.
Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.
Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.
He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"
"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."
"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.
He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.
"Okay, c'mon, boots first."
Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.
Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.
And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.
He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.
You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.
"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."
There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.
At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.
"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.
"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.
"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."
He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.
"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."
If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.
"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."
You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.
"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"
That's a dumb fucking question.
"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."
When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.
About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.
"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."
"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.
"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."
Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.
Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.
But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.
Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"
"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.
You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."
He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.
What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.
Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.
"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."
He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?
That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.
Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.
Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.
He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.
That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.
The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?
God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?
Whatever.
It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.
The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.
Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.
That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.
Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—
"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"
Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.
Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."
Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.
Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.
He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.
"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.
He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.
"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."
Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."
The words ache with more desperation than he intends.
"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.
"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.
"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"
He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"
"Fu- fucking cold."
"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."
You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."
"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."
You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.
Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.
Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.
Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.
"Be n- n- nice!"
"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"
"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"
The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.
Like a fucking fool.
"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."
The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.
"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."
"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"
You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"
"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"
"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.
He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."
"You could h- have some f'ya' want."
"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."
"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."
"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.
You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."
He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."
Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.
"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.
You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.
"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."
Oh, if only you knew.
"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"
"Make wh- what weird?"
Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.
The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."
"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."
"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.
The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.
"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."
"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."
You sound mortified.
"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"
"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"
He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?
"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."
"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."
He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.
There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.
Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.
Talk about something else. Anything.
"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.
"Hm? Wi- with what?"
"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."
"We still ended up in a ditch—"
"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."
You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.
"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."
Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."
"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."
Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.
"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."
"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.
"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."
It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.
"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."
He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.
"… What?"
Because since when do you care about letting him down?
"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."
Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.
"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."
And look where that got the two of you.
Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.
You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."
"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."
"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."
"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."
The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."
We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.
"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."
An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.
Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.
"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."
It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…
Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.
And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.
"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"
"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"
"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."
Scared is an understatement.
He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.
He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.
He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.
And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—
Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.
Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.
Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.
Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.
And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.
Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.
Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.
If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.
And you.
You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—
It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.
He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.
Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.
So much wasted time—
"Steve?"
Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.
Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"
"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"
A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."
"Oh my god, Steve."
"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."
"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.
"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."
Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.
"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.
"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."
"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."
Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.
"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."
A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.
The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.
"Fuck, shit, fuck—"
Yeah. He's hard.
He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.
Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."
"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"
Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."
Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.
"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"
Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."
He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?
"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."
"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"
"Not to death."
"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."
"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"
"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"
"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"
He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.
"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."
"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"
"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."
"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.
No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.
"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."
"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"
He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.
Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.
Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.
Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."
Not like this one's much easier to talk about.
Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.
"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"
"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."
You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.
It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.
"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"
When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.
"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."
For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.
"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."
It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?
There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.
The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.
"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."
Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.
Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.
You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.
He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.
The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.
"Shit, Steve…"
He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.
He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.
"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"
"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.
If, you know, you were into that.
His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.
The two of you just have to survive this night first.
"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."
You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.
Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.
"Finish. The. Sentence."
You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.
"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"
"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."
Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.
"Bet you were this wet before you left."
Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."
"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."
"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."
Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.
"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."
"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.
"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."
Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."
The smug expression falters, "Too much?"
"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."
Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."
Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.
He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.
Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."
"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."
"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."
You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."
"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"
"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."
He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.
And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.
The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.
Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.
"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."
Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.
"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"
Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.
"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."
The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.
"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"
The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.
"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"
Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.
"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"
You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.
This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.
Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.
And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.
He's missed you. So, so much.
The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.
"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.
"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"
Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.
"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."
Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.
"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.
"I- I want it."
"Want… what?"
Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."
"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."
"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.
Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.
Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.
"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."
As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.
You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.
"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"
Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."
He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.
"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."
Steve blinks as the words sink in.
Oh.
"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."
"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"
He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.
"One step at a time, okay?"
He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.
Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.
Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.
"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.
Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.
"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.
In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."
Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.
Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.
"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"
You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.
Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.
Oh, no.
"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"
Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"
"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"
"Steve."
"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.
"Were you— oh my god."
"What?!"
A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.
The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."
He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.
Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"
"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."
"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"
"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."
Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.
You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.
It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.
A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.
Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.
It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.
By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.
Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.
He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.
Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.
"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"
The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.
"S'okay?"
"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.
"But?"
Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.
Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.
He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.
"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"
"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."
Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.
As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.
You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.
Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.
"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.
"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'
Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."
And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.
"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."
"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."
"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."
Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.
"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"
Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.
With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.
"You done talking logistics yet?"
Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.
That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.
No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.
"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."
"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.
Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in.
Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.
Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.
What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.
Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.
It tightens.
Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.
"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.
The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.
"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."
Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.
But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.
Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.
That plucks at his heartstrings, too.
"Steve?"
Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.
"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."
Baby.
Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.
Wait, did you say he was crying?
"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."
"Steve—"
"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."
"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."
"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."
Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.
"St—"
He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.
You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"
"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."
And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.
You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"
He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.
"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"
"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.
You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.
"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."
Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"
"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."
Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"
It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.
His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.
And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.
No one's like you. No one could even compare.
"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."
"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."
Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.
"Steve," you whine.
"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."
You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."
"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."
"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"
"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."
You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."
"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"
"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."
"Please… what?"
"Steve, I s- swear to god—"
"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."
"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.
He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.
"Such a what?"
"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"
Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.
"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.
The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same.
"I… Yours?"
Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.
"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"
Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.
"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.
He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.
"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"
"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you.
"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."
"Y- you."
Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.
"I'm right here."
Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.
The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.
And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.
"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.
It's only fair to match his energy.
"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."
He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.
No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.
"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."
Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.
Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.
God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.
"Fuck, you're unreal."
You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.
Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck
"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.
"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"
He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.
Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.
Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.
Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.
That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.
"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.
All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.
"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."
Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."
"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."
Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.
The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.
"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."
And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.
There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.
"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."
"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"
Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"
"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.
Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.
It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.
"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."
"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"
"Okay."
"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."
This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.
"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."
He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."
"Steve."
The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will.
