joekeerysbicep @joekeerysbicep69 - Tumblr Blog

Hi, I’d love the dark chocolate menu, finished with a gold foil garnish and a peanut butter filling, please🤍

- 🧸🤍✨

ty for your order!! i hope you love this, i wrote this over the course of 2 days in a fugue state woohoo let's go pairing: steve harrington/f!reader wc: 13.5k order: steve smut, first time sleeping together tags: first time, pining kinda, confessions, first time (together, but also loss of virginity), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex a/n: this order was for a chocolate from my valentine's day celebration 💜 ok well, here we go. some more really self-indulgent, sweetheart loverboy steve, taking such stupidly good care of you while he also takes your virginity. what more could a girly want. &&

Everything was perfect. Like, really great. Fantastic, actually. Things couldn't have been going better. Everything was coming up Milhouse, if your name was Milhouse.

Except it wasn't. And, uh, things weren't.

You'd had a crush on Shawn for, you know, your entire college career so far. He'd been in your English 101 and 102 classes as a freshman, then both of your math courses as a sophomore, and now, finally, in your stats lecture. It had taken him two years to realize that you were angling for him, and when he asked you to get coffee after class on Thursday, you'd agreed. Of course you had.

You were never really a dater. You'd never really had a boyfriend before, though you had “been seeing” this guy Jason in high school even though all you ever did was hold his hand at the movies before he dumped you because you said you were too nervous to try blowing him in the back row of the theater.

It wasn't something you were diametrically opposed to, but it was opening weekend for Ferris Bueller's Day Off, the second week of summer, and absolutely packed with teenagers. There was no way you wouldn't get caught and probably arrested for indecent exposure or whatever.

But after that bad—terrible, disgusting—experience, you'd kind of sworn off guys. Besides, you had bigger things to worry about, like college and trying to find a car that would run long enough to get you there.

One of your friends, Steve Harrington, car enthusiast and resident looker of Hawkins, Indiana, stepped in to assist you in the car search. He assisted you with a lot of things, actually, since your dad had passed away a few years ago and your mom was trying to keep the house in her name on a single salary. Most of your summer job money since you were 14 had also gone to her, thus why it was such a problem to find a decent vehicle. You were operating with a dwindling bank account.

“Listen,” Steve had said, pulling you along by the elbow to the only used car lot within the city limits. “Me and Hank go way back. I'll get you a car.”

It took some negotiating, during which you mostly sat silently and watched as Steve schmoozed his way to a pretty decent cash deal for you on a used 1983 Chevy Cavalier. It was brown, which wasn't really the color you'd have wanted, but beggars couldn't be choosers and you had been pretty close to begging before Steve stepped in to help. The car ran well, and it was a sturdy thing—a little beat up, but it would get the job done.

Fast forward the three years and you were a junior in college. 1989 and on the cusp of a new decade, getting coffee with Shawn while he was inviting you to a party the next night at soccer house just off campus. In the entire time you'd been at school, you'd never gone to a party at one of the team houses. You'd heard that basketball house threw the craziest ones, but soccer house was just fun, if not a little more subdued. It felt more your speed, soccer house, and so you agreed to meet him at 6 outside the science building so he could pick you up for dinner before the party.

Once he'd walked you back to your dorm, you called Steve immediately, because there were suddenly at least three more things you needed his help with. You scowled as you held the landline phone in your hand, the ringing droning in your ear. You coiled the cord around your finger, watching the tip tinge with red as you tightened the wire around your digit, until finally he picked up.

“Hello?” he asked, and you launched directly into your spiel.

“Steve, it's me,” you said, speaking over him when he started to greet you properly. “I need help. Remember Shawn?” Again, he started to say yes, but you didn't give him a chance. “We went to get coffee before and he finally asked me out for tomorrow. Tomorrow! I agreed to go to a party with him. I don't do parties, Steve.” He started to say he knew that, but you kept going. “He's gonna expect—stuff. From me. I don't know how to date people, Steve.” You paused, and he paused. “Well?” you prompted.

“Oh, am I allowed to talk now?” Steve asked, laughing a little. You felt your cheeks warm.

“Yeah,” you said, sheepish.

“You know how to date people, you're not completely socially inept.”

“Oh, thanks,” you said.

“Did you hear what I said? I said you're not,” Steve went on. “Well—ok, so what do you want from me?” he asked, nicely. “You're funny and smart. That's what guys like.”

“That's not what guys like,” you insisted. “Guys expect—you know, things. From girls.”

Steve scoffed. “Maybe some guys,” he conceded. “Assholes. Is Shawn an asshole?”

“I don't know,” you said, and Steve made another noise through the phone. “I mean, no.”

“Good,” Steve said. “I don't want you going out with an asshole.”

“He's not an asshole,” you said, tone firm.

“Ok, so what do you need me to do?” he asked again. “I'm down for whatever, but I need to know what I'm agreeing to.”

“I need you to coach me,” you said. “He wants to take me out for dinner before the party.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Coach you on what? How to eat? I've seen you slam ribs and burgers like a pro. You can eat just fine.”

“Steve! I'm being serious.”

“I'm being serious,” he said. “You are really good at clearing a plate.”

“If you're not going to help, fine, I'll just go and humiliate myself—”

“Hey,” Steve interjected. “Wait. Why do you think you're gonna humiliate yourself? Seriously. You are funny and smart, but you're pretty and kind and like, so much other stuff.”

“I'm nervous,” you said. “My last date—my, you know, my first date, didn't go so well.”

“You mean Jason?” Steve asked.

You sighed. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, Jason works at the movie theater now. No one's giving him head in the back row, I can promise you that.”

He paused for dramatic effect and you let that sink in.

“So will you help me?” you ask, and Steve just sighs, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Not 'cause I think you need it, 'cause you don't, but—this date is happening tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I have to meet him at 6.”

“Ok. It's...” he trailed off, then came back. “Ok, it's 4:45 right now. Give me like...two hours and then come by, ok? My parents' house.”

“Ok...” you agreed, though now that he was on board you're maybe even more nervous. “What are we going to do?”

Steve chuckled quietly. “You'll see. You like chicken, right?”

“Yes...”

“All right, see you in an hour!” Steve chirped, and the phone on his end rattled a little as he hung up on you.

You looked at the phone in your hand, now buzzing a little with dial tone before you reset it on the cradle. You stared at it for another long minute, then stood up. You were wearing jeans and a crewneck sweatshirt that just said COLLEGE on the front, not really because you liked Animal House all that much but because the concept of the shirt was exceedingly funny to you. This was just Steve, so you didn't feel the need to change—but it was also date training, so you did. Even though you didn't know exactly what he had in mind, you went to your closet, grateful that your roommate was still in her early evening class, and flicked through your hangers before deciding on wearing a dress. It felt like the right thing to do—and if Steve thought it was the right fit for the date Shawn was bringing you on, you could always launder it before you had to meet him, since you had arranged your schedule to give you no classes on Fridays.

You had plenty of time to take a quick shower before you had to drive the forty-five minutes back to Hawkins. Normally this was not a trip you'd make mid-week, but desperate times called for desperate measures, or whatever. And you did not want to fuck this up with Steve.

Shawn. You didn't want to fuck it up with Shawn.

Haha. Freudian slip.

You showered and put on your underwear, clasping your bra behind your back and leaning into your mirror to put on some makeup, nothing too heavy but a little eyeliner on your lower lid and mascara always made you feel like you'd at least made an effort. The dress slid on easily, the cotton fabric soft and smooth. The sleeves came down to your elbows and the scoop neck framed the necklace you chose to wear nicely—a pendant of a dolphin that your dad gave you ages ago. The skirt fell to your knees, and you slipped on a pair of flats to complete the outfit. It was dressy but still a little casual, which you figured would work for tonight, and hopefully tomorrow night.

You arrived at Steve's at roughly 7PM, the porch light on as well as the flood light which illuminated the entire driveway. It was a warm spring night, unseasonably so, but you were glad for it since the dress was thin enough that if it were even 5 degrees cooler, you'd be shivering.

The door thunked hollowly as you knocked on it, and you heard Steve's footsteps approach before it opened. He had a dish towel draped over his shoulder, but aside from that, he looked put together. You weren't the only one who decided to dress up.

He was wearing a burgundy collared shirt, buttoned down, with a tie, and it was tucked into his jeans—no, not jeans. He had on dark blue chinos. Suddenly you were glad you went with a dress and took off the goddamn Belushi sweatshirt.

“Hi,” he greeted you, absolutely giving you a once-over. “You look... Wow, you look beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed and it was not from the evening air.

“Thanks,” you replied. The tie matched his pants. It was wild. “You look nice too.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said. “I'm gonna show you the way a date should go, that way when you're out with Shawn tomorrow, you'll know.” He stepped back. “Come in.”

You moved past him, toeing off your shoes. It almost felt weird to be barefoot in his house; not because you hadn't been before, but because of the context in which you were there now.

“So, consider this, uh, a practice date. Like a real one, just, you know, with me.”

“A real practice date?”

“No, a practice real date,” Steve corrected you, even though you weren't sure you understood the differentiation.

“All right,” you laughed, following him into the kitchen. You could already smell the herbs he used to season the chicken he was cooking, and you couldn't believe he went to all this trouble when what you'd really wanted was just, like, some idea of what to say when Shawn propositioned you and whether you were the one who was responsible for bringing condoms just in case you decided to give it up.

He stopped you at the island, grabbing a bottle of wine that he had in an actual ice bucket, wrapping it in a clean, white towel before grabbing the corkscrew and getting to work. You watched in silence—your chest a little tight—as he uncorked the wine and poured a some into two waiting glasses. He replaced the cork, eased the bottle back into the bucket, and then handed you a glass.

“Cheers,” he said, and you tentatively clinked your glass with his. He took a sip, turning back to the stove where he's got vegetables steaming, but you just stared.

“Steve, this is crazy,” you said.

“Why?” he asked, not looking back at you as he checked the pan, vegetables on top of it in the little basket. “You wanted date training, I'm giving you date training.”

“I wanted you to answer some questions for me,” you replied, watching as he pokes one of the stalks of broccoli with a fork, deeming it tender enough. He shut off the heat beneath the pan. “Not... cook me dinner.”

Steve moved the vegetables to a serving bowl and jammed a spoon into it. “Maybe I just want to set your bar high enough that you never settle for assholes like Jason again,” he said. He opened the door to the oven and pulled the towel off his shoulder, using it to grab the sheet pan he was cooking the chicken on before placing it on top of the stove. He looked over at you. “You deserve that.”

He'd struck you silent, so you just sipped your wine.

“Go have a seat in there,” he said, nodding to the dining room behind you. “I'll be right in with everything.”

You obeyed, mostly because you felt so out of your element that you were starting to wonder if this had all been a mistake. You'd never considered Steve more than a friend, but what he was doing was so above and beyond it was almost... well, it was almost actually romantic. But he was your friend, someone who had been there for you through one of the toughest times of your life. You couldn't use this date with Shawn as a litmus test for Steve's interest. (And even thinking about Shawn, while you were getting wrapped up in your confusing feelings for Steve, made you feel guilty too.)

Padding quietly into the dining room, you tilted your head to the side in awe when you saw what Steve had done. He'd set the table with what you knew to be his mother's fancy plates—the ones in the cabinet that never came out except for one hour for dinner at Christmas time—taper candles already lit, and right in the middle of the table, a full bouquet of roses as the centerpiece. It was a lot to take in.

“'Scuse me,” Steve said, drawing out the first syllable to be almost singsongy, and you stepped to the side as he passed you, placing the bowl of vegetables on the table along with a platter, the chicken all ready to serve, seasoned and garnished, perfectly golden brown. He looked back at you and then held out a hand, which you took, your fingers shaking a little with anticipation, but he only guided you to sit at the head of the table, pulling your chair out for you and then pushing it back in when you were ready to sit.

He filled your plate before even taking his own seat, making sure you were topped off on your wine before he sat down, and once he did, he chose the seat perpendicular to your right.

“My mom would tell me it was bad manners to sit so close,” he said, “or something. I don't know. But she's not here, and this is a date.” He winked at you.

“It's not a date,” you said, “it's just practice.”

“Yeah, a practice real date,” he said. “How was your day?”

He didn't miss a beat, asking you about your classes, your readings for some of the electives you were still in, even the big statistics project that would take you the whole semester to complete. At one point, totally nonchalantly, he leaned over on his elbow, watching as you poked at a piece of carrot, and asked you how coffee with Shawn had gone.

You softened a little. “Should my date be asking me about my other date?”

Steve laughed, heartily. “Ok, what do you want to talk about?”

Snickering, you opened your mouth, and then closed it. You could ask him the questions that you had swirling around in your mind now. Because the moment for it had seemingly arrived, but you were thinking too much. “Well,” you said. You'd never talked to Steve about stuff like this before, but the wine was softening everything, and he was looking at you so tenderly that you knew he wouldn't judge you or think less of you no matter what you said. “If he—you know, say he brings me home after the party,” you said, and Steve nodded. “How do I know if he'll want to... do stuff.”

“'Do stuff'?” Steve asked, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You mean sleep with you.”

“Yeah,” you said, not bothering to be embarrassed or try to dance around it. “I've never—ok, well, yeah, I've never...”

“Well,” Steve said, not really seeming to think much of the fact that you'd never slept with anyone before, or if he did, he hid it well. “First thing: Don't let him pressure you into anything. Even, like, making out in his car. I know you know,” he said, because you'd given him a look. “But it bears repeating. And—ok, also, like, don't do it in his car? I mean, if you want to, you can, but it's really not all it's cracked up to be. Super cramped. Hard to get comfortable. Especially if he has a small back seat.”

You cleared your throat. “Do—should I be the one who brings condoms?”

Steve paused, then tilted his head. “Do you wanna sleep with this guy?” he asked. “It's... your first date.” He cleared his throat. “And also, kind of barely a date. Taking you to a frat party isn't exactly the most romantic setting.”

You shrugged. “I don't know. I don't not want to.” It felt, actually, kind of freeing talking about this so casually with Steve. You'd expected it to be awkward or weird, because he was a guy and you were a girl, but it just felt like talking to a friend regardless of gender. “I haven't even kissed him yet or anything.”

“Maybe start there,” Steve said, laughing a little and picking up his wine again.

You lifted a hand to tuck your hair back behind your ear. “Can I ask you something stupid?”

He speared a piece of chicken on his fork along with a little sprig of asparagus, but before he lifted it to his mouth, he nodded to you. “Yeah, go for it, you've been on a roll so what's one more?”

Ignoring the playful slight, you spoke. “What if I don't want to kiss him?” you asked, and Steve took his bite of food, chewing for a moment before answering you with his mouth still half full.

“Then don't,” he said, shrugging easily, choosing his next bite without looking at you.

“What if I don't want to kiss him,” you clarified, “because I don't want him to be my first kiss?”

At that, he stopped, looking over at you, and then placed his fork down on the edge of his plate. “Then definitely don't,” he said, eyes sparkling in the candlelight, the flame reflected off his irises as he looked at you. “No one says you have to.”

“I just feel so behind,” you said, keeping your face turned down toward your plate. “I'm almost out of college and I've never even kissed anyone.”

“It's not a race,” Steve said, reaching over to put his hand on your forearm. “Hey, look at me.” He waited until you lifted your eyes to his. “It's not a race. You can do this stuff when you want to do this stuff.” He slid his hand up to cover the back of yours, a small smile on his face. “Trust me—there's plenty I wish I never did and I only did do it 'cause of... you know.”

“King Steve?” you asked, and he grimaced.

“Yeah. It was, uh... there were a lot of things people thought about me that I felt like I had to live up to. Wish I didn't.”

You didn't reply, just nodded—you'd always thought Steve had it easy, when he was partying and hooking up with girls and ruling the school.

“But yeah—it's not about me,” he continued. “Like I said, do it when it feels right. Forget what other people want. Do it when you want to do it.”

You swallowed, letting your gaze drop to his hand still on top of yours. “What if I want to do it right now?”

To Steve's credit, he didn't really react other than to let his hand twitch atop yours just a little. “What?”

Keeping your face angled down, you looked up at him through your lashes, shy but certain. “I said, what if I want my first kiss to be right now?”

“You shouldn't,” Steve said, looking away from you even as you saw his cheeks turning a little pink. “You're just...caught up in the real practice of it all.”

“It's not a real practice date, it's a practice real date,” you corrected him. “This is—maybe it wasn't supposed to be real but it is.”

“You—” Steve started to say, but you only flipped your hand around beneath his, gripping his fingers as he tried to pull his hand away from you.

“It's not—I'm not caught up in anything,” you said. “I mean, I am, but not the way you meant that.” You caught sight of his face; concerned, maybe, or confused, or perturbed. “Oh my god,” you said, ripping your hand away from his. “You don't—you don't want to.”

“Ok, wait,” Steve said, but you interrupted him, spoke over him, just like on the phone a few hours ago.

“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” you said. “You really were just—helping me.” You laughed, humorlessly, and picked up your glass of wine, then set it back down. “You were—just being the perfect guy you are, and here I am, actually getting caught up in the evening of it all.”

“Stop,” Steve tried, but again, you didn't heed his words.

“I'm so, fucking... sorry,” you said, pushing your chair back—or trying to, but Steve's foot was hooked around the leg, keeping you at the table. “What?” You looked down, then back up at him.

Steve was leaning closer to you, elbow on the table, his face just inches from yours. Your eyes darted down to his lips, and when they did, he stopped.

“If you'd listen,” Steve said. “Yes, I said it was a real date.” He cleared his throat, because now he was divulging something he thought he'd be spared having to tell you. “Because yes, I—wanted it to be a real date. Before you went out with some other guy. I wasn't—trying to get you to want to kiss me or date me or anything. I just,” he stopped himself, laughing. “God, this is so sad. I wanted a night with you before you went and...fell for Shawn, or something.” He reached up, loosening his tie. “I'm sorry if this was—if this ruins it. I shouldn't have...made it about me, but. I'm sorry, just. Look at you. I'd be kicking myself into next year if I didn't at least go for it when I had one chance.”

There was a beat of silence, though it felt way longer than that. “One chance?” you said, finally. “Steve, you could've—you could've—I would have gone on a real real date with you if you asked.”

That caught him off guard. “Really?” he asked.

“I mean—honestly I never... thought about it, like this, not really. But tonight has been so... so wonderful and... and just great, and you made everything feel so special. So maybe I should have been thinking about it the whole time.”

Steve's forehead relaxed—the way his eyebrows had been furrowed in concern melting away. “So, ok. Let me ask you then.” He sat back—or tried to, but you'd taken hold of his wrist. He met your eyes. “I heard you have plans tomorrow,” he said. “But are you free tonight?”

You laughed, genuinely. “I mean, I'm kind of in the middle of dinner with some guy, but I guess I could make time for you.”

Steve smiled, the stupid roguish way he did when he was getting his way but trying not to be smug about it. “Can I get you some more wine, then?”

You accepted and let him pour another ounce or so into your glass, and the rest of dinner passed quickly, almost too quickly—you knew it was because you were anticipating what was going to come next. But Steve continued to act the perfect gentleman—he didn't try to rush you or keep plying you with wine, he made you stay seated as he cleared the table, first grabbing the leftovers and placing them on the island, then letting his hand rest on your shoulder as he picked up your plate, his palm warm on you even though he was touching you through the sleeve of your dress.

You waited about thirty seconds for the clinking and clanking of dishes into the sink to stop, and then you stood up, walking into the kitchen behind him. He had that dish towel on his shoulder again and wasn't washing the dishes yet, but was just rinsing them, leaving them in the sink for later before he turned back to the island. He clocked you standing at the door, one hand resting against the side of the doorway, but he only smiled at you and put the remaining chicken and veggies into a couple of Tupperware containers, which he stuck in the fridge.

“This was really nice,” you said, stepping over to the island, looking at him over it.

“Yeah it...was,” he said, almost like he was unsure now. “And now your first date has ruined you for all other dates, if I'm not mistaken.”

You stepped around the island, your fingertips trailing over the marble countertop. He watched you, head tipped down a little, the leaning back on the counter beside the sink, the heels of his hands resting on it, fingers curled around the edge.

“Not yet,” you said, your voice unwavering, thankfully not betraying how shaky you felt inside. But this was Steve—your friend. The friend you might lose if this didn't work out.

You couldn't worry about that right now. He'd just treated you better than any man ever had. Everything would be fine. You knew it.

“Well that's disappointing,” Steve said, eyes still following you as you rounded the island and stepped right over to him. You lifted your hand and pulled the dish towel off of him, tossing it into the sink and then placing your hand on the front of his shoulder where it had just lain. Steve stayed stock still, unmoving, and you curled your other hand around his wrist, tugging his hand from the edge of the counter to place his hand on your hip.

“Give it a second,” you murmured, and leaned in to him, not quite pressing yourself against him but getting pretty damn close.

You saw Steve's throat bob, felt his hand press a little harder against your hip, and then his other hand was on you too, tugging you closer but absently, like he didn't mean to do it but wanted to feel your warmth against him.

“You sure?” Steve asked, his voice low.

“I'm sure,” you replied, and you were the one to lean in, you were the one to let your lips brush over Steve's, not quite kissing him, but definitely starting it. You watched as his eyes fluttered closed, so you closed yours too, your hand sliding up and over his shoulder to grip it gently, and then you had him, had it—your first, real, proper kiss.

Steve pulled you into him by your hips, for real now, tipping his head just a fraction to the side as he kissed you, his lips moving against yours and parting just enough to draw your upper lip between them for the briefest moment before he pulled back. Your eyes opened, meeting his as you took in a shuddering breath, but before you could speak, his mouth was back on yours, tongue swiping over your cupid's bow to beg entrance, and of course you let him in.

Your lips parted for him and he was tugging you even closer, your front flush against his as he licked into your mouth, tasting like the white wine he'd paired with dinner. You weren't anywhere near intoxicated, but tasting it on his tongue made you feel tipsy, tipsy enough to cling tighter to him, one hand still on his shoulder while the other wrapped around his waist, your palm pressing into his lower back.

Steve broke apart from you this time, his eyes dipping down to your lips, still parted like you wanted his back on them, but instead he ducked down, bowing his back a little away from you so he could trace over your neck, starting beneath your ear and moving sideways to your throat, closing his mouth over random bits of skin and sucking soft kisses there, maybe not intending to mark you but having you hoping that he did.

“Steve,” you whispered, and he didn't pull away, didn't stop; he only held your hips against his, just keeping you there, not grinding into you, not rubbing himself against your front—just a solid, grounding presence as he laved your throat with lovebites while he made his way to the opposite point of where he'd started. He was being so soft and safe with you, except for when his tongue flicked out to tickle your earlobe and you barked out a laugh, not having expected it and making him pull back.

“Jesus,” he laughed. “Ticklish?”

“Only when I'm not expecting someone to lick my ear,” you said, pulling back from him before leaning right back in.

“It's sexy,” Steve protested.

“It's not,” you said, but you weren't sure if you meant it or not.

“No, it can be, totally,” Steve said. “Let me try it again. This time you won't laugh.”

“It was involuntary,” you objected, but all the fight went out of you as Steve tucked his face against your neck again, this time letting his tongue flick out over your pulse point, making you inhale sharply, the gasp catching in your chest. Steve hummed against your skin, his nose nuzzling the underside of your chin as he lifted his face a little, lips trailing up your jawline. This time, when his mouth reached your earlobe, he didn't lick it—he first kissed your lobe, the little stud earring pressing into his lip before he pressed a kiss to it, too—and then just barely drew it into his mouth, letting it slip from between his lips as he sighed softly, his breath warm on your cheek. You squeezed your thighs together, because he'd proven you wrong—that was probably one of the sexiest things you'd ever have happen to you, but you thought that was because it was Steve and not because ears were inherently erotic.

“You didn't laugh this time,” Steve said, his voice low, sinking straight to your abdomen.

“It wasn't funny this time,” you replied, turning to look at him, all of your senses overloading because of him.

He lifted a hand to brush a few stray strands of hair away from your face, the backs of his fingers moving down over your cheek before he cupped your face and closed the distance between you again, giving you your second kiss. It was just as nice as the first one, but you opened for him sooner this time, almost right away, a little more forward as you moved your tongue against his, deepening the kiss because you wanted more.

You weren't sure how long you stood there, making out in his kitchen, until his hands weren't on your hips anymore and were slowly making their way from your lower back down to your ass. You turned yourself a little, almost dislodging his hands, and he lifted them off you immediately.

“Too much?” he asked, tone apologetic, conscientious.

“No,” you said, shaking your head a little. “No, I just... could we go upstairs, maybe?”

“Ok, wait,” he said. “I didn't mean—”

“I know you didn't,” you said, leaning up to kiss him again, just a little peck on the lips. “Please stop acting like I can't know what I really want, Steve.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, pursing his lips as he tilted his head a little to the side, then nodded. “All right, fair...enough.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” you said, tone teasing as you stepped back, hooking your pinky finger through his and pulling him along with you as you stepped backwards. “Just do better.”

Steve chuckled, smirking at you. “Confidence,” he commented. “Guys like that too.”

You held up your hands, pinkies still coiled together. “Guess that's how I got you wrapped around my little finger.”

“Horrible line,” Steve said, as you led him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

“And yet it's working,” you said, stopping at the base of the stairs to let Steve head up there first. You followed him, your free hand clutching your dress, worrying the fabric between your thumb and forefinger as you ascended to the second floor, and once he pushed his bedroom door open, you kept your hold on the skirt, no longer fidgeting with it.

Steve pulled his hand away from yours and you let him go, turning to close the door most of the way as he crossed the room to stand beside his bed. He looked back around at you.

“So, ah...you're in charge here,” he said, gesturing to the comforter, which was not quite straight or tucked in, the bed clearly haphazardly made out of habit and not the desire for neatness.

“I just...would rather lie down than push you into your counter,” you said, and Steve nodded, one side of his mouth quirked upward into a half-smile.

Loosening his tie enough to pull it off, he tossed it to the floor in front of his dresser and then gestured to the other side of his bed. You made your way around the footboard, his eyes following you as you did, head turning to keep you in his field of view. You lowered yourself to perch on the edge of his bed, and you saw him smile a little to himself out of the corner of your eye.

“I'm keeping my dress on,” you said, and he just nodded.

“I'd keep it on too, it's cute,” he replied, making you laugh a little before you leaned back against his pillows and rolled onto your side, facing him. He did the same, but moved toward the middle of the mattress, one arm extending out to rest on your waist. You shifted a little closer, one hand holding the hem of your skirt to keep it covering your thighs, even as he leaned in, his hand sliding to your lower back, and pulling you closer. “This ok?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice low in the dim of his room, the only light the ambient sliver that was creeping in from the hallway. You felt the quiet shush of the pillowcase as Steve moved closer to you, his nose brushing yours in the dark as his lips found yours again.

It was just as sweet as before, just as perfect as it had been in the kitchen, but things were so different, horizontal in his bedroom, that this time, when you shifted yourself closer to him, his hand pressed tighter against the curve where your lower back met your ass, and he held you against him.

He kissed you just enough, not too harshly but not too timid either, your mouths moving together, hands exploring sides and backs until Steve bent one of his legs, pushing his knee in between yours, and you took his lead, hooking your leg up and over his. It pushed your skirt up, exposing your legs as he pressed the length of his thigh against your core, and you sighed audibly, the sound so sweet against his mouth.

Steve barely stopped kissing you, his lips still very much against yours as he spoke. “Should I—stop?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head and taking his lips with yours again. You hadn't ever done this before—your head, maybe, was spinning a little with arousal and desire and Steve, but that didn't mean you didn't still have the clarity and wherewithal to know what you wanted.

“Tell me if—you change—your mind,” Steve said, in between the kisses you gave him, and you only responded by skimming your hand up his front, working each of the buttons of his shirt from the top down, until it was fully open and you could slip your hand inside to slide over his front, the slight tummy he had and the thick, dark patch of chest hair that was softer than you'd have expected. You felt his chest, sucking his lower lip into your mouth experimentally, drawing a soft groan from him as your fingertips skimmed over his nipple, rubbing at it just to hear him gasp against your lips, making you smile against his.

Maybe it was retaliation, maybe it was just a reflex, but as you played with his nipple, he pressed the plane of his leg against your pussy, and with just the fabric of your panties between your sex and his thigh, you gasped, the breath shaky, stuttering into your lungs as he licked into your mouth.

“Steve,” you said, and it sounded more desperate than you had thus far. You moved your hand to his back inside of his shirt, and pulled at him, trying to manhandle him on top of you. He moved with you, letting you roll him over, and then his weight was settled comfortably on you, his hips aligned with yours as you shifted yourself below him, letting him rest in between your legs, your skirt still, mostly, covering you.

“We can stop—” Steve said, his voice a little choked “—whenever you want.”

“I don't want to stop,” you said, and Steve pushed himself up to look down at you—getting himself a better view of your face, but also succeeding in getting his hips to press harder into yours.

His voice was breathy when he spoke, like he was further gone than either of you realized. “That's...fine,” Steve said, unconsciously (or maybe not) circling his hips above yours, the ridge of his cock pressing down against your mound, driving you a little bit insane just from the feeling of his stiff length. It felt big, thick... hot and heavy. It made you nervous but at the same time, incredibly eager. “As long as you're sure.”

“I think I'm sure,” you said, and Steve made a small noise, lowering himself against you again, your hands back on his chest, his nipples pressing against your palms as you rubbed him there, fingers playing with his chest hair.

“Well, you let me know whenever you're not,” Steve said, kissing you again, and this time, when he ground his hips down against yours, you could tell he meant it. Your hands stayed on his chest, because every time you did something new to his pebbled buds it just made him buck his hips against yours harder, and you were feeling a rush between your legs, one that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Your hands slid up to Steve's shoulders as he let one of his elbows press into the bed beside you, his arm across your shoulder as he cupped your face, letting his thumb brush over the apple of your cheek. With his other hand, he moved it to your waist, then your hip, further down until he'd reached your thigh. You gasped softly as his hand curved around your leg, his palm on your bare skin, your skirt having ridden up as you moved against each other.

He paused, pulling away from your mouth to let you protest or redirect him, but you didn't, instead tipping your chin up to kiss him again, craving the feeling of his mouth on yours like if you lost it, you'd never recover. He picked your leg up, fingers pressing into your skin, and lifted your leg to wrap around his hip. It opened you a little wider beneath him, a whimper falling from your lips as you felt, more clearly than you had up to this point, the drag of his length against your cunt, the hard line of his pants' zipper moving against your lips, and it had you panting a couple times against his cheek.

“Can I—do more?” he asked, and you looked at him with half-lidded eyes, breath moving heavily in and out of your lungs.

“Yes,” you sighed, expecting him to move his hand straight between your legs, but he didn't. He left his hand on your face, this time letting his thumb carefully brush over your lips, tracing the peak of your upper lip before the plush curve of your lower one, while his other hand came to rest on your front, just below your breast. You felt the slight pressure of each of his fingertips on you, and you met his eyes. “Yes,” you said again, and he moved his hand up to cup you through your bra.

You loosed a small sigh as he felt you up, not too much pressure but—you could have laughed a little, actually—he was very eager. You supposed guys never got sick of touching boobs, no matter their age or how often they'd gotten to before.

Your hands moved up and around from Steve's chest to his back, reaching beneath his arms to try and push his shirt off of him. He allowed you to, pushing himself up off you once you'd made it clear what you were trying to do, and then he was kneeling above you, shirtless, his chest narrowing just a little to his waist, the—honestly, kind of enticing—patch of hair on his chest narrowing into a thin, fine line to his bellybutton, and then further, kept hidden from you by a silver belt buckle and blue fabric. Above his belt you could just see the elastic waistband of his underwear, and just that little taste made you want to see more, see everything, see what he had between his legs that had been teasing you since he'd laid himself between your thighs.

“Wait,” you said, as he started to lean forward again to retake his position on top of you. You made to sit yourself up, and Steve reached out a hand to take one of yours in his; he helped you to sit by pulling you upright, then watched you, waiting like you'd told him to. “Um,” you intoned.

“Want some help with your dress?” Steve asked, correctly inferring what you wanted, and you looked up at him, kneeling above you, and nodded.

“Arms up,” he said, and you bit the inside of your cheek, ducking your face as you raised your arms above your head. Steve gently tugged the fabric out from beneath where you were still sitting on the hem, then gathered it into his hands as he lifted it, exposing your body to him inch by inch. The garment cleared your head, and you raised your face to Steve's, expecting to see him looking at your tits or even down at your panties—but no. He was looking right at your face, a soft smile on his lips and your dress bunched up into a bundle in his hands. As you watched—amazed, truthfully—he shook the dress out by the collar, folding it neatly and placing it onto his bedside table. “Don't want it to wrinkle on you.”

“What are you?” you asked. “I swear, you are not a human man.” You laughed; Steve didn't.

He did wear a smirk, though. “As a matter of fact, I'm a premier example of a human man. All the other guys you know are just sorry excuses.”

You'd been joking, and you knew Steve kind of was too—but there was still a grain of truth to it.

“Ok. Yeah,” was all you managed to say, and then Steve was leaning forward again; you were laying back and he was crawling on top of you. In just your underwear, you felt exceptionally exposed even though he, too, was shirtless. Your hands landed on his shoulders as he settled down just about half on top of you, his leg moving between yours again, his hand returning to cup your breast through your bra. He kissed the front of your shoulder and you looked down at him, the mop of hair on top of his head tickling your chin when you did.

“Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful?” he murmured against your skin, moving his mouth over to suck at your collarbone.

“Yes,” you said, indignant, and he pulled away to look at you, lifting his hand from your chest to your shoulder, the one his chin wasn't currently resting on.

“I mean besides someone you're related to,” he clarified.

“What kind of backhanded compliment is this?” you said, half indignant.

“I just mean it's something you should be told every day,” he replied. He slipped his middle finger beneath the strap of your bra, pushing it off your shoulder. “By someone who really cares about you.”

“Oh, like you, you mean?” you deflected, because humor made you feel safe in a situation that was wildly out of your comfort zone, only because you'd never been in it before and now you were in it with Steve Harrington.

But when he spoke, he answered you completely seriously. “Yes,” he answered. “That's exactly what I mean.”

It was so earnest and honest that you squirmed a little under his gaze, but something compelled you to respond. “Then no.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and you thought he almost nodded, but he just pushed your bra strap down further over your arm, then let his fore and middle fingers slip beneath it, moving sideways along it into the cup of your bra, which he peeled down, exposing your breast and your perked nipple. But even as he covered it with his hand, even as you inhaled sharply as he fondled you, he didn't look away from your face.

“You're beautiful,” he said, and you held your breath at first, lest you pop the perfect bubble you'd found yourself in.

“So are you,” you said, without really even thinking about it, and he paused in everything he was doing to look at you quizzically.

“First time I've been called beautiful.”

You bit your lip. “Maybe because no one ever looked that deep.”

You could feel that it hit him, that he really took in what you said, and after another moment of stillness, he leaned up, slow and steady, just gradually closing the distance to kiss you, easy and gentle and meaningful, his lips parting yours to let his tongue swipe against your own, taking your mouth in a deep kiss that you could tell was different than the other ones you'd shared thus far. You let him in, taking just as much as you were giving, and when his hand started moving on your chest again, you arched up into him.

“Steve,” you sighed into his mouth, and he broke away from you, his lips finding your neck again, kissing slowly and sensually down over your chest. His thumb flicked at the nipple of your already exposed breast, while he lifted himself up on the elbow of his other arm, using that hand to slide your bra down on the other side. He held the cup down and out of the way, then closed his lips over your nipple and sucked softly, tongue teasing the tip in his mouth.

Pressing your head back into the pillow, you arched up into him again, small mewls leaving your lips as he pleasured you with his fingers and mouth, pulling off only to place chaste kisses over the swell of the underside of your breast before taking it back into his mouth, his tongue pressing against the hard little bud and making you want more and more each time.

You moved your hand to cover his on your breast, and he glanced up at you, his tongue licking over your nipple, swirling around it and making you close your eyes against the sight of it, the sight of him staring straight at you while his mouth was moving like that—but you pulled his hand off your chest and pushed it down—down your front, down past your hips to between your legs, turning his wrist in your hand and cupping his palm against your mound.

Steve didn't move his hand away, but he did hold your gaze for a long moment, pulling away from your chest, his lips parted, brow furrowed, looking for your cue that this was really what you wanted. So you nodded.

He didn't hesitate again, just pressed his fingertips against your slit through your underwear and making you tighten up, your hips rising against his hand as he touched you, moving into you again and foregoing your chest to kiss you on the lips, catching your upper lip between his. You opened for him, letting him claim your mouth with his as further down, you moved your legs further apart, giving him more room, and he let his full palm rub over you through your underwear, feeling the small little damp spot there grow the harder he pressed against you, the more pressure he put on you.

“You—like it?” he asked, and you knew he wasn't trying to be sexy or enticing, he was genuinely asking.

“Yeah,” you answered, moving your hand to your own chest, flicking your thumb over your perked nipple the same way he had. You caught him watching you for a moment, staring just a little, before he kissed the corner of your mouth then let his lips graze your cheek as he leaned in to your ear.

You expected him to say something, to ask a question, but instead he kissed the shell of your ear and sighed heavily as he pressed the tips of his fingers against your slit, and you shuddered a little beneath him.

“Steve,” you whimpered, and he did speak this time.

“I'll be right back,” he said, but when he moved, he didn't go far at all. He lifted his hand from between your legs and rolled off of you, but only to give himself the room to undo his belt and fly, working his chinos off and dumping them unceremoniously off the side of his bed, the complete opposite treatment he'd given to your dress. While he rid himself of his pants and socks, you bent your arms back behind you, unclasping your bra just so it was completely out of the way, and then shifted a little closer to the center of his bed, a little closer to him.

He turned back to you, on his side, taking in the way you were laying, waiting for him—your tits completely uncovered, unrestrained by the cups of your bra, your body slightly on its side, turned toward him like a flower angling toward the sun, thighs pressed together. You watched as a smile spread on his face, cheeks rounding up, eyes crinkling at the corners—he couldn't help it, and you couldn't help smiling back at him.

True to his word, he was back on you in seconds, mouth on yours and hand curling over your hip, but this time when he slid it down, he let his fingers disappear inside your underwear, moving over the curve of your ass.

You pressed your hips forward into his, feeling his length against you now, much clearer, much sharper, no longer half-hidden by an extra layer of fabric—no, now there were only two flimsy layers of cotton between you and it made everything feel so much more real.

“You still—still think you're sure?” Steve asked, and you nodded.

“I am sure,” you said. “I don't just—think I am. I am.”

He studied your face, met your eyes, only let his gaze dip down to your kiss-plumped lips for the briefest second, and then he was pushing your underwear off, actually removing them, and you lifted yourself up to let him. This time, he couldn't stop himself—he watched as he uncovered you, revealing the soft, curly hair settled between your legs, the sweet expanse of your hips, and the enticing press of skin where your thighs met just below your core. It took everything he had to remove them fully instead of just getting his hands back on you now—but he did it, tossing them on top of your dress or trying to; he had no idea where they landed because he couldn't look away from you, bare on top of his comforter except for the necklace adorning your chest, the little studs he could see in your ears when he glanced up at your face, and the faint smile on your lips.

“You're beautiful,” he said again, and you looked away, down at your own body before your eyes flicked off to the side.

“You're gonna get tired of saying that eventually,” you said.

“What I'm gonna get tired of is you not listening to me,” he countered, and you met his eyes just as he placed his hand between your thighs again, this time touching you with no boundary between you, and you gasped as his fingertip traced your clit almost immediately—it was part of your body and you almost never had such precision in finding it that fast, but it was like Steve had been attracted to it with a magnet, so easy was it for him to hone in on it and start circling it.

“Steve,” you breathed out, as he dipped his finger down from your clit to nudge at your entrance, but not pressing in yet. “You—you can—”

“Easy,” he said, moving his hand over to caress your thigh, squeezing it while he positioned himself next to you again. “We'll go slow, ok?”

You nodded, hooking your arm around his neck and pulling him into you for another kiss. The wine hadn't gotten you drunk, but you felt like Steve's lips were what was intoxicating you now. Every time he kissed you, every time his tongue moved against yours, you drank him in and felt sated.

Steve moved his finger in between your lips again, slowly, your arousal easing the slide there, and once he let his fingertip move into your tight heat, he paused, breaking the kiss but leaving his face right beside yours. You kept your eyes locked on his as he eased his finger into you, feeling you squeeze around him, feeling the stretch as you tightened up.

“Ok?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah,” you answered, and he leaned his forehead against your temple, breath fanning out on your jaw as he worked his finger in further.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said, and you muttered “Ok” back to him as he caught your clit with his thumb, hoping that might help a little. And it did—you took a deep breath, his finger moving fully into you before sliding back out.

“Oh, my god,” you said, squeezing your eyes closed as he pushed back in, not too fast, taking care to handle you carefully.

It wasn't long before you were taking his finger, wet enough that he could push in and pull back out with no trouble, your thighs tensing up each time he moved, but you had started lazily kissing him as he did it, so when he angled a second finger against you, he pulled away.

“Want to try another one?” he asked, his voice low, reining in his own arousal to make sure you were taken care of.

“Ok,” you said, nodding, and when he pushed in with two, you felt the stretch but it wasn't unpleasant. You'd thought that you'd felt full with just one finger inside you, but two was entirely new, entirely different, and you took them inch by slow fucking inch as he curled them inside of you.

“You good?” Steve asked after he'd pumped them into you a few times, your whimpers and mewls encouraging him, but he knew he would be remiss if he didn't check.

“So good,” you said, your voice high and tight. It felt good, and you loved the way you could just let your lips linger against his while he did it, but you...thought you wanted more. “Can we—um,” you started to say, but stopped yourself.

“Yeah?” Steve prompted you, his face still right there, right next to yours, lips brushing your cheek as he spoke.

“Do more,” you finished. You wrapped your arm around him, placing your hand on the nape of his neck. You turned your face to look directly at his, serious and sure. “I want t—you. I want it to be you.”

Steve hesitantly let his fingers slip out of your folds, rubbing his full hand over your mound again, making you twitch a little beneath him, your hips pressing up against him.

“I—” he started to say. Then your name fell softly from his lips, and the tone of it, the featherlight way he said it, made you smile, made your chest feel warm from the inside out. “I would—yeah. Yes,” he finished. He kissed your lips, just a quick, simple motion, not trying to deepen it or lick into your mouth or lose himself there again—just a short little peck and then he was up and sitting on the edge of his bed, your thighs wet with your arousal, your eyes, pupils blown, watching as he dug around in his bedside table drawer, pulling out a torn box of condoms, from which he plucked one. He turned back, caught you looking, and flashed the wrapper at you. You grinned, and he grinned too.

He stood up, dropped the condom onto the bedspread and then, with no fanfare, hooked his thumbs into his underwear and pushed them down. He bent at the waist so he was mostly hidden from you, but when he straightened up you saw his—well. You saw everything, and just like him, you couldn't help but to look—though not with reverence but with lust. His cock had sprung out of his underwear, erect and jutting out from his front, and you could finally see the thick tuft of hair that the line down his torso had been leading to. He was already wet at the tip—you could just make that out even in the dim light from the hallway—and the small belly he had—barely there, really, but discernible as a small little roll at his hips—would have made you smile if not for the sheer size of his dick which was, honestly, a little distracting.

“Geez,” he said, after a moment. “I call you beautiful and all I get in return is objectified.”

You heard him, but chose not to snap out of it for another few seconds before finally lifting your eyes too his face, your mouth open just a little in a mixture of shock and awe. “I said you were beautiful too,” you said, letting your gaze fall back to his cock, which twitched a little as you closed your mouth, swallowing at the sight of it. “That's included.”

Steve barked a laugh, then bent over the bed again, putting one knee on it to crawl toward you, snatching up the condom in his hand as he made his way to you.

Again, he acted differently than you'd expected. Instead of just moving between your legs, he laid down beside you once more, his hand tucking itself over your hip, pulling you closer to him. His cock slid against your belly, smearing his precome on your skin but you didn't mind, didn't really even notice as he nosed his way closer to you and kissed you again. You laid there, bodies growing together, entwining yourself with him as you reached over him with your own arm, pressing your hand flat against his lower back, holding your fronts together as you moved your leg between his this time, feeling his hot, hard prick press against your front and his.

He slid his hand down lower, groping at your ass as you let your tongues tangle between your mouths, noses brushing as you tilted your head to one side or the other, languid kisses taking up your time until you moved your hand to his hip, pushing him back from you as you rolled a little away too, meeting his eyes as he let you separate your bodies.

You didn't even need to use words—he just gave you a comforting smile, his eyes soft as they skimmed from your face down to your core, and then he was pushing himself up to his knees, legs spread wide. You watched, settling onto your back as he tore open the condom wrapper, stroked his cock a few times, and then rolled it on, pinching the tip as he fixed it over his length.

Then—finally—he moved onto all fours above you, knees inside of where yours rested on the bed, and he grabbed the pillow he'd been laying on and tapped you on the hip. “Lift up.”

Obeying, you did, and he adjusted the pillow beneath you to give you some extra comfort. He moved one hand to your hip, rubbing the outside of it, while he used two fingers from the other hand to rub against your folds, spreading you open, wetting his fingers with your fluids before pushing the tips inside you again. You took him easily, lifting up against his hand, but he held you down in place with the hand holding your hip.

“Ok,” he said. “Ready?”

You nodded after a moment. “Ready.”

Smearing your arousal over the condom, he took hold of himself and leaned over you, glancing up at your face—you were staring straight down, watching as he angled his cock toward your pussy—and so he looked down too, making sure that he could move into you without missing and looking stupid.

The head of his cock pressed hard and thick against your slit, and you gasped at the sensation—it was bigger than his fingers and felt so different. Your cheek and nose twitched just a little, and Steve stopped, not even breaching you yet.

“Ok?” he asked, not moving.

“Y-yeah,” you said. “I'm fine.” He hesitated, so you lifted your hand to the arm angled to your hip, rubbing his bicep. “Keep going.”

Steve gave you another moment of respite, and then pushed forward again with his hips, your pussy stretching around the head, and this time, he was able to move into you; he stopped once just the head was in, feeling your body tightening up, your walls fluttering around him when he was barely even inside you. You were so tight around him, and he had to close his eyes for just a second to compose himself before checking in with you.

“Good?”

“Um,” you hummed, squeezing down on him and bringing a moan forth from both of you. “I, um...”

“Too much?” he asked, rubbing the front of both of your hips now, trailing down to your thighs.

“Maybe,” you squeaked.

“Ok,” Steve said, “that's ok. We can do something else—”

“No,” you said, circling his wrists with your hands. “I want to. Steve—”

“I'm not gonna keep going and hurt you,” Steve said, almost a tone of amusement to his voice, that you thought he would just do it with no concern about how you felt.

“I want to,” you said. “Steve... Please.” Your voice sounded watery and desperate. For it, for him.

His cock twitched when you said it, his heart thrummed in his chest, every single thought he was having focused on you below him, begging for him.

“Ok,” he said, but he pressed the heels of his hands down against your hips and pulled his cock out from between your legs, a rush of your arousal chasing him, leaking down over your folds and the pillow below. He spoke over your protests, “Let me just—there's...I want to do something else for you first that might... help you relax more. Ok?”

“Ok,” you agreed, watching as he pulled off the condom and dropped it off the side of the bed—because then he laid down flat, between your legs. He pulled himself close, closer, even closer and holy shit was he really going to oh my god—

Steve had splayed his hands out on your thighs and pushed your legs a little further apart, then wasted no time in literally burying his face in your cunt. It was overwhelming but in an entirely different way than him trying to fuck you had been—his mouth was warm and wet on your own wet warmth, and your hand found its way to fist into his hair without you even meaning to.

“Steve,” you moaned, propping yourself up on your elbow, trying to hold yourself up to watch, but the hair you hadn't gathered in your hand was falling over his forehead and his face was angled down against you so you couldn't see much anyway. You let yourself lay back on the pillows and let him ravish you.

He had his lips around your clit, sucking at it softly, his tongue working over it too, so much that you could already feel your orgasm building, and you pulled at his hair with purpose, trying to get him off of you.

“Wait, wait—St-Steve, Steve, oh my god—” you babbled, and he pulled away, licking his lips in a way that made your cunt clench up at the sight.

“What?” he asked, a little more carefree than he had been minutes ago, and even as you were trying to gather yourself to speak, he was lowering his face back down to take your folds in his mouth, slurping at your lips and making you shiver.

“I'm gonna come,” you said, “if you—if you keep, fuck, doing that.”

“Doing what?” Steve asked, pulling away from you before licking a long, wide stripe right up your center.

“Sucking my clit,” you managed, the words catching in your throat.

“Hm,” he intoned, holding your gaze before he lowered his mouth to you again, positioning himself now in such a way that he could keep looking up at you even with his mouth buried against your core. He licked you again, then spoke. “Noted.”

And then his mouth was back on you, taking your folds into his mouth, making you groan at the feeling of it, and you could even hear him moaning as he did it; it gave you the distinct impression that he was enjoying it just as much as you, if not more somehow.

He nosed against your mound, licking you everywhere he possibly could while still avoiding your clit, and then he slid his hands up your sticky thighs, spreading your lips before him and covering your slit with his mouth. A high whimper sounded from your throat as he let his tongue trail over your wet hole, and that, he was easily able to work inside you, the slick muscle slipping into you and you bucked your hips up into his face, because that felt amazing, and as he slowly fucked it into you, his fingers pressing divots into your thighs as he held you open with the pads of his thumbs, you released the fistful you had of his hair and carded your fingers through it again, much gentler this time, pushing his fringe out of the way to see his face.

Even though he was pressed close to you, his mouth on your slit, his nose digging into your mound, you could still see the two freckles on his cheek, the way his eyes looked up at you, deep and dark; you felt his mouth moving against you, his tongue fucking you shallowly, and then deeply, alternating each time you lifted your hips up against him like a wave was taking you and you were simply riding it.

Slowly, Steve pulled away from you, and you whined at the loss of contact.

“I'm right here,” he said, laughter audible in his voice. “I just was gonna say... I'm going to use my hands again, ok?”

You nodded vehemently, because you'd have agreed to anything just to get his mouth back on you. His tongue flitted over his upper lip, and then he adjusted the placement of his hands; one moved up, his thumb slipping into your folds to find your clit—making you twitch again—and the other moved down between your legs. You felt him nudge your slit with two fingers, pressing in, and your body gripped down tight on them, wanting them, needing them, taking them in and squeezing down, not wanting to let him pull them out even as he did. He pushed them back in, this time adding his tongue. He scissored his fingers, making you feel the stretch deep in your core, but as his tongue fucked into you with his fingers on either side, you took shaky breath after shaky breath.

Fingers threading through his bangs, you locked eyes with him as he ate you out and fingered you all at the same time, just barely letting his thumb move over your clit, but you were already almost gone. He could tell, or so it seemed—he didn't quite double down on what he was doing, but he did press his fingers into you a little deeper, lick you from inside with his tongue just a bit more firmly, and focus the pad of his thumb on your clit, the pressure on the slick little bead kicking you over the edge, your body releasing all of the tension you'd collected since he'd entered you with one finger earlier.

You came, loudly, moans and sighs mixing together as you finished on his face, and he didn't stop what he was doing, didn't pull away, until the heel of your hand pushed against his forehead and tried to get him away from your oversensitive clit.

Steve pushed himself up just enough to watch you, one hand on your thigh, the other clutching the comforter next to you, eyes heavy-lidded and locked on his as he once again covered your entire cunt with his hand and slowly rubbed at you. It felt nice, you thought, like he was trying to relax you even though your entire body felt loose and boneless.

“That was incredible,” you said, huffing a laugh and turning your face so it was half-hidden in the pillow.

“Find any other human man who'll do that for you,” Steve said, moving so he was sitting beside you, legs criss-crossed in front of him. You halfheartedly tried to kick him as he moved but missed, because you weren't quite sure you'd ever get control of your legs again.

“Shawn might,” you said.

“Shawn who?” Steve asked, placing his (mostly) clean hand on your stomach, rubbing at you just below your bellybutton.

“I forget,” you said, and Steve laughed. He sobered quickly, though, letting his fingertips drag down from your stomach again, trailing through the short, curled hair nestled above your lips.

“You finished?” Steve asked, sounding very much like you could tap out here and he'd still be completely happy with the way his evening had turned out.

“No,” you said, tentatively reaching toward him too. You had a clear destination for your hand to end up, but you hesitated just before making contact with him—then just went for it, letting your fingers curl deftly around his length, making him inhale sharply above you, not able to keep his eyes on your face as he looked straight down, watching you lightly stroke his cock. You let your fingertips trail along his length, first down to the base and then back up to the head, barely-there glancing touches over the tip. He was still wet, and you turned your face up to his. When he noticed the movement, he turned to look at you too. “Can we still...?”

“If you want to,” he said, but he was already leaning over to his bedside table again, pulling out another condom.

“I do,” you said, adjusting your hips on the pillow below you.

A smile graced his face, cute, open-mouthed, before he was biting his lip in concentration, rolling on the second rubber and returning to his place between your legs, finding yourselves in the same position as just minutes ago.

You felt looser this time, pliant and soft, and when Steve guided the head of his cock to notch into your slit, he entered you much easier. The blunt head was still thicker than his fingers, even when he was using them to open you up for his tongue, but as he pushed in, your body opened to accommodate him until he'd gotten more than the head into you. He stopped to make sure you were ok what felt like every time he rolled his hips forward, and he kept his hand on your front below your bellybutton, rubbing it to soothe you, until you covered his hand with yours and then he flipped his to be palm up, holding your hand as he fed the rest of his cock into you.

It took a while—longer than you'd bet most men would allow it to take—but Steve took his time with you, letting you take the time you needed, and once he was fully seated in you, he kept still even longer, your bent legs on either side of his hips, your thighs caging him in, as he rested on his elbows above you. It changed the angle at which he was inside you, but you only whimpered a little as he made himself comfortable.

“Feel ok?” he asked, his own voice as tight as yours felt, because you were wrapped around him, feeling him so keenly, that you wondered how the hell you could be the same after you let him move out of you.

“Feel so ok,” you muttered, and his lips were on yours again then, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as you sucked his lower lip in between yours. “You can—” you mumbled against his lips “—go.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, even as he pulled back, his cock sliding out of you and making you whine, loudly. He didn't get very far before he pushed back in, moving his hips slowly, taking it easy for you.

“God, yeah...” you said, absently, not even sure whether you said it out loud or just in your own head, and Steve shifted himself again, moving one of his legs up further, tucking his knee up against your waist, pushing your leg up even higher around him, and you groaned because that just stretched you further but it felt good; it made the slide of his cock in and out of you a little easier, your abdomen tensing as he started to fuck you—shallowly, but definitely fucking you now. He was moving evenly, measured, not snapping his hips into you but rolling them, making sure you were comfortable and satisfied.

And you were—he was filling you but you didn't feel like it was too much, didn't feel overwhelmed, except for when Steve lowered himself down against you, his chest on yours, his lips hovering over your lips—not kissing you, just breathing you in, looking deep into your eyes as he slid his hand beneath your back, holding you up against him while he ground you together, his cock barely leaving your body before he pushed back in, your fronts rolling together in perfect tandem.

“Feel good? You—like it?” he asked, quietly, almost like he was the one who needed reassurance, like the entire night was riding on your answer. You thought back to what he'd said at dinner and—maybe it was.

“I like it,” you sighed, your lips moving over his as you answer. “God, so much.”

He tucked his face into your neck, kissing you there, sucking at your soft skin, and you knew by morning you'd have a mark to remind you of the evening. You couldn't bring yourself to mind the possibility.

His fingers pressed sharply into your back, keeping you against him before his hand traveled upward, moving to tangle into the hair at the back of your head, holding you there as he kissed you again, tongue and teeth and lips mingling together as he started moving out of you a bit more, able to fuck back in properly. The pressure of his hips against you had you moaning into his mouth, short little staccato sounds every time he moved in, and you could tell he was living for every single sound that came from you by the way he ground against you on his instrokes every time you made one.

“'M,” you tried to say. “I'm—”

“I got you,” Steve said, and before you could even express what you'd been trying to, his arm was moving down between you, your hand clinging to his elbow as he twisted his wrist to rub at your clit with his thumb again.

“Oh g—god, Steve,” you said, not managing to bite it back, but as soon as his thumb moved over it your entire body lit up. You'd come hard before, but having him inside of you while he was touching your clit felt completely different, and you could tell that you were close, your orgasm imminent, your body taking everything that Steve was giving you because that was all you could do—take.

“Go ahead,” he whispered against your lips. “Feel so good around m-me. So—so, god, so tight, so—perfect—”

You were practically squealing his name, his thumb on your clit, moving in fast, tight little circles, and he could tell when you were right there before you did, because your cunt clamped down on him, milking his cock, tightening up and pulling his orgasm from him too. He'd felt like he'd been on edge since he'd entered you, and now he was finally there along with you, the two of you panting each other's names, breathing heavy in the dark, thighs pressed close, sweat sticking your chests together, his hand still wrapped around strands of your hair, your fingernails cutting half-moons into his arm where you'd clung to him until you came down.

Your pussy twitched as Steve pulled out of you, gaping a little after he moved away. He rubbed your thigh gently as you pushed yourself to sit up, back against the headboard, and before Steve straightened up, he leaned in to kiss your thighs, both of them, then in what felt absurd yet still very, stupidly sweet, he kissed your mound right above your clit, and then your stomach below your bellybutton. He worked his way up your front until he reached your lips, kissing you softly, licking into your mouth as your noses bumped together.

“I think I might skip soccer house tomorrow,” you said as Steve pulled away.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, casual as anything.

“Something else came up.”

Steve moved his hand to your waist, turning you a little toward him, even though you both had to get up and clean up. “Something good?”

You turned to him, moving your leg between his to pull yourself closer to him, lifting your face to his again, but not kissing him again just yet. You smiled a little, coy.

“You could say that,” you said, and your lips met yet again.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @snoopyharrington @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @morninglesss @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @francellapa5carelli @charlston-chews @bearwithegg

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