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Jan 25, 2023

Stay

Kayce Dutton x f!reader

Summary: When a downtrodden Kayce arrives on your doorstep at nearly midnight on New Year’s Eve and shares unexpected news, reigning in the feelings you’ve harbored for him for years becomes exceedingly difficult.

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Prompt: New Year's Eve kiss (dedicated to @villainvindicator 💖)

Content: NSFW, smut, fluff, friends to lovers, fingering, unprotected p in v (very brief mention of domestic abuse without details)

DECK THE HALLS MASTERLIST

You’re nearly on the cusp of sleep when the sound of tires crunching along your gravel driveway rouses you from where you’re curled up on the couch. Stealing a glance at the clock on the wall, and you peer out the blinds, eyes widening a fraction when you spot a familiar red and white pick up truck pulling up beside your car.

The throw blanket pooled around your waist slips to the floor when you stand, striding across the room and opening your front door to find none other than Kayce Dutton standing there with his fist raised, on the verge of knocking. He lets his arm drop back down to his side.

“Well this is a surprise. I haven’t heard from you in months, Kayce. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask him casually as you step aside, gesturing for him to come in.

There’s no real weight to your words—you’re well aware Kayce has his work cut out for him between his own family baggage, on top of being a husband and a father. And you’ve been friends long enough that the lapse in time doesn’t make a difference, the two of you always find your way back to each other one way or another. But you can’t help but wonder what’s brought him to your doorstep this late on New Year’s Eve, of all nights.

He steps inside and takes off his hat, placing it on the hook beside the door, and it’s only then that you catch the downtrodden expression on his face that had been obscured by the shadows on your front porch. He reaches up, running a hand through his hair, the gesture drawing further attention to the prominent dark circles under his eyes.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve called, huh? I wasn’t thinkin’. Was just out for a drive and thought I’d stop in, I guess. I can go if you’re busy, though…” he trails off, hands tucked away in the pockets of his jacket.

Gesturing toward your faded t-shirt, sleep shorts, and the thick wool socks on your feet, you shake your head with a rueful smile. “If falling asleep on the couch watching a bad movie counts as busy, you’re more than welcome to interrupt.”

The corner of his mouth quirks upward ever so slightly. “No New Year’s party for you?”

You snort, reaching out to take his jacket from him before he begins to take off his boots. “Who said this isn’t a party?”

Kayce chuckles, and it’s a rich, pleasant sound that flutters down your spine, settling deep in your gut with a warmth that leaves your insides tingling. You’re well past denying the effect he has on you.

He follows you into the living room, settling down beside you on the couch as you tuck your legs up under your body. Turning down the volume on the television, you glance over at him to find a far off look in his eyes as he glances around the room. His gaze slows when it begins to sweep over the collection of framed photographs adorning your mantle.

“Did you break up with Travis?”

You try not to look too far into the way he’d quickly picked up on the purge of any and all photographs including your boyfriend of three years, which had been strewn about the room up until two months ago.

“Back in October.”

He furrows his brows. “You didn’t tell me. I’m sorry to hear that.”

You laugh, a disbelieving look on your face. “No you’re not. He was an asshole.”

He trails a finger over a stray thread hanging from the edge of the knitted blanket draped over the back of the back of the couch. “Yeah, I’m really not. Well what happened?”

“We got into it again over how he wanted to move to Seattle, but as you know, I’ll sell my parents’ farm over my dead body. He was drunk though, and he got a little physical…” you trail off, stomach churning at the memory.

Kayce freezes, posture stiffening, and he growls, “Where the fuck is he?”

You reach out, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing. “I’m fine, Kayce. I promise. It’s handled, and he’s long gone now.”

He runs a hand over his beard. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Choosing your next words carefully, you reply, “You…had a lot going on with Monica, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Kayce parrots, dumbfounded. “You know I’d drop everything for you, especially if it meant finally having an excuse to kick his stupid ass.”

The conviction in his words makes your chest ache, because you know he means it. You shake your head, smiling weakly. “You were just counting down the days till you’d finally have a chance to do that, huh?”

He sighs, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. You know he fucking hated Travis. “Yep.”

In an attempt to change the subject, you segue, “So now that we’re caught up on my life’s current events, care to tell me why you’re really here?”

He bites his lip. “Can’t a guy just stop in and visit?”

You offer him an unimpressed look. “At almost midnight on New Year’s Eve?”

Covering his mouth with his fingers, he takes a deep breath. It’s then that you notice the ring finger on his left hand is noticeably bare, and you’re almost ashamed of the feeling that flares within you at the sight. He catches the way your gaze flicks to the spot, and he leans backward heavily.

“I can’t do this anymore with Monica. I’m so goddamn tired.”

“Are you…” you begin to ask.

“Done? Yeah. She can’t make up her damn mind, and she keeps draggin’ me along. So I decided for her,” he sighs, fingers reaching out to twist the ring that’s no longer on his finger. “She has Tate tonight, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I hopped in my truck and kind of just ended up coming here on instinct, I guess.”

In that moment, you know you’re both thinking back to all the times you rang in the new year together as teenagers, dashing across your parents’ backyard with sparklers in your hands while you waited for the countdown on the small portable radio sitting perched on the stairs to the back porch.

“I’m sorry. You know that you’re always welcome here,” you finally say after a few beats of silence.

“‘m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I miss you,” he laments.

“I missed you, too, Kayce.”

Kayce goes quiet again for a moment, until he eventually mumbles, “I just…don’t understand why I ain’t good enough.” He scratches the back of his head, letting out a huff of air. “I mean, I guess I know why—I’ve got too much fuckin’ baggage.”

Something in your chest clenches at the painful resignation in his voice, the undertone of self-loathing that lingers in his words. You’ve spent years biting your tongue throughout Kayce’s struggles in his marriage, but now, you can’t be bothered to hold them back.

“You’re not the problem Kayce, you never were. You just love her too much to see that.”

A reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he echoes your sentiment. “You’ve been counting down the days till you could say that, huh?”

Counting down is a goddamn understatement.

“You have such a big heart. You deserve better,” you tell him.

His expression softens minutely, and he considers your words, not breaking eye contact with you when he finally responds. “I think I loved the idea of her and what we had.”

The sadness in Kayce’s tone makes you want to crawl across the cushions toward him, to show him what exactly you think he deserves. But it’s certainly not the time. And it’s not your damn place, either. It never has been.

It never will be.

No matter how badly you may want it to.

Perhaps, if you’d been brave enough to tell him how you felt when you were younger, the unrequited, awkward feelings would have faded with time—something to be blamed on teenage hormones and the fleeting crushes they incite, ones that burn hard and fast, disintegrating quickly like a shooting star.

If you told him now, there’d be no turning back. No shelter to weather the irrevocable damage it would do to your friendship, the devastating chasm it would split open between the two of you.

Because the way you feel about Kayce Dutton is anything but fleeting.

Your phone screen lights up beside you, and you glance down to check the time. Standing up, you gesture for Kayce to follow you into the kitchen. You hop up onto the counter, reaching over to turn on the radio that’s mounted to the bottom of one of the cabinets and fiddling with the dial until the station you’re searching for comes in.

“For old time’s sake,” you grin as an announcer on the radio announces that it’s three minutes to midnight.

Kayce mirrors your expression with a genuine smile of his own, and you’re both quiet as you listen, the only other sound coming from your socked feet bumping into the cabinet below as you mindlessly swing your legs. With your gaze trained on the green digits lit up across the front of the radio, 11:59, you don’t realize that Kayce’s moved until you feel something bump into your knees.

He stands in front of you, the blue denim of his jeans brushing against your bare knees, and you go still, heels pressed firmly against the handle of the cabinet. You can hardly hear the sound of the 10-second countdown beginning over the blood rushing in your ears when he leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek.

“For old time’s sake,” he repeats, laughing weakly and rocking back slightly on his heels as he pulls away. It’s a friendly kiss, you tell yourself, mirroring the ones from your childhood.

5…4…3…

You stare at him, lips parted slightly, fingers tightly gripping the edges of the counter. He takes a deep breath, one hand flexing at his side.

2…

“Kayce,” you breathe out, hardly above a whisper.

The sounds of celebration begin to erupt from the radio’s crackling speakers, and he surges forward, cupping your face in both of his hands, his lips crashing into yours.

Kayce’s mouth moves against your own with purpose as he slots himself between your legs, one hand shifting to cup the back of your head as he strokes the curve of your jaw with the thumb of his other. The scrape of his facial hair against your skin while he kisses you is a welcome sensation, one that you’ve imagined time and time again. You reach up, running a hand through his hair, and a soft sound leaves his mouth as his hand drops down to rest against your lower back, pulling you against his solid body.

His fingertips brush against your skin where your shirt has ridden up, and you shiver at the sensation—the contrast between the feeling of his hands, rough from years of working the farm, and the gentle way he touches you with them. You cross your ankles behind Kayce, pulling him even closer, and his hand trails along your back to firmly grip at your side. His other hand slides across the top of your thigh, and he hooks it under your knee, lifting your leg.

You scoot closer to the edge of the counter and spread your legs wider for him, and heat spreads under your skin at the feeling of his erection straining at the front of his jeans, now pressed against your mound.

Kayce’s lips slow down, pausing in their endeavor to further consume your mouth in the wildfire they’ve started. He presses another kiss to your bottom lip before leaning his forehead against yours, and you lay a hand against his chest, fingertips curling into the pocket at the front of his flannel shirt as his heart beats wildly beneath your palm; the erratic rhythm matches your own.

Breathing hard, his voice is rough when he speaks, “Sorry.”

You take one of his hands into your own, lacing your fingers together, a weak laugh escaping your lips. “That’s definitely not something you need to say sorry for.”

Reaching up, you thread your fingers into the hair at the back of his head and press your body into the warmth of his again. He groans, grasping the side of your thigh.

“Tell me what you want then,” he drawls, and fire licks in the pit of your belly as his lips ghost over yours.

“You, Kayce. It’s always been you,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

There’s a hitch in his breath, and his hand slides up to grasp your hip, fingers skirting underneath your shirt. There’s a shift in the air between you as he huskily replies, “Wish I’d known that sooner.”

You pull away just enough to look at him, his brown eyes alight with emotion. “Well, I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He chases after your lips again, and there’s urgency in the way his mouth seeks out yours in a bruising, all-consuming kiss that finds you arching your back into his scorching touch. You tighten your legs around Kayce, a whine crawling up your throat as the seam of his jeans presses firmly against the thin material of your shorts, rubbing against your hot center. You rock your hips into him, and Kayce moans, so you do it again, but harder.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

You can tell he’s holding himself back, his kisses growing sloppy as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Touch me, Kayce,” you plead.

He doesn’t hesitate, hands sliding up under your shirt, an appreciative sound leaving him when his palms make contact with your bare breasts. He licks his way into your mouth as he teases your pebbled nipples, relishing in the breathy noises you offer him in return. You reach down, shrugging off your shirt, and Kayce’s lips blaze a hot trail down the side of your neck. He drags his mouth down the center of your chest, palming your breasts in his hands while lavishing them with the wet heat of his mouth.

Nerves on fire, you reach out, fumbling with the buttons of his flannel, and he pauses to help you, tugging it off along with his black t-shirt underneath. Your hands skate across his chest, and he closes his eyes as you press a tender kiss to the brand seared into his skin before letting your lips trail toward his collarbone.

Kayce’s fingers caress the inside of your legs, climbing higher toward the apex of your thighs. He slides his hand inside the loose material of your shorts, and you bite down on his skin as he runs a finger over your clothed cunt.

“What about here?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Please.”

Kayce hooks a finger in your panties, pulling them aside, and a groan rumbles in his chest when he swipes two digits through your dripping folds. He uses his other hand to tilt your chin, kissing you hard as he slips his middle finger into your soaked entrance.

You moan into the kiss, bucking your hips toward his touch, and he sounds more than a little wrecked as he mutters, “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ wet.”

He inserts another finger and slowly begins to pump them both in and out of you while you reach out, hands quickly working their way past his belt to free his throbbing cock from the confines of his jeans. Kayce takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down as you wrap your hand around his length and stroke it, drawing a wanton cry from your mouth as he crooks his fingers inside of you in turn.

You lift your feet up, heels resting against the lip of the countertop, and Kayce takes hold of his shaft, precum leaking from the tip. He swipes the head through your slick folds, notching it at your entrance, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he slowly begins to sink into you.

His mouth hovers over yours, both of you breathing heavily as his cock is steadily engulfed within the tight, wet heat of your cunt. When he eventually bottoms out, neither of you moves for a few moments, content to revel in the feeling of the way he feels nestled deep inside of you, stretching you open.

When Kayce finally begins to shift, your body ignites with searing pleasure at the delicious drag of his cock through your narrow channel, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as he fervently kisses your neck while one hand toys with your nipples. Tension coils tighter and tighter in your gut with every thrust, your folds squelching wetly each time his cock disappears into your body. He laps a broad stroke with his tongue just underneath the hinge of your jaw, teeth grazing your skin as your pussy clenches down on him.

The ache between your thighs spreads rapidly through your limbs, and you chase after Kayce’s lips for a needy, desperate kiss as you whine, “Kayce, I’m gonna—”

He grasps the side of your neck, his free hand drifting between your bodies, fingers seeking out the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

“Come for me,” he murmurs before kissing you deeply, rubbing circles into your swollen clit.

The pressure building inside of you explodes, and Kayce swallows down the strangled noises that pour out of you as you shudder, coming entirely undone with the force of your climax. He fucks you through each electric wave of pleasure, your limbs trembling as his cock continues to stroke your sensitive inner walls.

Your fingers dig into Kayce’s back while his hips begin to stutter, and he moans your name when he plunges inside of you one last time before pulling out, stroking himself as ropes of cum spill from his cock and onto the kitchen floor below.

As the last of his seed drips out, you reach out, tugging Kayce back into your arms, bringing your lips to his. You can feel him smile against your mouth, and he breaks the kiss, peppering more of them across the planes of your face.

“Will you stay tonight?” you ask him quietly, your heartbeat quickening at the uncertainty of what his answer may be.

Kayce grasps the underside of your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him again as your arms encircle his neck, and he lifts you up off of the counter.

Nose brushing against yours affectionately, he murmurs as he makes his way toward the stairs that lead to your bedroom, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

—

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