Dave Lizewski x fem!reader
Summary: You really do enjoy teasing your cute pool-boy…
Genre: SMUT (nsfm)
Warnings: popular!reader, cocky!reader, hints of dom!reader and sub!dave, suggestive, sexual tension, handjob, reader is a MENACE!
~ A continuation of CRUEL SUMMER, requested by a lovely anon who inspired me to write this, I hope you enjoy 🫶 can be read without having read Cruel Summer ~
Dressed in your bikini top and small shorts that rest low on your hips, you pad downstairs from the cool confines of your air-conditioned bedroom.
You reach for a tall glass, absentmindedly pouring yourself some orange juice. You're humming a tune your best friend has gotten stuck in your head, and you lift your gaze, catching a glimpse of movement in your yard from the window.
You see non-other than Dave Lizewski carefully lock your gate behind him, making his way towards your shed for his supplies, and then walking toward your pool. Your stomach flips and you grin.
A while later, Dave is leaning over the pool, reaching over to wash and clean the filter. He groans, wiping his forehead from the heat. His shirt is sticky and he frowns. He looks around. It doesn't seem like anyone is home and blushes. He hesitates and looks back at the shimmering water. He prays you're out at your job as he removes his shirt and leaves it on one of the sun loungers, returning to the filter.
He's seen you waitressing at the local diner and his mind can't help but drift to the image of you in your uniform, that skirt hugging your—
"Mm, I do love a good strip tease," your voice breaks his fantasy and he snaps his head towards you. You're walking towards him, your hair freshly combed, a straw bag swung over your shoulders, and two fresh orange juices with tiny pink umbrellas in your hands. "Thanks, Lizewski," you add with a wink, standing over him. "Orange juice?" You outstretch your arm.
Dave jumps up, his cheeks scarlet. He almost knocks into your hand, almost spilling the orange juice in the process, but he recovers and takes the glass from you. "T-Thanks," he says, looking sheepish as he eyes his shirt on the lounge behind you. "Sorry, I- I didn't mean to s-strip— it's just so hot outside."
You laugh and walk to the lounge, folding his shirt neatly and dropping your bag on the deck of the pool. You take a slow sip, staring at him intensely. "No need to be so jumpy, Davey. Dad's out golfing with his friends and Mom's never around anyways. It's just us."
"Oh, o-okay," Dave says and crouches back down on his heels to finish cleaning the filter. He sees you from the corner of his eye and he can't stop staring.
He feels like his entire face is on fire as he remembers that day. The last time he'd properly spoken to you. When you had kissed him and let him feel you up.
"Davey?" Your voice snaps him from his thoughts again and he looks up, blue eyes wide and questioning. You've lost your shorts and he almost chokes on his own saliva as he sees your legs.
He feels like such a pervert.
You're rubbing sunscreen into your skin, on your collarbone, your hands dipping underneath the cup of your bikini. You smirk and Dave inwardly groans. He remembers how much you loved teasing him the last time.
"Yeah?" he asks, clearing his throat.
"Can you get my back?" you ask innocently, holding up the sunscreen bottle with a smile.
Are you trying to kill him? Dave looks around as if there would be hidden cameras or your Dad hiding behind the bushes. Still, he stands up and nervously wipes his hands on his shorts. "U-Um, y-yeah, sure—where do you want me to start?"
You beckon him over, adjusting yourself on the lounge chair so you're laying on your stomach, ass up. Completely unnecessary, Dave thinks, but he doesn't mind the view. He sits down on the chair opposite yours and takes the sunscreen from you. You point to your shoulder blades and the rest your head on your arms, looking at him as he pours a generous amount of sunscreen in his hands. You smile as he leans forward, having to bend his knee beside your waist. He starts massaging across your shoulders and neck, making sure not to miss a spot.
Your skin feels soft under his palms and he bites his lip. You squirm under him, your voice sugary sweet when you prompt, "Lower, please. Here." You reach behind and untie your bikini strings, allowing the flimsy fabric to fall at your sides and Dave's breath hitches. He falters but continues his way down, applying more sunscreen this time on your skin.
You twist awkwardly, letting out an uncharacteristic giggle. "That's cold," you exclaim, still smiling.
"Sorry," Dave says, putting the bottle down beside him as he continues massaging it in. He smiles, liking that he's gotten a genuine reaction out of you.
Dave reaches your lower back, pausing at the dimples, and he waits for instructions.
"Lower," you whisper, looking at him over your shoulder, "Don't be shy now."
His hands slide down, his fingertips just under your bikini bottoms as he rubs. His eyes are glued to your ass and he feels like he should pinch himself. There is no way you—popular, kind, beautiful you—is allowing him to touch you like this. He must be dreaming.
Once he's finished, he's so hard it's uncomfortable and very noticeable through his shorts. He stands, wanting to turn and hide his predicament but you call him back.
"Can you tie them for me?" you ask, lifting yourself up on your elbows a little to keep the cups over your breasts and Dave immediately nods and fumbles with the strings, his fingers shaking. He even double knots them just to be sure.
You turn back onto your back, smiling. "Thanks, Dave."
Entranced by the way you look, skin glistening from the sunscreen, Dave had completely forgotten about his boner and when your eyes drift downwards, he panics and squeaks. He spins around, covering himself with his hand. Fuck.
"I–" he begins, unsure what to say.
All you do is laugh, the sound bright and cheerful and Dave's ears burn.
"Want me to help you out?" you ask suddenly and Dave freezes. Slowly, he turns to look at you, his mouth dry and his mind somewhere filthy. His embarrassment only grows when you're just holding up the sunscreen. Your smile had quickly turned into that insufferable smirk.
"O-Oh, um, yeah," he nods in agreement, not knowing what else he can do.
He walks over and sits on the lounge chair, presenting his back, but you shake your head and guide his shoulders down so he's practically laying on the chair. He looks up at you, his blue eyes shimmering. You lean over him, hair falling over your shoulders. You smell like sea salt and vanilla, probably the sunscreen he assumes but he can't help the way his eyes are stuck on your lips.
"Stomach first," you grin, gathering sunscreen on your hand and gently massaging his collarbone. Dave tenses, his breath hitching. You look so concentrated he doesn't dare stop you when your hands move lower, now gliding over his abs. He's worked hard for them and he feels a slight pride in how much attention you give them.
"So, this is an excuse to feel me up." He hears himself saying, his voice oddly teasing.
You pause, and Dave's eyes open wider. Had he said something wrong?
"Cheeky, hm?" you just say, dipping your hands lower and skimming the waistband of his shorts. "Didn't think you'd have it in you, but I see I am proven wrong Lizewski. My only question is, can you keep it up? Or will you fall apart, hm?" You pause at his waistband, still looking at the noticeable tent in his shorts. Dave looks too and his leg twitches, reaching to push it down–cover it—anything.
"Has anyone ever given you a handjob?" you ask calmly, looking into his eyes now.
"W-what?" Dave chokes on air and sits up a little.
You wait for his answer.
"N-no–" he admits bashfully.
"Do you want one?"
Dave's hand twitches now, itching to pinch himself. This can't be real.
"O-Oh, um, yeah—I mean, if you want to—"
Your hand slides into his pants, gripping his dick and he lets out a surprised whine. His hands tighten around the lounge chair. You smile, slowly stroking, teasing him. "You're already leaking," you say and pull him from his shorts. You lean a little closer, admiring him. "Gosh, Davey, you're so pretty," you look up at him, seeing his flushed face and your grin widens.
Pushing your hair to the side, you lean over his dick and, making sure he's watching, you slowly spit onto his engorged tip. It's pornographic and has exactly the reaction you wanted. Dave mewls.
"Oh, fuck, Y/n, please," Dave throws his head back, overwhelmed by the new sensation. He's suddenly hyper aware he's in your yard, exposed, and moaning. You're gonna get fired, his mind keeps screaming at him but at this moment, he couldn't care less.
With one hand, you stroke his dick, watching him grow even harder under your hand. With your other hand, your hand is in his hair, touching his soft curls and his forehead. He groans, arching up into your hand. His lips find your palm and he can't help himself as he kisses it. A thank you of some sorts.
His legs shake, more precum leaking from his tip.
"I- I can't hold it much longer—" he admits, eyes teary as you caress his cheek. Your hand pumps faster on his dick.
"Really? So soon?" you tease.
Dave looks like he's about to cry. "'M sorry." He thrusts his dick into your hand again.
Your smile softens and you lean down and kiss his lips softly. You don't give him the chance to kiss you back because you're pulling away and whispering in ear. "It's okay. You're a good boy. Come for me."
And he does. All over your hand and his shorts. Tears slip past his eyes, as he catches his breath. He feels dazed, all his muscles suddenly relaxed. The sun above him twinkles and he blinks. Slowly, he turns his head and groans when he sees you lick your hand clean of his cum. You're smiling.
"You did so good," you praise and it's embarrassing how much that little bit of praise made his stomach erupt into a thousand butterflies.
He sits up, catching his breath. You sit back down on the other lounge chair, calm as if you hadn't just given him an earth shattering orgasm, and you grab a magazine from your bag. "You better clean yourself up before my Dad returns. Time is ticking, Davey," you tease, opening the magazine but watching over the top how Dave's flushed expression morphs from relaxed to anxious.
Frantically, he stands up and grabs the shirt from your lounge. He uses his shirt to wipe himself, blushing furiously as he avoids your gaze. You smile behind the magazine, your own arousal pulsing as you squeeze your thighs. You'll go inside in a bit and relieve the ache, but for now, you want to watch him some more.
Someday, you'll give him everything he's dreaming about. Hell, you'll even let him take you out on a proper date—and you never date—but for now this is more fun.
