content warnings: just giggly drunkenness and you and your best friend not knowing what personal space is..
let me know if you guys want a part 2!!!
“hi pretty girl.” steve slurs with a dopey smile, as you stumble over to him.
you giggle, letting him catch you as you pull him into the couch. “hi stevie..” you coo.
“where’ve you been?” he mumbles, shifting so he’s at your side, your leg draped over him.
“mmm- i’s’with eddie..” you slur, as steve pushes your hair behind your ear. “ohhh..” he trails off, letting his eyes drift down to your lips. you giggle and lean in, pressing your cheek against his as you wrap your arms around him and robin calls your name.
“y/n- woah- look! look look look!” she yells, dragging vickie over to show you that she has arrived.
you wave with a smile, trying to be polite, despite feeling steve’s open mouth on your throat, lips twisted into a smile as he hugs you tightly against him. you feel him laugh against your neck as eddie stumbles over to offer a drink to the new arrival, and you instinctually grab his arm.
“s-steve-“ you breathe. “what, baby?” he smiles. you look down at him and meet his glazed eyes and blown out pupils. “yeah?” he hums.
the tequila catches up to you as you mumble “I wanna kiss you..” an inch away from his open mouth. he groans, his eyebrows furrowing. “aw- you can’t just say that baby..” he shakes his head, but doesn’t stop inching even closer.
“mmm.. but I wanna-“ “I know I know.. me too- but I can’t- we can’t-“ he cuts himself off.
you pout, pushing your bottom lip out, and feel him harden under your leg. “alright- up…” he shakes his head, patting your hip. your jaw drops open as he starts to move towards the opposite side of the couch.
“wha- steve!” you whine, not caring how desperate you might look.
“we’re not- not doin this- we’re drunk-“ he tries to rationalize out loud. you huff but back off a little, knowing he’s right.
“what if we kissed when we were sober?” you suggest. he looks at you for a minute. “that’s not- you would still wanto?” he slurs. you nod instantly. “wanna do a lot with you..” you smile, pushing your lips into his neck, not quite kissing him.
his breathing picks up and you feel him groan softly. “y’gotta st-fuck..” he whimpers, pushing himself further into your touch. “just one..” you plead.
he sighs, pulling you on top of him. you giggle and throw your arms around his neck. “hi..” you breathe, resting your forehead against his. “hey..” he smiles. “we shouldn’t do this..” you admit, coming to your senses for just a second before sinking into him again. the corner of his mouth turns up a little. “yeah no- def- definitely shouldn’t..” he trails off, as your lips ghost over his.
“makes me wanna do it m-“ he cuts you off with his lips against yours and you moan softly before kissing him back.
he grabs at your back and you tangle your hands in his hair, making him quickly pull back. “mm.. y-cant..” he winces, making you giggle as you pull him in for another kiss and feel him get harder against your inner thigh.
“fuck..” you whimper softly, making him groan into the kiss.
“woah! what do we have here!!” eddie yells, snapping you out of it as he sits down right on the arm of the couch. steves head falls back and he shuts his eyes tight as he lets his hands fall to your waist.
he's a sight for sore eyes. his lips swollen and red and his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath that you stole.
eddie’s eyebrows are raised and his mouth hangs open as he looks between the two of you.
“wow harrington, never thought you’d actually grow the balls.” he teases. you open your mouth to make an out of pocket, alcohol-induced comment about how his ball’s definitely grew, but steve quickly slaps a hand over your mouth, as if reading your mind.
he gives you a look and you giggle, sinking into his chest. he lets his arm wrap around you and the two of you look up at eddie, who was even more shocked than before.
“aw.. well I’m happy for you two lovebirds.. make sure I’m invited to the wedding..” he winks before hopping up and leaving you alone.
you glance down at steve, who is still catching the last of his breaths.
“y’in there?” you ask softly. he nods, looking up at you. “mhm just- thinking..” he mumbles. you gasp. “steve harrington? thinking??” you tease. he glares at you and starts to throw you off of him. “no no no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” you giggle, clinging onto him as he brings you back into his lap. he’s smiling now and you sit up a little to get a good look at him.
“what’re you thinking about?” you ask genuinely.
“you.” he answers immediately.
“what about me?” you push a little more. “nothin in particular.. just always thinking about you..” he admits easily. your heart jumps but you try not to show it. “oh yeah?” you smile. he nods before subtly trying to pull you closer.
“aww does stevie wan’another kiss?” you coo. he rolls his eyes but still pulls your neck down to him in a bruising kiss. you smile against his lips and try to get even closer to him.
“steve I want- mmm..” you cut yourself off, knowing you were probably going too far. he pulls away to hear you out. “whatdya want baby?” he asks softly. you groan softly at the nickname.
“want you..” you look down at your lap, scared to meet his eyes.
“y/n..” he groans, his voice getting lower. you quickly meet his eyes to find them dark, his pupils taking them up. “m’sorry..” you apologize. “mm mm baby- don’t apologize.. want you too, s’just- we’re way too drunk to make decisions like that..” he explains. you know he’s right but you still tease him a little.
“what’re you talkin about? m’not drunk..” you giggle, sinking your face into his neck and placing a kiss there. he smiles, making his jaw tense up. “yeah me neither..” he chuckles, as you finally roll off of him. his hand follows you and comes to a rest on your thigh when you settle next to him.
“m gonna go get some water.. y’want some?” you ask, starting to stand up.
“sure.. y’tryin to sober up for me?” he smirks as you start to walk away.
you shake your head and smile at him. “just trying to put some distance between us!” you call before turning and heading for the kitchen.....
Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.
WC: 18k+
Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.
A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine.
♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬
This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.
Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.
Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.
Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.
Yeah, lucky you.
This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.
You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.
It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.
And that's never your call to make.
Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."
"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.
He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.
Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"
"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."
"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.
"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"
"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."
"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."
"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."
"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"
"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."
Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."
"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"
"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.
Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."
There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.
Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.
Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?
It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.
Until you just… left.
Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.
No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.
You'd drift in, drift out.
Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.
In, out.
All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.
So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.
Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.
When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.
What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?
What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?
What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?
If you stayed… would it have been worth it?
The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.
It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.
That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.
No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.
Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.
Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?
Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.
You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.
Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.
Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.
That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.
Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.
The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.
That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.
You can only tread water for so long, though.
"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"
Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.
"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."
And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.
"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"
"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."
His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.
Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.
What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?
Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.
Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.
"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."
He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."
"God, you're such a bitch."
"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."
"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"
"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"
"Stop!"
"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"
"I meant the van, asshole!"
Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.
Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.
You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.
"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"
Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.
His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"
You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.
Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.
"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.
"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"
He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."
Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.
She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"
You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.
"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"
Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."
"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.
In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.
Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."
"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."
So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.
Fantastic.
"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."
Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.
"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"
"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"
Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"
Hopper.
Oh, boy.
Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.
Well, can't say you didn't try.
Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."
You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.
"Okay, where are you exactly?"
The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.
You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.
Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."
"Language."
"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.
"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."
So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.
Way off.
"I- I don't know."
A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.
"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"
Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.
There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."
Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling a cold.
You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.
"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."
You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."
Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."
"I didn't lose the fucking—"
The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.
"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"
"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."
Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.
Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.
"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."
Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.
"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."
There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.
Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.
He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".
"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."
Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."
Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."
Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."
That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.
Together.
Alone.
"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"
A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.
"Yeah, kid. I got it."
In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.
It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.
Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.
"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"
"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"
Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?
"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."
Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"
"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."
"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.
"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.
There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.
Unless…
There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.
You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.
"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."
But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"
"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."
"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."
"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"
His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.
"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"
"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."
"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."
He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"
Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"
"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"
You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"
"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"
"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."
"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"
"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."
"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."
"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."
It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.
Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.
The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.
If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.
Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.
The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.
Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.
Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.
Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.
He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.
And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.
So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.
He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.
By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.
Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?
What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.
To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.
To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.
The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.
The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.
He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.
Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.
You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.
Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.
It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.
Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?
In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.
There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.
"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.
You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.
"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.
When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.
"Ow… S'loud," you groan.
"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.
"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.
It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.
Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.
Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.
"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.
Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.
And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.
Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.
Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.
"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.
He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.
Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."
"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."
"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."
The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.
Yeah, you're worse than he thought.
"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"
"M'yeah, s'kay."
If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.
Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.
Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.
He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"
"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."
"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.
He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.
"Okay, c'mon, boots first."
Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.
Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.
And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.
He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.
You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.
"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."
There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.
At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.
"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.
"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.
"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."
He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.
"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."
If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.
"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."
You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.
"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"
That's a dumb fucking question.
"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."
When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.
About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.
"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."
"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.
"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."
Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.
Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.
But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.
Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"
"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.
You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."
He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.
What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.
Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.
"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."
He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?
That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.
Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.
Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.
He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.
That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.
The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?
God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?
Whatever.
It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.
The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.
Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.
That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.
Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—
"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"
Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.
Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."
Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.
Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.
He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.
"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.
He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.
"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."
Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."
The words ache with more desperation than he intends.
"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.
"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.
"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"
He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"
"Fu- fucking cold."
"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."
You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."
"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."
You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.
Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.
Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.
Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.
"Be n- n- nice!"
"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"
"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"
The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.
Like a fucking fool.
"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."
The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.
"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."
"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"
You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"
"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"
"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.
He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."
"You could h- have some f'ya' want."
"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."
"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."
"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.
You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."
He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."
Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.
"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.
You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.
"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."
Oh, if only you knew.
"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"
"Make wh- what weird?"
Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.
The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."
"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."
"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.
The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.
"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."
"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."
You sound mortified.
"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"
"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"
He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?
"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."
"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."
He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.
There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.
Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.
Talk about something else. Anything.
"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.
"Hm? Wi- with what?"
"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."
"We still ended up in a ditch—"
"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."
You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.
"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."
Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."
"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."
Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.
"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."
"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.
"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."
It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.
"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."
He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.
"… What?"
Because since when do you care about letting him down?
"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."
Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.
"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."
And look where that got the two of you.
Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.
You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."
"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."
"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."
"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."
The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."
We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.
"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."
An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.
Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.
"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."
It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…
Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.
And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.
"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"
"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"
"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."
Scared is an understatement.
He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.
He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.
He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.
And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—
Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.
Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.
Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.
Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.
And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.
Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.
Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.
If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.
And you.
You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—
It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.
He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.
Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.
So much wasted time—
"Steve?"
Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.
Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"
"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"
A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."
"Oh my god, Steve."
"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."
"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.
"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."
Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.
"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.
"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."
"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."
Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.
"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."
A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.
The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.
"Fuck, shit, fuck—"
Yeah. He's hard.
He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.
Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."
"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"
Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."
Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.
"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"
Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."
He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?
"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."
"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"
"Not to death."
"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."
"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"
"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"
"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"
He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.
"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."
"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"
"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."
"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.
No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.
"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."
"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"
He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.
Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.
Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.
Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."
Not like this one's much easier to talk about.
Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.
"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"
"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."
You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.
It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.
"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"
When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.
"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."
For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.
"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."
It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?
There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.
The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.
"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."
Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.
Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.
You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.
He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.
The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.
"Shit, Steve…"
He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.
He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.
"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"
"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.
If, you know, you were into that.
His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.
The two of you just have to survive this night first.
"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."
You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.
Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.
"Finish. The. Sentence."
You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.
"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"
"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."
Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.
"Bet you were this wet before you left."
Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."
"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."
"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."
Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.
"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."
"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.
"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."
Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."
The smug expression falters, "Too much?"
"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."
Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."
Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.
He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.
Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."
"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."
"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."
You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."
"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"
"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."
He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.
And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.
The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.
Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.
"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."
Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.
"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"
Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.
"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."
The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.
"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"
The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.
"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"
Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.
"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"
You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.
This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.
Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.
And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.
He's missed you. So, so much.
The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.
"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.
"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"
Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.
"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."
Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.
"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.
"I- I want it."
"Want… what?"
Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."
"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."
"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.
Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.
Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.
"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."
As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.
You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.
"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"
Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."
He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.
"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."
Steve blinks as the words sink in.
Oh.
"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."
"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"
He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.
"One step at a time, okay?"
He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.
Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.
Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.
"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.
Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.
"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.
In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."
Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.
Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.
"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"
You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.
Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.
Oh, no.
"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"
Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"
"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"
"Steve."
"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.
"Were you— oh my god."
"What?!"
A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.
The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."
He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.
Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"
"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."
"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"
"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."
Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.
You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.
It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.
A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.
Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.
It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.
By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.
Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.
He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.
Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.
"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"
The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.
"S'okay?"
"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.
"But?"
Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.
Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.
He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.
"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"
"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."
Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.
As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.
You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.
Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.
"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.
"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'
Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."
And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.
"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."
"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."
"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."
Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.
"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"
Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.
With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.
"You done talking logistics yet?"
Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.
That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.
No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.
"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."
"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.
Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in.
Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.
Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.
What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.
Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.
It tightens.
Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.
"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.
The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.
"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."
Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.
But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.
Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.
That plucks at his heartstrings, too.
"Steve?"
Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.
"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."
Baby.
Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.
Wait, did you say he was crying?
"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."
"Steve—"
"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."
"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."
"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."
Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.
"St—"
He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.
You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"
"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."
And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.
You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"
He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.
"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"
"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.
You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.
"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."
Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"
"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."
Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"
It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.
His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.
And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.
No one's like you. No one could even compare.
"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."
"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."
Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.
"Steve," you whine.
"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."
You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."
"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."
"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"
"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."
You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."
"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"
"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."
"Please… what?"
"Steve, I s- swear to god—"
"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."
"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.
He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.
"Such a what?"
"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"
Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.
"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.
The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same.
"I… Yours?"
Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.
"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"
Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.
"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.
He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.
"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"
"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you.
"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."
"Y- you."
Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.
"I'm right here."
Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.
The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.
And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.
"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.
It's only fair to match his energy.
"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."
He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.
No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.
"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."
Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.
Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.
God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.
"Fuck, you're unreal."
You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.
Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck
"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.
"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"
He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.
Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.
Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.
Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.
That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.
"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.
All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.
"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."
Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."
"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."
Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.
The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.
"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."
And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.
There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.
"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."
"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"
Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"
"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.
Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.
It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.
"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."
"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"
"Okay."
"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."
This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.
"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."
He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."
"Steve."
The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will.
how i'd love to go to paris again (and again) | j. abbot
pairing jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
summary after jack casually floats the idea of adding a third, you don’t let it stay theoretical for long—what starts as curiosity turns into something a lot more real when robby gets pulled into the space you and jack have built together. (#threesometime #neverforgetchallengers) (ao3)
tags/warnings MDNI (18+) explicit sexual content, age gap (mid-20s / 50s), established relationship with you and jack, living together, unlabelled jack and robby sexualities (bi?), attempt at a true love triangle (et tu, challengers (2024) except no cheating & u and jack r <3. but rabbot under(over?)tones), unprotected p in v, oral (f/m, m/f) handjobs (f/m, m/m), masturbation, praise & teasing, dom!ish robby, bratty!ish reader, lowkey switch/softdom jack idk, finger sucking, domestic, drinking, brief hospital/medical stuff / orthopaedics (r3), porn with... context?, hint at robby internalised homophobia? possibly ooc for jack sorry, title reference to the 1975 but not inspired by the song more just bad pun bc... paris... threesome... get it
wc 18.3k words
spin off of the fic: my (wo)man on willpower | j. abbot - can be read solo!
Robby doesn’t look confused so much as… unconvinced.
He sits back in the booth, one arm slung along the backrest, beer loose in his hand, eyes moving between you and Jack like he’s watching a consult go sideways.
“…You two wanna try that again,” he says, slow, “but in English this time?”
Jack huffs under his breath, already regretting opening his mouth. He drags a hand over his jaw, glancing at you like he’s half-tempted to pull the plug on the whole thing.
“Told you,” he mutters, low. “Bad pitch.”
You nudge his knee under the table—not hard, just enough. Don’t bail.
Robby catches it. Of course he does. His eyes flick down, then back up, something sharpening.
“Oh, don’t tap out now,” he says, leaning forward, forearms braced on the table. “You brought it up. I’m listening.”
Jack opens his mouth again—
“—No,” Robby cuts him off, not even looking at him. “She talks.”
There’s that tone. The one he uses with residents when they’re dancing around something obvious. Not unkind. Just… direct. Your breath catches for half a second. Not nerves exactly—more the weight of being looked at like that. Seen through, a little.
Jack glances at you, something softer there now. A small nod. Go on.
You shift in your seat, tucking one leg under you slightly, grounding yourself before you speak.
“It’s not… open,” you start, careful. “We’re not looking to—change anything. Not really.”
Robby watches you the whole time. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fill the silence for you.
“It’s just—” you exhale, a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh, “—we trust you. Both of us do. And you’ve been… there. With us. For a while.”
“Unfortunately,” he mutters.
Jack snorts. “Speak for yourself.”
But Robby doesn’t look away from you.
You hold his gaze. “It’s not random. It’s not… about finding some person to fool around with. It’s you.”
That lands. You see it in the way his jaw shifts, just slightly. The humour doesn’t disappear, but it tightens around the edges.
“…Right,” he says, slower now.
Jack leans forward, elbows on the table, finally stepping back in. “It’s not a free-for-all,” he adds, dry. “We’re not pitching some kind of ER orgy.”
“Shame,” Robby says flatly.
You almost laugh, tension breaking for a second.
Jack shoots him a look. “Be serious for one second in your life.”
“I am serious,” Robby says. Then, to you—“I’m just making sure I understand what the hell you’re asking me.”
His gaze drops briefly—to your hands, the way they’re curled loosely around your glass—then back up again.
“What are you actually offering here?” he asks.
You hesitate—not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud makes it real. Jack shifts beside you. You feel his knee press into yours, steady, grounding.
“It’s not just sex,” you say, quieter now.
Robby’s brow lifts. “No?”
You shake your head. “It’s… us. Still us. Just—” you glance at Jack, then back at Robby, “—with you in it. Sometimes. If you wanted that.”
There’s a long beat.
Robby leans back again, dragging his hand over his mouth, thinking. Really thinking.
“You two have been together, what,” he says, glancing at Jack, “two years now?”
“Nearly three,” Jack corrects.
“Nearly three,” Robby repeats. “You know, you… you live together. Don’t kill each other. That’s impressive.”
“Thank you,” you say, dry.
His gaze shifts back to you again, softer this time—but heavier, too.
“And you’re both telling me this doesn’t… complicate things.”
Jack answers this time, steady. “Everything’s already complicated. This wouldn’t change what we’ve got. We’ve talked, we trust each other, we trust you.”
Robby studies him for a second longer than necessary. There’s history in that look. Long-standing, unspoken understanding. The kind you only get after decades of knowing someone.
“…You’re serious,” he says finally.
“Yeah,” Jack says.
Robby exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He tips his head back for a second, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to reset his brain.
“Jesus Christ.”
You don’t rush him. Neither does Jack. When he looks back at you, it’s different now. Less amused. More… considering.
“You’re asking about the three of us…” he tries, trailing off.
You nod. “Yeah.”
His eyes flick, just briefly, to where your leg is still angled toward Jack’s, the easy closeness of it. Then back to your face.
“And you’re both just- you’re… good with it,” he says.
Your voice is quieter when you answer. “Wouldn’t be sitting here if we weren’t. You’re attractive, smart, funny. And I think you’ve always secretly had a thing for at least one of us. Maybe both, but, one way to find out, I guess.”
Robby drums his fingers once against the table, then stills them.
“...Christ,” he mutters again, but there’s a hint of something else in it now. Not just disbelief.
Interest. He looks at you properly then. Not the quick, passing glances from before. This is slower. Measuring.
“You always this persuasive?” He wonders.
You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Only when it matters.”
That earns the faintest huff of a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says. “I can see that.”
Jack shifts beside you, not tense—but alert. Watching the shift happen in real time. Robby notices that too. His mouth quirks, just slightly.
Your phone buzzes—once, twice, then a string of messages lighting up your screen.
You glance down, already half-standing. “I’ve gotta go. Park needs me—Isla called in sick.”
Jack doesn’t even hesitate. He’s already reaching into his pocket, keys in hand. “Take the car. I’ll ride back with him.”
You take them, brushing his fingers briefly. “Thanks, baby.”
You lean down—meant to be quick, but it doesn’t quite stay that way. Your mouth presses to his, warm, familiar. He lets you, hand coming up to your cheek, thumb catching just under your jaw, holding you there for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.
There’s a flicker of something in his eyes when you do. You straighten, turning— Robby’s already looking at you. Not subtle about it. Rarely is.
“Michael,” you say, softer, a small nod.
He repeats your name—flatter, rougher, like he’s testing how it sits in his mouth.
You don’t linger. You head out.
The door swings shut behind you.
Jack watches it a beat too long. Then exhales, leaning back into the booth, dragging a hand over his mouth like he’s resetting.
Robby doesn’t look at the door. He looks at Jack. There’s a slow, almost amused curve to his mouth. Not mocking. Just… processing.
“Alright,” he says. “Who’s idea is it?”
Jack doesn’t bother pretending. “Mine.”
Robby lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“When?”
Jack shrugs, reaching for his beer. “Remember that detox sexless cult thing she did a few months back?”
Robby snorts. “Yeah. You turned into the most unbearable version of yourself I’ve seen in twenty years. Which is saying something.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Walking around like—” Robby gestures vaguely, “—like a cat in heat.”
Jack huffs a laugh despite himself. “Yeah, well. After you left that morning, we had our… you know, usual great sex - not adding as part of the pitch, you already know how good the sex is -”
“-get to the point,” Robby says, with a slight snicker.
“Some point, I mention… I don’t know, marriage, foreplay, a third. We finish up, and… we’re just talking.”
“Talking,” Robby repeats, deadpan.
“Yeah. Try it sometime. With a professional, even, they do that.”
“Hard pass.”
Jack ignores him, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “It came up. Not seriously at first. Hypotheticals. What we’d be into, what we wouldn’t.”
“And you landed on me,” Robby says.
“Yeah.”
Robby watches him for a second. Longer than usual. “…Both of you.”
“Both of us.”
That lands differently.
Robby leans back, dragging a hand over his jaw, thinking. Really thinking now—not just reacting.
“That’s your girl,” he says finally. “You’ve built something there. I’m not—” he shakes his head slightly, “—I’m not interested in screwing that up.”
Jack’s expression doesn’t change much, but something in it settles. He nods once.
“I wouldn’t be asking if I thought you would.”
Robby glances at him, sharper now. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“No,” Jack agrees easily. “But I do know you.”
A beat.
“And I trust you,” he adds.
it hangs there. Robby exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the table for a second before coming back up.
“…Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”
Jack’s brow lifts, faintly amused. “That I trust you?”
“That I don’t take that lightly,” Robby shoots back.
Silence stretches for a second. Then Robby leans forward slightly, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping a notch.
“And you’re fine with it,” he says. Not a question. “Me and her.”
Jack doesn’t flinch. “Yeah.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
Robby studies him—searching for cracks, for ego, for something careless. Doesn’t find much. Jack kept his pride in check. He wasn’t a jealous person, not really. He was secure in himself. Something Robby envied, sometimes.
“…She’s—” he starts, then cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly. “You know what she is.”
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I do.”
“Twenty-something,” Robby continues. “Smart. Looks like—” he gestures vaguely, then shakes his head. “You’ve seen her.”
Jack smirks faintly. “I have, yeah. A lot of her. It’s great.”
Robby’s mouth twitches despite himself.
“And she looks at you like you hung the moon half the time,” he adds.
Jack’s expression softens just a fraction. “Sometimes.”
Robby nods once, slow. Then—
“…You really telling me you’ve never thought about it? About her” Jack asks, casual—but not careless.
Robby lets out a quiet breath through his nose, leaning back again.
“That’s not a fair question.”
Jack tilts his head at his friend. An insistence in his eyes to go on.
Robby tips his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a second like he’s debating how honest he wants to be.
Then he looks back at Jack.
“…Well I’m not blind,” he says.
Jack doesn’t react much. Just watches him.
“She’s—” Robby exhales, searching for a word, then gives up and settles for, “—she’s a lot. Sweet.”
Jack’s mouth ticks. “She is… You ever think about her while jerking off?”
Robby lets out a low breath at that, clicking his tongue at his friend's bluntness. Fuck it, they’re being honest. “Yes.”
Robby’s a little surprised when he sees the slow blink from Jack, a nod. Maybe irritable.
“What?” Robby scoffs. “You’re cool with the prospect of me fucking your girl? But what I do with my hand in my spare time is… what, some sort of line being crossed?”
“I didn’t say anything, alright. I’m all good here. Just didn’t think you’d admit it,” Jack nods with insistence. “What about during sex? Thought about her then?”
“...On occasion, yes, I’ve- she’s popped up there, yeah.” Robby admits with brief hesitance.
That’s as far as he pushes it—but it’s enough. Jack nods once, like this one he expected. Like it doesn’t threaten anything.
“Fair,” he says.
Robby glances at him, something like disbelief creeping back in. “You’re taking that a lot better than I thought you would.”
Jack shrugs. “She’s hot. You’re not dead. Tells me you’ve got a working dick, at least.”
Robby lets out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.
Jack took a sip of his beer, then—because he wasn’t finished, because he never really was with Robby—tilts his head slightly.
“What about me?”
Robby scoffs immediately, too quick. “Oh, come on.”
“No, seriously,” Jack says, glancing at him sideways. Casual on the surface, not casual underneath. “No shame, total honesty here. Twenty years, no secrets, all that bullshit.”
Robby drags a hand over his beard, already feeling the trap closing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Have you?” Jack asks, like he was asking about the weather.
A pause.
Robby stares at the table, jaw working once.
“…You first,” he mutters.
Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”
Robby let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes dropping, like he was doing the math on how much of himself he was willing to hand over tonight.
“Man, it’s not even—” Jack went on, shrugging a shoulder. “Half the time that shit doesn’t mean anything. Brain just throws things at you. Doesn’t make you anything.”
Robby let out a short, humourless huff. “Right.”
“What,” Jack presses lightly, “you worried about the gay implications?”
Robby shot him a look. “Don’t—”
“—What? Say ‘gay’?” Jack says, not unkind, but not backing off either.
Robby glances up as a couple walks past, waits them out, then leans back in his seat, voice lower.
“We’re talking about whether I’ve jacked off thinking about another guy,” he says, flat. “Yeah, the… ‘gay’ of it all crossed my mind. Excuse me.”
Jack just nods, like that was fair.
“I just… I guess, I didn’t realise—” Robby starts, then stops, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, you know, are you—”
Jack shrugs, easy. “I’ve been with a few. Never made a whole thing out of it. Don’t really care to.”
Robby gives a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “Figrues. Army man.”
“Yeah, well,” Jack mutters. “You don’t have to slap a label on it, Rob. Doesn’t have to mean anything bigger than it is.”
“I’m aware,” Robby says, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. Then, quieter—like it cost him something— “…It’s crossed my mind.”
Jack’s mouth pulled into something faintly smug. Not cruel—just… satisfied.
“Crossed your mind,” he repeated. “Interesting wording.”
“Don’t start,” Robby warns, but there was less heat in it now.
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. “It was easier getting you to admit you think about fucking my girlfriend half our age than it was getting that out of you. That’s saying something.”
“Fuck you,” Robby mutters, rolling his eyes—but there was a reluctant grin there now, breaking through whether he liked it or not.
Jack shrugs, taking another sip. “Options apparently on the table.”
Robby shakes his head, but didn’t argue. Didn’t fully look away, either.
Something in the air had shifted—subtle, but real. Not a line crossed, exactly. More like one finally acknowledged.
Robby studied him for a second, longer than necessary. There was history there—years of it, unspoken things sitting just under the surface, things neither of them had ever had to name.
Jack didn’t push. Just leaned back, easy.
“Think about it,” he tries. “Or don’t. Nothing changes.”
Robby nods once, short. “Yeah.” A few seconds of quiet. “…You still need that ride home?” he asks.
Jack snorts. “Oh, a ride home? Wow. Subtle.”
“Shut up.”
“Flirting now, are we?”
“You are not a funny man, Jack Abbot, don’t think otherwise,” Robby says, but he was already smiling, just a little.
★★★
2 WEEKS EARLIER
threesomenoun — three·some — ˈthrē-səm
1: a group of three persons or things : trio
2: a golf match in which one person plays their ball against the ball of two others playing each stroke alternately
3: a sexual encounter involving three people
“Are you trying to say you wanna play golf?” Jack says from the stove, not even turning around as he stirs the pan like it personally offended him.
The kitchen smells like garlic and butter—onions already softened down, carrots and capsicum still holding a bit too much bite. He’s got one hand on the wooden spoon, the other braced on the counter, solid and steady in that way he always is.
You’re perched up on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, phone in hand.
“Yes,” you say dryly, scrolling. “I’m deeply passionate about golf. The balls. The stroking of the balls—”
“—I get it,” Jack cuts in. “You want a threesome.”
You look up at him, unimpressed. “I don’t want a threesome. I love twosomes. Specifically with you.” A beat. “But I’m not opposed to… expanding the sample size.”
Jack snorts, finally glancing over to you. “Expanding the—Jesus. That’s how you pitch wanting to fuck my best friend?”
“You brought it up,” you shoot back, pointing your phone at him like evidence. “Don’t act like this wasn’t your idea. ‘Oh baby, we should add a third, Robby would give me notes’—”
“I did not sound like that.”
“—If anything,” you continue over him, “I think you wanna fuck your best friend.”
“Alright,” Jack mutters, turning back to the pan. “Not what I sound like. And c’mon—you know you’re all I wanna fuck.” He nudges the vegetables again, frowning. “I think these are done.”
“They’re not.” You don’t even look up when you say it. “Anyway… I doubt he’d even be down for it,” you say. “I barely think he likes me as a friend.”
Jack lets out a quiet scoff at that.
You narrow your eyes. “What?”
“I think he’d fuck you in a heartbeat if I said I was okay with it,” Jack says, like it’s obvious. Then, distracted again—“I really think these are done, hon.”
“Test the carrot,” you say, still scrolling. “If it’s soft enough, it’ll break with pressure.”
He presses the spoon into one. It doesn’t budge.
“…Needs longer,” he admits.
“How do you know that?”
“I just did what you said, I—”
“No,” you interrupt, looking at him properly now. “How do you know Robby would fuck me?”
That slows him down.
Jack exhales through his nose, shoulders shifting as he leans back slightly against the counter, thinking.
“I know him,” he says. “Twenty years of it. And I know you.” A beat. “There’s something there. A thing. You’ve always had good chemistry.”
You huff lightly. “A vague… thing, maybe.”
You hesitate, then—because you don’t really do half-truths—
“I did have a bit of a crush on him,” you admit. “Before I met you.”
Jack stills. Not dramatically. Just enough.
“I don’t anymore,” you add quickly. “It faded. Pretty fast, actually. It was early—before I started coming down to ED properly. He’d come up sometimes, consults, whatever. I think it was just…” you shrug, searching, “…older. Authority. Bit of an asshole.”
Jack’s mouth pulls slightly at that, something between amused and unimpressed.
“Glad to know you don’t have a type,” he mutters.
You lean in closer from the counter, nudging his shoulder lightly with your knee.
“Hey,” you murmur. He glances up at you. “I like them a little shorter,” you say softly.
Jack blinks.
Then rolls his eyes, a huff of laughter slipping out despite himself as you grin and go back to your phone.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, turning the heat down, a small smile at the corner of his lips.
★★★
The thing about a third—about this third—was that it… kind of just felt natural. Like there was so little reason to not do it, to not try it, invite it.
It wasn’t sudden. It was something that had been sitting under the skin of things for so long it stopped feeling foreign the second it was named.
Robby had never been separate from Jack.
Not really. People liked to pretend friendships had clean edges—this is where I end, this is where you begin—but that had never been the case with them.
Too many years. Too many nights that blurred into mornings, too many arguments that never quite resolved but never quite broke them either.
They’d dragged each other through their twenties, stumbled into their thirties, and settled—somehow—into their forties without ever untangling.
They knew each other in ways that made distance feel artificial.
And Robby had always lived in that tension.
He didn’t soften easily. Didn’t trust softness when it showed up uninvited. Jack had always been the exception to that rule—steady enough to withstand it, patient enough not to demand more than Robby could give. But patience didn’t mean absence.
There were things between them that had never been said out loud. Not because they didn’t exist, but because saying them would’ve required a kind of clarity Robby had spent most of his life avoiding.
It was easier to file it under something else—loyalty, history, proximity. Easier to laugh it off, to redirect, to let it sit in that grey space where it didn’t have to be examined too closely.
Then you came along. And you didn’t disrupt that balance. You just seemed to understand it.
You didn’t wedge yourself between them, didn’t ask Jack to choose, didn’t look at Robby like he was something to tolerate or compete with. You moved through it like it already made sense to you. Like there was room.
And God—there was something about you.
Not just that you were beautiful—though you were, in a way that made people look twice without meaning to. Not just that you were younger, brighter, sharper at the edges in a way that made everything feel a little more alive. It was the way you saw people.
The way you saw Jack—fully, without flinching, without trying to fix him or soften him into something more palatable. The way you leaned into him like you trusted him to hold the weight of that. The way you touched him without hesitation, like affection was a language you spoke fluently.
And worse—
The way you looked at Robby sometimes, like you were trying to figure him out and already had.
He’d noticed it long before anyone said anything. Of course he had. The small things. The way your attention lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way you didn’t pull back when he got too close, didn’t flinch at the edge in him that made other people cautious.
You met it. Sometimes you even matched it. And that—more than anything—was what made him careful. Because wanting you was one thing.
That was easy enough to dismiss, tuck away under instinct, under biology, under the thousand other justifications people used to avoid looking too closely at themselves.
But wanting you like this—in the context of Jack, with Jack, because of Jack. That was something else entirely. It brushed up against things he didn’t have neat categories for. Things that felt uncomfortably close to lines he’d spent years pretending weren’t there.
And Jack…
Jack, who didn’t do anything halfway, who didn’t offer things he wasn’t sure about—was sitting across from him like this was just another extension of something already solid. Like this wasn’t a risk so much as… an opening.
That was what threw him. It wasn’t the sex or the implication, it was how Jack totally trusted him. With you, with this, with Jack himself.
And Robby didn’t trust himself nearly that much.
That was the problem. Beneath all the deflection, all the dryness and sarcasm, the sharp edges, there was something undeniably real threading through all three of you. Not clean, not simple—but real in a way that resisted being dismissed.
Jack had never been particularly private about you. Not with Robby.
Not in the way people usually were about relationships—careful, curated, keeping the good parts polished and the rest tucked away. Jack wasn’t built like that. He didn’t gush, didn’t sentimentalise—but if he’d had a couple drinks in him and it’d been a long week, you came up. Inevitably.
Not in a soft-focus, hearts-and-flowers way.
In details. In fragments. In the way you got under his skin and stayed there.
The way you kissed him, made him feel every ounce of his own flesh and blood, grounded, and above at once. In how much he adored your figure, or some ridiculous position, some ridiculous story of stamina and libido, your mouth, his mouth, your hand, his hand.
Robby had learned, over the years, to let it wash over him. Half-listening, half-not. It wasn’t discomfort exactly—more like… he didn’t know where to put it. There was something about hearing your name in Jack’s mouth like that that sat strange in his chest.
“What the fuck do you mean six times?” Robby had said once, a laugh breaking through despite himself as he tipped his beer back.
They were sprawled out on the grass like they hadn’t aged out of it—backs damp against the ground, shirts sticking, the heat of the day still rising up through the dirt. The city hummed around them, distant enough to ignore. It felt like being twenty something again, except their knees ached when they stood and everything they didn’t talk about sat heavier.
It was one of those nothing nights, sometime back in Spring. End of a shift. A few beers. Waiting for you to finish upstairs while Jack pretended he wasn’t being watched over by the hospital.
Jack didn’t even open his eyes. “I mean she came six times,” he said, easy. “Working up to eight.”
Robby snorted. “You’re talking like it’s a personal best.”
“It is,” Jack said. “You don’t set goals, you stagnate. That’s what my therapist says.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Jack grinned faintly, still flat on his back, arms folded behind his head like he had nowhere else to be. “What’s your number?”
Robby shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t know. I don’t have a number.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Nope.”
“Bull.”
Robby dragged a hand over his mouth, already regretting engaging. “…Four. Maybe.”
Jack turned his head slightly, considering that like it mattered more than it should. His fingers tapped absently against the neck of the bottle.
“Four,” he repeated.
“Some of us aren’t treating it like a competitive sport,” Robby muttered.
Jack huffed. “It’s not me,” he said. “It’s her. She’s a natural.”
“She really that good?” Robby had slipped as a question. Maybe for his own curiosity, maybe because he knew Jack would’ve gotten to it at some point. Both, likely.
There was a beat.
Robby stared up at the sky like it didn’t matter either way. Jack shifted slightly, something quieter settling into him now.
“She’s—” he paused, like he was trying to find a word that didn’t sound ridiculous and failing. “She pays attention. Like she’s studying you. Figures out what works and then—just… doesn’t let up. Like I’m constantly high around her. And man, she-” Jack cleared his throat. “She does this thing with her tongue.”
Robby exhaled through his nose, slow.
He didn’t say anything.
“She swirls it, right around the underside, traces it—the entire thing with the flat part. Goes between, you know, broad strokes, little ones, then she’ll—fuck,” Jack had mused. “…She’ll use the space beneath her tongue, suck, and still use her tongue at the same time. I can’t describe how good it feels,” Jack had explained, his words slurring slightly but still carrying a strange clarity. “Fucking… incredible.”
Robby couldn’t have helped but picture it. The image of you, on your knees, long lashes batting at him, as you brought him to the edge. He sipped his beer, fingers a bit tighter around the neck of the glass.
“She makes the prettiest noises, like a… I don’t even know,” Jack added, quieter now, almost to himself. “Moans and screams, and so… Christ. Like she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, possessed.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Robby cut in, not sharply, but firm.
Jack just smirked, eyes still shut. “You asked.”
“I didn’t ask for a breakdown.”
“Semantics.”
Robby shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite it. He finished the last of his beer, letting the cold settle something in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.
A pause stretched between them. Jack sipped his beer. Then—
“What’s the deal with you and Noelle?” Jack asked, casual in that way that wasn’t casual at all.
Robby’s jaw shifted.
“She’s… fine,” he said.
Jack cracked one eye open. “That sounds promising.”
Robby huffed. “It’s not—” he cut himself off, shook his head. “Don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
Jack watched him for a second. Then nodded, like he’d expected that. He handed Robby his own beer, watching as Robby took it after a moment, sipping from it himself
“Yeah,” he said. “Bummer.”
Another beat. Robby sat up, bracing his forearms on his knees, their shared beer dangling loose between his fingers.
“Don’t think I’m built for it,” he said finally.
Jack didn’t move. “For what?”
“This,” Robby gestured vaguely. “Relationships. The staying. The… showing up part.”
Jack was quiet for a second.
Then—
“Now that’s bull,” he said, not unkindly.
Robby glanced at him, a faint, tired smirk pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “We’ve known each other, what—twenty years? You’ve stuck around that long.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
Robby didn’t answer that. Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows now, looking at him properly.
“You don’t get to pretend you can’t do something just because you haven’t done it right yet,” he said.
Robby scoffed lightly. “Didn’t realise you were gonna get philosophical on me.”
“Yeah, well,” Jack muttered, reaching for his beer. “Hate to break it to you, man, but you’re not some unfixable case.”
Robby laughed at that—short, real.
“Garcia said I’d make a good ex-husband,” he said.
Jack snorted. “See? Even she thinks you can commit.”
“That’s not what that means.”
“Close enough,” Jack sighed. “Lie down, will you. You’re so damn tense.”
Robby let out a low groan but did it anyway, dropping back into the grass beside him, one arm flung over his eyes like he could shut the world out for a second.
The ground was still a little damp from the morning rain, cool through his shirt, the air thick and warm in that late-night way where everything feels slower, looser.
They went quiet after that. Easy quiet. The kind that only comes after years—no need to fill it, no need to perform.
“Aw, you two are so cute.”
Jack sat up immediately.
You stood a few feet off the path, lit half by a flickering streetlamp—scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess like you’d been running your hands through it all day, hoodie tied loose around your hips. One of Jack’s old military backpacks hung off your shoulder like it belonged there.
For a while there, Robby had forgotten the whole reason they’d been in the park to begin with was to wait for you.
“Hey, baby,” Jack said, voice softening without him meaning it to. “You finish alright?”
You just nodded, already moving toward him.
You didn’t hesitate—never did. Leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek that turned, halfway through, into something closer to his mouth. Warm. Familiar. You lingered just long enough that he had to chase it a second.
“Miss me?” you murmured, barely pulling back.
“Always,” he said, easy. A little drunk, a little honest.
Robby watched it happen from the ground, not even pretending not to.
You dropped down in front of Jack, cross-legged, close enough your knees brushed his thighs. His hands came up immediately—instinct, habit—sliding over your arms, grounding, checking.
Then his mouth found your neck, a soft press just under your jaw, before his hands settled at your shoulders, working slow circles into muscle that had no business being that tight at your age.
You exhaled like you’d been holding it all day.
“Jesus,” you muttered. “Keep doing that.”
“Yeah?” Jack hummed against your skin, a little smug.
“Mhm.”
You tipped your head slightly, giving him better access without thinking. He took it.
Across from you, Robby shifted, propping himself up on his elbows now, watching the two of you with that same look he always got—half amused, half something else he never quite named.
“Robby,” you said, glancing over at him, “how the hell are you drinking after that shift? You guys were slammed.”
“Sometimes a drink’s all you get,” he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked—brief, involuntary—to where Jack’s hands were still working into your shoulders. Then back to your face. “Ortho must’ve been a dream, though.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah. Absolute paradise. Park was being a complete asshole to one of the R1s. Kid looked like he was gonna cry.”
“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered.
Jack’s hands slowed, thumbs pressing deeper into a knot that made you suck in a breath.
“Careful,” he said. “You’re gonna fall asleep right here.”
“Honestly?” you said, eyes half-lidded now, “tempting.”
There was a beat. Quiet again—but different this time. Fuller.
You shifted slightly, leaning back into Jack without thinking. Your hand found his knee, resting there, absent, like it belonged.
Robby noticed that too. Of course he did.
You glanced up at Jack then, studying him for a second longer than necessary.
“…You been talking about me?” you asked.
Jack snorted, immediate. “What?”
“You’ve got that look,” you said, squinting at him. “And he’s looking at me weird.”
“I always look at people weird,” Robby said, flat, from the grass.
You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, but this is a different weird.”
Jack huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you were ridiculous, even as his mouth betrayed him. “We were just talking about your—what was it—immense beauty. Your sex appeal. Your many talents.”
His mouth brushed your neck again as he said it, like he couldn’t quite help himself.
Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Something drier. “It’s not far off.”
You stilled. Then slowly turned your head, looking at Jack properly now.
“What did you say to him,” you murmured, low, dangerous in a way that wasn’t entirely serious—but not entirely not.
Jack leaned in, said something under his breath—too quiet for Robby to catch. Your reaction was immediate.
You smacked his leg—right on the prosthetic—with a sharp thwack.
“Jack.”
He barely flinched, just grinned, caught your wrist before you could do it again.
“If you actually told him that,” you said, pointing at him, “I swear to god I’ll take this thing off and beat you with it.”
“That’s dramatic,” Jack murmured, still holding your hand. “And also physically unlikely.”
“It’s true, though,” he added, softer now, mouth near your ear again. “You’re very good at it.”
You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened, leaning back into him again despite yourself.
Robby watched the whole thing like it was a film he hadn’t agreed to sit through, but couldn’t quite look away from either.
“So the tongue thing’s real then?” he asked, almost idly.
Jack groaned. “Alright. We’re done here.”
You laughed—bright, cutting through the heaviness of the day shift still clinging to all three of you—and turned into Jack properly this time.
It wasn’t quick. Not really. Soft at first, then deeper, your hand coming up to his jaw, holding him there. He responded without thinking, one hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in something he knew.
Robby looked away. Not fast enough.
You pulled back eventually, brushing your nose against Jack’s.
“I’ll drive,” you said quietly. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” he said automatically.
“You’re pretty drunk,” you corrected.
A beat.
“…Alright. Could be a little drunk,” he conceded.
You smiled, already reaching into his pocket for the keys like it was second nature. He let you. Fingers brushing yours as you took them, just for a second longer than necessary.
“Don’t lose the car,” he muttered.
“No promises.”
You stood, stretching slightly, then glanced down at Robby.
“You good?” you asked, softer now.
He met your eyes, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled back into something easier.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”
You nodded like you believed him.
“Night, Michael.”
There was a flicker at that—something small but real.
“Night,” he said.
Jack let you haul him up, weight shifting automatically to his left as he got his balance, your hand steady at his arm without making a thing of it. He adjusted, rolled his shoulders like he always did, then followed your lead without argument.
“Text me when you get home,” he called back to Robby.
“Sure. Have fun with your girl.’ Robby had said, lying back down.
“I definitely will,” Jack nodded.
You were already walking, his shoulder brushing yours, easy. He leaned down slightly as you hit the path, murmuring something low against your hair that made you let out a quiet, breathy laugh—something private, something just for him.
Robby watched you both go.
Didn’t move.
The grass was still damp under his back when he lay down again, staring up at a sky that refused to give him anything clear.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth.
So, when you and Jack finally put it to him—cornered him in that quiet, deliberate way the two of you had—Robby wasn’t as hung up on the logistics of it as he probably should’ve been. The dynamic, the risk, the aftermath—those were the things a smarter man might’ve led with. But that wasn’t where his mind went first.
It went somewhere simpler. Sharper.
Just how pretty were the noises you made? How soft was your tongue? Would you like it if Robby was cruel—if he held your head down and made you choke on him?
And Jack… steady Jack. What did he look like when he finally came? Did he like being teased, kept right on that edge until it snapped? Would he grip Robby’s hair, or would he stay controlled even then, taking it without losing that composure?
It wasn't an abstract curiosity. It wasn’t even entirely sexual, not at its core. It was about access.
About seeing something of both of you that no one else did. About being let into a space that already existed—intimate, closed, complete—and being told there was room for him inside it.
And that—more than anything else—was what made it difficult to dismiss.
★★★
Ortho is down for a consultation when you get called in.
The patient is already under—intubated and sedated, leg secured in traction. The CT is up on PACS, the fracture obvious even before you zoom in: a displaced mid-shaft femur, clear shortening, classic muscle pull deformity.
“Yeah, that’s a transverse mid-shaft femoral fracture,” you say, pen tapping the screen. “You can see the displacement here, and the overlap—this is why the leg looks shortened clinically.”
Santos leans in, her eyes slightly wide. “Fuck.”
You shake your head. “It looks dramatic, but it’s stable from what we’ve got. No obvious vascular compromise on imaging. Ortho will likely take her for an intramedullary nail.”
Santos lets out a breath.
You scroll through the scan again, adjusting the windowing. “We’ll just want to repeat neurovascular checks pre-op and post-reduction. But she’s straightforward.”
“Thank god,” Santos mutters. “I was so not bothered to call for another consult.
A knock on the glass interrupts you. You glance up.
Robby.
He’s already halfway through sanitising his hands when he steps in, eyes flicking once to the screen before landing on you.
“Ortho’s down in ED?” he says.
“Yeah,” you answer, a little too aware of him in the doorway. “Santos messaged me. Femur fracture.”
He leans in beside you to look at the CT, close enough that the space shifts—clinical, but not entirely neutral. He’s tired in the way only long shifts make you, sleeves pushed up, forearms marked faintly by pressure lines from his undershirt.
“Looks like a clean nail,” he says.
“Assuming ortho behaves,” you reply.
He huffs something like a laugh. “They won’t.”
“No,” you agree. “We never do.”
Santos clears her throat. “While I’ve got you—Huckleberry and I are having a Parisian party next Friday. At our place. You should come. You and Abbott, of course.”
You pause slightly.
“A Parisian party?” you repeat.
“Yeah,” Santos says, warming to it. “Paris-themed. Like… French food, wine, decorations. The Eiffel Tower and shit.”
Robby makes a quiet sound behind you—almost a laugh, quickly disguised.
You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the scan like nothing happened.
Santos continues, mildly confused. “Have either of you been to Paris?”
“No,” you say.
Robby: “Nope.”
Santos nods like that still tracks logically. “Yeah, me neither. Barely even been to Canada.”
There’s a beat.
“Anyway,” She adds, already backing toward the door, “You’re invited too, Robby. Maybe the three of you come together or something. You’re all close”
“...Sounds good, Santos, we’ll let you know,” Robby says with a nod. “North Twelve?”
“Consider it done.” Santos says dry, nodding.
The door shuts behind her. Silence settles back in—clean, clinical, familiar. Except Robby is still standing close enough that you’re aware of him in a way you shouldn’t be during a trauma consult.
He glances at the CT again. “Paris-themed party,” he repeats flatly.
“Don’t even,” you say immediately, because you can hear it in his tone already, trying to hide your own smile.
“What?” he says innocently.
You turn slightly toward him. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
He finally looks at you properly now, mouth twitching. “I’m not thinking anything.”
“You’re absolutely thinking something and at work nonetheless? Inappropriate.”
“I’m thinking Santos should never be allowed to plan anything,” he says.
“Liar.”
That earns you a brief, quiet exhale of amusement. You finish with the scans and walk out, Robby hot on your heels as you head to the nurses station.
“You think you’ll go?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “Jack and I have the night off. We’ll be busy.”
“Right,” he nods.
A beat.
“You?” you ask.
“I’d rather not spend my night around a bunch of drunk residents,” Robby says with a quiet exhale. “So, no.”
“Come over then,” you offer, stopping at the nurses’ station.
Robby gives you a look. “Thought you said you two were busy.”
“You can be busy with us,” you say, looking up at him, pen tapping lightly against the chart. “Or just Jack. Or just me. He told me you’ve thought about it either way.”
A faint sigh leaves him. “Right. I forgot he can’t keep anything to himself.”
He leans against the counter, lowering his voice slightly as his eyes flick briefly across the station—Dana watching from a few bays away, already narrowing her gaze like she’s clocking something she hasn’t labelled yet.
“Have you?” he asks softly.
“Thought about you? In that way?” you clarify.
He nods, a slight tilt to his head, curious.
You hesitate just long enough to make it honest.
“Yes,” you admit. “You’re tall. Kind. Your beard’s nice. You’re probably a little meaner than Jack, which interests me.”
That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something deeper in him satisfied.
“Abbot’s a lover boy at heart,” Robby says. “Gives in easily. ‘Specially for you.”
You nod, like that tracks. “Most of the time, yeah.”
That earns a quieter look from him. A pause that sits just slightly longer than professional. Then, more carefully, “Is it true you had a crush on me?”
You tilt your head. “God, he really just— Doesn’t keep anything to himself.”
Robby exhales through his nose. “Not at all. I’ve been subjected to that man and his inner workings for too long.”
You bump his shoulder lightly with yours, just enough contact to make the space between you feel intentional.
“Was it a yes?”
“To the crush?” You consider it. “Yeah.”
That makes his eyebrows lift slightly.
“Before Jack,” you add, like it matters in a technical sense. “Older, authority figure, slightly emotionally unavailable… I think I might just have a pattern.”
Robby hums, low. “Tracks.”
There’s a beat where neither of you moves away. Then he says, quieter, “And now?”
You don’t look away when you answer. “Now, it’s just… different.”
That hangs there. From somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps sharply, breaking the moment just enough for it not to tip into anything else.
You glance back down at the chart, already half-moving on.
“I’ll let you know when we get a room open for the femur nail lady.”
And then you’re gone—already walking toward the elevator, the conversation left hanging in the air behind you. Robby watches you go.
A quiet breath leaves him through his nose. He taps his fingers once against the counter, then pushes off it, turning back to the screens like he needs something solid to land on.
Dana appears beside him a second later, sliding into the space like she’s been waiting for exactly this moment.
“What’s with that?” she asks.
“...What’s with what?” he replies, arms folding loosely, eyes still on the monitor bank.
“I mean,” she says slowly, “what’s with flirtin’ with Abbott’s girl in front of everybody?”
He doesn’t look at her when he answers.
“That’s not flirting,” he says evenly. “We were just talking.”
“Yeah,” she says, nodding toward the bay. “Just rolled in. Need you over there.”
“Alright,” he says.
And he follows her down the hall, expression already reset.
★★★
“—Hey. Hold on a second,” Jack says, breath a little uneven.
“No, don’t—don’t hold on,” you protest, already moving, frustrated at the interruption. Your hips roll, trying to sink deeper, but his hands clamp down on your waist—firm, grounding, stopping you.
“Hey. Easy.” A breath. “Just—gimme a second, alright?”
You huff, but you stop. Barely. Your thighs tremble, hovering just above his cock, the tip brushing against your wet slit. “This better be good.”
He lets out something like a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah, I’ll try not to waste your time.”
A beat. He looks at you properly now—focused, a little too clear-headed for the situation. His thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, soothing, but his eyes are sharp.
“Just… wanna get this straight,” he says.
Your hands shift on his chest, nails dragging lightly. “Okay. Then say it.”
He nods once. “He can be there. He can watch, he can fuck you.” A pause. “But there are lines.”
You tilt your head, watching him. “Such as?”
His grip tightens just a fraction—not enough to bruise, enough to mean something. “Such as—you don’t forget who you’re with.”
You raise a brow, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Hard to forget when you’ve got your dick in me half the time I’m not at work.”
“Smartass,” he mutters. Then, quieter—“I’m serious. He doesn’t get to know how you taste. That’s mine.”
“Uh-huh…” You roll your hips lazily, not sinking down, just letting the head of his cock nudge against your clit, making him hiss. “So this is allowed?” You lift up, then lower just an inch, teasing the tip against your entrance.
“Yeah, allowed,” Jack nods, his jaw tight.
“Mm. This?” You lean down and kiss him—sweet, slow, your tongue brushing his lower lip before you pull back with a soft pop.
He nods into the kiss, groaning when you start to move again, lifting your pussy off him completely. The air hits his wet shaft and he shudders.
“Yeah? What about this?” You wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip, slick with your own arousal. You squeeze just a little, watching his eyes flutter.
“All allowed,” he grates out, “but his mouth isn’t getting near this, alright, that’s all—” He cuts off as he grabs you by the hips, guiding your pussy back down, lining you up and shoving it back in with a single, brutal thrust. Your moan rips out of you—loud, breathy, grateful. His cock fills you so deep you feel it in your throat.
“Yeah? That good with you?” he asks, voice rough.
You nod, already starting to ride him—slow at first, just a rock of your hips, teasing the angle. “What about you and ’im?” you ask, breath hitching as you grind down.
Jack shrugs—or tries to. “What don’t you want?”
“No blowjobs either, then,” you say, voice a little strained as you lift up and drop back down, feeling every ridge. “’S for me.”
“Sounds good to me.” His hands find your hips again, but he doesn’t guide—he just holds, letting you set the pace. Letting you take.
You pick up speed, thighs burning, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with each roll. The room fills with the wet sound of your pussy gripping his cock, and you tilt your head back, letting him see the arch of your throat.
His hand comes up, thumb brushing along your jaw, pulling your focus back to him when you drift.
“Right here,” he murmurs.
You meet his gaze. That same look—steady, a little rough around the edges, but sure. His.
“Good,” he says, softer now. His thumb drags across your lower lip, and you part your mouth, just enough to suck the tip of it in. His eyes darken.
And when you move again, it’s slower. You rock forward, letting his cock hit that deep, sweet spot, and you moan against his thumb. You pull off it with a wet sound, then lean down to kiss him again—dirtier this time, tongue and teeth, whimpering into him.
“Yeah,” he breathes against your lips. “That’s better.”
★★★
It’s late into the evening on Friday when you hear Jack on the phone.
“No, can’t,” Jack says, pacing your living room, phone tucked to his ear while he half-heartedly folds laundry and gives up halfway through. “I’m home. She’s cooking. Smells like I’m about to get fat and happy.”
“Baby, can you come try this?” you call from the kitchen.
“One sec,” he says, then quieter, back into the phone—“What’d you wanna do?”
“Nothing,” Robby mutters. “I… I don’t know, man. I don’t feel like crashing Santos and Whitaker’s… house party. We could go for a drive. Hike.”
Jack stops mid-step. “A hike,” he repeats. “At nine-thirty at night.”
A beat.
“Yeah, not happening,” he decides, dropping the laundry basket and heading into the kitchen.
You’re at the counter in that barely-there nightgown—soft, short, riding up your thighs as you lean forward, aggressively chopping an onion like it personally offended you. Eyes glossy, blinking through it.
Jack pauses in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary.
Then—business as usual.
“Alright,” he says, stepping in behind you, close enough that his hand brushes your hip on the way past. “What am I trying?”
You nod at the stove. “Carbonara.”
He leans over, tastes it, hums—low, approving.
“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “She’s showing off.”
You bump his arm lightly. “I am not.”
“You are,” he says, kissing you quick, easy, like he’s done it a thousand times. “It’s working.”
You smile despite yourself, wiping at your eyes.
On the phone, Robby exhales. Rough. Tired.
“Hike’s dumb,” Jack says, shifting tone without making it obvious. “What’s actually going on.”
“Nothing,” Robby says. “Just… can’t sit still. Garcia was on my ass all day, Al-Hashimi wouldn’t shut the fuck up—”
“—Hey,” Jack cuts in, calm, steady. “Take a breath.”
You glance over at him. He’s not looking at you anymore—focused now, locked into that mode.
“You’re good,” he says. “You’re not thinking anything dumb, right?”
A pause.
“…No,” Robby says. “Just need to… get out of my head, I don’t know.”
Jack hears it. You do too. That edge. That restless, pissed-off with nowhere to put it thing.
“He can come here,” you say, like it’s obvious.
Jack looks at you—quick, assessing—but there’s no resistance there. Just a flicker of something else.
“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “Come over. Food’s ready soon.”
“I don’t know, man—” Robby starts.
You reach over and take the phone straight out of Jack’s hand.
“Hey, Michael.”
There’s a beat.
Jack watches you now, not even pretending to focus on the onions anymore.
“…Hey,” Robby says, slower. “Heard you were cooking.”
“Mhm,” you hum, leaning back against the counter, bare leg brushing against Jack’s where he stands beside you. “Plenty to go around.”
Jack’s hand settles at your hip automatically. Not possessive—just there.
Robby hears the shift anyway.
“This a setup?” he asks.
You smile slightly. “You always this suspicious, or just with me?”
A quiet scoff from him.
“You should come,” you add, softer—but not innocent. “You sound like you need it.”
A beat. Jack’s thumb presses lightly into your hip. Grounding. Present.
Robby exhales. “Yeah. Guess I can make it.”
“Guess you can,” you say easily.
Silence again—but it’s different now.
You glance at Jack.
He nods once.
“Door’s unlocked,” you say. “Twenty minutes.”
You hand the phone back.
Jack takes it, fingers brushing yours briefly, then brings it back to his ear. “You heard her. No pressure.”
A pause.
“…Alright,” Robby says.
The line clicks dead.
Jack sets the phone down on the counter, then looks at you properly. A slow once-over. Not subtle.
“What?” You raise a brow.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll finish the laundry.” He gives you a deep kiss to your neck, hands trailing over your figure as he mumbles into your skin, fingers gently pushing aside the light material. “You gonna stay in this?” He asks.
“‘S that alright?” You wonder, leaning into his touch.
He inhales sharply against your skin, lips leaving your skin. “Sure.”
★★★
You’re out on the balcony when it comes up.
Jack’s place sits high enough that the city feels almost staged—Pittsburgh stretched out in warm light, bridges lit up in clean lines, traffic moving steady below like it never really stops. It’s one of those late summer nights where the air sticks just slightly to your skin, warm but not suffocating. There’s music drifting from somewhere down the block, a party you can’t see but can feel in the background.
The balcony’s not small—wide enough for a proper table, a few chairs, space to lean without feeling cramped. Jack had insisted on that when he bought the place. Said if he was going to spend money, it’d be on something worth standing still for.
Your plates are mostly cleared, carbonara half-finished, wine and beer sweating into the wood.
“Have either of you done this before?” Robby asks.
Jack shakes his head immediately. “No.”
You don’t answer.
You’re thinking—actually thinking, head tilted slightly, finger lifting to tap against Jack’s arm like you need him to hold on a second. That’s when it hits him, belated and faintly incredulous, that this apparently hadn’t come up when the idea itself had.
“…Have you?” Jack asks, turning to you, already suspicious.
“I am thinking,” you murmur, brows pulling together like this is a serious recall exercise.
Robby raises a brow, watching you now, something amused creeping in despite himself.
“What do you mean you’re thinking?” Jack presses. “That’s not… I don’t know, something you half do or something. You’d know.”
“Or something,” Robby mutters under his breath.
You shoot him a look, then roll your eyes. “Okay—no. I don’t think I’ve had a threesome.”
“How can you not think you’ve had a threesome?” Jack wonders.
You lean back slightly, folding one leg under you, the fabric of your nightgown shifting higher on your thigh without you bothering to fix it. You don’t notice how both men’s gaze drop there.
You exhale, already regretting engaging. “Because—technically—no one actually got fucked, there was no penetration by anybody, so, grey area?”
There’s a beat.
Robby’s mouth twitches.
Jack blinks. “...Right.”
“Okay?” you continue, defensive now. “It was—hands. That’s it. Group situation, but not… full commitment.”
Robby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Group situation,” he repeats.
“Shut up,” you mutter.
“Another guy or girl?” Jack asks, too quickly.
You hesitate just long enough to make it interesting. “…Both.”
Jack leans back like you’ve just told him something deeply inconvenient. “...Huh.”
Robby lets out a low whistle through his nose. “So not a threesome. Just… poor project management.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Oh my god.”
“That’s a foursome that lost direction,” he adds, dry.
“Whatever,” you shrug. “Med school was fun for me. Sorry I had range.”
Jack eyes you, something between amused and slightly thrown. “I’m just saying, that’s a hell of a thing to casually drop over dinner.”
You smirk faintly. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”
Jack scoffs. “I’ve had opportunities.”
“Mm,” you hum, unconvinced.
Robby glances at him sideways. “That sounds like a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” Jack says, defensive now. “I just—never felt the need.”
“Right,” Robby says. “Till now.”
Jack gives him a look. “Till now.”
Something passes there—quick, familiar, not entirely friendly as Robby sips his beer.
After, you step out to the edge of the balcony, forearms resting against the railing. The city hums below you, the air warmer now, carrying the smell of food and distant smoke.
Inside, you hear Jack moving—plates, running water. Robby’s voice low, asking something, already familiar with the space.
“Thanks, baby,” you say when Jack comes back out, taking your plate.
You lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, hand coming up to your hair, messing it slightly with a small, easy smile.
You push him away lightly. “Don’t start.”
Robby watches it for a second before picking up the empty bottles, holding them loosely by the necks.
“Next to the fridge?” he asks, like he hasn’t been here a hundred times already—like tonight isn’t slightly different.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Recycling. Thank you.”
He gives a short nod and turns— You catch his wrist. It’s not forceful. Just enough.
“Hey,” you say, softer.
He looks down at you.
There’s a pause—his eyes dragging, just briefly, lower before coming back up. You’re close enough now to feel the heat off him, the faint roughness of his breath after a drink, after a long day.
You use his forearm to pull yourself up just slightly— and kiss him. It’s not rushed. It’s far from tentative either. Close. Testing.
His beard scratches lightly against your skin, rough in a way that makes you more aware of it, not less. He stills for half a second—then responds, mouth softer than you expected, hand hovering like he hasn’t decided where it’s allowed to land.
Your teeth catch his bottom lip briefly. That’s what does it.
“Starting without me?” Jack’s voice cuts in, dry. “Bit mean.”
Robby pulls back instinctively, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t—even though—
Even though.
You smile a little, letting go of his wrist as he clears his throat.
“Next to the fridge,” Jack adds, nodding toward the bottles.
Robby nods once, wordless, moving past him.
Their shoulders brush as he goes. Not accidental. Jack doesn’t move out of the way.
He watches Robby for a second longer than necessary, then looks back at you.
You end up on the couch.
It happens naturally—plates abandoned in the sink, TV flicked on for noise more than anything else. Some late-night rerun playing low in the background, colours shifting across the room, low lamps lighting the room.
Jack’s in the middle, halfway through some story from work—one of those cases that stuck with him. Complicated, strange, the kind he can’t quite let go of.
You’re tucked into his side, knees curled under you, your hand idly playing at the back of his neck—fingers brushing through his hair, absent, familiar. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of him.
Robby’s behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your back, even before his hand settles on your thigh—slow, absent movement, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it.
Up. Down. Not pushing. Not asking. Just there.
Jack keeps talking.
You lean in without really thinking about it—your lips brushing along his jaw, then just below it. Light. Familiar. Not rushed.
Jack’s hand comes up to your lower back automatically, pulling you in a fraction closer, steadying you there.
Robby’s hand doesn’t stop. If anything, it shifts—just slightly higher, fingers brushing warmer skin now where the fabric gives way.
Jack feels it. His hand stills for a second at your back—then relaxes again.
He doesn’t pull you away. Doesn’t say anything. You exhale softly against his neck, your breath warm there, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest behind him.
And for a second—just a second—you’re aware of both of them at once.
Jack in front of you, steady, grounding. Robby behind you, quieter, heavier—watching more than speaking.
Jack’s gaze lifts. Meets Robby’s. There’s a beat. Not long. But long enough. Something passes between them—wordless, measured. Something you can’t read.
Jack gives the smallest nod. Barely there. Robby’s jaw shifts slight. Then Jack looks back at you.
Your hand slides from his neck to his jaw, turning him slightly, and you kiss him properly this time—slow, deliberate. He leans into it without hesitation, one hand firm at your waist.
When you pull back, it’s not far. Just enough. Just long enough to turn.
Robby’s already looking at you. Not surprised. Not really. Just watching. You close the distance like it’s nothing—like it’s always been this simple—and kiss him too.
Different. Not softer, not harder—just new. Testing. His hand stills on your thigh for half a second before it shifts, coming up to steady at your side, like he’s grounding himself in it.
There’s a quiet breath from him—almost a huff, almost disbelief.
“This is fun,” You murmur.
You don’t give him time to overthink it.
You lean back between them again, tipping your head slightly, and they follow without being told.
Jack’s mouth finds one side of your neck, familiar, certain.
Robby hesitates for a fraction of a second— then doesn’t.
The other side. Slower. More deliberate. Like he’s learning something he’s not used to having.
You exhale, a soft sound you don’t quite hold back this time, and your hands come up instinctively—one finding Jack’s hair, the other Robby’s, fingers threading through both, holding them there.
For a second, it stays like that. Balanced.
Then you shift, just slightly—hands tightening, guiding as you move the two of them, their lips almost naturally coming to find one anothers, moving them like ken dolls, before you drop your hands, watching with a small smile, as Robby's immediacy for control goes against Jack's. Robby’s hand deepening into your thigh, grip tight as he kisses Jack.
Jack pulls back first, breath uneven but still controlled, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s checking in—like he always does.
His hand slides up your spine, slower now, deliberate where it had been absent before. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast making you shiver as it traces upward, then back down again, lingering just enough to feel intentional.
You lean back into him, lips finding his neck again—dragging slowly over the roughness of his skin, the faint scrape grounding, familiar. You press a little firmer this time, less thought, more instinct.
When you pull back, it’s only barely. Your breath catches—not dramatic, just… aware. Of him. Of Robby. Of both.
Jack’s hand presses more firmly into your back, keeping you close, steadying you like he can feel the shift too.
“Baby,” he murmurs, voice low, softer than before. “Feeling needy?”
You nod against him, answering with your mouth instead—kissing along his jaw now, slower, more deliberate.
“Yeah,” he exhales, a quiet sort of understanding in it. “I know, hon.” A beat. Then, quieter—“You want me, or him?”
You hesitate. Not long—but long enough to matter.
Robby’s hand shifts on your thigh, moving from the outside to your inner thigh, firm but unhurried, easing you open just slightly—testing, not taking. Waiting to see what you’ll do with it.
“It’s alright,” Jack starts, voice still calm, like he’s talking you through something he already trusts. “Go ahead. She likes it when you—”
“—I’ll ask you for help if I need it, alright?” Robby cuts in, low and even.
They exchange a look—brief, sharp, understood.
You lean over, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Jack’s cheek—something sweet, grounding—before shifting your weight and climbing into Robby’s lap.
He stiffens for a second. Just a second.
Robby’s always been hard to read. Time’s etched itself into his face, but there’s still that wall there—something held back, something controlled. Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s you. His best friend’s girl, sitting on him like this—close, warm, curious.
“You okay there, Sasquatch?” you tease, tilting your head up at him.
His hands find your thighs again almost immediately, like muscle memory kicking in. His gaze flicks—down, over you, then back to your eyes. Briefly to Jack. Then back again.
“Sasquatch? Really?” he murmurs, one hand moving up to cup your breast through your top. His palm is warm against you, sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“Beard, tall… same thing, no?” you shrug lightly.
That earns the faintest hint of a smirk.
“She always cracking jokes before getting fucked?” Robby asks, giving your breast a firm squeeze. His other hand slides lower, ghosting over your stomach before cupping your mound through your panties
“Depends,” Jack admits. “One time I got G.I Joe for an hour.”
“He was in uniform, in my defense,” You defend, brief before you try moving your hips over Robby’s fingers, eager. “Come on, Michael.”
Robby's fingers press harder against your core, rubbing slow, firm circles that have you arching into him, a sweet whine escaping your lips, his eyes enamoured with how your mouth parts, breath warm against him.
“What a cute noise you make, sweetheart,” Robby murmurs. “Ask me nicely now.”
You hesitate, desperate as his fingers continue to move achingly slow over your wetness.
“Ask or I give Jack my hand right now instead and you can wait your turn for another hour,” Robby tells, voice low and soft, not looking away from where his fingers glide over your seeping core.
“Please,” you murmur, voice breathy and desperate. “Please fuck me with your fingers.”
You crash your lips to his—harsh, messy, tongues thrusting quick and slick, his beard scraping rough red trails across your cheeks and chin. He growls low into your mouth, yanking your panties aside with brutal force, calloused fingertips dragging through your dripping folds, parting your lips wide before ramming two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your clenching pussy—no mercy, no prep.
You gasp ragged into the kiss, a high-pitched moan ripping free as your lips break away, saliva trailing shiny strings from his mouth to yours. You latch onto his neck, teeth grazing the salty skin, sucking hard as you grind down fierce onto his invading digits—walls squeezing tight around the stretch, juices flooding hot over his palm.
“Move your fingers toward her ventral,” Jack instructs from the side, voice calm but edged with that teasing know-it-all tone, his hand sliding warm along your spine.
Robby exhales sharp through his nose—mild irritation flashing in his eyes at the unasked advice, jaw clenching as he shoots Jack a quick, heated glare. But he curls his fingers obediently upward inside you, knuckles grinding rough along your front wall to hammer your g-spot precise and relentless. Your moan swells louder, body jolting as fresh gushes of slick coat his hand, pussy slurping obscenely around each pump.
“Christ, you’re making a mess on me, aren’t you, kid? Huh?” Robby rasps, voice gravel-thick with mean delight, eyes locked on the filthy sight—your swollen pussy lips gliding and sucking greedily over his plunging fingers, riding them frantic.
He twists his wrist sharp, scissoring the digits wide to pry your hole open, thumb mashing down hard on your throbbing clit with every brutal thrust—wet schlicks echoing loud, your thighs trembling slick against his forearm, arousal trickling warm down to soak his jeans.
He adds a third finger suddenly, forcing the burn deeper, stretching your cunt taut as he moves, hooking mercilessly on that spongy spot.
“You getting close?” He asks, low and rough, listening closely to your moans, how they become pitchier, breathier, as sweet as Jack described. You nod, a loose yes, focused only on how your core winds up to the edge. “That right?”
Your cries pitch wilder, back arching as he pinches your clit between thumb and knuckle, rolling it rough while his fingers churn your insides, coil tight in your core.
“What else she like?” Robby asks Jack, glancing over at his friend now, fingers never slowing their rhythm inside you.
Jack taps his index and middle digit to his lips, nodding toward you. Robby nods back, hums at the sight of you, curious.
Robby yanks his fingers free abrupt—your pussy clenching empty, a whine tearing from your throat at the aching void, hips bucking needy for more. He brings those soaked digits up to your face, gripping your chin firm to still you, watching hungry as you part your lips instinctively.
His fingertips tease your bottom lip, smearing your own cream glossy, before you suck them in deep—tongue swirling eager around the thick lengths, lapping every tangy drop, hollowing cheeks as saliva drips messy down your chin.
“Atta girl, you’re a fuckin’ mess now aren’t you?” Robby murmurs, gaze glued ravenous to your bobbing mouth, cock throbbing harder under you. “You wanna cum?”
You nod, frantic around his fingers, eyes pleading.
“Not yet,” Robby denies, voice almost gentle, yet harsh at once. “Barely seen what you can do.”
You exhale shaky as he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, trailing spit from your chin before cupping your whole face possessive, holding you locked on him.
“Go over to him. Make him feel good,” Robby orders, jerking his chin at Jack.
You nod, movements sluggish from the edge he left you on.
“On the floor, knees, now,” Robby snaps, voice brooking no argument.
You slide off his lap reluctant, crawling back to Jack beside him on the couch. He smiles soft at you, fingers threading gentle through your hair, cupping your cheek as he brushes strands aside, gaze roaming tender over your flushed skin.
“You alright there?” he asks nicely, thumb stroking your jaw.
You nod eager, hands diving straight to his sweatpants, palming the rigid bulge straining there—heat pulsing under your touch.
You tug the waistband down, freeing his cock—thick shaft springing up heavy, veins bulging, head slick with pre-cum. Your fist wraps tight around the base, pumping slow firm strokes up to the tip, twisting slick over the crown to spread his leak.
Jack inhales sharp, but you drop fully to your knees between his spread thighs on the rug, the rough weave biting into your skin. You lean in, lips parting wide to swallow his cockhead first—tongue flicking the slit to lap salty pre, then sliding down inch by veiny inch, throat relaxing to take him deeper.
“Look pretty down there,” Jack murmurs with a small smile, hand light in your hair, just cradling.
“You’re so soft with her,” Robby remarks from beside, voice mixed with mocking and earnestness as he watches you work, his own tenting obvious.
Jack shrugs, a quiet groan escaping as you hollow your cheeks, sucking vacuum-tight while bobbing steady—saliva pooling at the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down his balls. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, twisting wet on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat along the underside to trace every ridge.
Robby's gaze burns hot—flicking over your arched back, your drool-slick chin, eyes that dart between Jack's tense face, Robby's hungry stare, then flutter shut as you deepthroat him full, nose burying in his pubes. He fixates on Jack's cock vanishing slick between your lips, throat bulging visible. Then up to Jack, whose fingers grip tighter into your scalp—not shoving, just anchoring as his neck cords tense.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack praises breathy, hips twitching minimal into your rhythm.
Your moan vibrates around his length, humming deep to make him shudder, spit bubbling messy as you pop off to lick sloppy stripes up his shaft, sucking each ball into your mouth turn before plunging back down.
He groans low, head lolling back, “Fucking… perfect. So perfect, always.”
Tension crackles thicker between them—Jack's free hand drifts casual at first, then deliberate, palming Robby's thigh before cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, squeezing firm through denim. Robby stiffens, eyes meeting with Jack's, breath hitching as Jack rubs slow circles over the thick outline, thumb pressing the zipper ridge where pre darkens the fabric.
“You alright there, man?” Jack scoffs, a light smile. “Can’t handle it?”
It’s a challenge. It always is with them. Has been since they were twenty something.
Jack knows exactly what he’s doing—knows the tells. The slight tilt of Robby’s head, the way his weight shifts more onto one side, the flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. He’s seen that look in bars, in fights, in operating rooms when things went sideways.
Robby doesn’t back down from anything. Least of all him.
Then Robby exhales slowly, something almost like a laugh under it, eyes locking onto Jack’s—steady, unflinching.
“Oh, I can handle it just fine,” Robby agrees with his own smile. “Go ‘head.”
Jack groans at your relentless mouth—fast and wet, then slowing perfect against him—his hand stroking over Robby’s clothed cock, deliberate and slow, denim rasping under his palm. He leans in first, crashing his mouth to Robby's—sloppy, urgent, tongues battling fierce right above you, beards grinding rough, wet sucks and grunts filling the air. Jack's fingers knead Robby's bulge harder, unzipping halfway to delve inside, wrapping firm around the hot shaft through boxers.
You pull off Jack with a gasp, spit stringing from your lips to his glistening tip, replacing your mouth with your fist—pumping slick and steady along his veiny length, thumb swirling over the slit to smear pre-cum. Your eyes lock on their kiss, Jack's hand slowing on Robby as your thumb teases tentative over his own sensitive crown, tongue darting out to lap the edge of his slit.
“Oh fuck,” Jack moans into Robby’s mouth, breaking away to watch you lick him sweetly, hips bucking light into your grip.
Your free hand joins Jack’s on Robby’s cock, fingers overlapping his as Robby undoes his belt buckle with a metallic clink, shoving jeans and boxers down his thighs. His thick cock springs free. You spit thick into your palm, slicking it hot before gripping him base to tip, stroking in tandem with Jack—your hand twisting wet on the upstroke while his squeezes the root, veins pulsing under your combined pressure.
Robby hisses through clenched teeth, thighs tensing as you both jerk him off rough, pre dribbling over knuckles, your mouth still working on Jack’s cock.
Jack's strokes on you falter to lazy pumps, his fist gliding easy over your saliva-lubed skin as he watches Robby swell thicker in your shared hold. “Fuck, feel that grip? She’s got hands made for this,” he rasps, voice husky, eyes dark on Robby's face.
Robby grunts approval, thrusting shallow into the double stroke. Jack pulls back suddenly, nodding down at you. “Let him feel how good your pretty mouth is, baby.”
You release Jack reluctant, his cock twitching angry-red in the cool air as he takes over—fist flying fast over his shaft, slick echoing. You shift on your knees, turning to Robby, who grips his base and taps the fat head heavy against your cheek—wet smacks on flushed skin, taunting drip of pre-painting streaks.
“Dreamt about this once,” he admits, voice low. “The way Jack described it, you’d think you have the mouth of an angel. That right? You an angel?” He wonders.
You lick your lips in anticipation, hand between your legs, fingers gliding over your folds.
“Seemed pretty desperate for my boyfriend there too,” You remark, not looking away from Robby’s gaze.
His jaw tightens. “He’s pretty good with his hand, but I think you can do better with your tongue.”
You part lips wide, tongue out flat as he slaps his cock deliberately across it, underside dragging salty over your tastebuds before shoving in brutal—half his length in one thrust, stretching your jaw.
You gag wet but suck hollow, cheeks caving as you bob frantic, hand pumping the rest in sync. Saliva floods fast, bubbling down his sack as you swirl tongue under the ridge, hollowing deep to milk him. Your fingers are quick against your wetness, dripping between your thighs, your other hand planted at Robby’s thigh.
“Shit—yeah, like that,” Robby growls, free hand fisting your hair to guide rough, not forcing but controlling the pace—pulling you off to tap his cock on your tongue again, smearing spit and pre glossy before ramming back in.
He fucks your face shallow, hips snapping precise, balls swinging to nudge your chin while Jack jerks himself faster beside, groans syncing with yours muffled around Robby's girth.
You sweep the underside of your tongue around Robby’s cock, soft wetness coating him, slow, then fast, hearing how Robby’s hand tightens harder in your scalp.
Jack leans close, breath ragged as his fist blurs over his cock, tip weeping steady. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Fuck off,” Robby mutters, focused on your mouth, your eyes as they look up at him, wide, watery.
Your fingers slip between your thighs, dipping into your soaked pussy, rutting slow circles over your clit as you kneel between them, mouth stuffed full on Robby's cock. Spit drips messy down your chin, mixing with the slick from your own folds as you finger yourself deeper, chasing that tight coil building low in your belly.
“I’m good,” Jack rasps, eyes locked on your hand working your cunt, his fist pumping steady over his own cock. “Slow down, sweetheart.”
Your fingers comply, easing to lazy drags through your wetness, eyes flicking up to watch Jack slow his palm in sync, thumb circling his flushed tip. His free hand drifts back to Robby's thigh, squeezing hard muscle as he watches you deepthroat—throat bulging obscene with each plunge, gags turning wet and rhythmic.
Robby's taunts rumble gravel-deep: “Fucking hell, you gonna let me cum in that mouth, honey?” He pops free with a gasp, cock throbbing inches from your face, tapping insistent on your cheek—left, right, smearing sticky pre over flushed skin—before you dive back voluntary, nose grinding into his pubes as you swallow him full, humming vibration to wrench a guttural curse from his chest.
“She can take it,” Jack murmurs, voice thick. “Can you, baby? Come on, speak now.”
You moan muffled around Robby's girth, pulling off with a slick pop, resting your head against his still-clothed thigh as your fingers plunge back into your pussy, rutting frantic. “Mhm.” You kiss alongside his shaft, tongue tracing veins lazy, lips brushing hot skin.
“So damn sweet now,” Robby murmurs, hand loosening from your scalp to pet gentle through your hair, watching your fingers disappear knuckle-deep. “That feel good?”
You nod against his thigh, licking slow stripes up his cock, pumping your pussy deliberate—thumb flicking your clit, hips rocking into your hand, edge creeping close, breath hitching sharp.
“No more of that, alright?” Robby nods down, eyes sharp on your body. “Yeah? You listening?”
You groan, fingers curling harder inside yourself. “Fuck you—you wanna cum, I get to cum too.”
Robby tilts his head, that piercing look—the one Jack knows spells trouble, before ripping into a resident. Jack nearly laughs, slowing his strokes to a tease. “Not how it works,” Robby says flat, voice dropping steel.
You glance at Jack, pleading.
“Don’t look at him,” Robby orders, tone snapping stricter, hand fisting your hair tight to force your gaze back. You gulp, thighs clenching empty as you pull your fingers free, pussy clenching needy on nothing. “Put both hands behind your back if you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ brat.”
Reluctant, you clasp your hands behind you, knees aching on the floor, tits heaving with each breath. Robby nods approval, gripping his base to feed his cock back past your lips—slow at first, letting you savor the stretch, then thrusting deeper as you hollow cheeks vacuum-tight.
Your tongue flattens under his shaft to lap the frenulum relentlessly, swirling wet around the head on every upstroke before slamming down throat-deep, gag reflex crushed to nothing. Saliva floods obscenely, bubbling at the corners of your mouth, dripping strings to his balls as you bob frantic—suction pulling groans from his gut, nose buried in coarse hair, throat milking him like a fist.
You hum constant vibration, eyes watering up at him, popping off to spit thick on his length before sucking one ball then the other into your mouth, rolling tongue heavy before plunging back down full.
“Jesus Christ—yeah, there we go…” Robby snarls, hips snapping erratic, free hand clamping your nape to hold you buried as his cock swells impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight.
He floods your mouth suddenly—hot spurts painting your tongue thick and salty, cock pulsing ropes down your throat as you swallow greedily around him, not spilling a drop. He rides it out shallow thrusts, groaning ragged until spent, pulling free with a wet schlick.
“Fuck,” he pants, watching your tongue swipe clean over his softening head, lapping the last beads from his slit.
You fall back onto your heels, knees throbbing, core dripping wet and aching empty down your thighs. Swallowing his load thick, you stand shaky, and lean down to Robby, core exposed from your barely there nightgown. You grab him by his jaw, fingers at his chin, watching as his hand catches your wrist.
You smile at that. “Go on,” Your fingers linger near his mouth, covered with your wetness. “Jack prefers the real deal. You shy all of a sudden, Mikey?”
Robby reluctantly opens his mouth, trying and tasting your wetness, sucking your fingers clean.
“Atta boy,” You say sarcastically, moving them out of his mouth. “You think you can still fuck me, old man?” You whisper.
“Watch it,” Robby murmurs.
“You can, in the corner, while Jack finally makes me cum.” You whisper. “Jack,” you grab Jack’s hand, walking away with him as Jack follows suit behind you.
“Up and at it,” Jack tells Robby over his shoulder as he follows you.
“Fucking hell,” Robby mutters, taking a second before following after.
You hum satisfied, leading them stumbling to the bedroom, the air electric behind you.
In the dim glow, you strip your nightgown overhead, leaving ruined panties—crotch soaked dark—and a lacey bra barely containing your tits. Their eyes burn hot as you climb onto yours and Jack's bed, kneeling center.
Jack follows instant, standing at the edge, hands cupping your jaw rough-tender, leaning down to crash his mouth to yours—passionate and devouring, tongue fucking deep to taste Robby's cum lingering salty. You moan into it, hand snaking to grip his cock again, stroking firm base-to-tip.
Behind Jack, Robby's hands roam his back, trailing firm over shirt fabric before gripping the hem, yanking it up and off in one pull. Jack moans muffled into your kiss when your fist pumps faster, hips bucking into your grip, but he breaks away gasping as cool air hits his bare chest.
Robby presses close from behind, chest flush to Jack's back, beard scraping his shoulder as lips latch onto Jack's neck—sucking a mark deliberate.
“Baby, lie down for me,” Jack instructs.
You nod, lying down on your back, knees spread apart like second nature. He tilts his head, as Robby’s lips trail over his skin.
“Enjoying yourself?” Robby echoes Jack's earlier words, hand meeting at his cock briefly, feeling Jack stiffen and inhale sharply at that. “You gonna make your girl cum, or do I have to do that?”
“Fuck off,” Jack murmurs. “Go sit in a corner and wait, or somethin’,” Jack mutters, hands dragging you by the underside of your knee, gently towards the edge as he kneels on the bed, as Robby steps back with a chuckle.
“Think I got her ready, though, so, shouldn't take long,” Robby says. “Unless you’re not as skilled as you’ve been bragging to be.”
“Oh, my god, one of you make me cum or else I’m doing it myself, Jesus,” you whine.
“Oh, baby,” Jack murmurs, kissing at your inner thighs. “I’m leaving you waiting here.”
“She’s being a brat. Have some patience, honey,” Robby insists, tilting his head at you in mock. “But she’s right, hurry up, Abbot, Christ.”
Jack swipes his tongue along your core, and you moan, your wetness ready and eager from Robby's fingering and your own arousal. He licks slow and firm, teasing your sensitive flesh.
Robby watches from the side, his cock still tucked away in his jeans, as he observes you writhing under Jack's talented tongue. His expression is heated, hungry, clearly enjoying the show.
"Mmm...you look like a-" you moan, too lost in sensation to finish the thought. "A fucking nun, Michael," you finally manage, nodding towards his henley. "You aren't hot in that? Take it off already, fuck,"
Robby clicks his tongue, a light roll of his eyes. "You could ask me nicely. Here I thought you were so polite and sweet," he chides.
Jack’s tongue is a relentless, wet invasion, fucking into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. You clench around him, a tight, pulsing grip, your fingers tangled in his silver curls, thighs locked around his head like a vise.
Your eyes stay fixed on Robby’s as he discards his shirt, the fabric whispering to the floor. The snick of his belt sliding free from the loops makes you tighten your legs around Jack even more, a shiver of anticipation racing up your spine, as Jack laps at your pussy.
“Wider,” Jack grunts, his voice muffled against your pussy. He pushes your thighs apart with his hard biceps, one big hand splayed over your hipbone, pinning you down. “Stop squirming. Take it.”
From the foot of the bed, Robby watches, arms folded over his bare chest. He looks like a professor observing a dissection—calm, analytical, utterly in control. “How close are you?” he asks, his tone clinical.
“Mm, close,” you manage, the words breaking on a moan as Jack’s tongue flicks hard over your clit.
“You make such pretty sounds. He was right about that,” Robby hums, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your skin, sweetly, but his brow is furrowed, his gaze intense. “Callin’ me a nun, and you still got this thing on, honey.” He hooks a finger under the strap of your bra and flicks it sharply against your skin, a sting of sensation.
Jack’s tongue plunges deep again, and you arch off the bed, a choked cry leaving your lips. Your eyes don’t leave Robby’s as his hand slides down, cupping your breast through the lace. He admires the weight, the shape, his fingers tracing the curve.
“Want me to fuck you first, or GI Joe there?” Robby recalls, a smirk playing on his lips.
He doesn’t miss the way your mouth curves in a smile, even as your eyelids flutter shut. Jack quickens his pace, his hands now gripping your thighs like he’s holding you together.
You’re too close, teetering on that blinding edge. Words are impossible.
“Answer me,” Robby instructs, his voice dropping low and stern. His hand kneads your breast, then slips inside the cup of your bra, his fingers finding your nipple. He rolls it, pinches it just shy of pain. “Who do you want first?”
“You,” you gasp, the answer torn from you instinctively, desperately.
Robby’s smirk widens. “You hear that, Abbot? I get to break her in first.” He doesn’t look away from you as he says it.
He leans down, his hand sliding between your legs. Jack pulls back without a word, letting Robby’s fingers trail through your soaked folds, delivering a slap to your clit. You shiver violently, a string of high, needy moans escaping as he collects your wetness on his fingertips. He brings them back to your mouth, his other hand still working your nipple.
“I was right,” you murmur, breathless. “Knew you’d be mean.”
“Yeah? You like it?” Robby wonders, though he already knows.
You bite your lip, refusing to answer.
He pushes his wet fingers past your lips, pulling your jaw open with a firm pressure. The look he gives you is pure command—dark, expectant. Obey.
“I like it,” you moan around his fingers, the admission almost reluctant. Your grip tightens in Jack’s hair. “Fuck—I’m gonna—oh fuck—”
“Yeah?” Robby hums, petting your hair now, his other hand still at your breast. He watches your mouth hang open, watches the pleasure wreck you. “Eyes on me. Come on. No, no. No closing them. You keep ’em right here.” His gaze holds yours captive. “Good girl… good girl, aren’t you? Bratty, but you just needed to cum a little, isn’t that right?”
You whimper as Jack’s tongue sweeps over your oversensitive clit one last time, lapping up your juices as you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and convulsing, your body bowing off the bed as you cry out.
“Good job, baby. Fucking hell,” Jack mutters against your thigh, his voice rough with praise.
He comes up your body, his hand replacing Robby’s on your breast, kneading possessively. His lips find yours in a messy, wet kiss, tasting of you. Tongues swiping, teeth clashing briefly as you chuckle into the kiss, wet and sloppy as he moves to your neck, sucking hard around your jaw, yoru neck, hand trailing over your figure, squeezing, gentle, rough all at once.
“My favourite girl in the world, you know that,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing at your collarbone.
You grin, feeling as Robby captures your mouth with his own, a brief pause as he watches Jack worship your figure. Jack slides a finger over your core, feeling as your back arches, how you gasp into Robby’s mouth.
“You aren’t a brat, are you baby?” Jack murmurs, rubbing tight circles at your clit, hearing how you whimper at the feeling, fresh from your orgasm. “No, honey, not for me, isn’t that right? Yeah, I know, I know… my sweet girl,” He replaces Robby’s mouth with his own, dragging over yours as you nod into the kiss.
“Told you. Lover boy,” Robby remarks to you.
You grin into the kiss, before Jack pulls away and naturally seems to find Robby’s lips.
You watch, a strange heat pooling in your belly, watching as Jack immediately leans in and kisses Robby. It’s harsh and sweet all at once—a clash of teeth and soft sighs. You thought you might feel a spike of jealousy, but instead, a warm, possessive pride swells in your chest.
Robby stands, briefly cupping Jack’s jaw in a gesture that’s both dismissal and affection before pushing him gently aside. Jack moves from between your legs, sprawling onto his back on the bed. Robby’s hands are on your waist, and you yelp in surprise as he manhandles you with effortless strength, flipping you onto your stomach.
He drags your ruined panties down over your ass, off your legs, and sends them flying to a corner of the room with a flick of his wrist. Your bra is next; he unclips it with one practiced hand, and the lace joins the panties.
“Ass up, sweetheart,” Robby instructs, his voice thick. He lands a sharp, stinging tap on your bare ass cheek. He has one knee on the bed, the other foot planted on the floor.
You obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees and elbows. Jack is lying in front of you now, his gaze heated. You reach for his prosthetic leg, helping him with the quick-release mechanism. Robby hands you the second one without a word—a seamless, understood exchange. Jack kisses you, sweet and grateful, as he sets the limb aside.
"That's it," Robby mutters, positioning himself behind you. You feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing, and then he thrusts forward in one brutal, seamless motion.
Filling you so completely the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. He sets a punishing pace immediately, each thrust driving you forward toward Jack.
Robby inhales sharply at the feeling of you. You adjust to him, moan loud and silent all at once at the feeling.
“Shit,” Robby mutters. “Fuckin’ hell, you know much Jack’s raved about this pussy? Callin’ it the treasure of the fucking ocean.”
His hands grip your hips like anchors, fingernails digging into your soft flesh as he sets a merciless rhythm—pounding into you with a force that drives your body forward with each impact, making the headboard knock rhythmically against the wall. “Perfect fucking pussy, sweetheart, you know that?”
You moan at his words, clenching even tighter around him.
“How the fuck do you leave home, Jack— Jesus Christ,” Robby says as he quickens his pace slightly, watching as your ass moves from the harsh contact of his hips against you.
“Life or death, and that’s it,” Jack says.
“Come on, give him some love, kid,” Robby tells.
Jack’s cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, swallowing him deep. He groans, his hands coming up to cradle your head. “Fuck, just like that,” he rasps.
You’re split between them—Robby fucking into you from behind with deep, possessive strokes, and Jack’s length hitting the back of your throat. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Robby’s hips slap against your ass, the sound filthy and wet.
“You like being used like this baby?” Jack wonders, your moans vibrating against him.
You don’t answer, focused on the sensation of Robby’s cock harsh within you.
“He asked you a question,” Robby pants, moving his hand to your hair, tight as you look up at Jack, watery eyed.
“Uh-huh,” you nod.
“See? Not so hard,” Robby groans.
Jack smiles a bit at that, caressing your face as you occupy your mouth with Jack’s cock. He groans. The taste of salt and heat floods your tongue as you take him deep, your lips stretching around his girth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you bob your head, letting him feel every ridge of your throat as you swallow him down. Your nose presses against his pelvis, and he groans, his fingers threading through your hair.
"Just like that… Just like that," Jack chokes out, his head falling back as his hips buck up involuntarily, his hand tightening on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your mouth wider, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding deeper down your throat. "Come on now, so close."
The words vibrate through you, but before you can double down, Robby leans over your arched back, his chest sweaty and hot against your spine, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Make him wait."
You pull off Jack's cock with a wet pop, a thick strand of saliva and pre-cum stretching between your lips and his glistening tip before breaking. Jack's frustrated groan cuts through the room, his hips twitching in empty air.
"Fuck off, Mike," Jack growls, but his hand remains gentle in your hair, fingers stroking through the sweat-damp strands as you whimper from the brutal pace behind you.
Robby's cock is driving into you with relentless accuracy, the head of him hitting that deep, spongy spot inside you with every thrust, sending electric jolts through your core. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, helpless against the assault.
"You gonna be a brat too, then?" Robby says, shooting a lighthearted glare at Jack over your shoulder.
Before Jack can retort, you clench down hard around Robby's shaft, a desperate whine escaping your throat. Robby's rhythm stutters for half a second, a low curse spilling from his lips. "Fucking—hell, god, doll. You are so goddamn tight, y'know that?"
His pace becomes brutal, each thrust driving deeper, harder, the angle punishing. His balls slap wetly against your clit with every impact, the sound filthy and rhythmic. You feel the slick heat of your own arousal coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs with every punishing stroke.
"She's close," Jack murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent.
You shift forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach, your tongue tracing the soft lines of his abs, tasting salt and skin, over the light freckles. You moan into his flesh, the vibration making his muscles jump, and then his palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, holding you warmly.
"Look at you," Jack whispers, his eyes dark and soft at once. "So beautiful like this. Taking us both. You're doing so well, baby."
“Go ahead, cum,” Robby growls into your ear, his hand snakes around your hip, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the swollen nub while he continues to pound into you, and the sensation is electric—each thrust driving his fingers harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Now.”
You moan around Jack’s cock as you break, your pussy clenching wildly around Robby’s thrusts. The convulsions milk him, and with a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, hot and deep.
"Fuck," he breathes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade, his body shuddering through the aftershocks.
He pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum begin to seep from you.
“Goddamnit,” Robby murmurs, a pant.
Before you can even catch your breath, he spits into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. He reaches down, slicking up Jack’s cock, which is already hard again and straining against his stomach. Jack groans, a deep, ragged sound at the touch.
“Your turn,” Robby tells him, his voice rough with use.
But instead of letting you face Jack, Robby guides you. His strong hands on your hips turn you, maneuvering your spent body until you’re straddling Jack, but facing away from him. Your back is to Jack’s chest, your ass pressed against his hips. You can feel Robby’s cum, warm and wet, slicking the way as you settle over Jack’s length.
Jack’s hands come to your hips, steadying you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, but his voice is tight with need.
From the foot of the bed, Robby watches. He’s kneeling there now, his eyes dark and hungry, fixed on the place where your bodies move against one another, well practiced. Jack’s fingers slide between your legs, through the slick mess Robby left behind. He gathers it on his fingertips, his touch making you shiver, he brings those wet fingers to your lips.
You open for him, tasting Robby’s salty tang on Jack’s skin as he slips his fingers into your mouth. You moan around them, your tongue swirling. Jack’s eyes never leave Robby’s as he then pulls his fingers free, back to your cunt, a slight shudder once more, and brings them to his own lips, sucking them clean, tasting his best friend.
Robby watches this whole exchange, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Atta girl,” Jack pants against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.
Then he guides you down, and you sink onto him with a broken cry. He fills you completely, the stretch delicious, the sensation of being stuffed so soon after your last climax making your head spin. You’re so sensitive it’s almost painful, a sweet, overwhelming ache.
You begin to move, rising and falling on his cock, finding a slow, grinding rhythm. Your hands brace on Jack’s thighs behind you for leverage. The angle is deep, each descent hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
“That’s it,” Jack encourages, his voice a rasp in your ear. His hands roam your body—gripping your waist, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples.
You increase your pace, bouncing on him, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Eyes open, sweetheart.”
Robby’s command cuts through the haze. Your eyes snap open. He’s moved closer, kneeling right beside the bed now, his face level with where you’re joined with Jack. He’s watching every slide, every glide, his expression one of rapt fascination.
“Look at you,” Robby murmurs, his voice thick. “Takin’ him so well."
His praise fuels you. You lean more back, hands coming up behind you to Jack, angle pushing him even deeper, as you whimper, sharp gasps, teetering on the edge again.
“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Your moan, soft.
“Fucking- shit, go ahead, honey, cum f’me,” he moans.
Your orgasm crests, a silent scream trapped in your throat as your body tightens. You clench around Jack, a series of violent, fluttering spasms that milk his length.
Jack curses, his hips bucking up into you. “Fucking—just like that—”
As you’re pulsing around him, Robby leans in. He captures Jack’s mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss over your shoulder. You can hear the wet slide of their lips, the soft grunts and sighs. It’s raw and intimate, and it sends another shockwave of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves.
Robby breaks the kiss. “Lift up for a second, kid,” he breathes against your skin.
Dazed and pliant, you raise yourself up, Jack’s slick cock sliding almost all the way out of you. Robby’s hand replaces you, wrapping around Jack’s shaft. He gives him a few rough, efficient strokes, his thumb smearing the pre-cum beaded at the tip.
“Missed the taste of you,” Robby mutters to Jack, his eyes locked on his friend’s face as he works him.
Jack just groans, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your thighs. Then Robby guides you back down, easing you onto Jack’s cock until you’re fully seated once more, stuffed to the brim.
“Go ahead, finish,” Robby growls, his command for both of you.
You begin to move again, a slow, rolling grind now, utterly spent but driven by the need to feel Jack lose control. He’s close—you can feel the tension in his body, the way his breath hitches.
“Come on, Jack,” Robby urges softly, his hand returning to your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. “Fill her up. Give her what she needs.”
That does it. With a shattered cry, Jack’s hips piston up once, twice, and then he stills, buried deep inside you as he comes. You feel the hot pulses of his release joining Robby’s already there, flooding you.
Jack kisses at your shoulder blades, near your neck, as you relax your body entirely, shaky breaths with your back against his chest. His arm coming around you automatically, instinctive, like it always does. His hand slides up your arm, slow, grounding, fingers brushing your shoulder, your collarbone—checking, not asking out loud but asking anyway.
Robby puts a hand to your jaw, tapping your cheeks lightly with his fingers, watching as your eyes lazily find his.
“You alright?” he murmurs, voice rough, softer than it’s been all night.
“Mhm,” You nod, catching your breath.
“There she is,” Jack murmurs against you, pressing a kiss into your hair, lingering there a second longer than usual.
Robby doesn’t move right away.
He’s sitting beside you both, elbows on his knees, head tipped slightly forward, breathing steadier now—but there’s something in his posture, something looser than before. The edge is gone. Or at least… dialed down.
You shift, peeling yourself gently from Jack, turning toward Robby. For a second, there’s that flicker—uncertainty, maybe. Not doubt. Just… recalibration.
Then you lean in and kiss him. It’s different now. Slower. Softer. No urgency behind it.
Robby’s hand comes up to the back of your head, not guiding, not demanding—just holding you there, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. He exhales through his nose, a quiet thing, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto something.
When you pull back, you stay close.
“Hey,” you say, softer.
“Hey,” he echoes.
Jack watches the two of you. His hand still rests low on your back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it always does when he’s settling you.
Jack kisses gently at your bare back, “Be right back,” he murmurs against you, before you hear him leave the bed, putting on his temporary prosthetic.
You hear him leave, pulling away from Robby who watches Jack as he leaves the room, headed for the hall.
You groan and flop onto the bed, Robby moving the blanket over you, maybe suddenly prudeish as he picks up presumably Jack’s shirt and hands it to you. You hum, put it on.
“Jesus,” you murmur, voice soft, wrecked. “I think my legs might actually fall off.”
That gets a quiet huff out of Robby.
He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dragging a hand down his face, then through his hair. He looks… different, a little. Looser. The usual edge sanded down.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Think you’ll live.”
You glance over at him, managing a small smile.
He’s already reaching for his boxers, pulling them back on, movements unhurried. The gold chain at his neck catches the low light—the Star of David resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. There’s something grounding about it. Familiar. Normal.
There’s a beat.
Then, softer—
“…You good?” You ask.
He turns your head toward you. “Yeah.” He thinks for a moment, a shake of his head as he lets himself admit– “Needed that. Needed to be… not alone, I think.”
You watch him for a second—something thoughtful in your expression.
“That something you’d wanna do again or is this a one and done situation?” You wonder earnestly, rolling onto your side as you look up at him. “
Robby doesn’t answer straight away. He looks at you—really looks, like he’s trying to figure out what the question actually means underneath what you asked.
Your hair’s a mess, Jack’s shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes soft but steady on him. Hickies across your neck. Not fragile. Not asking for reassurance. Just… asking.
His jaw shifts slightly.
“…You always this direct after something like that?” he mutters.
You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m an ortho resident. I don’t have time for interpretive dance.”
That almost gets a smile out of him. He exhales, leaning back more fully, one hand rubbing absently at his chest like he’s trying to settle something under the surface.
“It’s not—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “It’s not really a ‘one and done’ kind of question.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Why not?”
He glances at the door—where Jack disappeared—then back at you.
Because Jack’s not just some guy. Because this isn’t just sex. Because there’s history here that predates you by decades and still manages to feel unfinished. Because he already feels it sitting somewhere in his chest, heavy.
You seem to pick up where his head is at, a nod. “Do you have… like, real feelings for him? Or me?”
Robby scoffs a chuckle. “I don’t have time to think about that.”
“Just time to fuck us though. Well, not Jack, sure he’ll give me a complaint about that later.” You murmur.
Robby smiles a bit. “You two are… perfect for each other. I still don’t get how he found you.”
“I don’t know either, to be honest,” You admit. “But he cares about you. Like a lot. And so do I. And it’s not just because your dick is great, promise. You’re always welcome with us, whether its sex, comfort, food, all three. We aren’t picky people.”
“Picked up on that,” Robby nods, quieter now. “What are your plans? With him, I mean. He mentioned something about marriage.”
You smile a little—more to yourself than anything—your hand drifting, almost unconsciously, to your left ring finger.
“No idea,” you admit. “However long he wants me around, I guess.”
Robby huffs a soft breath, leaning back against the headboard. “Well, if age’s anything to go by, you’ve got a good couple of years.”
You smack his arm lightly. “You’re literally older than him.”
“I’m not marrying you,” Robby shoots back, deadpan.
“You’re an ass,” you sigh.
That earns you a small smile.
The door opens.
Jack steps back in, towel slung over his shoulder, a glass of water already in hand. He pauses just inside, taking in the room in one sweep—quick, practiced. You, curled on your side in his shirt. Robby at the edge of the bed, quieter than usual.
“My leg’s killing me,” Jack mutters, like it’s an afterthought, already moving back toward the bed.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, frowning. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, dismissive in that way he gets, like pain’s just background noise. He hands you the glass. “Drink.”
You take it, still watching him. “You say that about everything.”
“Because everything’s fine.”
Robby snorts under his breath. “Yeah. That’s a healthy coping mechanism.”
Jack shoots him a look as he sits down, stretching his leg out carefully. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want to compare notes?”
Robby raises his brows. “Not particularly.”
Then Jack exhales, leaning back into the headboard. His hand finds your thigh automatically—absent, grounding, like he needs the contact without thinking about it.
His gaze flicks between the two of you, lingering on Robby for half a second longer than necessary.
“What’d I miss?” he asks.
You shift, settling back into him, your cheek brushing his shoulder. “Marriage.”
Jack huffs. “One night with my girl and you’re already trying to steal her? Alright. Good to know.”
Robby lets out a quiet chuckle.
“With you, idiot,” you correct.
Jack glances down at you. “Oh, him and I are getting married now?”
You roll your eyes and, just to be difficult, shift toward Robby instead—curling lightly into his side.
It lasts all of two seconds.
Jack’s arm hooks around you and pulls you straight back against him.
“Relax,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there against his chest.
Robby watches that, something unreadable flickering across his face before it settles again.
Robby stays the night.
Not in the same way—there’s a natural rhythm to it. He gives you and Jack space without being asked, drifting out into the living room, the quiet murmur of the TV carrying faintly down the hall. At one point you hear the balcony door slide open, then shut again.
He’s not intrusive. Never has been.
But he doesn’t leave, either.
if u havent read it, i'd recommend reading my (wo)man on willpower! this is a spin off of that, i suppose. focuses more on jack x reader, though. :D
a/n: girls i have another like 700 words i had that as a short scene of santos speculating why u didnt make it to her paris party (oh my god im so funny paris because threesome haha i know right, please dont click off this), and i might post that later, but my ao3 will get the full thing if u wanna just see what it was. the 1000 block limit on tumblr genuinely my opp fr.
anyway thank u guys all for the support on my (wo)man on willpower, so proud of that fic and so sweet the reblogs and comments! i wish u could see my grin every time! and yall hammered me for this so i hope its up to standard, meets an expectation or two. i had a lot of fun just exploring the dynamic, you x robby, robby x jack, jack x you, like i am a true believer in true love triangles, so hopefully that came across, but admittedly, still keeping jack and reader endgame obvi, so.. also sorry if it aint gay enough, i told yall i do not read mlm stuff, just not for me. i love it! just dont like, actively read it yk! i also just wanted to have fun with the prose, emotional stuff, etc, and idk. hopefully the smut isnt terrible, that shit is hard as hell! like, positions, dirty talk?! dirty talk is hardddd guys!! then like the build to it, ugh. i wish i had a smut class at my uni or something so i could really get into the weeds of it, and spend time endlessly editing it. i really couldve spent another few days editing this but honestly wanted it OUT and DONE !! need to lock in got exams soon team. okay sorry for this long as hell authors note ! lmfaoo. hope yall liked!
LOOK for someone who puts "dirty talk is hard" in their A/N, that is some audacity you've got, because at no point was the dialogue in this anything less than perfect. Please rest assured that your banter is elite, your characterizations stay on point, and if you were struggling with anything, a muse came down from the creative sphere to possess you and make it perfect.
I wasn't actively looking for this dynamic, but from you??? 🥵 🫠
Steve Harrington has a dirty mouth. You figured this out pretty quickly after you’d started dating, discovering the way he’d use what little breath he had between kisses to talk to you, telling you all sorts of things that made your face burn hot. You could think back to so many moments that often replay in your head, memories of touches that were punctuated by whispers of “you like that, don’t you?”, and “does that feel good?”. The answer was always a resounding yes. He was more experienced than you. You knew that. It showed in the confidence with which he handled you, his hands always strong and sure on your body, ready to guide you.
When it was just you, alone in the darkness and sanctity of your own bedroom, it was his voice that you could hear in your head, puppeteering your hands, guiding them down your body. You hear the ghosts of his whispers that lead you into the depths of pleasure when he couldn’t do it for you. Spread your legs. Arch your back. Look at me. Go slow.
Steve enjoyed teaching you new things, not just about what feels good to him, but also what feels good to you. His favorite moments are the ones where he knows he’s doing something right, where he can see your eyes light up as a brand new sensation washes over you. He’ll just smile at you, staring until he’s sure he’s committed that look on your face to memory. But there was one thing he’d tried to teach you that just wouldn’t stick: dirty talk. He knew when you were feeling good, it wasn’t hard to tell from your stifled moans and pinched expression, but you never talked to him. You never told him just what he was doing to you.
After a movie night in his room had turned into a heated makeout, he’d made up his mind. He’d decided that tonight was the night that you’d learn how to be uninhibited, to say whatever was on your mind, to demand it, if that’s what you wanted. Panting above you, half-dressed, Steve teasingly tapped his finger to your temple.
“You never talk when we’re like this. What’s going on in here, hm?” he asks, his gentle eyes flickering over your face.
“You usually do the talking,” you say, grazing your nails down his shoulder and over his collarbones lightly, enjoying the way he shivers in response.
“Yeah, I know,” he says with a sigh, “But I want to hear you more than I want to listen to myself.”
You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes skeptically. He responds with an equally curious look, raising an eyebrow at you as he moves down further, his breath warm on your lips.
“What?” he mumbles.
“Nothing. I thought you liked hearing yourself talk,” you smile, reaching to run your fingers through his prize-worthy hair. You’re the only person who’s allowed to move even a lock of it out of place.
Steve rolls his eyes, leaning in to playfully nip the tip of your nose with his teeth in retaliation, making you laugh and push at his chest. He responds by wrapping his arms around you and changing your positioning with a grunt. He guides you to sit on top of him instead, his hands finding purchase at your hips. You liked it up here, looking down at his pretty face. You could see his long eyelashes more clearly.
Rain was pattering lightly on his window, the droplets a quiet background noise to the growing buzz of excitement between you.
“Yeah, maybe I do, but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you and how you won’t say naughty things to me,” he frowns, almost petulantly.
“Like what?” you ask, reaching to intertwine both of your hands with his.
The affection is written all over his face as he laces his fingers between yours neatly, running his thumbs over your knuckles. You can see that soft glint in his eyes as he ponders the things he wishes would spill from your lips.
“I dunno, dirty stuff. Like, ‘that feels good’, or ‘touch me here’, or– or just, ‘fuck me, Steve’, you know?” he prattles on, waving his hands expressively while they’re still holding onto yours.
You snort lightly, shaking your head as you glance away from his intense, brown eyes. It always came so naturally to him to say seductive things, but for you, you had to force out even the simplest words, praying that your voice wouldn’t break or waver.
“I mean, honestly, would it kill you? Would you die if you said, ‘I want you to fuck me, have sex with me right now, Steven’?” he continues.
“I-I…” you start, trying to fight through the way it feels like the air is getting stuck in the middle of your chest. You still smile despite yourself. “I dunno how to talk like that, Steve. That’s your thing.”
He sighs deeply, pulling one of your hands to his lips to kiss your fingers tenderly, his eyes never straying from yours.
“But I know you can do it,” he murmurs against your knuckles, “I’m serious, tell me something. How about this: start small. Say my name.”
“... Steve,” you respond flatly, not exactly seeing the point of this exercise. Your boyfriend looks thoroughly unimpressed.
“No. Not like that,” he mutters, letting go of one of your hands to lightly trace his fingertips over your side, “Say it like you want something from me. Like… you haven’t seen me in weeks. And then add something. Like, ‘Steve, I want you to…’”
He trails off meaningfully, widening his eyes as he motions for you to take the lead. Oh god. You were already feeling a bit stuck, mentally running through a million different ways you could finish the sentence. And how should you say it? Should you sound out of breath? Is that sexy? Or maybe more sultry, a lower pitch like an actress in a commercial you’d seen. Should you do something with your hands while speaking? Why couldn’t you just say it?
While your brain went a mile a minute, Steve just stared at you expectantly, his brows furrowing as you sat there with your lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out. His voice came out softer than before, more patient.
“Hey, hey. Stop that,” he murmurs, as if he can read exactly what’s going on in your head, “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just say whatever you’re thinking. Don’t– don’t second-guess yourself like you usually do. You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”
You exhale a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding slowly as you tried to gather yourself again. Your cheeks burned slightly with embarrassment, wishing you were as silver-tongued as him, wishing you could impress him with quick, smutty quips as he could with you. You felt like hiding. Like pulling the neckline of your sweater up so he couldn’t see your face.
“You think I’m gonna laugh at you, baby? Is that it?” Steve whispers, reaching upwards to cup your flushed cheek in his hand. He visibly softens at that vulnerability in your eyes, thumbing over your plush bottom lip soothingly.
“I dunno. Maybe,” you mumble, instinctively leaning into the hand at the side of your face, “How do you do it? How do you always know what to say?”
“Well, I mean, you want the Harrington secret?” he teases, his eyes glinting under the low lighting of his bedroom.
You nod once, ready to learn the strategy that would turn you into a master dirty talker… only it’s not what you’d expected. His voice lowers into something more sincere, more raw. He was letting you in, hoping you would do the same in return.
“I don’t plan any of it. I say exactly what I’m feeling in the moment. If it’s here,” he pauses, pointing to his head and then his mouth, “It’s here. You know? No filter. I’m thinking… what do I want to say to her that’s going to tell her how beautiful she is? How much I want to be here with her. How turned on I am by her. And then I say it.”
You feel your heart flutter in your chest. It felt like something was clicking for you for the first time. He didn’t want you to be “sexy”. He wanted to know what you were feeling. He wanted to know that you want him too. It wasn’t about saying the right thing. It was about saying the honest thing, letting those physical sensations speak through you.
“I like that,” you whisper, a slightly sheepish smile pulling at your lips. He can’t help but smile back at you twice as brightly, his thumb skimming along your jawline.
“Yeah, I thought you would. Do you… wanna try again? Maybe close your eyes this time.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. Once your eyes fluttered shut, you realized that it wasn’t as scary when you weren’t awaiting some kind of reaction from him. Instead, you could focus solely on what you were feeling, what was going on in your body. What you were craving. Where you were feeling warm…
“Steve,” you breathe. The words didn’t feel as stuck this time, not when his hand was on your cheek and the whole world suddenly felt quiet. The pressure lifted from your chest, allowing you to speak. “I want you to touch me.”
When you open your eyes again, Steve is practically vibrating with excitement, a boyish grin spreading across his face. You feel your cheeks prickle with warmth as he lets out a triumphant laugh, sitting up straight to wrap his arms around you tightly. He draws you as close as he can to him on his lap, beginning to lovingly assault your neck and shoulder with kisses. You can’t help but giggle, enjoying his glee and the ticklish feeling of his lips all over you, anywhere he could reach.
“Yes. Yes. That’s it,” he croons, his lips still against your skin, “God, yes. Keep going, keep talking. I’m listening, baby. Where should I touch you, gorgeous?”
You felt oddly invigorated by this small victory, like the door was open for you to step through now. Your hands slide into his hair, your head lolling back to expose your throat as he continues loving on you. This felt good. Really good.
“My– my tits,” you gasp softly, grasping tighter at his chestnut locks.
His eyes instantly light up with a mixture of pride and arousal at your words. Steve is quick to respond with a groan, so eager to play off of your every word. You could feel how happy he was that you were expressing your wants, both figuratively and through the growing stiffness in his jeans underneath you.
“Fuck yeah, I can touch your tits, sweetheart. Let’s get this off of you,” he whispers, dragging his lips from the base of your neck to just below your ear as he begins to tug your sweater up and over your head.
He nearly completely fumbles unhooking your bra with how fast he’s trying to get it off of you, the two of you sharing a laugh as he flings it across the room carelessly. The way he puts his hands on you, it’s like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole damn life. You moan blissfully as his hands envelop your breasts, his thumbs rubbing over the slowly hardening peaks with practiced ease. He’s so warm, so warm as he leans in to kiss you, stealing the breath from your lungs with just a press of his lips. He groans into your mouth deeply, enjoying the way your nails slide over his scalp as you exchange giddy, breathless kisses. You’re both smiling so much that your teeth bump in the middle of making out, only causing more giggles to erupt between you.
“Feels good?” he asks you, lightly pinching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah,” you pant, nodding vigorously before pulling him into another heated kiss.
Steve lets one hand slide down to restlessly grab onto your hip, beginning to guide your body to rock against his. You let out a soft sound that’s instantly swallowed by his lips as you grind yourself against the bulge in his jeans, the friction making the heat in the room spike what feels like another 10 degrees. He pushes his hips up into you harder, making sure you feel every inch of him strained against the crotch of his pants. God, your heart was absolutely pounding in your chest. He’s all over you in the best possible way.
“Jesus,” he groans huskily, “I’m so fucking hard right now. You feel me?”
“Yeah, baby,” you shudder, the seam of your jeans catching just right against your clit.
“Need you to keep talking, sweet girl,” he whispers, pulling away just enough to speak, to look into your eyes, “What are you feeling?”
“I-I feel…”
A million words rush through your mind. Hot. Free. Horny. In love. Needy. Good. So good. So fucking good.
“Like I want more,” you decide, your voice wavering needily.
“Good. I want more of you, too,” he smiles, cheeks flushed, “Can you tell me exactly what you want more of? Use your words, sweetheart.”
Before you could respond, he was ducking his head down to kiss along your sternum, making your breath catch in your throat. Steve’s eyes, darkened with lust, gazed up into yours as he dragged his lips to one of your nipples, kissing it before gently sucking it into his mouth. You let out a shuddering breath as he began to swirl his talented tongue around the bud, your hand cradling the back of his head to your chest while you continued to throb between your legs. You were getting a bit stuck again, the words just on the tip of your tongue as you panted for breath. You didn’t want to say it out loud, you might just melt all over the bed if you did.
“Shh, you’re alright,” Steve murmurs, pulling his head back gently, “More kissing? More touching?”
“More touching.”
“Mhm. Where?”
You whine quietly, avoiding eye contact until Steve brings a hand to your jaw, gently turning your head so you’re looking at him again. You felt hyperaware of the placement of each of his fingers on your face. He’s patient, waiting for you to spit out a single word that you can manage.
“Lower,” you mumble, your cheeks burning a bright shade of pink.
“Lower?” he echoes, shooting you an amused look, “You can say the word, you know. It’s okay. Just a word.”
“It’s awkward!” you laugh nervously.
“It’s not awkward! You’re making it awkward!” Steve insists, leaning up to try and kiss away your overthinking with a gentle press of his lips to your forehead. “Look at me. You’re doing so good. Just say it, and I’ll have my hand down your panties like that,” he says, emphasizing his point with a snap of his fingers.
While you try and work up the nerve to speak, Steve busies himself with popping the button on your jeans. He’s casually humming a tune that’s stuck in his head as his deft fingers pull down the zipper. The sound of the teeth unzipping makes goosebumps spread across your skin. As soon as you start to recognize the melody, he’s begun singing softly out loud (and off-key) while his hands urge you to lift your hips up.
“You can talk to me, t-t-talk to me.”
“Stevie Nicks?” you note, looking down at him as you sit up onto your knees.
“What? I listen to some of your music too,” he shrugs, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he helps you pull your jeans off, one leg at a time. You smile, shaking your head fondly at him before sinking back down once you’ve wriggled out of your pants. He sighs with satisfaction when you settle onto his lap, his hands finding your hips like they’ve always belonged there. He squeezes slowly, savoring the feeling of your skin while his thumbs skim over the waistband of your panties.
“I wish there was a different word,” you whisper, grinning sheepishly as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“You don’t like it?” Steve teases, ruffling your hair, “There are other ones, you know. I just think you’d hate them more.”
He leans in until his lips brush the shell of your ear, his hand finding the small of your back. You feel a shiver skitter down your spine as his hot breath fans against your skin.
“Like vag, or cunt, or–”
“Steve!” you squeal, giving his shoulder a light shove to cut him off. Your expression screwed up tightly, landing somewhere between embarrassment and disgust by the scrunch of your nose. He just laughs heartily, pulling you closer on his lap with two hands on your backside.
“Can’t I just say, like…” you trail off thoughtfully, twirling a bit of his soft hair around your finger, “Between my legs?
“Sure. Whatever floats your boat,” he says, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose.
“Don’t say stuff like that when I’m half naked,” you mumble, your vision slightly blurring from trying to focus on him when he was so close to your face. “So dorky.”
“Why? Is that not floating your boat?”
Jesus christ. He’s lucky he’s as pretty as he is.
“No– Steve,” you huff frustratedly, grabbing one of his hands to drag it from your sternum down slowly, swallowing hard as his fingers skim over your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your panties. You feel him reflexively rub his index finger over the lacy edge, teasing you.
“Touch me… touch between my legs, please. I need it,” you shudder.
“Aw,” Steve coos, pouting his lips at you, “Good girl. You’re so red right now, baby.”
Steve slides his hand down between your thighs, spreading his fingers out over your panties possessively. You know he’s enjoying the sight of his whole hand covering your clothed cunt from the way his adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. God, you were aching. It was nearly impossible to stay still while perched on his lap this way, your hips lifting slightly to press against his palm.
Making good on his promise, he hooks his finger into your panties to pull them aside, groaning lowly at the string of glinting arousal that connects the fabric to your skin. Steve curses under his breath, urging you to spread your legs wider before dragging his middle finger from your slick entrance up to your clit that throbs under his touch. Both of you share a mirrored, trembling sigh as he begins to rub the pad of his finger against that sensitive bundle of nerves. He goes slow, his eyes stuck on your expression, absorbing your every reaction. He drank in all of it, every flutter of your lashes, the way your brows furrowed with relief, how beautiful you looked when your skin was flushed like this. He could never, ever get enough of you.
“Feels good?” he whispers roughly, “This what you wanted?”
“Mhm,” you mumble, nodding hastily.
Skillfully, he switches out his middle finger for his thumb, pressing it firmly over your aching clit. Steve watches your face closely as he slides two of his fingers into you, pumping and curling them with practiced dexterity. He moans gruffly as he watches your back arch, feeling the curve of your spine with his free hand when he hits that sweet spot inside you just right. It never takes him long to find it. He knew your body all too well.
His eyes were shining as he glanced down, relishing the sight of his fingers slipping in and out of you with ease. You watch as your boyfriend bites his lip at the lewd, wet sounds that fill the room, smiling dirtily to himself. You knew how much he got off on getting you soaked, always competing with himself to see how wet he could get you, how easily he could push his thick fingers into you every time he had you like this.
“Ah… yeah,” he sighs admiringly, “Love this tight, pretty cunt. You hear how wet you are for me?”
And there he goes again. Saying things that make your skin get hot, and your hips squirm without your permission. How does he always turn you completely inside out with just a few words? Before you can fully ponder it, he’s leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips, parting them with his tongue while he starts to rub your clit faster. Every swipe of his thumb has you clinging to him for stability, your nails biting into his arms while he licks hotly into your mouth. You could feel your body melting into him, your shoulders sagging as warm pleasure buzzed in your veins.
“You want another?” he breathes, panting softly against your lips as he introduces his pointer finger, rubbing it against your slit, “I know you can take it.”
Your thighs tremble, your head telling you that you’re already so full of him, but your body throbbing with the need to take anything he wants to give you. Steve leans in, kissing between your breasts as he looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, that handsome face. You found yourself nodding without even thinking twice about it. You feel Steve’s lips spread into a smile against your skin, victorious.
He hastily presses a kiss to your mouth, nipping your bottom lip before withdrawing his fingers from you entirely. You nearly whine at the loss of his digits, ready to squirm and put up a fight, but a rush of arousal silences you as you watch your boyfriend spit onto his fingers, ensuring their slickness and your comfort. He reaches down between your thighs, spreading the wetness over you in a way that makes you gasp for breath, your hips rocking in desperation for more friction. You couldn’t think about anything but how hot you felt under your skin, need corroding your inhibitions.
“Steve!” you beg, your voice sounding almost totally unfamiliar to you when it’s so laced with lust.
“Easy there,” he mutters, stilling your gyrating body with a commanding grasp on your hip. Your thighs still twitched despite your best efforts to relax. You felt anything but relaxed. His touch made you feel like a live wire.
A whimper sputters from you as he begins to slowly slide the third finger inside, stretching out your velvety walls. Steve’s lips are on your throat now, kissing his way up while your head lolls back with pleasure. You feel the slow slide of his digits until he’s knuckle deep inside of you, listening to his satisfied sigh.
“Fuck,” you whisper, your eyes squeezing shut tightly at the simmering feeling.
“I know, I know,” he murmurs, peppering kisses over your jaw, “Taking it so well.”
He doesn’t move his fingers yet, giving you a few moments to adjust and to feel the light fluttering of your walls. You crack your eyes open just in time to see Steve’s free hand reach for the crotch of his jeans, squeezing lightly to relieve some of the pressure that strained against his zipper.
“Oh god,” he mumbles. You watch as his eyes roll back, his brows pinching together at the lick of pleasure that he gets, the slight bit of relief from the ache. He looked absolutely gorgeous this way, palming himself through his jeans with that expression on his face like he was barely restraining the urges that clawed at him, eating him alive.
A trembling moan rips through you as he picks up his ministrations again, his thumb working swiftly in tandem with the fingers inside you. You scraped your nails over his bare shoulders and back, feeling yourself approach your edge almost mortifyingly quickly as you pant and writhe on top of him. His fingers hit the right spots again and again, unbearably accurate.
“Want to see you come so hard, baby,” Steve shudders, panting softly with parted, kiss-bitten lips. His eyes are full of an equal, knee-weakening mix of adoration and desperation, his unoccupied hand moving to caress the side of your face tenderly.
You don’t know what came over you. Maybe it was all of Steve’s urging to talk dirty, but you find yourself pleading with him.
“Steve, please, fuck me.”
Your boyfriend’s eyes go wide, his unrelenting pace suddenly stuttering as he stares at you, slack-jawed. He stammers something unintelligible before giving a curt nod and shutting his mouth. You’ve never seen Steve Harrington speechless before.
He gently slides his fingers out of you, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from between your legs before beginning to fumble with his belt.
“Lay back, lay back,” he sputters with conviction, letting out a frustrated groan as he struggles to get his belt out of its metal clasp, “I’m gonna give you the time of your fucking life, I swear to god.”
You just smile warmly, getting comfortable on his bed while he goes to war with his jeans. He rolls himself off the mattress, hopping around in his skin-tight, white briefs to kick his pants off his ankles. As if he wasn’t raring to go already, he certainly is now.
Steve is on top of you in a matter of seconds, his warm weight settled on your body. He reaches for your hand, inhaling deeply as he kisses your palm, your wrist, and then up the rest of your arm, practically radiating enthusiasm and adoration. You let out a giggle as his lips lead him up the column of your neck next, your fingers threading into his hair that was now mussed by your wandering hands. You swear your heart nearly gives out when he pulls away to gaze into your eyes like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. He can say so much with just one look.
His soft eyes dart from over your face restlessly before landing on your lips, a slow smile spreading across his face as he sees them, shamelessly staring at how swollen they’ve become from his kisses. Steve’s forearms rest on either side of your head, caging you in underneath him.
“Where were we?” he drawls playfully, waggling his eyebrows at you before leaning in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips.
Your hands find the sides of his face as he slowly draws you in for a gentle kiss, the two of you sharing a moment where time seemed to slow down in the middle of a whirlwind of passion and excitement. This was the side to Steve that no one else got to see but you. The side that makes dorky comments and brushes your hair away from your face with the kind of tenderness that could make anyone believe in love if they witnessed it.
“I love you,” he whispers between soft locks of your lips, “I love that you’re talking. So sexy.”
Without breaking the contact of his lips against yours, he reaches one of his strong arms over your head to his nightstand. You don’t have to open your eyes to know what he’s getting, the sound of crinkling foil sending a familiar chill of anticipation through your body. Your pulse was thundering by now, your head swimming in the best possible way. No matter how much you grabbed at his hair or his shoulders, you could never fully express what he does to you, how much you wanted him.
You hear him sliding his briefs down his hips, a soft grunt leaving him as his length is freed from the confines of his underwear, now resting heavily between his stomach and yours. With shuddering breaths and trembling hands, he pulls back from you enough to tear the wrapper off the condom.
He reaches down between you, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock. The sound he makes as he firmly pumps himself in his fist is absolutely sinful. You watch, completely captured as pearls of precum drip from him, landing right above your navel. He reigns himself in, forcing his hand to be still while rolling the condom onto his thick length.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, noticing the way your jaw hangs open with awe, “What do you say, sweet girl?”
Steve repositions himself, keeping one hand on his cock to gently slide the head back and forth between your honeyed folds. You gasp softly, a shock of pleasure tightening your abdomen when he rubs over your clit, just barely kissing it with his tip.
“Please?” you try.
But he doesn’t make any moves to push into you, silently tapping your sensitive bundle of nerves with the head of his cock to send more of those sharp waves of stimulation through you. Steve’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes dark and heavily lidded as he waits for something. You could well up in tears with frustration, able to feel how tightly wound your body was, every muscle drawn in desperation for release that only he could give you.
“Steve, put it in,” you plead, your voice now lowering into a delicate murmur, “Need it.”
His eyes flicker up your face, smug and satisfied, but never mean.
“You’re getting good at this, hm?” he smiles, pressing the tip of his cock down firmly with his thumb just to watch your legs squirm, “Making me so proud of my girl.”
Your breath is stolen from you as he begins to line himself up with your slit, a gruff whisper of “look at me” making your gaze snap to his face. Only when your eyes meet his does he begin to push his hips forward, feeling your velvety walls stretch to accommodate him. You feel a familiar, low simmer as your body gives way to him. Your hands slide over his chest, exploring the spattering of hair under your fingertips.
Steve’s lips part with a strained groan as he feels your warmth enveloping him bit by bit, panting softly as he experiences that overwhelming tightness around his cock that his own hand could never offer.
“Fuck,” he mutters, a dirty smile pulling at his lips. He looks almost drunk, totally intoxicated by the way you feel around him when his hips fully meet yours.
Sweat glistens in small beads at his hairline as he tosses his head back, pushing his hair away from his eyes. He begins to thrust shallowly. Your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering at the feeling of him so deep inside of you. It’s like he’s splitting you open.
You can feel his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze practically burning into you. Steve reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers between yours before pressing it into the mattress beside your head. His soft grunts grow louder as he allows his hips to roll deeper, the bedframe beginning to creak.
“Feels so good, you feel so good,” he babbles, running his thumb over the side of your hand back and forth.
“Steve, more,” you shudder, your chest heaving.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Your hazy head can hardly process it when he’s picking up your legs and bending them at the knees, one of his large hands holding the back of your thigh up for leverage. The tip of his cock continues to drive into you, his body angled to hit all of the right spots. He squeezes your hand adoringly, as if to say a little goodbye before leaving to snake down your body.
You open your eyes with a start, gasping when his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in firm circles. You pant at the entirely more electric feeling, your body lighting up with sensation. He doesn’t have to ask to know just how good you’re feeling, to know that he’s playing your body like a fine instrument. But he asks anyway, just to watch you struggle to speak.
“So fucking good, right sweetheart?” he drawls.
“So good,” you whisper, your voice trembling nearly as much as your legs.
Steve twitches within your taut walls when you begin to gently rock against him, attempting to meet his steady, powerful thrusts. He’s gripping your thigh harder with every noise he pulls from you. The breathy sounds of your pleasure only seem to spur him on further, making him drive his body forward into yours harder, faster. His head drops forward to your neck, burying his face there as he pants raggedly against your skin, leaving heedless, open-mouthed kisses all over you.
“I love you,” he says devotedly, “Love fucking you like this.”
The room is filled with the kind of noise that could make even a sinner blush. Skin on skin, gasps for breath, dirty words muffled by your flushed neck. He’s unapologetically fucking you into the bed, the pace contrasted by the sweet way his fingers rub over your thigh, soothing the raw, red marks from his grip on you. And the way he’s looking at your face… his eyes hold an unmistakable tenderness for you as he gives you every ounce of pleasure he can offer, however much your body can take. He could be watching your tits bounce, or his cock disappear into you over and over, but he doesn’t. The connection between you ran deeper than the joining of your hips, deeper than anything either of you had ever felt before. You’re both in your own small world together, where nothing matters outside of the bounds of Steve’s bedroom.
“Close, Steve,” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as the warm current of pleasure curls and licks inside of you.
“Let go,” he nods affirmingly, “Whenever you’re ready. God, need you to come on my dick, baby.”
Steve’s thumb works faster, swiping over your swollen clit almost furiously. Your body responds with a jolt, hips writhing as the warmth begins to bloom in the pit of your stomach, tight and tense and ready to burst. There are a few seconds where you’re just teetering on the edge that allow you to drink in the entirely focused look on his face, one that said he was determined to make you see stars tonight.
And you do. You swear there’s a crackling light behind your eyelids as you reach the height of your pleasure. Your eyes are squeezed shut tightly as your long, drawn-out moans fill the room, along with Steve’s uncontrollable shudders from you squeezing and fluttering around him.
“Shit, coming,” he grits out, his thrusts becoming nearly frantic as he chases his release.
Your nails dig into Steve’s back, leaving angry, crescent-shaped marks that he’ll obsess over later in the mirror. Warmth floods the condom moments after, his hips stuttering and bucking haphazardly. He leans down, continuing to help you through the waves of your orgasm while he heatedly crushes his lips to yours.
“You’re so perfect,” he declares between messy, yet perfect kisses, letting go of your thigh to hold the side of your face instead.
His thumb slows to a languid pace, lazily stroking over your oversensitive clit until he stops. The roaring passion slowly dies down into a calm buzz of affection, Steve pushing into you once more, getting as close to you as possible before stilling his body. The kiss is broken, both of you gasping for breath as he stares down into your eyes.
He smiles hazily, touching the tip of his nose to yours, leaving you beaming back at him. His hair is a mess, loose strands sticking to his glistening forehead. You aren’t faring much better after your boyfriend indeed gave you the time of your life. Having damp sheets clinging to your skin has never felt better.
Neither of you had any intention of moving an inch. Steve was still buried inside you. The idea of him pulling out an impossible one when being this close felt so right. He’s singing your praises, whispering the gentlest things to you while his thumb follows the course of your cheekbone.
You had a feeling you’d be getting more vocal in bed from now on if this is what it got you…
contents: reader with a vagina; copious amounts of teasing; snarky divas <3; touch/love starved steve; top!steve; chokehold!!!!!
a little bedtime story for you!! 🫶🏻
“oh, shit,” he groans into your ear, breath hot against you. “mmm— f-fuck.”
steve grinds into you slow and deep. wants to take his time savoring you. wants to hear every little whimper you make when he manages to bury himself all the way into your tight cunt.
“missed you,” he says, pressing lazy, open mouthed kisses to your neck. “missed you so goddamn much.”
you saw him twelve hours ago.
“you’re obsessed with me,” you tease.
he ruts into you hard, knocking the air out of your lungs.
“say it back,” he goads, grinning like he’s evil.
you tsk, eyes rolled halfway back. “say please.”
steve ruts into you hard again, then picks his pace up, caging you in with his arms.
“you think you’re cute?”
you nod, whimpering as the tip of his cock finds your sweet spot. he’s making it a little difficult to bite back.
he hums. bottoms out and grinds into you, his pelvis pressing against your clit.
“tell me you missed me, or i’m stopping.”
your breath catches. steve’s so hot when he’s like this. getting worked up just by a little teasing. being a little bit commanding, rougher, devious.
it only makes you want to push him more.
“i missed you,” you confess. and, just because he should hear it, you add, “i love you.”
steve shivers. perpetually touch and love starved, desperate to hear you say those words over and over and over.
he brushes his lips over yours.
“i love you, too.”
you smile at him. “i know.”
he snaps his hips into you quickly, making you pull in a gasp.
“lose the attitude,” he warns.
he’s hardly intimidating.
your smile returns. “no.”
you’re flipped into your front. your eyes widen in shock — what just happened? — and then steve’s pressing you into the bed, strong, muscular body draped over you. an arm wraps around your neck, putting you into a chokehold, keeping you pinned.
the tip of his cock just barely presses into the wet heat he’s been craving all day. he gently pushes forward, then backs out, your cunt clenching around nothing.
you’ve been outperformed. out-teased.
his breath is hot against your ear. “you shouldn’t’ve said that.”
Tags - thighjob, pussyjob, unprotected piv, relentless teasing from Steve.
A/N - just me waxing erotic about Steve’s cock. That’s all this is. Short and sweet, 700 words.
Steve Harrington has a big, pretty dick, and he knows you want it. Fuck, why wouldn’t you, right? It’s long, with a blushed and swollen tip. Nice and thick, decorated by a few throbbing veins and even a lucky freckle or two. Steve’s pubic hair is soft and dark, and he’s got the most intimately heady, utterly addicting scent. It’s pretty as a picture.
Which is why it’s so fun to taunt you with it, right? Steve’s got you on your side in bed as you’re whining for him, for it. “Stevie, please.”
Steve lets out a chuckle at the nickname. Stevie. “I don’t…gosh, I just - don’t - know,” he says, tapping his heavy tip on your clit as he enunciates each word. “Do you really think you can take it?”
“I can take it, yes. Fuck, I can - I can do it, just fucking give it to me.”
Steve hums. “Mm. Maybe. I don’t know if you deserve it, is the - the thing, actually. You have to really want it.”
He’s rolling his hips in that steady, practiced, perfected way. Cock sliding back and forth through your wet folds, passing over that poor, swollen clit of yours. And it’s not like it’s neglected or anything, right? Steve will make you cum on his tongue and his fingers however much you want. Yet it’s not enough for you. You want to feel him inside you, hard dick throbbing as he fills you over and over again with himself. But Steve holds out.
There’s indents in his thick biceps from your fingernails. You’re burying your face in his neck and his big hands are wrapped around your waist, guiding your movements in a perfect rhythm. Steve giggles stupidly when he dips just the head of himself into your entrance. “Whoops. Almost put it in ya,” he teases, slowly dragging it back out and up your puffy, slick folds again.
“Steve, please stop teasing me.”
“Teasing you? I’m not even doing anything. Barely even touching you,” he mumbles, watching how pretty is cock looks hugged by your lips. When he pulls back, it’s coated in your arousal. “Where’d you - fuck - even come up with that idea?”
“Steve.”
“Mm, we gotta get your head checked, I think. You’re losin’ it.”
You’re so easy to get all riled up like this. Your body’s trembling, and Steve’s whispering that he knows, baby. He knows, he knows, he knows. You can barely hear his quiet voice over the warm and wet sounds your pussy and his cock make together. Those sticky, lewd noises, accompanied by the way you drip both onto Steve and your own thighs have you losing it indeed, just like he suggested.
You’re gonna soak through the sheets at this rate. Steve slides his fingers between your lips and rubs your clit, just to feel how swollen you’ve become. Steve pauses, focusing hard. He lets out a breathy laugh when he feels the sensitive bud pulse under his fingertips, practically throbbing in his hand. He replaces his fingers with his cock once again, and the way he fucks you between your thighs has you gasping, feeling each of those thick veins of his.
Steve pulls back, lining up his head with your entrance, and pushes into you quickly as he groans. “Fuck, my bad. That’s my bad,” he grunts, pulling back out of you to continue his tease. “I’m really sorry about that. It was an accident.”
You cry his name and wrap your legs tight around his waist, begging him to put it back in you. Steve shakes his head and laughs, amused by your desperation as his wet and heavy cock lays between your bodies, resting on your tummy.
Steve’s a sucker for those big, watery eyes you give him, aching for his fucking. It tugs at his heart or dick or something, sue him. He smiles sympathetically, then slides into you fully, and he stays there. “Oh, fuck,” you moan, simultaneously relieved enough you could cry and so unbelievably worked up.
“Yeah? That what you wanted?”
“Yeah,” you sigh, pulsing around his length.
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
Please reblog with kind thoughts if you enjoyed, they’re what keeps fandom alive :)
steve harrington x f!reader
word count: 1.2k
warnings: smut, literally porn with no plot, i just wanna fuck steve right now lol, fingering, squirting
synopsis: when the wsqk van breaks down on the side of the road, there’s nothing else to do except kill some time…
A whine tears from her throat and she tosses her head back onto Steve’s shoulder, nails biting into his thigh. He removes his hand from the apex of her thighs for a moment to grab one of her wrists to slap her own palm against her mouth before his fingers continue their assault on her clit, bringing the radio receiver back to his mouth.
“Uh negative! Negative… the uh… the eagle is not flying, over.”
His middle and forefinger finds her entrance again and bully their way through, the pad of his thumb replacing them on her clit. Tears well in her eyes and pool onto her cheeks, teeth sinking into the flesh of her palm to stifle her cry.
“W-what.. eagle.. flying.. Jesus Christ, dingus, will you speak English please, over?” Robin’s voice crackles through the receiver.
“Shit,” Steve mutters beneath his breath, a vexed but determined crease in his brow.
His fingers continue their brutal assault on her cunt— a hard and swift in and out and in and out that keeps her head reeling, spinning with words manifested by mind-numbing bliss. Her body is burning, buzzing with the ceaseless pumping of Steve’s fingers, her stifled moans a low drone in her throat. Desperate for an anchor, she reaches forward with her free hand and her palm finds the center of the steering wheel, the horn honking loud and incessantly.
“Steve? What the hell is that? Are you guys good? Do we need to—“
“We’re fine, we’re fine. Just the van is not moving so we’re toast, out of operation, no-go, stuck, over!” Steve shouts into the radio, a highly-annoyed edge to his tone. His fingers slam harder inside of her and curl, as if he’s literally digging her cum out of her.
“Mmmmmfuck, Steve!” She wails, voice still muffled by her palm.
Using the hand holding the receiver, Steve knocks her hand away from the wheel and shushes her as Robin’s staticky voice sounds from the radio once again.
“Can’t you, I dunno, like, flag someone down and charge up the engine or some—“
“Yeah, yeah, we’re on it!” Steve yells into the receiver again before tossing it aside entirely, moving her hand away from her mouth just to replace it with his lips.
He curses as his tongue swirls over hers, one hand massaging her breast, the other unceasing where his middle and forefinger thrust in and out of her cunt, his thumb rubbing sloppily over her clit. Her eyelids screw shut and all she can do is cant her hips against the heel of his palm and move her tongue along his. She moans and he moans back and it buzzes across her tongue and in her chest.
“Steve, Steve,” she mewls and their mouths inch away, just enough for him to roll his forehead onto hers. He nudges his nose against hers and her eyelids flutter open, meeting his dark, bewitching gaze. “I’m so close.”
He hums again, nodding. “Good,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek, just on the side of her nose. “We’re a little crunched for time.”
Steve brings her free hand to her mouth and she parts her lips, enough for him to get his middle and forefinger through. She hums around them and swirls her tongue, panting as he works a third finger into her pussy, applying just a little more pressure to her clit.
Bucking her hips into his palm, she cries and tosses her head back onto his shoulder again, screwing her eyelids closed. Her tongue rolls mindlessly over Steve’s fingers and his mouth sucks bruises into the crook of her neck. His fingers curl and pump harder, quicker inside of her and his thumb rubs furiously at her aching clit and god, it’s just so much. She feels like a shattered mirror and all of her pieces are being plucked from the frame one by one until she’s completely and utterly broken.
Her legs feel numb and unlike her own, moving of their own accord. She’s a twitching, flailing mess in Steve’s lap and his fingers are her destruction, unraveling her until she’s completely undone.
“Come on, pretty girl,” he growls beside her ear, voice dripping with honey-like seduction. “Come on, pretty girl. About to come?”
She nods vigorously, new tears tracing back over the trails old streams left. She feels it, that tight knot at the pit of her belly trembling, unwinding at a rapid pace.
“Steve!” She moans around his fingers before he slips them out so she can turn her face into his, drawing his lips in for a kiss.
His mouth is a crescent against hers and her eyes open as much as her heavy lids will allow her. She finds he’s already staring, his eyes so dark, she can’t even tell where his irises end and pupils begin. His gaze draws her in, calling her like a siren and she a sailor.
“Coming?” Steve asks, dipping his chin to nudge her nose with his again.
The knot at the pit of her stomach is on the cusp of bursting and she nods, leaning back in for another kiss.
“Come on, baby,” he encourages against her mouth, kissing her again and again and again. “Want it all down my arm.”
She feels her orgasm all the way down in her toes, rolling like a wave all the way up her legs, washing over her hips, belly, cunt. Her chest burns and throat feels raw from screaming as she unravels, her vision white, same as the hot bliss spurting out of her, all along Steve’s forearm.
“Fuuuuck,” Steve drawls with a sound of disbelief. “You’re squirting, babe.”
She can’t even find it within herself in her current state to feel shame. All she can focus on is Steve and his fingers and his mouth and his voice and how good he’s made her feel. Her orgasm feels like it’s lasted forever, as if hours have passed before she finally comes to enough to open her eyes.
Her vision is watercolor and she blinks the blurriness away. The setting sun shines down in orange rays over them and the steering wheel in front of her glistens with liquid, and then and only then does mortification seep into her cheeks, warming her face.
“Jesus,” she murmurs, covering her face with either of her hands.
Steve laughs beside her and it only further warms her cheeks, heart thrumming with humiliation.
“Steve,” she whines and he laughs again, locking his fingers around her wrists to pry her hands away from her face. With some struggle, he finally manages to and she feels his nose against her jaw, his lips pressing warm, reassuring kisses there.
“You’re cute when you’re shy,” he says with a chuckle. “But I don’t think you understand how fuckin’ beautiful that was.”
She laughs, more at herself than at his remark. “It’s weird.”
He rolls his eyes, his kisses trailing back up her jaw to her cheek. “It’s not—“
“Helllooooo, Earth to Planet Steven, over!”
The radio receiver in the passenger’s seat crackles with life and Steve sighs, dropping his mouth back to her shoulder, pressing a kiss there.
“Duty calls,” she says and Steve laughs drily into her skin.
“Later..,” he murmurs before lifting his face, carding his fingers through her hair as their gazes lock again. “…I’ll show you how beautiful you look when you come all over me like that.”
a/n: i have no idea how i’ve gone so long without writing for steve 😭 i’ve been in such a slump lately because of college BUT thankfully after watching season 5 part one, i got a little inspo so i hope you all enjoy (even though it’s far my best work 🥲)
💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply! it means the world! 🫶
an: i have not written in months but this ask revived a little part of me i think. i missed you and hope to have some motivation to write every once in a while…if you’ll have me. love you big 💌 (feel free to send requests as always and lmk what you think!!!)
masterlist here!!
summary: coming to terms with being hopelessly in love with your long term best friend is easy enough (it’s not) until the years of touching and tension come to a head on a visit home from school
(steve harrington x fem!reader) 18+ only
warnings: tiny use of y/n, fluff, cursing, teasing, messy kissing, spit, use of a toy, dirty talk, smidge of f masturbation, fingering, p in v, pet names, yearninggggg MDNI!!!!!!
wc: 10k+
There has always been something between you and Steve. Stolen glances and lingering touches that teetered right on the edge of friendship or something more. Drunken kisses that had your cheeks tinged pink and your heart racing far faster than normal.
Despite the tension between you, the heated eyes and sickly sweet pet names, what really warmed you was just how good Steve was. He’d held you while you cried, listened to you ramble on and complain about everything under the sun for as long as you needed and never made you feel like it was too much. That’s what you really loved about him, he never made you feel like you were too much.
Even when you got in those moods of yours, the ones where you pushed him away because you couldn’t handle how you felt and didn’t know how to cope with the thoughts in your head, he didn’t budge. He’d give you a kiss on your forehead, hold his lips there for a few seconds too long and whisper how he loved you, how he understood and how he’d be here when you were ready to talk about it.
Now that you think about it, you really can’t remember a time where you weren’t in love with Steve Harrington.
His ears must have been burning, your phone buzzing against your thigh has you shaking your head to clear your thoughts and you look down to be met with his name flashing across your screen.
“Hello, Harrington.”
“It took you a whole 7 seconds to pick up my call, I could have been dying over here.”
Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at him, laughing under your breath. “And I’m your first call?”
“Who the hell else would be my first call, princess.”
What you can only describe as a gasp gets caught in your throat and you hope he didn’t catch it. Your cheeks are warm and there’s a swirling in your tummy at the use of the pet name that has you gripping the phone a little too tight.
“911, I hope.”
His laugh is loud and without even closing your eyes you can tell it’s the kind where his head is thrown back and his eyes are squeezed tight. You know his throat is on display and you wonder if he’s cut his hair or if he still has those curls at the nape of his neck you love so much.
“God, I miss you.” It slips out before you can stop it, cheeks turning red in an instant. His laughter slows as if he’s sobering up and you curse yourself under your breath. Your mouth opens to say something, anything to dig yourself out of this awkward hole you’ve fallen into when he speaks. “I miss you too, sweet girl. I always miss you. All the fucking time.”
There’s a ringing in your ears as you let his words hit your skin, stick to you and try and worm their way into parts of yourself you’ve tried to keep locked up. He’s your friend. Your best friend. Best friends can miss each other, but hearing him laugh like that and just hearing his voice without being able to see him, to touch him makes you feel like your chest is caving in and it’s suddenly harder to breathe.
Steve’s the kind of person that takes up the whole room. All eyes are drawn to him as soon as he walks in, chocolate eyes that you swear to god sparkle when he smiles, deep dimples and a stray curl that twists against his forehead. And when his gaze catches yours, it’s like time stops. Everything outside of him is a blur and your whole body buzzes under his gaze.
At least you think that’s how everyone feels when they’re in a room with him.
He’s still in your ear talking about plans for the holidays and all the things you have to see, as if anything has or will ever change in Hawkins. He ends the call with a promise to talk tomorrow, but you know one of you will end up texting before the night is over anyways.
A gust of wind from your open window sends goosebumps across your bare arms, the chilly November air has a bite to it and it sends you back to a memory of Steve from high school that has a smile threatening to take over.
*5 years ago, sophomore year*
There might be a pink highlighter smudge across your cheek from the way your body jolts from a post study daze at the creak of your window being slid all the way open.
“You left your window open for me.”
It’s not a question, you both know that. Your body seems to realize who it is before your mind does, relaxing back into your bed and giving Steve a small, timid smile from where he’s crawling through your window.
Words don’t seem to be an option right now so you shrug at him, scooting over so there’s room for him to slide in next to you. It’s a routine the two of you seem to have, coming to each other for comfort, when you’re bored, when you miss the other. Really any reason to be together, you’ll take.
The bed dips beside you and a second later his arm is around you, pulling you closer so you’re tucked into him. “My own personal Wendy Darling, hm?” He chuckles at the blush crawling up your neck and touching your ears.
One thing you’ve noticed is that Steve almost always has a hand on you, like he needs to feel your skin against his if he’s in the same room. Like now, laying in your bed his hand has made its way up to your hair and he’s twirling a few strands between his fingers, tugging gently every once in a while.
It’s quiet in the room, the hum of the fan is persistent even in the cold because you can’t sleep without the noise. Your cheek is pressed tight against him, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes lulling you to sleep.
You can feel yourself slipping away when he speaks, the vibration in his chest making your eyes pop open. “Why do you leave the window open for me? It’s not really safe.” He laughs a little at the end, not sincere but you know he’s doing it to cover up the hint of real curiosity in his voice.
It takes you a second to answer, not because you don’t know but because you can’t fathom that he doesn’t know. It’ll always be open for him. No matter what happens or what changes between the two of you, you will always open it.
“Because I love you. Because I want you to know that this is always going to be a safe space for you and that you can always come to me, for anything.” You could go on, to tell him how the creak of the window is your favorite sound because you know that it means he’s here, that he was thinking of you. You could tell him how you’re so in love with him there’s probably not a thing you wouldn’t do to make him comfortable, to make him happy.
But you don’t. You look up at him and know that your eyes give away more than you like but it’s okay because so do his.
He presses a kiss to your temple and even though it didn’t seem possible, pulls you closer to his chest and smiles to himself when your breathing evens out and you melt into him.
*end of flashback*
Opening your eyes again, the coldness of your skin tells you that you’re not in your childhood bedroom in Hawkins, Steve isn’t pressed up against you, and you’re not in high school anymore. You look around at your too small but cozy apartment in Chicago, 2 years of college under your belt and an ache in your chest at the absence of the familiarity of home. Of Steve.
A ping from your phone has you looking down and just as you suspected, neither of you could wait until tomorrow and you can’t help the giddy feeling that takes over immediately.
Steve: Forgot to mention this, even though it should go without saying, but don’t make any plans without me when you’re home. Might even handcuff us together if I’m feeling crazy.
Y/n: You have handcuffs on standby?
Steve: Wouldn’t you like to know.
And suddenly the countdown to Thanksgiving break seems much more exciting and you realize you would very much like to know.
————————————-
The next three weeks fly by and before you know it you’re pulling into the driveway of your childhood home, a scarf wrapped around you because the heat isn’t working right in your too old car and a smile on your face at the sight of the front door being pulled open and your siblings pouring out to greet you.
No matter how badly you miss your family, it doesn’t take long for your social battery to drain. You’re tired from the drive and you’ve spent the last few hours answering questions about school and friends and even the weather.
Pulling yourself up the stairs takes effort and the click of the door to your childhood bedroom behind you sends waves of relief through your body.
But being back in this room is the same every time.
Your body is on clockwork, feet shuffling you across the room before you even know what’s happening and you truly feel a sense of home when you reach up and flip the lock on your window.
—————————————
Fingertips skimming across your forehead, then your cheek, then cupping your jaw, you find yourself leaning into the touch, even though you’re not sure who it is. But really you do. You always do.
One eye cracks open but it’s so bright you squeeze them closed again. When did you fall asleep? It must be morning, early by the looks of it. It’s when a thumb swipes over your bottom lip that your eyes pop open, mouth opening to yell or just gape—you’re not sure which. But before you can his palm is covering your mouth, fingers splayed against your jaw and a wicked grin on his lips.
“Shhh, s’just me. Good morning, princess.”
His reassurance does little to slow down your racing heart, lips tingling where his skin touches yours and you fight the urge to pucker them against his palm. It’s like he knows it too, mischievous eyes and a lop sided smile as he takes you in for the first time in months.
Between him waking you up and pressing his hand over your mouth, you haven’t even realized he’s on top of you, thighs spread over your hips and the hand not on your mouth is buried in the sheets beside your head holding him up.
You’re lucky you slipped on a t-shirt—an old one of his of course— before bed or he would be able to see the red creeping up your chest and curling around your neck at the smell of him. Vanilla and some sweet fruit you can’t bother to remember when he’s inches away from you. He must have showered just before he came, still damp curls framing his face and strawberry lips glossy from the chapstick you know he has in his back pocket.
Just as handsome as you remember, somehow more so, you can’t help the sigh that lands against his palm, your arms reaching up to wrap themselves around his neck and pull him down so he’s flush against you. You whisper his name into the space between you, what little there is, and feel him tense for just a split second before he’s molding himself against you.
It’s a little dramatic and a lot embarrassing when you feel tears well up in your eyes, how much you missed him and how right this feels all becoming too much. Blinking them away as quick as possible, you both stay still for seconds or maybe minutes before he pulls back, smiling down at you, eyes catching yours.
“Who knew king Steve was so desperate for a hug from me he’d break in at 6 am.” It’s mumbled against his palm that’s now loosely pressed against you, but he hears it all the same. There’s a flash in his eyes and you get to see them turn serious for just a split second before that glint returns. The one that tells you you’re in trouble.
“Oh I’ve been desperate for you forever, baby.” He doesn’t give you anytime to react or to even process what he’s said because in the next second he’s pulling off of you, giving a quick pinch to your cheek and winking at you as he pulls open your bedroom door to head downstairs.
“Now c’mon, I’m hungry and I can’t have my breakfast in bed with your family downstairs.”
A scoff of surprise leaves your lips, eyes wide as you watch him bound down the stairs, your family welcoming him with a chorus of hellos and welcomes as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
You’re pulling on the first clothes you see when your eyes catch on the window, a smile and a flicker in your chest when you see it’s still half open.
Breakfast passes in a blur. It’s loud and busy and no one lets anyone else finish a sentence. Steve’s thigh stays flush against yours the whole time, his hand coming to give it a squeeze when he catches you drifting off amongst the chaos.
It’s when your mom quiets the room, everyone going still that you stiffen under his touch. “So Steve, any new girlfriend?” Your dad takes a swig of his coffee, eyes cast down at his plate. Your sisters are holding their breath and looking between you and Steve with frantic eyes. And your mom is painfully unaware that you’re in love with Steve and this is the last thing you want to hear about. Ever. Everyone seems to know except for her and you can’t even be mad when she’s so genuine.
His hand is still on your thigh and suddenly it feels hot to the touch. If he’s nervous or uncomfortable he doesn’t show it, still wearing that smug smile that’s become his signature.
“Ahh no, you know me. Only girls in my life are at this table. Plus Robin.” You swear she swoons, your sisters too. And you would roll your eyes at him if it wasn’t for the way he was rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your leg, eyes darting to the side to catch yours.
The room roars back to life at his admission and you hate to admit how relieved you are to hear he’s not seeing anyone. With everyone yelling over each other no one seems to notice you lean a little closer to whisper in his ear.
“Good one, Harrington. You’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.”
Something must have changed between the last visit home and this one. He’s got a way about him that screams confidence. He’s always been cocky, but he’s more direct with you now. You love it. It’s always been intense between you two, flirting and touching.
But it’s been taken up a notch, a new level added to the game that you weren’t aware of. Because when he leans close and lets his lips touch the shell of your ear, you know you’ve entered a whole new ball park.
“It seems to have worked on you too with the way your thighs are wrapped around my hand right now.”
————————————————
Steve
It doesn’t matter that it’s been two days, the feel of my hand stuck between her warm thighs while we ate breakfast is all I can think about. The way they closed tighter around me when I leaned in toward her. Fuck.
I feel like a desperate little puppy nipping at her heels with the way I’ve been trying to spend every waking minute with her. We’ve always been close, but since she moved there’s this ache in my chest that only eases when I get a whiff of her coconut shampoo or when I feel her warm skin on mine.
She doesn’t even notice the way I watch her, I’d notice. My eyes always find her in a crowded room or on Main Street on a Saturday afternoon. They watch the twitch in her nose when she laughs and the way she subconsciously swipes her hair behind her ears even when it’s already tucked away.
———————————————
“Soooo, what are we seeing today?”
One of the things you loved most in the world was going to the movies. Whether it was with someone or by yourself, something about sitting down with strangers and watching a movie on the big screen just made you giddy. The smell of fresh popcorn and the posters lining the walls as you walked to your theater felt like magic.
And as much as you loved Steve, loved spending time with him, taking him to the movies felt like taking a toddler. It was always a huge ordeal, a hassle even, but you secretly loved it. He’d be on your heels the whole time, stuffing overpriced snacks into his arms and making himself sticky while mixing flavors of soda.
You could never tell him what you were seeing until you were there or he would pester you about who was in it, the plot, the filming, anything he could think of. It was endearing, how interested he was.
“Gladiator II.”
When Steve didn’t immediately say anything you turned around, peanut m&ms, twizzlers, and popcorn spilling out of his hands and some concoction of a diet coke tucked under his arm.
“You’re gonna make me sit and watch you drool over Pedro and Paul for almost 3 hours, you little freak!”
A loud laugh bursts out, your hand reaching out to tug on his elbow so he keeps walking towards your theater. “That’s not the only reason we’re here. Besides, don’t act so innocent. I’m sure you’ll be drooling too.”
He shrugs, his cheeks a little pink and a lopsided smile curving on his face as you make your way to your seats. You’ve no more than sat down before his hand finds yours, fingers looping together and pulling your arm towards him so it’s half on the armrest, half in his lap. It makes your heart race, especially when you glance over to see he’s staring ahead like it’s second nature for the two of you to be touching.
Which I suppose at this point, it is.
Normally the crunch of popcorn so close to your ear would have you fidgeting in annoyance, but for some maddening reason you find everything Steve does sweet. The little dribble of butter on the corner of his mouth doesn’t make you cringe, it makes you want to lean over and swipe it away with your thumb…or your tongue.
And you feel yourself fall a little further in love with him when he leans over and opens his palm to reveal a handful of blue peanut m&m’s for you because he knows that even though they all taste the same, those are your favorite.
Halfway through the movie you’ve accepted that you’ll have to come see it again, this time on your own—because even though you’ve been looking forward to it for months—your focus is solely on the brunette boy beside you.
Shoving popcorn down your throat is doing little to distract you from the warmth of his hand or his arm pressed tight against yours. You’ve eaten half his twizzlers just to keep yourself occupied and it doesn’t help that he keeps feeding them to you with a warm smile and a sly wink.
You find yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye the whole time. The wince of his face at the gore, the way his eyes widen during intense scenes, his lips parted just so. God! How does he look so effortlessly pretty watching a fucking movie!
There’s a hitch in your breath you hope he doesn’t notice when he subconsciously squeezes your hand or tugs it closer to him. By the time the end of the movie is nearing, you’re all but squirming in your seat at the sight of his bottom lip swollen and red from how he’s been biting down on it the whole time.
If it wasn’t clear he was enthralled by this movie, you’d be annoyed with him because surely he’s being this attractive on purpose! He’s doing this just to make your thighs clench and your eyes glaze over at the sight of his arm bulging in his long sleeve shirt when he shifts in his seat. His words from earlier come back to you and you fight off a laugh at the irony that you’re sitting here drooling over him for nearly three hours.
Tearing your eyes away from him when the credits start to roll is annoyingly difficult, but you try. Somehow willing yourself to act like you just paid any attention to the movie that you made him watch when in reality you only focused on the curve of his nose and the pout on his lips.
“Okay, you win. That was awesome.” The most you manage is a noncommittal hum that only encourages him to keep going, nipping at your heels as you weave your way through spilled popcorn and candy wrappers to the exit.
“—and I was drooling over them a little bit, but can you blame me? Did you see his abs??” You nod your head and hope that’s enough to satisfy him because now you’re feeling overwhelmed and irritated that you spent the whole movie watching your best friend like a freak AND missed seeing Paul Mescal’s abs.
“What’s your deal? You’re like…catatonic.” It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped walking and is a few feet behind you. He looks a little amused and you wonder if your face is giving away exactly how you’re feeling right now.
“I’m good, it was good. I’m glad you liked it, told you I know my stuff.” Plastering on the fakest smile you have, and he knows it too, you spin on your heel and only make it a few steps before his hand on your arm is stopping you.
You turn to him on instinct and almost gasp at how close he is, chest inches from yours and a smugness in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Is that all?” His voice is deep and maybe even a little dark and you feel thankful your jacket hides the goosebumps that cover your arms at his tone.
“Mhm.” Nodding and avoiding all eye contact you attempt a step back but it’s pointless because for every one you take, he matches it. Until you find yourself tucked into a corner of the movie theater, your back quite literally up against the wall, and Steve Harrington so close that every time he breathes his chest brushes yours.
“What was your favorite part?”
He’s got you, you both know it. You could give some basic, generic answer and have a pretty good shot of it being right, but Steve knows you better. He knows that after a movie you’re able to give detail about it, and right now you couldn’t do that if your life depended on it.
You open your mouth to make up some bullshit answer, then close it again. It doesn’t matter though, he’s pushing you further into the wall and leaning down to let his lips touch the shell of your ear before you can comprehend what’s happening.
“Was it when you were watching me chew on twizzlers? Or when I tugged your hand into my lap and laid it on my thigh? Or was it when I stretched and my shirt rode up a little bit, hm?”
If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be humiliated—though you’re sure that’ll come later. There’s a pounding in your ears and you know it can’t be normal for your heart to beat this fast. He pulls back just a fraction to look at you and you know it’s written all over your face. Desperation and embarrassment and want.
“Speak up, baby.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, eyes darting between his and the smirk he’s wearing while you try and come up with something—anything to say. But your mind is filled with him. Thoughts of him and his hands and the way he smells and the way his jaw flexes when he chews. The way his thighs fill his jeans so nice it makes your head swim and the way his hair does still curl at the nape of his neck like he knows you love.
“All of it.” It’s breathless and quiet and if it wasn’t practically on top of you, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did, loud and clear. You can tell by the way his eyes widen a little bit and that sick smile that you’ve become obsessed with grows.
He nods at you like he knew that already, and he probably did. Taking your hand in his once again and all but peeling you from the wall. Your frustration grows when he’s quiet on the drive home, humming along to the music and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s quiet when you get out and walk towards your front door. He’s quiet when he presses a sweet, innocent kiss to your cheek before telling you goodnight and walking back to his car.
Despite an attempt to calm yourself down you’re pretty sure you stomp up the stairs to your room, ripping off your clothes and slipping on one of Steve’s shirts that you stole from him years ago.
There’s papers from your physics class scattered over your bed from a sad attempt at studying over break and even though you know you won't be able to focus, you sit yourself down in the middle of them again and try to focus on the words staring back at you.
Anything is better than thinking about Steve and his stupid strawberry lips and his stupid hair that’s so soft and feels so good when it’s threaded through your fingers. Your phone is lying somewhere on the floor, ears perked and waiting for the tell tale buzz of a text or call.
But you hear nothing. Glaring down at your physics notes like they’ve offended you and feeling the urge to burn them or throw them across the room or rip them to shreds for not doing their job in distracting you. There’s no telling how much time has passed, ten minutes or an hour, you have no idea. But when the creak of your window opening has you almost jumping up and running towards it like a dog when their owner gets home from work.
Acting indifferent is pointless, he saw your true feelings plain as day earlier and you don’t have the energy or the heart to act like you’re not ecstatic at the thought of him coming back for you.
He pulls himself through with little effort, like he’s done it a thousand times—and he has. He carries himself across your room with confidence and ease and it makes your heart skip a beat. He hasn’t changed clothes and you wonder if he even made it home before he decided to turn back around.
Neither of us say anything, not when he takes my stack of notes and moves them to the desk across the room, not when he kicks off his shoes and climbs on the bed, our knees pressed against each other. I watch him take me in, doing a double take at what I’m wearing before he looks back to me again.
The tension between us fills the entire room, and even though we both obviously want it, maybe we’re also a little scared of when it finally snaps.
Steve
I think that I’ve been holding my breath since I realized it was my shirt that was hanging off her shoulder and making my mouth water at the thought of biting into the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. If you’re wearing shorts—or anything—underneath, I can’t tell and it’s making my throat dry.
It only took me just about four minutes of driving before I turned my ass around and all but sped back to her house. I climbed up and through her window without even thinking about it, like it was muscle memory.
“Steve…are you okay?”
Despite the genuine concern I hear in her voice, I can’t bring myself to move. I can’t imagine how I look right now, jaw dropped a little and eyes trained on my shirt draped over your thighs. My mouth is moving but nothing is coming out and if I look how I feel, it’s like a fish out of water.
We’ve been to the movie together countless times, but feeling her watch me the whole time, lip taken between her teeth and thighs squeezing together when I would move or grab her hand…it drove me fucking crazy. I love the back and forth between us, love the build up, but having her pressed against me and all but panting in my ear was my fucking breaking point.
My eyes only leave her when I feel a hand—her hand—on my thigh, the touch burning through my jeans and I know we both feel the way I twitch under her palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet. Is anyone home?” Her head ducks down to meet my eyes and I manage to huff out a small laugh that makes the furrow of her brows ease a little.
“Shirt.” For some reason that’s the only word that slips out of my mouth and I curse myself for sounding like such an idiot. Shirt? Really? It only seems to amuse her though, maybe confuse her a little as she looks between my shirt and hers—mine—before she realizes what I mean and blinks up at me sheepishly.
“Shirt.” Parroting my words back to me, we sit in silence for a few seconds before she continues and I feel my cock twitch in my jeans at the admission. “I know it’s yours it’s just…it’s become a bit of a thing for me I guess. It helps me sleep.” Her shoulders shrug like it’s no big deal but her eyes won’t meet mine anymore.
The back and forth in my head lasts all but three seconds before I’m reaching forward and fisting the material of my favorite shirt I thought that I had lost years ago and tugging her forward so she’s half on the bed, half in my lap.
She might gasp at the sudden movement but I can’t be sure when all I can hear is a pounding in my ears. Our foreheads are touching, noses rubbing together and mouths open as we sit there. Nobody moves, both of us waiting for the other to push forward. With the way I have the material fisted in my hand, the neck of the shirt is pulled away and a quick glance down shows she’s not wearing a bra under the shirt either. And even though I knew that, her pebbled nipples—from me or the cool air—cause a groan to work its way up my throat and I close my eyes in what must look like agony.
It is agony. Her smooth skin exposed to me, her warm breath fanning across my face and her eyelashes fluttering as we stay pressed together. I take another quick peek, tongue darting out to swipe across my bottom lip subconsciously and she fucking giggles when she notices. “Perv.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re right.”
I’m worried she might be pulling away from me when I see her hands lift, but that worry is washed away when her palm presses to the nape of my neck, bringing her lips so close to mine they brush each other when we breathe.
“Christ—are you gonna kiss me or not?” She sounds frustrated, almost as frustrated as I feel having her this close to me and not tasting her.
“I’m thinking about it.” And I have been for years. Probably will for years after this. Fuck I’ll be thinking about kissing her until I die.
“What’s it gonna take for you to do it?” Despite the edge to her voice, the glimmer in her eye tells me that she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. The back and forth that feels like torture but somehow also feels so fucking good.
“Beg.” Beg. I’m telling her to beg as if I’m not seconds away from slipping off the bed and to my knees, praying to her or to whoever she wants that I get to touch her or taste her or do whatever the hell she wants. I sound like an asshole, a smug one, and it’s slipping. I’m seconds away from giving her anything she wants.
Her eyes widen, a glimpse of what I recognize as defiance flashing in them and it makes my heart race a little faster—if that’s possible. But then she glances down at my lips, slick and shiny with spit and practically begging for her and I see her resolve slipping as fast as mine.
Hand slipping from the nape of my neck, she brings them around and it’s her turn to twist her hands into my shirt, yanking me with force I didn’t know she had and it feels so close, so good as if we’re sharing the same breath. “Please, Steve. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I need it. Need you. Please kiss me.”
It feels like every part of me is on fire, her eyes wide and pleading and I have to hold back a whimper at the sincerity of her voice, like she really does need it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push my luck.
“You sound awfully desperate, princess.” Despite the words coming out of my mouth, it doesn’t come out teasing like I hoped. It comes out in a whine that has me throbbing helplessly.
My hands are on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh there to ground me and I choke on a gasp when she moves her hands upward to cup my jaw. “Oh I am but…” Her words trail off, hanging in the air between us and I think I black out when her thumb comes to swipe over my bottom lip, my mouth opening automatically. We’re so close I don’t need to look to see if she’s smirking, I can feel it.
My lips close around her thumb, humming pathetically when I feel her press down on my tongue. My eyes are closed and I’m positive there will be little bruises from the way my fingertips are grabbing at her thighs. “It seems like you’re just as desperate as me, pretty boy.”
With a pop she slips her thumb from my mouth and I groan at the loss but before I can say anything she’s closing the distance between us, soft lips meeting my damp ones like our lives depend on it. I moan into her mouth as soon as I get a taste of the cherry lip gloss she must have been wearing earlier today.
The need to be closer to her is overwhelming, so much so that I startle us both when I push her back, mouths connected the whole time and cradle my hand on the back of her head when she falls against her pillows. Her legs spread for me with ease, thighs wrapped around my hips and pulling me into her.
“Not the first time you’ve been on top of me like this.” She pulls away just enough to mumble the words before she’s kissing me again, quick and hurried like I would ever go anywhere when I have her underneath me like this. Like I would ever go anywhere at all.
“And please god don’t let it be the last.” There’s a small chuckle that falls from her lips but it’s cut off with a gasp when I push my hips forward, the bulge in my jeans very apparent. It’s also clear she’s not wearing shorts. I can feel the warmth of her through her flimsy underwear and it makes my head spin.
There’s a string of spit connecting us when I pull myself off of her the slightest bit, my arms somehow holding me above her even though my whole body feels weak and pliant from her touch. Looking down, I could fucking cry from the sight of her. Swollen lips that are slick with our spit, glossy eyes and a flush that follows the curve of her neck and rests against her cheeks so pretty.
Without the distraction of her lips, I thrust my hips forward again and watch as her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open just slightly at the friction. It does little to ease the discomfort but I keep going anyway, feeling her thighs tighten around my hips and the rise and fall of her chest getting quicker.
She’s making these noises, these little whimpers that make my cock twitch and my arms threaten to give out below me. “I feel like a fucking teenage boy, but it feels too good to stop.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, raspy and desperate and beyond fucked out.
“I don’t wanna cum without really touching you.” I almost don’t hear her, my eyes roaming her body and landing on where my shirt has ridden up, her inner thighs a little pink from the denim rubbing against them and a wet patch visible on the front of her light green panties that have me taking deep breaths.
But once I do register her words, my eyes fly up to hers and the air around us is still. There’s a twisting in my belly that has my hips stuttering as I search her face to make sure I heard that right. There’s a second where she glances down between us and before I can even wrap my head around what’s happening, I watch her hand slip, skating down over her tits and then her stomach and slipping under the band of her underwear.
“What the fuck.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until she smiles shyly at me as if I can’t see the outline of her hand or the way she’s biting her lip because she’s fucking touching herself right underneath me. I’m like a bobble head with the way I nod back and forth between her face and her covered hand.
This must be a dream. It has to be.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud either until there’s a pinch to my thigh that has me yelping, a small pout on my lips as I look down at her. She looks amused and also pleased with herself that she’s got me so scattered right now.
“It is not a dream, Harrington. You are very awake and very much here on top of me making me do all the work.”
My brain is slowly catching up to what’s happening, the reality of it all smacking me across the face when I feel the brush of her knuckles—through her fucking underwear—against my stomach.
“You want me to touch you.” There’s no question. I might be telling myself instead of her at this point, I’m not sure.
“I want you to fuck me, but based on the looks of that—” She makes a pointed glance at my still very prominent bulge that’s pressed against her hip, “you’re gonna need to stretch me out a little first.”
Maybe it's because I’ve finally realized what’s going on. Maybe it’s the cockiness she has right now that, while very fucking hot, I have the urge to wipe off her face. Maybe it’s a mix of the two, because something in me finally clicks.
Balancing on one arm, I bring my pointer and middle finger to hover just over her mouth and smile to myself when she glances between them and my face.
“Get them wet.”
That mask of confidence slips just enough to make me smirk down at her, eyes round and dark as she hesitates. “I don’t think you need the extra help.” I can see her trying to stay ahead, to keep me on my toes with her smart mouth, and it only makes me harder.
Cocking my head to the side, I squint my eyes just so, a silent challenge. “And? Get them wet.” It seems to work this time, her lips falling open and head coming forward to take my fingers into her mouth like it’s second nature. She closes her lips around them without me saying anything and I have to fight off a groan when she lulls her tongue, pulling them in deeper.
I’ve moved off her just enough that when I thrust forward, my hips meet the air. Watching her bob her head on my fingers is maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, thighs twitching and eyes threatening to roll back in my head kind of hot.
The thought crosses my mind to let her keep going, to see how long she’ll go for but my resolve is slipping and the need to feel her is much more overwhelming. I pull my fingers from her with a pop, ears buzzing at the little whine that slips from her.
“Don’t pout, you did the same to me.” Before she can protest I slip my hand between us, pushing her hand away and teasing my fingers under the band of her underwear. I notice the quick intake of breath even though my eyes are trained elsewhere, her hips moving up just slightly so my hand slips further down.
Clicking my tongue at her I move my hand back, fingers ghosting over her clit and I smile to myself at the quiet fuck that tumbles out of her mouth. “Looks like you were right, honey. Don’t think I needed the extra help after all.”
There’s a light shove at my chest and a deep tinge to her cheeks, one arm thrown over to cover her eyes while I take my time feeling every inch of her I can. “Do I have to beg for you to finally just touch me, Harrington?”
While there’s a part of me that wants to hear it, there’s a bigger part of me that wants to reassure her that I’m just as—if not more—desperate for this, for her. I need her to know that even though I’m an asshole, she has me so tightly wound around her finger it’s embarrassing.
“I should be the one begging. I’m so fucking lucky you even want me near you, let alone to touch you. Don’t forget that. I’m the desperate one here, so much so it’s kinda pathetic.”
Instead of letting her say anything I lean forward and give a quick peck to her lips that she chases as I move away, huffing as she falls back against her bed. I take the opportunity to give her what she wants, circling her clit once, twice, three times and basking in the way her hands fist the sheets at her sides.
Her legs fall open, inviting me in and I notice my bottom lip is swollen and sore from biting down on it while I watch her. The feel of her soaking my hand is etched in my brain, the way she rocks against me to guide me where she wants me, the dimple between her brow from the pinched expression she holds while I ease the ache I caused.
It’s when I move my fingers lower that we both seem to be holding our breaths, my eyes on her still clothed cunt and her eyes on me as I slip one finger inside, cursing under my breath at how warm and messy she is.
This time my eyes are trained on her as I curl it forward, her body jolting under me. I do it again just to see the way her neck turns a deeper shade of red and her pleading eyes meet mine. It only takes a few minutes before I slip in another, groaning at the lack of resistance.
“Look at you, taking it like a champ.” Despite the way she rolls her eyes at me, we both know she can’t hide the way she pulsed around my fingers at the comment.
She opens her mouth to say something, probably telling me shut up or fuck off, but I cut her off with another curl of my fingers, her hand leaving the sheets and moving to grip my arm instead. “Fuck, Steve.” It’s breathless and needy and has my whole body feeling like it’s on fire. My jeans are tight and the zipper is digging into my cock in a way that has my hand twitching.
But I keep going.
“Yeah?”
“You had the right idea, no way could you fit me without this.”
“Are you gonna clean up the mess you’re making on my hand?”
I’ve lost control of my mouth, saying the first thing that comes to my mind while I watch her thighs start to shake, closing around my wrist. Her nails are digging into my arm hard and it’s making me throb.
“I don’t…I just…I want—”
My thumb on her clit while my fingers pump into her has her turning her head to the side to try and bury her face in the pillows. “Cmon, princess. Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t wanna cum on your fingers!” It comes out in a whine and my hand stills, pulling out of her slowly and watching her pout up at me. “What do you want then?” I’m enjoying this way too much to just give in now when she’s right on the edge.
“You know.” I do.
“I don’t.” Liar.
“Liar.”
I smirk at her, finally unzipping my jeans to get an inch of relief and feeling giddy over the hopeful look she casts my way when she notices what I’m doing.
“Do you really wanna keep going back and forth or do you just want to tell me?” She’s trying to look mean and I shouldn’t laugh but the little scowl she’s giving me is just so fucking adorable that I can’t help it.
She swats at my arm, hooking her finger in one of the belt loops of my jeans and giving it a small tug while she looks around the room like the answer is written on the walls. “Your cock, I guess.”
“You guess?” God if I was her I would have smacked the shit out of me by now.
“I know.”
“You just want to get into my pants.” I feign offence, a hand on my chest and a fake frown that I know doesn’t conceal the smugness in my eyes.
“Well I’m trying.” That gets a laugh out of me, a loud one that turns into giggles as I lean down to press sloppy kisses over her cheeks and forehead and tip of her nose.
She leaves a playful nip to my chin as I pull back, letting some stray strands of hair fall against my forehead as I hold my still damp fingers in front of her mouth for the second time.
“Clean up your mess first.”
This time without hesitation or back talk, she listens. Her mouth is warm and she’s messy with it as she licks my fingers clean, when she’s satisfied with her work she moves her head back to swipe her tongue against my palm. She cocks a brow at me as if to say “happy?” and I can’t help but nod at her.
Feeling impatient I push myself off the bed, standing beside it and all but ripping my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. I pause only once to nod towards her, “yours too, please” it’s low and muffled but she hears me anyways, lifting up to take off my shirt and I will myself to look away or else i'll never get these pants off.
Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants and boxers, I drag them down, hissing at the slap of my cock against my lower belly, the cool air sending chills over me. He swears he hears you moan but chooses to ignore it in fear of cumming untouched.
It’s quiet in the room and I feel her gaze burning into me. I take the opportunity to do the same, finally letting myself take all of her in and my knees threaten to buckle at the sight. Her tits are round and full and I swear they’ll fit perfectly in the palm of my hands. Her stomach is soft and I feel the urge to lay down between her thighs and bite into it over and over again.
“I think you’re drooling.” Her words are quiet and breathless and we both notice the way my cock throbs under her stare.
“I think you are too.”
Before I can move she’s reaching into her bag on the floor, pulling out a condom and I gape at her when she tugs me forward by grabbing the back of my thigh. She mumbles something under her breath about wanting to put it on but I’m too busy fighting the urge to cum at the touch and fighting the flare of jealousy that rushes through me as she slips it over me effortlessly.
Although most of that jealousy is soothed, wiped away when she leans forward to press a kiss to my hip, scattering them across my lower belly and to the other side.
“How do you want to do this, baby?”
I watch her glance down at my cock then back up a few times, mulling over in her head and I find it endearing. God I’m a freak. “I think I wanna be on top.” And it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and worship her, the thought of you on top of him enough to have him leaking into the condom already.
It takes a little moving around but soon he’s sitting with his back flush against the headboard, legs out in front of him with you perched on his thighs.
“You’re calling the shots, pretty girl. We go at your pace.” I see some of the nerves evaporate and a sense of pride tickles my chest. He likes being the one to soothe you.
But any thought I had left in my head is gone when she scoots up, hovering over my aching cock with a shyness that has me smearing our lips together so hard our teeth knock against each other.
A wordless nod is all it takes for her to reach between us and take the base in her hand, a hitch in my breath at the contact. She paints me up and down before the tip catches and I swear a vein in my neck is threatening to pop.
“Please.” The breathless plea comes from me and she takes mercy on me, lowering herself down so slowly I swear she isn’t moving at all. It’s so much, so good that I don’t know how I’m supposed to hold off at all.
She has her hands on my shoulders and I tilt my head to leave reassuring kisses to the inside of her wrists the whole time. What could be minutes or hours—he’s not sure he even knows where he is anymore—passes and the next time I manage to peel my eyes open she’s fully seated on me, little beads of sweat on her forehead and a flush on her chest.
“Are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut when she huffs a laugh, clenching around me.
“Don’t let this go to your head, but fuck, you’re big.”
“Too late.” God I know I must look like the most smug asshole that’s ever walked the planet.
Raising off me just a little, my whole body tenses when she shifts back down. The pressure, the heat, the slickness is making my head feel fuzzy in the best way possible. I let her find her pace, my hands on her hips helping to guide her and I’m humiliated when I feel that twinge at the base of my spine already.
“I need—talk to me, please.”
Pulling her so our chests are flush together, the change in position must be good because she gasps against me, face nuzzled into my neck while I whisper in her ear.
“There it is, yeah? This sweet little cunt is hugging me so tight, no ones ever felt this good, no one ever will.” I have just enough room to thrust up into her, her hands tugging at the curls at the nape of neck when I steady my pace.
“My perfect fucking girl, you know that? Been thinking about this, about you for years.” Her mouth is hanging open, warm breath hitting my throat with every little pant and moan that slips past her lips.
With every thrust I feel her nipples drag against my chest, her arms wound around my neck so tight it’s almost suffocating—but in the best way. I feel her flutter around me when she pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to her forehead from sweat. “I need—d-drawer.”
I reach over blindly, tearing open her nightstand and pulling things out before I even know what she wants. Still holding onto me she leans over, her hand swatting mine away and finding what she needs in seconds. A small, silver little thing—what I would assume would be a tube of lipstick if I didn't know better.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There’s a sense of pride at how unashamed she looks, confident in what she wants. I feel lightheaded at how hot she is, knowing what she needs and not being afraid to ask for it. It makes me twitch inside her.
She cocks a brow at me, probably daring me to say something shitty about her little friend but I just shrug, pulling her back against me and taking the bullet from her hand. “I’ve always been a team player, sweetheart.”
The buzz of the toy coming to life cuts off the eye roll she was giving me and I push her back so I can see where we’re connected. I’m not prepared for the way she clenches around me when I press it against her clit, my body jolting underneath her and moans so loud our chests rumble coming from the both of us.
It feels unbearably hot in the room, the smell of sex and sweat filling the space and making it hard to breathe. But that only makes it all feel better. Before I know it she’s back to it, lifting herself off and sliding back down while I hold the toy to her clit. The sound of it and our skin meeting enough to have my thighs twitching under her.
“Look at you, bouncing on your best friend's cock. This is what you needed, yeah? A good, sweet girl for everyone but me, right?” She’s too out of it to even care right now, nodding helplessly with her hands on my chest. There’s a stinging there that lets me know I’ll have some red marks tomorrow.
When I start to circle the toy on her clit, she falls forward, our chests pressed together again and her whines more high pitched. “Steve, steve, fuck! M’gonna cum.”
“Should I let you?” I’m bluffing. There’s no way I’d deny her anything right now. An orgasm, a ring, my car. Anything she wants is hers.
“You better.” Despite the attitude in her tone, it occurs to me that if I told her no, she wouldn’t. And that thought alone is enough to have me seconds away myself.
“Go ahead, princess. Be that nice, sweet girl and make a mess of me, please.” It takes one, two, three more thrusts before she’s tightening around me so hard my own orgasm barrels through me before I can stop it. My fingers are digging into her back, hugging her as close to me as possible while she whines and pleads for I don’t know what into my ear.
Holy shit. She’s all but melted into me, her breathing slowing down while I try to determine if I can even use my legs. Her pants and whines turn into small kisses against the shell of my ear, my throat, and my jaw while I curl my hand into her hair.
A small hiss escapes when she pulls off me and I should—but don’t—feel bad about the shit eating grin I know I’m wearing when she loops over at me from where she’s plastered to my side.
“Don’t start, Steve.”
“Well if I remember correctly, and I definitely do—”
Her hand is covering my mouth, face serious but her eyes can’t hide that she’s at least a little amused by me. “Let’s play the quiet game.” She’s no more than taking her hand off my mouth before I’m speaking. “Funny…weren’t you just practically begging me to talk to you?”
“Steve!” I’m laughing as I pull her back on top of me, legs twisted together and her head shaking against my chest as she tries not to laugh. I’m pressing kisses into her hair when she pulls off me, walking away from the bed and shooting me a shy smile over her shoulder when she slides the window shut.
The click of the lock fills the room and and the thud of my pounding heart in my chest fills my ears as she crawls back into bed, snuggling into me and letting her body mold to mine like I’ve dreamed of millions of times over the years.
We don’t say anything, but we don’t need to.
——————————————
His breathing evening out lulls me into sleep, my hand curled against his chest and my leg thrown over his, keeping him tucked up under me.
No matter how many times he proves me wrong, I can’t help but think it’s impossible to love him more. And he always proves me wrong. It’s the kind of love that makes you feel insane because how can I love someone this much?
He’s so good to his core, so attentive and kind to the ones he loves—and those that are nothing but strangers to him. But then he’s cocky and smug and on my last fucking nerve, but still somehow perfect. It’s annoying that someone can be so perfect.
I think it makes sense that we were friends first, that we got to love and know each other in a different way and just fall into the love we have now. Maybe they were always the same kind of love, just from a different perspective.
omg i love pathetic touch-starved steve soooo muchhh 😭 like what if you came back later to find him still sitting there on the couch all teary and still hard and you just coo at him and take his hand to lead him somewhere more quiet. and he’s so subby and embarrassed but you slowly start caressing his leg higher and higher, asking “this okay, sweetheart?” and steve just whimpers and nods until you start caressing is hard on over his jeans and he’s coming so fast while you call him a good boy 😩😩 what a pretty boy loser i love him
contents: reader with a vagina; needy, touch starved steve; semi-public handjob?; steve cums in his pants what’s new; dirty talk; teasing!!!!
[post in reference]
anon i want you to know that when you sent this eons ago it actually made my stomach flip which is hard to do these days so thank u for that and also for ur patience 🤍
“c’mon,” you goad. your voice is so sweet it almost makes steve feel sick. “what’s going on? you’re so quiet tonight.”
the porch is cold, which is a relief for steve. it snaps him out of his lust and frustration enough for his eyes to stop watering. but he still feels pathetic, sitting beside you while you look at him with furrowed brows. he doesn’t really need pity, he just needs you.
“i’m fine,” he says. his voice cracks a little and it makes him flush, even more embarrassed. “seriously. just in a mood. you know me.”
“a mood?” you ask. “what happened, babe? something at work?”
babe. his cock is growing again.
“no,” he rushes out, attempting to move away from your knee, pressed into his thigh as you face him.
but you chase him, cornering him into the side of the wicker couch. you reach for him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
steve shivers. and it’s not because of the weather.
you smile, your hand trailing down his cheek, past his beating heart, and resting warmly just above his knee. “pretty boys like you shouldn’t be so upset. do you need something, honey?”
his breaths grow shallow. he simply stares with wide eyes, pupils flicking back and forth between your hand and your face. his cock strains against his jeans now, so much so that it hurts. as if his entire body is suffocating and ready to burst.
“you are pretty, you know,” you continue softly, your fingers running up his leg inch by inch. slow, methodical. occasionally pausing to caress the inside of his thigh where it tickles. “is this okay?”
“yes,” he rushes out, his hands gripping the edge of his seat, the wicker digging patterns into his skin.
you lean in, your breath fanning across his lips. steve feels pathetic, his eyes fluttering half shut, as if you really might kiss him.
“i knew it,” you said whisper. “you’re touch starved, sweetheart. aren’t you?”
he whimpers.
“it’s not fair,” you pout, the tips of your fingers grazing against his dick. “you should have someone by now, steve. who would want to pass you up?”
steve’s breath hitches when you lean forward, pressing your lips against his ear, your hand moving a centimeter closer to where he needs you. your breath tickles his sensitive skin, goosebumps springing up along his arms.
“are you tired of your own hand, baby?”
he groans and nods, his head falling back when your lips lightly kiss the hallow under his ear.
you grin, and seat your palm directly over his cock. “then you can use mine.”
steve doesn’t think about what he’s doing. he can’t, really. he just bucks his hips up into your palm, moaning loudly at the sensation.
“be quiet for me,” you whisper, staring into his hooded eyes. “do i need to kiss you?”
he gasps, hips stuttering. he can only nod, a pathetic mess, his brain rendered inoperable. his cock controls him now.
you rub your nose against his and he closes his eyes, waiting. but salvation doesn’t come.
“ask for it.”
“please kiss me,” he whimpers.
you cup your free hand around the back of his neck to bring him into you. steve’s even louder when you’re kissing him. his lips move against yours precisely — he’s dreamed of this. he’s thought over and over about how he would treat you if he ever got to have you. being at your will is second nature to him. his tongue swipes against your bottom lip and he relishes in the whimper that slips out.
“good boy,” you pant, “fuck my palm, want you to feel so good.”
you shut him up again before he starts babbling. he moves a hand down and places it over yours, keeping the pressure steady while he ruts into it. his hips move slow, sensual, like he’s really fucking you. you and that warm, tight pussy he’s gripped his cock to just about every damn night since he met you.
“so good,” he groans, his other hand settling on your waist.
you laugh, breathless. he’s getting close. so, so close. and if you move even an inch away from him, he’ll die.
“i’ve got you,” you say.
he’s not sure if he was babbling out loud or if you’re just a mind reader. you move your hand up and down the outline of him, letting his hips rest while you caress his twitching cock.
“were you thinking of me earlier?” you breathe, your lips moving back to his neck.
steve’s toes curl. he has to make a hard, conscious effort to not moan like a porn star. “al… always think of you.”
“poor baby,” you coo, your bottom lip catching on his skin. “i was thinking about you too. before you even got here.”
“yeah?”
you giggle again. “trying to figure out just how big this cock is.”
you drag your tongue across his jawline and he groans loud, white knuckling the couch.
“wonder if i can take it.”
steve’s seeing white, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“would you make me?”
he’s fortunate enough that you move quickly to kiss him again when he cums. he shouts into your mouth, fingers digging into your waist, tongue sliding across yours. his calves seize, stomach tensing, cock pulsing a pool of cum into the starch of his levis.
“good boy,” you moan, his cum seeping through his pants and onto your hand. “so good, steve. look at this pretty mess you made for me.”
when he opens his eyes, his vision is black and hazy. a few white stars swirling in his vision, disappearing then reappearing rapidly. he can’t even bring himself to look, humiliation crawling its way into his fucked out brain.
“jesus,” he groans, more at himself than at you.
you bite his earlobe gently. “i’ll help you clean up. i guess it’s my mess after all, huh?”
steve shivers again, heart beating, chest heaving, his cock still pulsing.
need to be passed between jack and robby like a blunt at a party if i’m honest
tw: language, smut, threesome (mmf), dirty talk, bodily fluids (mentioned), f!reader, soft dom!rabbot, sub(ish)!reader, abbot and robby knowing each other really well, oral (m+ f receiving), riding, unprotected sex, creampie; please remember this is fiction <3 mdni/+18.
your attendings have had you like this forever, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it.
jack sitting sturdy on robby's couch, cock out and stroking with one hand while the other wraps around your front to flick at your nipple. robby kneeling in front of you to bump his nose into your clit before sucking it with a spit-covered tongue.
and you–at the center, reclined against jack's middle, one of your legs thrown over robby's shoulders, and squirming every time either of them moans. lulling your head, you blink at the fat head of jack's cock and stick out your tongue.
jack grins for half a second, obliging you with a rub of the tip along your top lip before just barely lifting his hips to let you slip it further into your mouth. eyes soothing shut, you whimper at the salt that flashes across your tastebuds as your tongue snakes along the bottom of the his head.
the groan this pulls from jack catches the attention of robby, who grunts at the sight of abbot cock poking against the side of your cheek.
"keep sucking him just like that," robby commands in a soft gravel, pulling away but kind enough to not let you steep in the cold of missing him for too long. he kneels on the couch, leg bending to slip inside you at the perfect angle.
robby bottoms out with a punched breath, head back and throat bobbing as he swallows to keep his composure. he can't look at you or jack when he starts to fuck you, every hit of his middle against yours jerking your mouth back and forth onto jack's cock.
"son of a bitch, she's tight," robby rasps to no one yet it still makes jack smile through his latest shuddering moan as the men ease into a sweet pattern. jack, pushing his member across your tongue whenever robby's pulls backward. robby, plunging himself as deep as you'll let him as jack draw out his cock until the only thing you can suck at is his leaking tip.
a noise–a single, muffled word–sounds out of you and robby doesn't stop when he tilts his head to hear you better.
"what was that, sweetheart?"
"harder," jack answers for you through a bitten lip. "fuck her harder, mike."
"happy to oblige," declares, a suave tint to his voice as he takes a moment to blow out a quick breath.
with one palm on your side and the other clutching abbots thigh, robby quickens his pace. the three of you gasp and pant at every buck of his hips that starts to slam into yours at a new vigor.
you're staring to forget how to think about anything else except the two men filling you full, and it's every thing.
"yeeeah, give me that pussy, baby. let me fuck my cum into you so jack can fuck it deeper."
you're drooling through your moans all over jack's girth, choking with a few gags when his head grazes the back of your throat.
"that's right," robby wheezes out at your wet coughs. "gag on it, angel. he likes it messy, don't you, dr. abbot?"
"oh, you know it, dr. robby," jack rasps back, nudging his cock a few inches deeper until robby can see the buldge in your throat. he lets his cock pulse for a few short seconds before pulling back and patting your cheek as you gasp for air. "fuck yeah. attagirl."
robby's hips falter just a tad and he releases a short wail.
"mmm," he hums out, resuming his rhythm with a flushed face. "'m almost there. this pussy's too sweet for an old man like me..."
popping his cock from your mouth, abbot plants a hand under your chin and tilts your eyes his way.
"use those pretty words and tell him how much you want it, gorgeous. how much you need him to fill you up so you're nice and ready for me... and make sure to use his first name, too. he'll bust quicker."
a sound seeps out from the back of robby's throat, and he throws a side eye at jack's wink. the look melts into hooded-eyes and a dropped jaw when his drags his stare back to you.
"fuck, i want it," you sob out, lids fluttering a little at the feeling of robby's cock still driving inside you, touching somewhere warm and deep. "want it so bad, mikey, please–"
"oooh," robby groans, softening into a round of shaking along with and clenched eyes as he comes cause that's just not fair. his cock twitches over and over again, hunching to spill out his load on unsteady legs.
robby doesn't slide out of you until he knows he's present enough to help lower onto jack. the maneuvering happens with practiced simplicity.
jack parts spreads his thighs in a backwards lean, while you clench and stand. robby grabs your waist as you tilt against jack, who plants a kiss on your shoulder before lining his tip with your slit.
"jesus, you weren't kidding, rob," jack breathes out as you sink down.
"well, it'd be rude to joke about somebody as pretty as her, wouldn't it?" robby teases, eyes big and soft while he stares into you. he waits until jack's cock is all the way inside you before once again leaning onto the couch, this time on both knees.
you groan while robby settles himself, smushing you between both of their bodies. he guides one of your arms to hang around his thick neck, and you hiss as jack wastes no time thrusting up into you.
"use me to fuck him, sweetheart. hold my neck 'n bounce on it," robby mumbles, hand placing over the one abbot has on your hip.
"he's big," you slur to robby, arm bringing him impossibly closer. his cock slicks between to two of you, half hard and already throbbing again. "feels good."
jack's hips flinch at your words, and he shoves his cock deeper. you meet his thrusts with determined bounces, groaning at the sound of your ass slapping back against him.
he might be a inch or two shorter than robby, but jack's thickness has him rubbing at your walls with a force that make you sound as cock drunk as you feel. robby swallows most of them with a feverish kisses.
"don't forget to breathe, j," robby reminds against your mouth.
"fuck, 'm trying," jack wheezes out with a huff not one second later, causing robby to smile. "she's just so fuckin' warm, man."
using robby as leverage you and jack form an almost brutal pace. you clench around him at the perfect time, and jack has found a curve of his hips that drag his head against a spot that makes you hold robby tighter.
you're creaming out something devastating around jack, robby's load blending with the juices as well as you ride the man.
"wanna come," you plead, legs becoming so tired that you have to stop. the pause is swiftly ended by robby, who clasps you tight with certain arms.
he and jack work in tandem to drag you up and down jack's member, and your hands reach out to clutch both of them. the two catch eyes over your shoulder, and neither find the will to look away. robby groans quietly, the friction of your stomach enough to have his own cock rock solid and leaking once more.
"taking it like a damn champ, gorgeous," jack praises behind you, sweaty and panting. "take both of us so well. how 'bout i paint your insides just like mike did for being such a good girl, huh?"
seeing that you're teetering on the edge, robby reaches to grab his cock and glides the head across your clit. the sensation is more than enough to yank your orgasm from you, and you wail out with pulsing walls.
jack is following you soon after, clutching you with ragged breaths, pumping you well and full with rolling eyes and a myriad of profanities. his grip wraps around your waist, forcing you to unhook from robby's neck and roll completely into his front.
using the space, robby takes a quick hand to his cock. his eyebrows pinch and his chest jumps, abbot using your pussy to out milking the last of his cum out just as robby finishes again with a grunt.
he presses his head at where you and abbot meet, spurting out impressive ropes of thick cum. robby continues to smear his load, abbot adding to the action by using his finger to rub what robby doesn't catch into your swollen clit.
when you try and squirm, jack's hand moves up to rest against your throat. he pulls you back even further this time, pressing as far as he can into the couch and keeps you still with a gentle grip around your throat. robby watches the scene with heavy silence and dark eyes.
"now, where do you think you're going?"
jack's question hits low and hot against your ear.
Summary: You're not even a little curious, which is probably why you, of all people, are the unfortunate soul to get an accidental dose.
Warnings: f!reader, smut with feelings, resident/attending, drug use technically, aphrodisiacs, truth serum, so much cum, like, one extended orgasm?, dirty talk, horny love confessions, implied breeding but it’s one (sexy) line, alternating pov (including jack’s but he ain’t in on the fuckin’)
wc: 3k
Note: My contribution to all the sex pollen fics going around. big thanks to @spookypeachpitt13 for inspiring all of us <3 gif credit to @/xxdrixx || div by @/strangergraphics
It’s hard not to be irritated when, even with all the studies, all the data, all the PSAs warning the public about the dangers, people are still coming through the ER doors writhing and groaning and begging, “make it stop, please make it stop, I’m dying!”
The research has been published, and the news has been spread—new party drug to blame for sudden cardiac arrest among college kids, new party drug to blame for serial assaults in downtown ‘your city here’, new party drug to blame for ruining every fucking relationship in your life.
All it takes is one hit, one breath, one drop of contact, and whoever was dumb enough to try it is suddenly desperate with insatiable need and lacking any filter whatsoever.
It’s an insane aphrodisiac that’s sold in vape cartridges (so, add lung damage to the list of why it’s terrible), and it has led to countless sex injuries, physical assaults, and probably a metric ton of divorces given the whole no-filter, say exactly what you think aspect of the drug.
You’re not interested in it in the slightest, the only contact you’ll willingly have being in the form of treating patients, and honestly, you wish you didn’t even have to do that especially since most of said treatment is avoiding greedy hands that try to paw at you and cringing at the steady slew of, ‘wanna fuck you so bad, please, please, suck my cock, need your pussy,’ and so on, all tumbling from the mouths of strangers as they sweat and pant and leak their arousal all over the hospital sheets.
You're not even a little curious, which is probably why you, of all people, are the unfortunate soul to get an accidental dose.
The frat boy is moaning and flailing, manages to knee you with enough force to send you to the floor, his shitty vape pen quickly following when his elbow slams into the tray it was sitting on.
It falls. It shatters. Close enough to you for a few droplets to land on your skin, close enough for you to smell the sweetness and breathe it in.
“God fucking dammit,” you hiss, locking eyes with Lena and telling her, “get Abbot now.”
He’s the night shift attending and therefore needs to be notified. He’s also responsible for getting you the fuck out of here before you can do anything stupid.
It’s not an if but a when.
-
It is too early for this shit, barely eight o’clock and Jack is already down one of his (best) residents. Out of everyone, it had to be you? Really?
Being short staffed is about to suck, but what’s even worse is that Jack knows that you’re going to be… difficult to control. He knows how this is going to end up, knows who he’s gonna have to call in, and knows the HR shitstorm all of this is going to cause.
At least you don’t fight him during the walk to one of the many empty rooms upstairs, no nurses, no doctors, no anyone to witness the debauchery that will likely take place sooner rather than later.
The aphrodisiac hasn’t set in quite yet, though Jack can feel heat starting to radiate from your body. However, your tongue is already nice and loose as you prattle the whole way upstairs, most of it about, “that fuckass patient. No wonder he needs a drug like that. Every frat boy looks like a fucking thumb, have you noticed that? And, no one wants to fuck a thumb. Like a goddamn video game character with all his appearance settings averaged out.”
Jack is trying not to laugh too hard even if it is kind of hilarious. Mostly he’s trying not to draw attention to himself. He can’t be the one you pounce on, knows you don’t want him to be.
He makes a grave error when he mumbles, “shit, you’ve got a mouth worse than Robby when you’re like this.”
Your skin pulses the way concrete does during summer—the kind of scorch that makes the road a little blurry, makes your eyes water and raises goosebumps.
When you whip around to face him, Jack’s heart skips a beat at the sight of your dilated pupils. Thankfully, you’ve got a one-track mind and it is definitely not focused on him.
“Robby,” you breathe, and Jack actually winces at the position he just put his friend in. Oh, he is about to walk straight into a hurricane. “Where is he—I want—can you get him? Jack, can you call him?”
“Was already plannin’ on it,” he tells you while running a hand through his hair. It’s really not his place to just volunteer Robby up like this. The two of you aren’t in a relationship, haven’t talked about your feelings, but they’re there and they’re mutual no matter how much both of you brush it off.
Jack has fucking eyes. He sees the way you look at each other. Everyone sees it. You aren’t gonna want anyone else to help you with this predicament, and Robby damn well doesn’t want you to let anyone else help you.
Which leaves Jack to make the judgement call.
“I’m gonna call him right now, okay?”
You nod emphatically, mouth running away from you again— “thank you, thank you. I need him here. You know I need him, right? Since I started working here, I’ve always liked him. Sooo much.”
“I know, honey. I am well aware.”
It’s kind of interesting. Pretty much all of the patients who’ve come in with this particular ailment babble all manner of filth, pleading with their providers to drop their pants and ride them, ‘just a little touch. Just touch my dick, come on’, horny shit like that.
Yet, here you are with huge, hopeful eyes, yammering on about how handsome Robby is, and how smart he is, how nice and talented and funny and you’d give him the world if he’d let you. It’s actually really wholesome.
Robby picks up on the second ring, “what’s up, man?” and when Jack doesn’t hesitate to tell him that you got dosed, he’s hit with a panicked, much too loud, “what? How?”
“Robby!” you call from beside Jack, and he has to swat your grabby little hands as you go for his phone.
“Not important. You’ve gotta come in. She’s not in the throes just yet, but she’s—back! Back, stay,” Jack points a finger at you. You make a throaty noise but stay a few feet away.
“Why are you talking to her like she’s a dog?”
“Oh, believe me, you’ll understand when you get here and she’s humping your leg like one.”
Robby chuckles at your outraged, “hey!”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just… keep her away from the general population for me, yeah?”
“Brother, I will do my best, but I can’t make any promises. She’s getting that crazy look in her eyes.”
“Jack, please,” Robby pleads.
“Stop talkin’ and start walkin’,” Jack commands before ending the call and looking back to you. “He’s on his way, alright? He’s gonna be here soon.”
You let out a shaky breath, rub your hands on your pants. “I don’t like this, Jack. I don’t like feeling like this.”
Still lucid enough to be scared. He’s not sure if that’s good or bad.
“It’ll be okay. Robby’s gonna be walking in before you know it.”
Something like a whine forces its way out of you, and you shift on your feet, thighs rubbing together.
“You need to go.” A plea unlike the ones he’s used to hearing from users. “Go, right now. You’re one of my favorite people in the world, but I need you to get the fuck away from me.”
He nods, “roger,” with a small smirk because aw, he didn’t know he was one of your favorite people. “But you have to stay up here. Do whatever you need to do. Trash the rooms, I don’t give a fuck, but stay here.”
“Get out!” you shout, eyes wide and frantic, and Jack listens.
-
Robby nearly runs into the sliding doors when they don’t open for him fast enough, having to stop short so that he sways dangerously before he has enough room to slip through the gap.
He scans the pitt for Jack, finds him elbow deep in a bloody trauma, but he still glances up at the sound of Robby calling his name.
“Eleventh floor!” he yells back, and Robby is moving once again, bouncing on his toes in the elevator as he watches the number change with every floor that passes.
His heart is beating so fucking fast, mind racing as he tries to prepare himself. He’s walking into trouble, he knows, but he is not about to let anyone else take care of you through this. No fucking way.
Of course, that means that he has to take care of you. He has to alleviate the pain. He has to fuck you.
This isn’t how he wanted it to happen. Robby’s been dreaming of getting you into bed for a couple years now, but in his fantasies, he’s able to draw it out, take it slow, take you apart on his own time.
Whatever is about to happen is not going to be slow. It’ll be intense—he has no doubt about that. Mind blowing, probably. But it’s about to be wild and blurry and painfully desperate.
Part of him feels bad about it, like he’s taking advantage of the situation.
But, he’s seen the way you gaze at him and care for him and want him. The only reason Robby hasn’t done anything about it is because of his position of power over you. It’s shitty, and there are ways to get around the hospital protocols, but it still doesn’t look good, has the potential to ruin your reputation.
These are extenuating circumstances, though. Extenuating enough for him to have tucked a certain tiny cartridge into the pocket of his jeans, so easy to buy at a gas station it’s scary.
But, it’s also necessary. There’s no way Robby will be able to keep up with you without it.
He stops just outside of the closed unit and grabs a pair of gloves off the charge desk. Bending over, Robby places the glass vial on the ground, then carefully applies pressure with his foot until he hears it crack. Not enough to shatter, but enough so that when he picks it up, a tiny droplet is already leaking out. He doesn’t need the whole thing—fuck no—just enough to get him through the night, so with a swipe of his finger, he collects the liquid then sticks it into his mouth and under his tongue.
Shouldn’t take too long.
Pulling his gloves off, Robby makes sure the cartridge is wrapped safely in them so that he can drop it all off in the nearest biohazard bin. There’s one on a crash cart on the other side of the doors, and he has just enough time to dispose of everything before he hears footsteps, an anxious pacing that turns into a sprint.
Robby sees you coming and physically braces himself, knees a little bent, arms out and ready, and despite his nerves, he grins as you launch yourself at him.
The impact forces a short ‘oof’ from his chest, a noise that morphs into chuckle when you bury your face into his neck. Something tingles at the base of his spine, spreads up and outward as the contact jump starts the new drug in Robby’s system. It only intensifies when your lips start moving against him, breathy mumbles that make his skin sing.
“Sorry, m’sorry, this isn’t how—but I don’t know who else. God, Robby—”
You’re clutching his hoodie, whimpering when he urges you to lean back so he can actually see you, so he can hold your face and rest his forehead against yours.
Jesus Christ, this shit works fast. He can feel his breathing quicken, his mouth buzzing like he’s tasted something sour, his cock filling out until it’s straining against the zipper of his jeans.
“I’ve got you, okay? I want to be here. Glad you fucking want me here.”
Robby cradles your head to keep you still as he kisses you. There’s no stalling, no gentle exploration, just a single shared breath between the two of you before it devolves into something filthy.
Tongues sliding and sucking, teeth sinking into lips, groaning and whining and, “fuck, please, please—”
Fingernails scratch down the back of his head, and Robby presses his aching dick against you, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. Lifting you with ease, you read his mind and wrap your legs around Robby’s waist, neither of you willing to break the kiss even as it turns sloppy.
The floor’s central nurses station, nearly identical to the one in the pitt, is just a few yards away, and Robby has you on one of the empty desks within a few seconds. It’s completely empty up here, but it seems like housekeeping still includes the vacant unit in their cleaning rotation. Stray computer cords and an abandoned printer on one of the counters behind him, but no dust, no spills, the perfect hideaway.
Stripping is a clumsy affair. Shoes are carelessly kicked off, and Robby goes for your scrub pants at the same time that you go for his jeans, your arms getting tangled together so that you have to pull apart and try again.
He’s flushed all over, feels like he is on fire, and when he sees how drenched your pussy is, Robby is surprised that his skin isn’t bubbling with the way his blood is boiling, scalding him from the inside out.
You stop him before he can drop down into a crouch, wants to taste you so fucking bad, but you squeeze his waist with your knees, glare and growl, “don’t you dare,” then reach up to to grab him by the neck. “Fuck me, Robby. I need you to fuck me.”
“Okay, okay, I wi—” He slides two fingers over your pussy, between your dripping folds, and groans low in his throat. “Oh, fuck, look at you. You feel that, baby?” Robby pants, his cockhead weeping with precum. The switch flipping in his brain is a near physical sensation, his filter disappearing in a flash as every thought starts pouring out.
“I’ve thought about this pussy so much—she’s so fuckin’ pretty, Jesus, can’t wait to stuff her so full…”
You keen, back arching as Robby slaps your clit with the tip of his fat cock, mesmerized by the droplets that splash at such a simple action, and when he slides up and down your slit, he can feel you soak him.
He can’t hold back, can’t help himself, plunging into you with no further preamble. It punches wounded noises from the both of you, a cracked sort of sob and guttural howl harmonizing as Robby sets a ruthless pace.
It’s insane how good it all feels, and not just your cunt as it sucks every inch of him greedily. It’s the flesh of your hips spilling between his fingers as he grips you hard enough to bruise, the way your skin slides against his, your hands grabbing at his neck, his shoulders, his arms, your lips parting wantonly, begging for his tongue.
“Thank god, ohh, thank god thank god—you’re so perfect, Robby, love you so fucking much,” you babble.
He repeats it back to you in an endless stream, the words you’ve both been swallowing— “I love you, too—Jesus, fuck, fuuuck, I’ve always wanted you. Day one, soon as I fucking saw you,” he’s struggling to breathe, confession breaking between each kiss, each lick, each lewd thrust, “knew you’d be mine—fucking shit—mine, mine.”
There’s a tightness in his balls and a burning in his gut, and Robby might feel bad about cumming so quickly if you weren’t already spasming and squirting around him.
He groans, low and raspy, “that’s my girl, that’s my fuckin’ pussy,” fingers swiping over your clit, back and forth, slapping, spraying, “come on, honey, gonna make you squirt ‘til there’s nothin’ left, keep cummin’, keep crying for me, just like that.”
Robby’s climax is a heavy pulse that electrocutes him, cum shooting from his cock in thick ropes, again, again, not stopping—oh, fuck, it’s not stopping, he just keeps cumming, and you keep milking more out of him.
Is this what it’s gonna be like until you work the drug out of your system? It doesn’t even make sense. Bodies aren’t supposed to work like this.
Your back is arching, whole body tense and trembling as tears leak from your rolling eyes.
“Stay with me, baby, sta-ay with me,” Robby croaks. He catches one of your hands and guides it to the place you’re connected, makes you glide your fingers through the cum that’s seeping out of you.
The sounds. The squelches, the suction, the slaps. Robby can’t believe it. His dick is still throbbing as he spills, so deep inside of you, and he imagines it painting you inside and out, every crevice, every empty space.
“I ca—can’t,” you gasp, nails cutting into Robby’s shoulders, “ohmygod, I’m still…”
“Me too, me too,” Robby pants, still fucking into you because he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to (and he does not want to). The remaining semi-coherent part of his brain begins to fade but not before leaving him with one, last question: “you on birth control?”
You mewl, nodding helplessly, “yeah, yesyes, I’m safe,” your pussy still fluttering and clenching around him.
Robby grazes his teeth down the side of your neck, makes you shiver when he rubs his cheek against it, and then, like some kind of predator, he promises, “next time we do this you won’t be.”
with the pittfest all hands, you can’t just stay home and leave robby to handle the trauma. your husband is less than happy to see you jumping in to help
tw: mentions of the mci, mentions of robby’s mental health, mentions of past miscarriages, unprotected p in v sex, sex as a comfort tool
a/n: yes i’m eight million years delayed on writing an x reader fic for pittfest but i couldn’t help myself! enjoy and happy wyle wednesday!
It’s the calm before the storm in the ED when you sneak in behind Jack, using your husband’s best friend as cover from Robby spotting you right away. Luckily, his back is to you as he’s giving instructions to the gathered staff. Everyone’s faces look drawn.
A twinge of sympathy for the med students who had the unfortunate luck to deal with an MCI on their first day grips you as you catch sight of their nervous young faces.
Still, you use them for cover too, slipping to the back of the crowd as Jack claps hands with Robby, mentioning the police scanner. You’d found out about the shooting from your best friend, one of the PittFest event organizers, and hadn’t thought twice about catching a ride with Jack. Or, well, threatening him into giving you a ride to PTMC.
Robby’s at the front of the crowd, tense lines around his eyes as he explains the colors of the snap bands. The tension and anxiety in the room is palpable and you can feel the dread settle low in your stomach, warring with the ever present nausea of the past few weeks. You press your palm flat to your lower stomach and say a quick prayer that the baby doesn’t act up. A wave of something - anxiety, nausea, fear - ripples through your body.
Towards the end of his speech, Robby’s eyes scan the crowd and your heart flips in the exact second he makes eye contact with you, hidden in the back of the crowd, partially blocked by one of the nurses. Or so you had thought.
You wince.
Robby’s eyes narrow and his sentence stutters as he skips a word, maintaining eye contact with you and shaking his head once. A silent reprimand.
You shoot him a sheepish smile and he crooks his index finger at you. Normally, you might be a little cheeky and ignore him, but now’s not the time. Pulling on a paper gown, you shuffle through the crowds until you’re in his personal space. He’s got a hand on Jack’s forearm, keeping him from slipping away - apparently Robby figured out Jack’s part in your appearance.
“Are you okay?” You ask immediately, worried even more than you had been this morning about your husband’s mental state. An MCI on top of the already hard day has to be taking its toll. He looks determined, but vacant.
He squints at you behind his glasses, mouth curved down in a severe frown. “I’d be better if you were at home, where you’re supposed to be. You should not be here,” his voice is low, raspy - exhausted. He turns his glare on Jack before you can respond, “and you should know better than to bring her here.”
Jack throws his hands up in surrender, looking like he wants to laugh a bit. “Brother, she threatened to castrate me if I didn’t pick her up. And you know I like my balls attached,” he explains, disappearing after shooting you a little smirk and a mock salute.
“Thanks, Jack!” You call to his retreating back and he waves a hand over his shoulder at you in acknowledgement.
Robby sighs heavily and you do feel bad for adding to his burden. But there was no way you could stay at home and not help. And you tell him so, leaning slightly into him and wrapping your hand around his wrist.
“You do not work in the ED,” Robby says quickly. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Just because I’ve been settled in psych, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be an emergency department doctor, Robby,” you huff. “I’ve kept up all my certifications and I was just working down here seven months ago.”
He scrubs both hands over his face, forcing your hand to fall back to your side. His hands muffle a frustrated growl and then finally, “green. You have to stay in the green area. Yellow if you absolutely have to. Sweetheart, I need you to promise me that you’re not going to get in the middle of all this. Please.”
His voice is ragged and it’s as close to begging as he’ll get in public.
You’re nodding before he can even finish the request, the lines around his eyes full of strain. “Green,” you promise, lifting up on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. He stiffens slightly, your relationship cleared by HR, but still kept private. “Be careful, I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispers, resting his forehead briefly against the crown of your head. “Stay hydrated and take breaks, okay? And if it’s too much -“
“I will be fine,” you cut him off. “Go save the world, baby.”
He laughs without humor and then is gone, pulling on a pair of gloves. You watch him go, foreboding inching in, a black cloud over your head. Shaking it off, you find Dana, gasping when you see her black eye. She waves off your concern and greets you with a quick hug.
“That man of yours,” she shakes her head. There’s a pinched look to her face that you don’t love. “He’s…”
She trails off and you sigh.
“How was he before this?” You grab up a pile of supplies and help her distribute them. “With the whole —“
“Adamson?” Dana finishes your question and you nod. “He’s about as good as you’d expect.”
Which is basically what you suspected. He’d already been off this morning and you’d barely heard from him during his shift. You’ve learned over the years of your relationship that he’s not open to psychological analysis or the suggestion that he needs to talk to someone, so you’ve bitten your tongue. But this is going to send him spiralling even more.
Before you can spend too much more time worrying about him, the first victims start arriving and then it’s a whirlwind.
You manage to keep sight of Robby every so often, checking in with Dana and Jack while working in the green zone. Eventually you join the med students - King, Santos, and Whitaker, they introduce themselves - in the yellow zone. They’re a good group, smart and efficient, and you barely have time to think. You’d forgotten that the ED is action, action, action on a good day and an MCI is never a good day.
And then Jake comes in and Leah’s dying, dead, Robby doing CPR and everything he can to save her life.
“Jake, please,” you beg him, pushing him back down into a wheelchair. “Let him work, Robby’s doing everything to help Leah.”
Tears well up in your eyes at the broken look on Jake’s face. You know him, have spent time with him, know how important he and Robby are to each other. You just don’t know how to help right now. He’s not one of your patients, he’s just a heartbroken kid that you’ve taken to Penguins games and teased Robby with. Adrenaline courses through your veins and your name is shouted from across the pit - Langdon, wanting assistance.
“Stay there, please,” you snap at Jake and run off to jump in on Langdon’s patient.
After that, you lose track of Jake and Robby and anyone that could give you an update.
“Seen him, Jack?” You gulp back a cup of water. Your hand shakes slightly, the water sloshing up to the rim of the plastic cup.
“Nope,” Jack shakes his head. “Not since…”
He trails off, not since Leah was called. Your stomach sinks and you nod, Jack’s attention already drawn away by Samira Mohan. You rub a hand over your face, tension keeping your shoulders from relaxing fully. Using the brief lull to take stock of your body, you find yourself grateful that the nausea is at bay. Your body is buzzing and you definitely need to use the bathroom in the next few minutes, but you feel okay.
The next time you see Robby, his eyes are red and you know that something’s happened. Your heart sinks to your stomach, but you don’t have an out to go talk to him. Pushing off the blood bag in your hand to Princess, you dart across the room, chasing after him.
He slips into one of the trauma rooms and shakes his head at you through the glass. He mouths “I’m fine” but his eyes say the exact opposite. You’ve been with him long enough to know that he can’t be bothered right now. He’s in trauma mode, untouchable.
And then all of a sudden, things quiet down. There’s no more rush of victims through the door, the ones being triaged are getting started on the process of transferring their care to different departments and to the night shift.
Robby’s missing and you spot Jack slip off to a stairway.
Resisting the urge to follow - Robby needs his brother now, not you - you finish helping with the transfer of patients, chewing on a semi-stale granola bar you’d found in the bottom of your backpack. Your stomach grumbles and you pat at it, murmuring, “we’ll see if Daddy will take us for a late dinner.”
A big hand cradles the back of your head and Robby’s lips press a soft kiss to the top of your hair. You lean briefly against his side and his thumb rubs an arc over your hair.
“How are you?” You ask softly, tipping your head back to look at him. He looks completely wiped out, more tired than you’ve ever seen him. His eyes look empty and it worries you, your lips parting to say something.
“Do you mind if we stop for park beers?” He asks, avoiding your question completely. Your nose twitches and your Robby-radar is pinging. Now’s not the time to push him.
“Okay,” you nod, turning to face him. While you’re blocked by his broad body, Robby takes the opportunity to flatten his hand over your stomach, fingers splayed against your scrub top. His palm is radiating heat through the fabric.
His head dips closer to yours and quietly, he says, “you didn’t stay in green, sweetheart.”
A faint laugh bubbles past your lips. That’s what he’s worried about.
“It was an MCI, Robby,” you sigh. “All hands. I’m fine, baby’s fine. Hell, do an ultrasound before we leave if you’re worried.”
A spark of life lights up his brown eyes. “Not a bad idea,” he tugs at your wrist. “Come with me.”
“Michael, please,” you first name him, out of the ordinary. But still, you let him pull you into a room along with an ultrasound machine. You’d be lying if you said you were completely unconcerned. Three previous miscarriages will do that to a girl.
He pins you with a glare, silently telling you to shut up, and you do. It takes him a minute to find the heartbeat and you hold your breath, too nervous to even tease him about his ultrasound skills. His free hand links with yours, thumb tracing over the back of your hand.
Just when it feels like it’s been too long, the heartbeat fills the room and you relax. Robby’s entire body seems to go limp and he mutters under his breath, “oh, thank god.”
He drops his head to rest against your shoulder, his big body crowding yours completely. You sniffle a little and rub your hand over the back of his neck. “I told you,” you whisper into his hair, “everything’s okay. We’re okay.”
“You still shouldn’t have been here,” he mumbles into your shoulder, wrapping an arm around your waist and squeezing gently. The ultrasound gel smears everywhere. He stands up and prints out the image, pocketing the strip. “We’re going to talk about your risk awareness.”
You roll your eyes and swipe at the gel with one hand before smearing it on the side of your thigh. Everything needs to be washed anyway. Or burned.
“Just because I’m younger than you,” you fall into step next to him, your hand bumping against his, “doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Robby pinches your wrist. “I worry about you, sue me. Aren’t you supposed to respect your elders?”
“Mhm, when they deserve it,” you wink at him, scooping up your backpack from the nurses’ station.
Jack appears and slings an arm over Robby’s shoulders. “Lovebirds ready for park beers?” He asks, energetic or faking it, at least.
“Lead the way, brother,” Robby gestures with one hand and steps away from Jack’s grip. He loops an arm easily over your shoulders and you tune out as they chat while you walk.
In the park, Princess tosses you a beer and you shake your head, tossing it back. No one but Jack knows about this pregnancy, but you still have a good excuse. “I’m working early tomorrow,” you frown. “And I’m going to want to crash when we get home.”
“Oh, one beer is nothing,” Mateo teases, cracking his open and chugging back half of it. You watch Javadi stare at him and it’s adorable, her extremely obvious crush. She reminds you a little bit of yourself, years ago when you’d first met Robby and had been wide-eyed enamoured with him.
“I already have insomnia,” you roll your eyes goodnaturedly, sitting on the bench next to Robby. You would usually sit on his lap, but with colleagues around it feels safer to be a little more professional. It’s not like your marriage is a secret, but you don’t like giving them gossip fodder. He drains his beer and drapes his arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. Princess shoots you a sly smirk and you return it with an eye roll and a shrug, leaning closer against Robby’s side and resting your hand on his thigh.
You yawn a little, covering it with one hand, and Robby rubs his hand over your upper arm. “Ready to go?” He whispers in your ear and when you nod, he stands, pulling you to your feet. Making your excuses, you wave to everyone and give Jack a quick kiss on the cheek, squeezing his forearm.
“Thanks for the ride,” you whisper. “Get some rest before your shift.”
Jack smiles at you, “you know I won’t. Take care of our boy, yeah?”
You nod and wave, Robby’s hand in yours to pull you along back to the apartment. The walk is quiet and you know he needs it, but you’re always worrying about him. The anniversary, the MCI, losing Leah, fighting with Jake. None of this is going to be easy for him to cope with.
Robby’s thumb rubs absently over the back of your hand and he’s humming a little under his breath, distracted as you walk. You pretend not to notice the way his eyes are getting red and watery, his face twitching with the effort to keep a neutral expression steady.
“Are you hungry?” You ask quietly, ducking under Robby’s arm when he holds open the front door. You’re starving. There’s leftovers that are calling your name.
Robby shakes his head and scratches at his beard. “Why don’t you go shower and I’ll heat something up for you? So you can relax,” he offers, reaching for you and pulling you against his chest in a hug. His chin rests on top of your head and you bury your face in his chest, your arms looped lightly around his waist. He’s shaking slightly and you just want to comfort him.
“Join me?” Your voice is muffled against his chest.
His lips press to the top of your head. “Any other day, I’d say yes, sweetheart, but today….” he trails off for a moment. “I just need…”
He needs a minute to collect himself. You get it.
“Okay,” you pull back and lean up on your toes to kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’ll be out in a little bit.”
You take your time scrubbing your body and hair, letting yourself cry. The sadness and horror of the day sinks in and your mouth fills with saliva. With the water from the shower still running, you lurch out of the stall and heave into the toilet, purging the granola bar you’d eaten and the emotions you’d been suppressing for hours.
Robby can’t hear you, thank god, so you finish up and rinse out your mouth to hide the evidence. He slips into the shower while you’re getting dressed and you’re curled up on the couch with a bowl of leftovers when he joins you, forty-five minutes later, hair still wet from his shower. He’s in casual sweats and a worn out shirt, barefoot and wearing his glasses.
“Hi,” he drops down onto the couch next to you, his head in your lap.
“Hi,” you murmur, setting your bowl to the side. Your fingers card through his wet hair, rubbing gently at his temples. “A little better?”
“No,” he laughs without humor. “But I’ll get there.”
You hum lightly and his head grows heavy on your lap until he shifts and rolls onto his other side, lifting the hem of your shirt and brushing his lips against your stomach. His beard tickles your skin and you laugh faintly.
“I’m still pissed you came to the ED, kid,” he mumbles against your belly.
“I know,” you reply. His hand rubs at your side, warm against your skin. He presses his face closer to you, his glasses going askew and you can feel his breath against your belly button. This is his favorite position to relax in, ever since that second line showed up on the test. Even though you’re trying not to get your hopes up and get attached, Robby’s been attached to every single pregnancy, taking each loss impossibly hard. You don’t know what another loss might do to his mental health and you pray every day that this is the baby that sticks.
He exhales roughly.
“I did everything I could,” his voice is shaky.
“I know,” you reply, steady. Your fingers continue to stroke his hair, tracing the lines radiating from the corner of his eye.
Robby’s shoulders start to shake as he cries into your stomach, arms wrapped around your waist, anchored. Your heart cracks in half for him, for the people at PittFest, for Jake.
There’s nothing you can do now except hold onto him, so that’s what you do. Whispering for him to cry it out and that it’ll be okay, you let him cry it out, soaking your skin with tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his shoulders tightening as he physically pulls himself back together. “I’m okay.”
He sits up, his back to you as he scrubs at his face, a few broken sounding noises escaping him.
“No, you’re not,” you squeeze his bicep, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Today was a terrible day, baby, it’s okay to admit that.”
“I just don’t want to think about it,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch. “It’s…not just…there was so much.”
Your hand slides under his shirt and you dig your thumb into the knotted muscles of his back, his satisfied groan vibrating through his body. You press a kiss to his shoulder and rest your forehead there.
“I’m here when you want to talk,” you whisper. He nods and you let your hand roam around his side and over his stomach. The coarse hair of his happy trail tickles your fingers and you scratch your nails through it, enjoying the low rumble from his chest.
Robby drops his head to his chest and his hand covers yours, squeezing your fingers once before guiding it to the band of his sweats.
“I don’t want to think, I don’t want to talk, sweetheart,” he whispers and you nod against his shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” you murmur, kissing the back of his neck. Your hand dips below the band of his sweats and he exhales shakily as your hand wraps around the base of his hardening cock. “I’ve got you, let me take care of you.”
It’s not sexy, the way you nudge Robby onto his back, shimmy his sweats down his hips to free his cock. It’s utilitarian, for speed and his comfort. Your sweats get tossed to the floor, panties following just as quickly so you can straddle Robby’s lap. He sighs, melting back into the couch, but one hand reaches out and lifts the hem of your shirt to tuck it up under the band of your sports bra, leaving your stomach exposed.
“God, thank god,” he breathes - habit more than anything, you know he and God have a very complicated relationship, both hands splaying over your stomach and the curve that’s mostly bloat this early in the pregnancy. His thumbs dip low under your belly button, the heat of his skin on yours and the feel of his cock throbbing against your inner thigh has you wet. Tears well up in his eyes and you lean down to kiss him, trapping his hands between your bodies.
“We are okay, Michael,” you whisper into his mouth. “Just turn your brain off and let me make you feel good, okay?”
He nods desperately and you shift on his lap, bracing your hands against his stomach to lift up on your knees. He helps you, grabbing his cock by the base and pumping himself roughly, almost as punishment for the day, for his age, who knows. You’ve never minded the twenty-five year age difference, never minded that sometimes it takes him a minute to be ready, but now you can see the frustration creasing his face. A growl works its way out of his throat and you wrap your hand around his, stopping him.
“Hey, we’ve got all night,” you murmur, slowing down his strokes and lining up the head of his cock at your entrance. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re relaxed, my love.”
You sink down on him, groaning until your ass meets his thighs, his cock fully seated inside of you. It’s not completely hard yet, but you know he’ll get there and you’ll feel overwhelmingly full. Even now, there’s a good stretch and burn from the thickness of his cock.
“So good, fuck, baby you feel amazing,” Robby whines, shifting his hips and exhaling heavily. You clench around him and he groans, thick cock twitching inside you.
You smooth your hands over his chest, setting an easy, slow pace with your hips, enjoying watching him come undone. His hands never leave your stomach and you know it’s a self-soother for him. Ever since the positive test, his hands have been on your stomach as much as possible, finding it in his sleep and when he’s helping you cook.
At some point, you slide forward, changing the angle of your hips and Robby moans at the rub of his cock against your g-spot, arousal dripping from your cunt and soaking the hair at the base of his cock. He babbles incoherently, your name like a prayer falling from his lips. He looks wrecked and it’s not just from your core clenching around him, it’s deeper than that and he’s still holding back. You can see the tightness in his shoulders and chest.
“Robby, baby, let go,” you murmur, curling your hand around his jaw and thumbing at his bottom lip. He opens his mouth slightly and you press your thumb past his teeth, a tingle making your toes curl when he wraps his lips around the digit and sucks gently. “Fill me up, okay? Fill me up and remember that you’re gonna be okay.”
His groan vibrates your entire body and you snap your hips, bouncing on his cock even though your knees are starting to creak and your thighs are starting to burn. It doesn’t take long, you rub your free hand over his chest, almost as hard as if you were checking for a pain response and Robby whines as he comes, filling you with hot ropes of come.
“There you go,” you coo, breathless. “Feels good, huh? If I wasn’t already carrying your baby, that might’ve done it, right? Going to take such good care of me and our baby, aren’t you, Daddy?”
“Fuuuck,” he grits out the curse, your thumb falling from his mouth. More come fills you and you roll your hips slowly, prolonging his orgasm. “Sweetheart, fucking angel -“ he can’t manage a full sentence and his head falls back against the couch, his fingers tightening on your waist.
One more grind of your clit against the base of his cock has you falling over the edge too and you shiver through the orgasm, draping yourself over Robby’s chest and rubbing your face against the worn out cotton of his shirt. Robby’s hands migrate to rest on your lower back and his cock twitches and softens inside of you, but you don’t make any efforts to move.
His heartbeat is fast, but steady under your cheek. It’s reassuring and comforting and you press a kiss to his chest, his arms tightening around you.
“Thank you,” he mumbles against your hair, kissing your head.
“Any time,” you giggle faintly, yawning and snuggling closer.
Eventually you’ll have to get up, but right now you let Robby hold you as long as he needs.
PLEASE expand on just the tip with knight!steve.. i’m talking about the lead up… during… aftermath
ur doing so amazing ily <3
reader with a vagina and breasts; virginity talk; slight breeding kink :/
anon ily…. you’re doing amazing too!!!
the lead up: there was a feast and you both got a little too tipsy. steve offered to escort you back to your room for the night as he’s doing rounds in your area of the castle in a while, after he sobers up, anyway. you mumbled some suggestive things and steve’s judgement was a little hazy and when you made it to your chambers, you pulled him inside. kissed him until he’s left breathless, grabbed his hands and put them on your chest. lifted your skirts to sit down on him and grind. pulled his hair. and eventually he was ‘helping you undress’ as if he was being chivalrous. but of course he ended up on his knees, eating you out while you were sprawled on the bed above him.
during: he makes you cum with his mouth and assumes that’s it. that’s basically all he really can do and he is NOT about to ask royalty to give him a handjob. so he stands, wiping his mouth with his thumb and sucking your taste back into his mouth. you’re panting, breathless, and you wrap your legs around him to pull him in close. your wet cunt pressing against the metal. and you’re begging him, begging him, to just give you a little bit. you need to feel him. he is unfortunately very easy to convince, nodding his head.
he has restraint. it’s part of the job! not a problem. and he takes a while to shed his clothing and armor off but when he’s finally free you’re immediately pulling him towards you, once again wrapping your legs around his hips.
it hits him all at once that you’re a virgin. that he can’t soil you. so he’s like, your highness, i can’t — but then your soft hand reaches for his shaft and you guide it to his entrance and you’re pleading with your pretty eyes.
he tells you it’ll hurt. you don’t care. he tells you it’s dangerous. you don’t care. you’re crying now because you’re frustrated and you always get what you want.
steve shivers when he pops inside of you. gasping, groaning, resting his head on your shoulder. you’re telling him how fucking big he is and it’s making him ache. his body is begging him to thrust all the way into your tight, wet heat. it takes so much effort to not listen to his desires.
you tell him to move. his tip wetly pushes in and out of you. you’re so tight. every time you suck him back in, he’s whining. and the sounds are so vile. your cunt is gushing. you’re crying. steve’s panting and groaning and begging himself to not push in.
steve’s telling you he can’t do this. because he’s going to really fuck you if he doesn’t pull out now. he’s bartering with you — he’ll give you anything else. his fingers, his mouth again. he’s rambling. and all it takes is for you to tighten up around him the next time he inches into you. then he bottoms out, both of you crying out, your hands tangling painfully in his hair. he’s apologizing, the color drained from his face because he just took your virginity.
but you don’t let him pull out. you wrap your shaking legs around his hips.
he’s begging you. voice cracking. you feel so good and he’s so pent up and he cares for you so much that he might fuck you so hard it hurts you. and he wants your first time to be special!!
but you convince him. just a few more thrusts, just until it doesn’t hurt you anymore. until you’re used to the stretch. you’re both shaking heavily, gasping and grunting. he has to physically move his body away from yours, cock pulling out of you with a wet squelch, shaking his head because he totally fucked up.
after: you’re crying, frustrated. steve’s also frustrated. but he shushes you, apologizes, tells you that you deserve better and also that if he keeps going he’s a dead man. so he replaces his cock with his fingers, coaxing another orgasm from you, watching with awe how you writhe and pant and moan. he cleans you up with his tongue when you come, and he assumes that’s it. then you’re begging to touch him, and you wrap your hand around his shaft again. you ask him to teach you how to do it because you never have before. and he coaxes you through giving him a handjob. almost cums when you spit in your hand to lube him up. and he ends up coming on your stomach :( and you’re like :( what a waste :( if you did that inside of me we could have a child together :(
contents: reader with a vagina and breasts; first time oral sex!! (reader receiving); pussy drunk steve; two friends who run in the same circle fucking (my fave)
It’s only you and Steve at the bar now. And it’s a nice bar, one in the city that he’s recently moved to with his friend - and your friend - Robin. It’s not a dive, and the drinks definitely aren’t cheap — it’s more of a club than anything. Perhaps that’s why you both stayed when everyone left. Or perhaps it’s something different.
You’re clinging on to any conversation you can have. Nearly forcing it, trying to think of anything. Asking him so many questions, even ones that you already know the answer to. You’d met Steve through mutual friends three months ago and you’re desperate to know him more.
Eventually, and you’re not exactly sure how, it turns sexual.
Steve looks a little embarrassed, shy, his finger running along the rim of the glass holding his watered down rum and coke. It’s a weird thing to be discussing, and you keep your voices low, as if anyone could hear you over the blasting music.
“So, I — yeah,” he sighs. “Six months.”
You take a long drink of your cocktail. It’s also watered down and tastes like shit, but you need it to keep talking. “I can’t believe you don’t have a girlfriend.”
Steve laughs softly, sitting back and looking away from you. He shrugs with one shoulder, threading his fingers together and resting his hands on his stomach.
“Neither can I,” he sighs, lips upturned slightly.
Finally, he looks at you.
“When was your last time?”
You swallow hard and try to think. “Maybe three months ago?”
“One night stand?”
You bring your glass back up to your lips. “You know it.”
He hums. A silence washes over you.
“What do you miss?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“About having sex.”
Your brows furrow and you laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know.”
“There’s gotta be something,” he presses, leaning across the table slightly. “You like getting eaten out?”
You’re so taken aback by the question that you freeze. Steve just stares at you, brown eyes looking at you intensely. Or maybe it isn’t intense. Actually, this entire thing feels like a dream.
“Do you?”
You stare a moment longer. “I’ve never done that.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve never been… like. That’s never happened to me.”
He looks shocked. “You’re kidding.”
“That’s not really something men I’ve been with are interested in.”
Steve still looks floored by this information.
“You like it?” you ask.
He clears his throat. “Probably what I miss most, actually.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way.”
You both sip on your drinks a little more, finally looking away from each other. You decide to play this one cool and not take it too seriously. It’s late, and you’ve had a few drinks, and you’re both just talking without thinking. Surely.
You open your mouth to make a joke, but Steve talks first.
“Do you want to be eaten out?”
Long pause. You laugh. “What, are you offering?”
And he nods. Slowly. Eyes intense.
You laugh again, because you don’t know what else to do.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Are you serious?”
“You’ve never had it done to you, and I haven’t done it in a long time. Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, enough to make it bleed.
“I don’t have a roommate,” you finally say. Because if he’s offering, you won’t say no.
“Tell me the address and I’ll get a cab.”
The taxi ride is long and awkward. You both keep your hands to yourself and you don’t talk. You both stare out the window. You adjust in your seat a few times because, yes, you’re already wet, though you definitely won’t believe this is happening until his mouth is actually on you.
Your heels click against the pavement as you walk towards your complex’s front door, fishing your keys out of your bag. Steve’s on your heels. When you pause to unlock it, Steve gently settles his hand on your lower back. It makes your fingers tremble, and you struggle getting the key into the lock.
You take a deep breath when you finally get into your place. You step out of his way, bending down to unclasp your heels. Steve makes it there before you, though, kneeling and gently taking your calf into his hand. You hold it there for him while he takes the first one off of you, then the second.
You both stare at each other the entire time.
“Is this foreplay?” you breathe. Trying to keep it light, lest you faint.
Steve smiles, running his hands up along the back of your calves and stopping halfway up your thighs.
“I don’t know. Is it?”
He stands and simply kicks his own loafers off. He’s so pretty in the golden glow of your lamplight. More than pretty. Handsome, gorgeous, beautiful. It makes you shy.
“Can I say something?” he says softly. “Well, a few things.”
You nod.
“We don’t have to do this. Whenever you say stop, we will. Doesn’t matter what’s happening, okay? Tell me to leave and I’ll do it.”
You nod. “Thank you.”
“Do you trust me?”
“If Robin trusts you, then so do I.”
He smiles softly. “I’ll take it slow. If you don’t like something, tell me.”
“How slow?” you tease gently.
Steve pulls you in, his arms around your waist. “Very slow. I hope you’re as patient as you are pretty.”
You roll your eyes but your cheeks burn.
“You really are pretty,” he says softly.
Your legs are already shaking. “So are you.”
He licks his lips, quickly, like he’s contemplating something.
“Can I kiss you?”
Your stomach somersaults. “Of course.”
When he said slow, he meant it. Everything is slow. His mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. Getting you onto your bed took ten minutes. Kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your top took another ten. He spent ten just on your tits alone, which you emphatically agreed to let him do.
Steve eventually gets to where you both want him to. He pushes your skirt up to your waist slowly, and he gasps a little when he sees you on display for him, in your underwear. Thighs spread, the thin cotton soaked through.
“This is embarrassing,” you groan, twitching to close your thighs, but Steve’s big hands keep them open.
“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. You look beautiful.”
You inhale shakily. “I don’t know if I can look at you.”
“That’s okay,” he says softly. “Don’t have to. Look wherever you want.”
So you lay back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. It feels like you’re on an examination table.
But then Steve’s soft lips kiss your inner thighs. You shiver, his mouth tickling the sensitive skin. He alternates between the two, tongue flicking out to taste your skin.
“Jesus Christ,” you sigh.
“Feels good?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Really good.”
You feel him smile against your skin. He sucks at it, leaves little nips then kisses it better. Your hands grip the sheets, cunt clenching around nothing, leaking so much you can feel it.
Steve makes his way to the apex of your thigh and pelvis. There’s a pause, and then his nose is pressed against your core.
He inhales.
“Holy. Shit.”
He laughs breathlessly, his fingers dipping into your waistband. “You smell so good.”
You’re panting, a complete mess above him. It’s sort of humiliating. You can’t remember the last time someone treated you like this — putting you first, moving slow, savoring you.
“Can I take these off?”
You swallow harshly. “I’m still embarrassed.”
“We don’t have to,” he says, “but I hope you know that I’ll get pussy drunk no matter what. And I know it’s cute.”
“I don’t shave,” you confess.
“I know,” he groans, “Can see it poking out. I love it.”
“Wow,” you whisper. Genuinely awed.
“Can I?” he repeats.
“Yes,” you say quickly.
You feel him slowly — slowly — peel your underwear off of you. He groans so lowly in his chest that you feel the vibration. The fabric falls to your ankles, then onto the floor.
“Is it okay?” you ask.
Steve’s hands wrap around the underside of your thighs and he pulls you closer, keeping you steady.
“More than okay.”
His breath is hot against you. It’s quiet for a moment, and you sneak a glance down to see what he’s up to.
You understand why he said he gets pussy drunk.
He’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Staring at your pussy with hooded eyes, fixated on you. He licks his lips and gently runs his fingers through the patch of hair above where you need him.
He looks up to see you, and smirks. Your heart falls into your stomach and bounces back up.
“Can I?”
You nod.
“Say it,” he presses.
“Please?”
You’re a loud, writhing mess the moment he mouths at you. It’s such a strange and foreign feeling. Your hips jerk, but his arms keep you in place for him.
“Oh, wow,” you breathe.
He chuckles. “Wanna feel something really good?”
His tongue licks a deep, long stripe up your folds. It catches on your hole and your clit. You nearly scream, back arching, your hands flying to his hair.
Steve moans loudly.
“Oh my god.” His voice is desperate, wrecked.
“Holy shit,” you repeat, chest heaving.
Steve does it again. And again.
“Tastes so goddamn good.” He practically growls it.
“What - what does it t-taste like?”
He licks at you again, groaning. “Like honey.”
Your eyes roll back. He pulls you closer to his mouth, eyes flicking up to you, keeping that slow and steady pace, savoring you.
“Steve — Steve — oh my fuckin’ god.”
His hips grind into your mattress. You sneak a glance at him again. He’s wrecked. Soft, brown hair a mess between your fingers. His eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. His cheeks pink, his mouth hungry.
“You’re so fucking hot,” you moan.
He makes a noise you’ve never heard before and flicks his tongue against your clit before dragging it back down to your hole. He tapers his tongue and fucks into it, breathing heavily, moaning.
When his lips wrap around your clit, you see stars. Eyes rolling back, hips bucking, and you’re not coming but you’re so immensely close just from five minutes of his work, if that.
Steve’s starving for it. Getting louder and louder, putting more into his movements, mouth moving faster. He humps against your bed, pulling you in as tight as he can.
“You’re — y — c-can you breathe?”
He hums against your clit, lips sucking at it. “Mhm.”
You don’t believe him, but he seems into it nonetheless. You try not to squeeze your thighs around him too much, but it’s difficult. Especially when he starts finding what drives you crazy, what makes you loud.
“That’s right,” he groans between your legs. “Take what you want.”
No one has ever said that to you before. Your stomach twists, pressure building and building and building.
“So good, so good, so good,” you ramble, hips grinding on him.
His nose feels amazing on your clit.
Steve whimpers, and you push his hair back away from his sweaty forehead to see him. He’s gorgeous, such a vision. Fucking you with his hot, wet tongue like he’s worshipping you.
“Taste so good,” he moans, pulling away ever so slightly, enough for you to hear him. Voice thick and rough. “Haven’t had a pussy like this in so long.”
“I’m going to — I’m —“
He keeps his movements steady and he watches you. He doesn’t miss a single expression. Your eyes roll back hard, legs shaking, hips rutting, chest heaving.
“So goddamn beautiful.”
That’s what makes you break. You cry with a shout, which is nearly drowned out by Steve’s own moans. You gasp for air, dizzy, fucked out, sweating.
Perhaps the hardest you’ve ever came in your life. And you could go for more.
But your clit is sore and you’re overstimulated. You have to pull Steve back to get him to stop.
“Sorry,” he whispers, mouth and nose wet.
“It’s okay,” you pant. “You’re so gorgeous, Steve.”
He smiles, perhaps a little smug. “Was that good?”
You laugh. “I see why you miss it.”
He climbs up your body, his chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples. He doesn’t waste any time in kissing you, slow and sloppy, mouth moving just like it did two minutes ago.
You’ve never tasted yourself before, let alone from the lips of a man.
“Told you,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly, “like honey.”
contents: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina and breasts; established relationship; sex toyz; steve using reader’s vibe on himself; phone sex; mutual masturbation; teasing (sexy and also Normal); dirty talk!!; literally one single line about anal
“There’s no way.”
“You never believe me,” you huff, standing. Steve reaches out for you, trying to pull you back down onto the couch beside him. You move just in time to be out of his reach, stomping towards your bedroom. He sits idly, confused, but when he hears you rustling around in your room he knows what you’re doing. He scoffs to himself.
He gasps softly, though, when you return, vibrator in hand. You hold it like it’s nothing. Steve’s already getting half-hard, thinking about you using it.
You throw it into his lap, slightly missing his dick.
“Hey!”
“Take it home and try it out.”
He picks it up hesitantly, then looks back at you, equally confused and worried. “How would I even use this?”
“I’m not giving you instructions on how to touch yourself,” you say, leaning down and smiling. “I’m telling you, men use these, too. You figure it out, needy.”
You kiss him, and Steve reaches for you, pulling you into his lap. That’s all you both do for the next ten minutes. Feeling each other up, tasting each other, sighing and licking into each other’s mouths.
“Shit,” you murmur. “My shift starts soon.”
“Call off,” he groans. “I’ll take care of you.”
You peck him on the lips. “With what salary, sugar daddy? I think you’ll be busy tonight, anyway.”
You grab the vibe, sitting beside you on the couch.
“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll put it in a bag for you.”
And you do. Steve watches you with his arms crossed while you throw it into a brown paper bag. You crumble the top and thrust it into his arms until he finally grabs it.
“I’m not using this.”
You shrug a shoulder. “Fine. Keep it there for me, then.”
“Don’t say shit like that,” he whines, stepping towards you, backing you up against your kitchen counter.
“I gotta go,” you stress, but you still let him kiss you for a little more before you push at his chest. “Get outta here, Harrington. Have fun being boring at home.”
Steve side-eyes the bag on the drive home, sitting in the passenger seat. And he clears his throat when he picks it up to bring it inside. And he glances at it every five minutes for the next few hours before he can’t take it anymore.
He stumbles, kicking off his underwear, and landing with a little oof! on his mattress. It doesn’t take him long to get hard. He just has to think about you using the toy that lays next to him.
It’s blue, his favorite color. He wonders if you bought this after you started to see each other. Your first date, you wore a baby blue shirt, and Steve had complimented it. The first time you had sex, you wore a navy blue lingerie set. You always try to incorporate it somewhere in your outfits.
He thumbs his tip, letting his eyes gently close. Shuddering, he strokes himself, and he thinks of you using it. Running it over your pretty tits, down your stomach, letting it linger at your clit before slipping it inside of you.
No way, he repeats in his head. Because he can’t imagine that this little toy could make you cum the same way he does.
Steve picks it up and clicks it on. Plays with it for a minute and marvels at the different speeds. He chooses the lowest one and, feeling a little stupid, brings it to the tip of his hard cock. It hovers, and then he gently presses it to the seam between his tip and shaft.
“Woah!”
His hips jerk. Holy shit. It’s almost too good. Hesitantly, he tries it again, and shivers at the feeling. It’s hard for him to keep his groans quiet, but he lives alone, anyway. He lets himself be as loud as he wants.
Steve sweats, head thrown back, clenching his jaw. It’s not nearly as good as you, but it’s pretty damn nice. He runs it down his cock, towards his balls, and he hesitates for half a second before pressing it to them. He gasps loudly, hips arching off the bed. He can’t take too much of it.
He throws the toy to the side, still buzzing, and quickly spits in his hand to fist his cock. He groans low in his throat and thinks about you again. The pretty noises they you’d let out, touching yourself when he isn’t there, fucking yourself with it, trying to find the spot that only he can reach.
“Fuck,” he gasps through gritted teeth.
He alternates, back and forth, edging himself. Running the vibrator up and down, pressing it against his tip, teasing it over his balls.
The phone rings. Steve doesn’t care. He lets it go, tries hard to ignore the shrill tone, but your voice chimes through when the voicemail kicks in.
“Hi, Steve. I’m off work and thought I’d check in on ya, but it seems you’re preoccupi—“
Steve lunges for his phone on the table, tucking it between his ear and shoulder.
“I totally get it now,” he breathes.
There’s a beat, and then you laugh. “Are you using it right now?”
“Mhm.”
“Christ, you’re real worked up, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“How long have you been touching yourself, honey? Always makes me cum so quick.”
Steve exhales shakily. “A few — a little while.”
“Are you using your hands, too?”
“Yeah, yes, both.”
Another pause.
“I’m wearing your shirt right now,” you say, voice amused. “No bra underneath.”
“Shit.”
You giggle. “Yeah. Thought about you all shift, y’know. Thinking about you jerking that big cock off in your strong hands.”
Steve whimpers. He doesn’t remember the last time he whimpered.
“What are you using now?”
“Hand,” he groans.
“Use the toy for me. Wanna hear how loud it makes you.”
He grabs the toy and pushes it against his tip again, gasping loudly.
“Oh, honey, sounds like it feels good. Where are you using it?”
“Tip — my tip.”
“Where else have you used it?”
He blushes. Face so hot it makes him sweat more.
“Just my… you know. M-my dick.”
You gasp playfully, scandalously. “Did you use it on your balls, Steve?”
He groans again, chest vibrating with the toy. “Is that weird?”
“No, baby. Do it for me now, I want to hear you.”
He sighs, but does it. He feels disgusting for how loud he gets.
“Holy shit,” you rasp. “Fuck, hang on —“
“What’re you doing?” he strains.
“Gotta touch myself with you.”
His brows furrow, chest rising and falling. “What — what’re you gonna use?”
You laugh. “I have several, Steve. You can keep that one since you like it so much.”
He hears your breath hitch and it makes his hitch, too. He throws the vibe aside to use his hand again.
“It’s been inside of me. Over my nipples, on my clit.” You sigh. “One time I was so horny — mmm, maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“If you don’t tell me,” he rasps, “won’t eat you out for a month.”
You laugh again, more at yourself, all breathless, a little needy. “I sucked it.”
Steve’s hips buck.
“And then….” You laugh again, a little moan tacked onto the end. “I tried to fuck my ass with it.”
You laugh more. Steve gasps, squeezes his eyes shut, thinks about the scene. He grabs the vibrator and puts it in his palm, then wraps his hand around his shaft. He cums with a shout, hips bucking, grinding into it, cum unfortunately going everywhere.
“Oh, shit, Steve,” you moan. “Fuckin’ pervert, are you cumming?”
Steve whimpers again. He’s quick to pull his hand away, overstimulated.
“Past tense,” he whines.
“Talk me through it,” you pant. “Please, Steve, need to cum, wanna cum, too.”
He blinks hard, clearing his head, trying to make his brain come back from his dick.
“Want you to feel as good as I feel,” he starts. “I know — I know your toy doesn’t feel as good as me, does it? Didn’t feel as good as you. Nothing will ever feel as good as you. Wish I was there, wish I could taste you. Bet you’re so warm, honey, huh? Tell me.”
You gasp. He knows you’ve slipped a finger into yourself.
He’s getting hard again.
“How warm?” he goads.
“Hot.”
Steve groans. “Need you on my cock. On my tongue. Y’know, I would have fucked you all afternoon if you called off.”
You moan. He can picture your face, biting your lip, arching your back.
“Should’ve made me stay,” you whimper.
“Yeah?” he asks, sitting up. “Want me to keep you in bed all day, sweetheart? I’d take such good care of you. Have you coming all day, til you get all stupid. Love it when you get like that, baby, so hot.”
“I’m coming,” you gasp. “Shit, don’t stop.”
“‘Don’t stop?’ Never heard you say that, baby. I know how much you hate stopping. You get so sad when my cock isn’t in you, huh? So empty not getting stretched out on me. You look so pretty when you’re under me, taking me, did you know that?”
You cum with a shout, just like he did. He hears the phone drop — a devastation — but he can still hear your moans from the floor. Thank God.
Steve’s patient, waiting for you to pick the phone back up. You finally do, panting.
contents: reader with a vagina; use of the word ‘girl’ for reader; car sex!!; hint of steve’s breeding kink; hard and fast and rough but very loving sex 🤍
you’re pinned under steve in the backseat of his car. he’s standing outside, only his fly down, his cock pulled out haphazardly.
he’s fucking you so hard that the car shakes.
one big hand squeezes your cheeks while the other plays with your clit. he was very quick pulling off your tights, no doubt tearing them on the way down your legs. he flipped your dress up to give him access to your cunt, already slick. you had been for at least an hour before he pulled over.
“take it. that’s it. so good for me.”
you were both in such a lust filled haze that he had only fingered you for maybe two minutes when he typically spends twenty prepping you. getting his cock into you was a slow and arduous process, unfortunately painful. steve coaxed you through it, took his time getting himself all the way inside of you.
now he’s pounding you like he hates you.
“all for me,” he groans, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. “so goddamn beautiful.”
you whine, hands gripping the seats. steve’s hands grip your thighs, dimpling them, probably leaving bruises for you to discover in the morning.
steve kisses you, slow and deep, a complete difference to how he’s fucking you. his tongue licks against yours, mouth moving slow, nothing but passion behind it.
“i love it when you’re fuck drunk,” you moan.
steve groans in return, pulling away from your lips. his fingers grip your jaw, and he slows his thrusts.
pulls out slow. thrusts back in, hard and quick, catching you off guard.
your mouth falls open and your back arches off of the seat.
“oh, shit!”
“this what you wanted?” he pants.
pulls out slow. fucks back in.
“when you tortured me all night?”
pulls out slow. fucks back in.
“lookin’ so fuckin’ pretty?”
pulls out slow. fucks back in.
“letting all those boys look at you?”
your eyes roll back.
“look at me,” he says, voice unintentionally rough.
your eyes flutter open. steve stares at you, eyes so intense it almost feels like he’s glaring.
“i love you.”
pulls out slow. fucks back in.
it punches the air out of your lungs. “love… oh my god. i love you t-too.”
he picks up his pace in an instant, grunting, pulling you towards him so that the backs of your thighs press against the front of his, your legs stretching up along his chest. it’s the closest thing to a mating press that he can do, given the circumstances.
“gonna cum so deep in you. you’re going to feel it for days.”
you gasp, clenching. you love how worked up he gets over it.
“gonna knock you up.”
he leans in, lips hovering over yours.
“and you’re gonna take every goddamn drop i give you.”
you’re chanting mindlessly. yes yes yes. his fingers swipe against your clit and your back arches again, pressing your cunt further onto his cock.
“atta girl,” he groans. “cum for me. milk my cock, honey. take what you need.”
steve’s lips on yours is all it takes to send you over the edge. he groans, feeling you clench around him. his thrusts get sloppy, his breathing gets harder, and with a loud moan he spills into you, as deep as he can possibly go. his entire body shakes, eyes eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in bliss.
you’re both left panting. steve leans forward, resting his forehead against yours again while he catches his breath.
“you’re going to be the death of me.”
he pulls out wetly, the sound making you shudder. you feel so empty, clenching around nothing, his fat cock having stretched you out way beyond your normal limits.
steve waits a moment, until his cum starts leaking out of you. he presses his tip against your hole, smearing it against your pussy, making you messy. slick. desperate for him to push back inside.
“please,” you whimper.
“does it hurt?” he asks softly, frowning, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulls away.
you shake your head. “just - i need you again. please.”
he exhales loudly, then continues moving his cock up and down your folds.
“you’re going to be the death of me,” he repeats. it rumbles low from his chest, that deep tenor voice making your stomach flip.
he pushes in when you’re not expecting it. fucks his cum back into you, helping ease his big cock into your poor, swollen pussy.
“i’ll fill you up one more time.” he moves slow, adoringly, careful with you. “my greedy girl.”
contents: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; high!steve x higher!reader; forced close proximity; teasing and flirting hehe; fingering; dry (wet?) humping; copious amounts of dirty talk; steve coming in his damn swim trunks
wrote this for an anon who sent a very sexy ask!! thank you diva!! 🫶🏻
it was such a nice night. a starry night, no clouds in the sky save for the smoke flowing out of your lips.
this is fun, you’d thought to yourself, lost in your own little world while everyone else talked quietly. i don’t know why i was so nervous.
eddie had convinced you to join with the promise of weed and swearing he never had an issue with the police at the community pool. assured you that he had snuck in there a dozen times and didn’t run into trouble once.
and, also, steve would be there. so you succumbed to the peer pressure, wore a bikini under your shorts and shirt, and only loosened up when the weed hit your system.
“you with us?” steve asked, swimming over to you, resting his crossed arms against the pink plastic of your pool float.
you nodded slowly. steve looked so pretty, the ends of his hair wet, eyes shining, cheeks pink from a sunburn. and you wanted to sink your teeth into his bicep so badly.
“you promise?” he asked, holding out his pinky.
you laced your finger through his and stared into his eyes a little more.
this thing between you and steve was not, and could not be, defined. you’ve been incessantly flirting with each other for the last two months, going to far as to shotgun smoke into each other’s mouths. all teasing, no reward, except for your own smugness.
you really liked it, whatever it was.
eddie suddenly started to shush everyone, perked up like a hunting dog.
“someone’s coming.”
ever so rational, steve said, “it’s probably just the neighborhood watch.”
“how is that better?” you whispered.
a siren whooped, blue and red lights flashing, and a rather non-intimidating voice shouted out.
eddie put his joint out on the concrete and pulled himself out of the pool.
“SCATTER!”
you were way too high for it, so steve helped you out. pulled you out of your float and hoisted you onto the side of the pool before crawling out himself. he helped you up, then grabbed your hand and started running.
and now, you’re stuck in a supply closet that hardly accommodates the both of you. the walls are lined with big buckets of chlorine tabs and shock. the little light inside is provided by a dimming, flickering lightbulb nearing the end of its life.
due to the size, you and steve are pressed against each other, with your front against the door and steve’s chest pressed against your back. he doesn’t know where to put his hands, so they’re placed on the door beside your head, caging you in.
“christ, my lungs hurt,” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath.
“well, you did suck down a whole joint by yourself.”
smiling, you elbow him softly, but he still groans.
“shh!”
“i’ll be quiet when you stop beating me up!”
you shake your head at the theatrics and press your ear to the door. the adrenaline is wearing off, and your weed is making you feel heavy again. sleepy.
“you with me?”
you nod. “i pinky promised, remember? i’m just tired, and i really wish you picked a bigger hiding spot.”
“oh,” he grins. “is there a problem being so close to me?”
his hands move from the door to rest on your waist.
“because i feel like you’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this.”
“relax,” is the only thing you can think to say.
“i’ve been waiting. for way too long now, actually.”
steve grinds against you. he’s hard.
“and i’ll tell you the truth, honey, you’re driving me crazy in this little number.”
his finger dips into the waistband of your bikini bottoms, letting it snap against your skin.
you swallow hard. “we’re gonna get arrested and that’s what you’re thinking about?”
he scoffs softly, ducking his head to press his lips against the shell of your ear. “we won’t get arrested if you stay quiet.”
you contemplate, gnawing on your bottom lip. he has an effect on you that makes you feel floaty, a little stupid, a little spontaneous.
“we don’t have to,” he whispers, arching his hips away from your ass. “i’m sorry, i just thought —“
you reach back, grabbing his hip and pulling him back against you. his body is warm and soft and he smells like summer.
“stop waiting, then.”
with what sounds like a sigh of relief, one of steve’s hands snakes its way down to cup your cunt. you gasp, not expecting him to jump right to the chase. though you don’t mind.
“gonna stay quiet for me?” he asks, his lips pressing against the side of your neck.
you shiver again, from his touch this time. “i can try.”
“good.” his fingers trace up and down your lips through the wet fabric of your bottoms. “would be pretty embarrassing if we got caught. ‘nother charge for us. think they’d throw us in the same cell?”
slender fingers dip under the crotch of your bikini and you sigh when the tip of his middle finger coaxes up and down your pussy.
“jesus,” steve breathes. “you feel so good.”
he moves his finger down, towards your opening.
“can i?” he asks softly.
you nod.
he slips in. you gasp loudly and he has to cover your mouth again. without his hands holding him up, you’re squished between him and the door. no where to escape.
it’s delicious.
“i’d fuck you if you weren’t so tight.”
something about the casualness of the way he says it makes you clench.
steve whispers in your ear, his finger fucking in and out of you. “you like it when i talk like that, huh?”
you nod.
he mouths hotly at your neck, groaning low and soft with each push of his finger.
“know you’d feel so good on me. cock’s been aching for you for months.” he breathes through his teeth. ruts into your ass. “little tease.”
more commotion outside. you’re too blissed out and too high to care very much, but you do freeze up a bit.
steve notices.
“it’ll be okay,” he says, slowing his movements. “you’re okay. worst they’ll do is tell us off.”
you nod again. it’s a little bit bizarre to you, how much you trust him. how much safer you feel with him, when this is probably the most time you’ve spent with him. ever.
“do you want to keep going? we can stop.”
you shake your head.
he moves his hand away from your mouth. “tell me.”
you sigh. his finger is still buried inside of you. “you may continue.”
you both giggle, but then steve’s moving again, putting his hand over your mouth prematurely.
it feels so good. he finds your sweet spot quicker than you thought possible, curling his finger to brush against it.
“help me out,” he whispers. “touch yourself, rub your clit for me.”
that’s too much. that’s what makes you moan loudly, your hand moving down and slipping past your waistband, rutting back to grind against his cock.
“don’t,” he hisses, “gonna make me cum in my trunks.”
you let out a little laugh-moan. the weed makes you feel fucked up enough that you’d honestly be happy to lick him clean.
so you keep doing it. and steve keeps grinding against you.
“can i kiss you?”
surprised, you nod. he pulls your face towards him, twisting your upper body to meet his lips. it’s tender, makes his finger pause. you both get lost in it, but then he starts moving again. he keeps his mouth on yours, sealing in your moans.
“i’m close,” you whimper.
“that fast, huh?”
“shut up.”
smiling, steve chokes back a groan. “do it for me, honey. wanna see how pretty you look.”
your body tenses. you pant into steve’s mouth, trying hard to keep your noises in. you reach back to grab his hair and you tug on it, pushing his lips against yours again.
it’s his turn to be loud. he fucks himself against your ass, groaning, kissing you messily.
with both of you going over the edge, you don’t care about the noise. you can’t care about the noise.
you’re both panting after. total messes. smelling like sweat and chlorine and sex.
“holy shit,” you decide to say.
“yeah,” he agrees. “holy shit.”
once you’ve caught your breath and attempted to tidy yourselves up, steve pokes his head out of the door.
“i think we’re in the clear.”
“you’d better be right, harrington. would hate to have to share a cell with you.”
steve scoffs. you both step outside. you’re freezing, still wet, the night breeze making you shake.
“now what?” you whisper.
steve hums. “well, we have to get you out of this wet bikini, don’t we?”