Can someone write a smut Patrick Wilson fanfic where he sees Y/n masturbating and decides to help her. Since his hand is bigger and he can do much better! 🫣
With height difference, age difference, kissing, hickeys, slapping, pussy slapping, fingering, M+F masturbation, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, M+F oral sex, deep throat, face fucking, hard sex, hair pulling, cum swallowing, degradation, praise, choking, whatever you want and much more! Pleaseee 🙏🙏❤️❤️🥰🥰😍😍🛐🛐✨✨
part of summer75 and a day late because i'm a busy girl. but this is fun! breeding kink haters dni. the rest of you, enjoy <3
“not to be weird or anything, babe, but your husband is looking really, really sexy to me right now.”
you snort, turning to look at your friend on the sunlounger next to you. “yours is literally right behind you right now.”
“what? she's right,” matty pipes up, kissing his wife's head. he lifts up his sunglasses, looking back towards the pool with a low whistle. “he's fit.”
to be fair, neither of them are wrong - ross does look incredible, shirtless in the pool, beads of water dripping down his body. you follow one as it travels down his bicep, flexed from holding baby alex (who, at three, isn't really a baby anymore, but you’re convinced that's what he'll be known as forever, bless him), biting your lip when the droplet falls from ross's wrist onto his stomach and disappears when it reaches his shorts. your shorts, too, are beginning to collect wetness, the sight of your husband looking delectable and dilfy turning you on to an insane level; when he strokes your sleepy nephew's curls and beams at your daughter demonstrating a front crawl, you genuinely have to squeeze your legs together.
and when he walks up the steps from the pool towards you, toddler still in his arms… it takes everything in you to hold back a moan. somehow, you manage it, and even manage a smile at the way alex beams and makes grabby arms for your friend - she takes him into her own, cooing “you did so well, munchkin! was it fun, swimming with uncle ross? it was? oh, good!” at her baby and mouthing “thank you” at ross. he winks, ruffling alex's hair another time and doing the same to his dad's with a laugh, before wandering over to you and leaning down for a kiss. “alright, love?”
“mmm, yeah,” you steal another peck, savouring the familiar feel of his lips on yours before lying back (as seductively as you can manage). “sit with me for a bit?”
“absol-”
“dad, dad!” eilidh yells. you peer over to see your daughter giving lyla a piggyback in the water, keir faffing about with one of his cousin's armbands. “we need your help to fix this, please!”
“coming, bean,” ross calls out. he turns back to you with a sigh, leaning down for another kiss that doesn't last anywhere near as long as you'd like. “sorry, babe. back soon, though, yeah?”
you nod, smiling gently. “yeah.”
as your husband makes his way over to save the day, matty reaches out to pat you on the shoulder sympathetically. “cockblocked by your own kid. been there, mate.”
“matthew, you can't say that in front of our son!” his wife hisses, holding an almost-sleeping alex even closer to her as if she can wipe away the memory of the bad word through touch; she turns to you, too, small smile on her pretty face. “sorry, though, babe. i get it, i do.”
“it's that obvious i'm feeling,” you wave your hands as you search for the right word. “... amorous? christ.”
“well… yeah, but-”
“but it's valid,” matty chips in. “very.”
“yeah, it's valid,” your friend nods. “how long has it been?”
“must be, i don't know,” you trill your lips, wracking your brain to recall the date of you and ross's latest sexcapades and coming up short. “i can't even remember, actually,” you laugh in disbelief, shaking your head. “that's awful.”
matty scoffs. “for the two of you? it’s worrying,” he sighs, wistful. “you used to be ridiculous, always sneaking off to sh- cuddle, in the way grown-ups do. was mental.”
his wife leans round to look at him, brow furrowed. “worse than us?”
“darling, nobody's as bad as us,” he kisses her nose, then turns to you. “but yeah. i think you and ross should go on a date.”
images flood your mind, images of ross in a nice shirt and you in a dress, images of gorgeous plates of pasta and glasses of wine, images of the two of you dancing and kissing, images of him above you, chain dangling and face contorted in pleasure as…
yeah, a date sounds like a good idea.
but the kids…
“oh, we can look after them for a night! the kids would love a sleepover, i reckon,” your friend nods eagerly when you share your thoughts. “could even take them tonight, if you fancied.”
your heart soars. “really?”
“course,” matty nods. “we still owe you for the night the little nugget my girl's holding was invented, anyway.”
you laugh, reaching over to stroke said nugget’s soft cheek; he smiles in his sleep when you do, and it makes your heart melt. “love you guys, i really do.”
“and we love you,” your friend squeezes your hand, beaming. “and we hope you have a good night.”
as it turns out, you do. everything seems to fall perfectly into place in regard to it, actually - by some miracle, the fancy restaurant down the road has a table for two available tonight; you win the fight with the humidity and leave the hotel with nice hair; the kids are borderline-offensively excited about the sleepover with the healys, hugging you and ross goodbye at the speed of light before bolting into the other suite to watch tangled.
dinner is perfect, too, but not nearly as much as the man sitting across from you. ross looks gorgeous in a soft linen shirt, even more so than usual; he blushes slightly when you tell him as much, shaking his head and returning the compliment and making your cocktail-buzzed head spin. he keeps the sweet talking going the whole night, from the restaurant to the wine bar and back to the hotel, flirting with you like he did over a decade ago and subsequently getting you as insatiable for him as you were back then.
luckily for you, though, ross is equally as insatiable, as evidenced by the way he crashes (a cliché, but there's no other word for it) his lips onto yours the second the lift to your hotel room floor dings shut. you sigh into his mouth at the feeling, a sigh that quickly becomes a moan when his tongue finds its way between your lips and his hands find their way to your arse. ross giggles at the sound, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead on yours. “fuck, i missed you. missed this.”
“so did i,” you kiss him again, pulling away when the lift dings and wandering into the hallway. ross follows a few steps behind, and you know with every fibre of your being that he's staring at your hips in the satin dress; this is confirmed when you quickly spin to face him, those pretty eyes of his flicking up to yours as you hold out your hand. “coming?”
your husband doesn't answer. instead, he crosses the space between you in one stride, scooping you bridal-style into his arms so fast you can barely react and practically running down the hall to your room. as you fumble in your handbag for the keycard, his lips meet your neck, and you momentarily forget what it is you're doing - the feeling passes quickly, though, and within thirty seconds you're in the suite and being quite literally thrown onto the king-size bed.
ross climbs atop you, kissing you again, slowly, deeply, sexily, turning your brain to goo and your core slick; his hands gently cup your face, while yours fumble to find the buttons on his shirt and begin to undo them. he smiles into you, hands travelling to your shoulders to slip the straps of your dress down and free your tits. when he touches them, rolling your nipples between calloused fingers, you whine, and he laughs. “you like that, love?”
“you know i do,” smiling, you pull the hair tie from his bun, running your fingers through his hair and savouring the satisfied moan he lets out. “god, you're hot.”
“nah, you're the hot one,” ross runs his hands down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “i mean, look at this fucking dress on you.”
you preen, crossing your legs behind his back. “wanna fuck me in it?”
“obviously,” ross scoffs. “d'you want anything else first, though?”
“nah,” you pull him close to you, whispering directly in his ear. “we've got the whole night for you to do other things to me, baby.”
ross groans into your neck, hands frantically sliding under your dress to pull your underwear down; he winks as he pockets the garment, before unbuckling his belt. you sigh happily when he pulls his boxers down just enough to free his cock, and he smirks. “condom? or are you too desperate, love?”
“you're the one who got a boner from a snog,” you fire back, smirking to match ross; you lean up to kiss him, tugging him onto you by the chain around his neck. “and no condom. wanna feel it when you fill me up.”
“god,” ross's eyes darken, fluttering closed when he sinks into you with a groan. “like that, baby?”
“yeah,” you breathe, readjusting to the feeling of your husband inside you after all this time. “fuck, ross, m’so full.”
“well, you did eat all that pasta-”
“i swear to fucking god, ross, if you don't shut up i'll-”
he cuts you off with a sharp thrust and a saccharine smile. “you’ll what, love? go on, tell me.”
bastard. he knows fine well you can't, brain completely clearing as soon as he starts fucking you - you've been doing this for fifteen years, after all. right now, all you can do is allow yourself to get lost in the bliss of fucking your husband, inching ever closer to the inevitable rush of pleasure with every movement of ross's hips. when his hand joins the party, fingers as deliberate on your clit as they are on his bass strings, you whine, and he beams. “y'having fun?”
“mhmm,” you pout your lips for a kiss, and ross obliges immediately with some filthy sloppy thing that turns your brain inside out. all the while, neither his hand or hips let up, and you can feel the shockwaves beginning in your nervous system. “y'gonna make me cum.”
“s'my favourite thing,” ross smiles against your lips, moving to tenderly rest his forehead on yours. “well, you and the kids are my favourite thing, but… you know what i mean.”
you huff out a laugh. “maybe you'll get another one tonight.”
he rolls his eyes. “don't take the piss.”
“m'not!” you kiss the side of his head, stroking his hair. “i know you want one, ‘n’ so do i - please, ross?” you move your lips onto his neck, kissing the spot at his collarbone you know drives him insane. “let's make a baby.”
ross sighs. “well, you asked for it.”
before you can even respond, he's wrapping your legs even tighter around his waist, slamming into you with reckless abandon. the sound of your bodies meeting is nothing short of depraved, all skin slapping and wet cunt and little moans leaving your lips as your husband fucks you with complete and utter determination. those shockwaves from earlier are increasing tenfold with every thrust, rocking through you every time ross hits that sweet spot inside you; when he brings his lips to your ear, beard tickling the skin, they increase again, leading you right to the edge. “cum for me, love. need to fill you before i fill you up… oh, fuck, just like that, good girl.”
your orgasm is sudden, strong, violent - your limbs convulse, lips part, eyes roll back, and voice wails as you topple into ecstasy, ross following a beat behind. he holds himself against you as he cums with a groan, letting you feel every last drop coating your insides before face-planting into your tits with a weary sigh. breathless as you are too, you bring a shaky hand to your husband's hair, kissing his temple. “shit, i love you so much.”
“feeling's mutual,” ross responds, words muffled by your chest. he softly kisses your glowing skin, looking up at you with a smile - he looks utterly fucked, but he's so, so beautiful. “you reckon that worked, then?”
you shrug. “maybe. but we should try again, too, i think. just to be sure.”
ross laughs, snuggling back into you again. “well, give me five minutes first.”
a/n: sufjan stevens summer?? maybe?? slightly, if you squint.
cw: CHEATING (if you have problems with it, this one's really not for you), brief mentions of the death of a parent, one extremely brief mention of a slap, SMUT
wc: 12.6k (wtf!)
the first day of summer is always dull at the villa.
it’s the summer solstice—something the owner used to believe in, and so you keep the tradition, moving all your belongings to the little caretaker’s cottage for the next three months. it’s hard work, taking care of the guests, taking care of the villa, but it’s fun. there’s your seventy year old fisherman aldo who greets you with all the grandfatherly warmth in the world. he promises help should you need it. (you suspect you do, it’s your first year doing this alone after all)
there’s marta, the cook who’s worked here since before you were even born, excited to get back to work and try out some of the new recipes she’s perfected over the course of the rest of the year. her son helps out too. enzo helps with the cleaning and the more manual tasks, helps you make sure the place is spotless. then there's the more seasonal staff, people who want to spend a summer abroad doing menial jobs and traveling. they never stay long but they're good help.
all in all by the time the villa is open for business, you’re confident that it’s going to be the perfect getaway for any couple that chooses to rent it, specifically the one who has chosen to rent it—for four whole weeks. not that you don’t get long stays from people, it’s an absolutely gorgeous property after all. but four weeks is rare.
you suspect it’s someone on their honeymoon—high on newlywed bliss and disgustingly in love.
mr and mrs macdonald.
“we have a booking under macdonald?” is the first thing he says to you.
hastily you look up from your phone (which you shouldn’t have been on in the first place, but the only people you’ve seen here today are a few tourists dining at the restaurant adjacent to the villa and the locals dropping by for a catch up) and nod.
macdonald. yes. that’s a name you know.
you stand up to your full height and come up to about his chest, craning until you can meet his eyes…or well, the sunglasses, in his case. he looks like every other tourist you’ve seen—a white linen shirt, sunglasses, suitcases, slightly pink in the face. but that’s not all.
a chain peeks from under his collar, resting delicately around his neck. his sleeves are folded up to the elbows, forearms littered with tattoos, and you suspect there’s more of them that you can’t see. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, giving you a generous view of his chest.
not that you should be noticing any of that.
he is holding hands with his wife right in front of you after all… a wife that has her eyebrow raised at you at the moment.
“right!” you clap, putting on your best customer service voice, “the honeymoon couple.”
she makes a sound at the back of her throat, something that’s almost like an incredulous laugh. the man, however, smiles and shakes his head.
“not honeymoon, no. just a vacation.”
inwardly you cringe. the owner would have never outright assumed something like that. the owner, incidentally, would have also had the perfect comeback. you awkwardly toe the rug under your feet.
“oh, sorry about that. let me just, uh, let me get you checked in.”
mercifully they say nothing after that. they wait, holding hands and looking around the lobby of the villa, making little comments about the decor and the vibe. from the corner of your eye you see him rub his thumb on the back of her hand, then you see her put her thumb on his, stopping his motion entirely. he doesn’t try again after that.
“leave your bags here, i’ll send enzo to get them. he’s our helper, by the way.” you look around for any sign of enzo and find him gone, probably helping around with other things. quickly you explain some general things, let them know where to find stuff they might possibly need.
“and do you live here?” the man asks, catching you off guard. it clearly catches his wife off guard too because she stops looking around and stares right at you. you suspect if it weren’t for her sunglasses, she’d be openly glaring daggers at you.
“not here,” you laugh, slightly awkward, “the cottage adjacent. it’s right by the edge of the property if you take the back entrance.”
“ah! we’re neighbours.” it’s the first time the wife speaks directly to you, startling you a little. you nod dumbly.
“i guess we are. have a good stay mr and mrs macdonald!”
the wife is about to thank you when the man waves his hand, “please! it’s ross and ava. we’re staying in your house, after all.”
“ross and ava,” you repeat weakly. any other time you would have quickly corrected him, not my house, but with all his attention on you it’s like you’re tongue-tied and on auto-pilot. only capable of nodding and smiling.
“thank you,” the wife—ava—says softly, and then she holds her husband’s hand, pulling him along with her. ross gives you one last nod and follows her inside.
you make your way outside, trying to find enzo, and ignore the “seriously?!” that echoes from inside.
“handsome man,” marta side eyes you while making a breakfast spread the next morning. you sit on the counter next to her, legs swinging, swiping a fresh muffin while you wait for the coffee to brew.
“handsome married man,” you deadpan.
she tuts. “they don’t seem that much in love.”
“nonna!” you jump off the counter, a little flabbergasted, but she only shrugs. “none of our business, okay?”
flustered, you gather the breakfast trays, balancing one in each hand and pushing the door open with your hip. the villa has old servant's passageways, still functional albeit dimly lit, but it’s faster to use the main hallways.
besides, it’s seven in the morning, you doubt either of them is awake.
quickly, you make your way to the dining hall, balancing the trays at each turn and making sure to dodge furniture and other decor until you take one more turn and feel your foot getting caught up in the rug.
fuck how did you not see that?! your eyes widen, body struggling to not flail and drop the trays—the muffins and frittatas can’t fall, there’s no time to replace them if they fall.
panic surges in your body as you lose your balance entirely until—
“careful!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. an equally unfamiliar arm wraps around your waist, his other hand coming up to stop the trays from falling. somehow you manage to salvage the other, and quickly set it down. he follows suit and sets the other down next to it.
“fuck, you alright?” his voice comes from right next to your ear—ross. here. with his arm around your waist.
and like a starstruck idiot you do absolutely nothing to step away.
“sorry! yeah, yes!” you mumble quickly, scrunching your eyes shut and taking in gulps of air. a moment later, he’s the one to step away.
you open your eyes and smile tightly at him but the moment you look at him properly, it’s like all the air in the room vanishes. suddenly, it’s a million degrees hotter. his hair is in the same bun they were yesterday, but now there are a couple flyaways, plastered to his sweaty forehead. his t-shirt sticks to his body, damp with sweat and perfectly moulded to the contours of his chest. it’s not hard to make out the precise shape of his arms and shoulders and chest.
the gold chain is only half visible, resting comfortably on his collarbone.
he looks like a statue carved out of marble.
“th-thanks,” you stutter, belatedly kicking yourself for checking him out so blatantly, something that’s definitely not gone unnoticed. his mouth curls up into a smirk, his dark eyes that you hadn’t seen yesterday, stare at you with a kind of intensity that makes you want to melt away right there on the floor.
“you’re welcome. it would’ve been a shame to let all that go to waste.”
“it would have.”
ross points at the muffins. “you made them?”
“me? oh no, i can hardly cook much less bake. marta, our cook…”
“ah…” he nods an wipes the bead of sweat from his forehead. an errant thought enters your head—one that contains your tongue and his chest and sweaty bodies moving against each other. you cough and bite your tongue. hard.
“i’m sure you’re hungry after…”
“my run? yeah,” he smiles, “starving. have you had breakfast yet?”
“what?”
“have you had breakfast? or do you not…?”
“no no,” you take another step back, wondering if it’s wise to stand that close to him, “i mean yes, fuck. sorry.”
he snickers, “‘s alright, love. breathe. i was only asking if you’d like to have breakfast with me if you haven’t already had it yet.”
if your jaw hadn’t dropped before, it sure does now, eyes wide and trained on him to make sure he’s not making fun of you for some reason. he wants to have breakfast with…you.
“mrs macdonald—”
“ava won’t be up for another two hours.” his voice is firm, it leaves no room for argument. “besides, she doesn’t really have breakfast. and i think… if it’s okay with you, that is, i’d like to have company while eating.”
the cacophony of thoughts rages on in your head. this is so improper! god, what would the owner say?! but then again your job is to keep the guests happy, isn’t it? it’s not like you’re inserting yourself in other people’s businesses. he asked—
“well?”
his expectant gaze makes you realise you’ve been staring at him absently for the last minute. he’s clearly waiting for an answer.
and it should be no, you should say no.
but when you look at his dark eyes and alluring smile somehow the ‘no’ gets lost on your tongue. all you can manage is to pick the trays back up and murmur a quiet ‘yes’.
“rome? that’s your favourite?”
“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” he crosses his arms in front of him, playfully defensive. you observe more keenly than you should. the black tee stretches over his arms, emphasising the precise shape of them. satisfaction runs through you when you see the tattoos on his arms—the ones you hadn’t seen yesterday. you were right, there are so many more…
“it’s just so…cliché,” you giggle and take a sip of your coffee. it’s lukewarm now, that’s how long you’ve been sitting together. “so touristy!”
“i am a tourist!” he retorts.
“you’re right, you’re right. i just… there’s better places, y’know? smaller, hidden gems that get overlooked so often, it’s unfair. and rome’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s a reason it’s such a tourist destination but…”
“but?”
“it feels…synthetic? i think that’s the case with a lot of big cities though, so i can’t blame rome solely.”
ross leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. his coffee cup sits on the table, long forgotten, and his gaze is focussed solely on you, studying, curious.
“so what feels like home then? if not rome… don’t get me wrong, i don’t mean it in a bad way but you don’t sound…italian?”
you take another sip of your coffee and set the mug aside, a little further away from his. this is not a conversation you were prepared to have, not with someone who’s virtually a stranger. not with someone you’ve known for a grand total of one day.
“i am…italian,” you pause, feeling your way around the words you’ve just spoken. “but also not really? i have grown up all around the world essentially, whatever struck my mum’s fancy. but i’ve always spent my summers here in the villa. with her.”
“did she work here?”
you trace the rim of the mug, nodding slowly. “something like that…”
“and your dad?”
“not in the picture. never knew him really,” you interject quickly before ross can assume. “bit of a mamma mia situation. my mum had her fun, i suppose. good for her.”
he’s quiet for a bit, letting his eyes roam all over your face—not in a way that would suggest anything, but you suspect he’s thinking, ruminating over the information you just gave him.
“you didn’t answer my question. what feels like home?”
“that’s a bit personal,” you scoff and immediately go red in the face. he’s a guest not your friend. “i’m sorry, i didn’t…that’s not…”
“‘s alright, love,” he laughs and leans back once again. “it was a bit personal. someone needs to call me out on my nosiness every once in a while.”
still, you sputter out a couple more apologies until ross places his hand on top of yours, startling you into silence. “stop with the apologies, will you? you haven’t said—”
“ross?”
if you weren’t mortified before, you certainly feel it now. your face, red just a moment ago, pales quickly, as ava—mrs macdonald—comes into the dining room.
her hair is in the same loose curls it was yesterday, perhaps slightly messy, and even then it looks effortless and gorgeous. her pyjamas are monogrammed with her initials. and her platinum band glints on her finger when the sunlight hits it directly.
worst on all, she’s staring at you, at your hand under her husband’s—who looks barely fazed at the moment. all calm and collected.
“good morning, sweetheart,” he gets up from his chair and walks up to her. your skin buzzes where his hand just was, and you look away as they kiss, mortified of intruding on them like this. she’s the first to pull away.
“you had breakfast,” she says, her tone flat and matter of fact.
quickly, you scramble off your seat. “let me get you something to eat, mrs macdonald.”
“no need,” she smiles at you, but it’s almost as icy as her glare—mechanical and devoid of any warmth. “i don't have any appetite.”
you nod and smile, keeping your eyes locked on a vague spot on the wall behind her. it’s only when you’re about to leave that you see him from the corner of your eye, grinding his jaw and looking nothing like he was just a few moments ago.
“i have a favour to ask of you.” it’s ava who approaches you a week later.
the entire week you’ve stayed away, only talking to them in the capacity of a host—making sure they’ve had all the meals they requested and given them any and all information about the town they might need. you’ve even made sure to speak directly to ava when you can help it. ross, for his part hasn’t made it any easier.
every morning you run into him in the hallway—some days he’s in the same black tee, others he’s in a tank top that shows off his toned and (now) tanned arms. it’s the same time every day, and yet you do nothing to change your route and take the servants’ passages for once. this is easier, you tell yourself. it’s the faster route.
fortunately, you don’t trip on the rug again. rather, you make it a point not to.
he asks you to be his breakfast companion again, and once again the next day. you waffle off some excuse and hurry away before he can protest. on the third day he stops asking. when he passes you in the hallway, he greets you with a polite smile and a nod and then keeps walking towards his balcony.
“a favour?” you ask, and ava nods.
this close, she’s absolutely gorgeous, like a face straight out of a magazine. “i wanted to plan something special for ross. a nice dinner perhaps?”
“that’s…” you swallow a strange emotion, “that’s a great idea. how can i help?”
“is there a way i can rent a boat for the day?”
“for…dinner?”
“yeah, i’ve, um, i think the ocean looks quite nice out here. peaceful. ross would love to have a romantic dinner out on the ocean instead of just on the beach.”
“right, yeah.”
“oh, and money’s not an object,” she interjects quickly. “i’m willing to pay well for it.”
money is the last thing on your mind, but you nod and smile at her.
“i’ll get you the details by tomorrow.”
she nods and smiles too, much more excited that you, granted. but you expect her to thank you and leave it at at. what you don’t expect is for her to grab your hand in hers and hold it tight.
“thank you. this…this holiday is important to us, to me…” her smile turns mechanical once again and she nods some more. like she’s trying to convince you and herself. “i need this to be perfect.”
“it will be, mrs macdonald. i’ll make sure of it.”
it’s only when she leaves that you have to resist the urge to bash your head through the wall. who the fuck promises something like that to a stranger, to a guest?! without even bothering to make sure you have the resources you just promised.
there’s only one person you know who even has access to a boat. (even though it’s nowhere near the right type of boat but at this point what’s the harm?)
aldo is laughing along with the other fishermen when you reach the dock. the sky is darkening, almost dark blue with just a tinge of red and orange. aldo greets you with open arms.
“i need a boat!” you pant, panicked and half out of breath.
he laughs wholeheartedly. “take your pick!”
“no, not that! i need…i need a romantic boat.”
the gaggle of seventy-odd-year-old fishermen giggle like a bunch of teenagers. “we romanced our wives plenty on these boats,” one of them pipes up, another round of raucous laughter follows suit.
you wait for it to die down before you practically beg aldo. “it’s for the guests at the villa, please. i don’t know anyone else—”
“carissima…” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “i was joking. i know what you mean and yes, i can ask a few friends if they have something available. i’m sure they do.”
relief floods through your veins, and you practically sink to your knees onto the cobblestones. instead you pull the old man into a tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you…”
“you’re handling it well,” he declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “your mother would be proud.”
you pull away at the mention of her, giving him one last tight smile. “thank you, aldo. call me with the details please.”
once he nods you leave, trying not to dwell too much on what he said.
that night you lie in bed, staring up at the same plain ceiling you’ve stared at every summer and you think.
you think about ross and his wife.
you think about ava and what this holiday means to her.
and you think about the owner, wonder if she ever slept in this exact bed and thought of things she shouldn’t, thought of people she really shouldn’t.
and when you do eventually fall asleep, much past your bedtime, you dream of him—on a boat in the middle of the ocean, kissing you by the candlelight.
it’s a beautiful summer evening, perhaps the best one of the season, when you wait for the macdonalds at the beach. it’s warm but not unbearably so, the light is still golden, almost angelic, and the boat looks perfect. you hope it’s exactly what ava had imagined, hope that it won’t leave her wanting for anything.
you check your watch. 6:37 pm…
it’s fine, really, it’s not super uncommon for guests to be running a bit behind. they’re on a holiday after all, but you would have hoped for a call or a text or something. besides, you’ve been busy enough today to not know whether ross and ava went out or stayed in—not that you should be dwelling on it too much. and yet, here you are, checking your watch once again, wondering where he—they—got caught up.
you look out at the ocean, calm and quiet for tonight, and then up at the golden horizon. it should be beautiful, everything should be perfect.
exactly nine minutes later there are footsteps.
one set of them.
eagerly, you turn, your face ready with the polite yet friendly customer service smile, but it drops the moment you see ross.
he’s alone. the sleeves of his linen shirt are rolled up to his elbow, his hair is down too—it comes up to about his shoulders. it—
something’s wrong. you realise it about two seconds before he comes to a stop right in front of you. too close, he’s so close. and yet you don’t take a step back. you simply crane your neck up to stare at him and part your mouth, about to say something but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.
his eyes are cold, flat. his mouth is pressed into a straight, unimpressed line. his hair is all over the place too—messy and tangled like he’s almost been pulling at them out of frustration.
this is not the time to let your mind wander, but for once you let yourself imagine what he might do to get rid of his anger, his frustration. how he might…take care of things.
“you’re alone,” you blurt out, voice barely above a whisper.
“ava’s not coming,” he swallows roughly. for one insane moment you think his gaze dips to your lips, but that’s a desperate thought. one that is strictly not real. “i want to use the boat.”
“w–what?”
“i want.” he stops between each word, “to use. the boat.”
“i thought it was—”
“a surprise? please!” he laughs, sardonic and borderline cruel. heat rises up your cheeks. “i want to go and have that dinner that was planned for me. i refuse to waste any more good evenings.”
“yeah,” you swallow roughly, “yes, of course. right this way, it’s all—”
“and i want you to join me.”
it’s like the sand beneath your feet shifts with one sentence. your jaw drops into a gape, eyebrows flying into your hairline. you imagine if ross weren’t so angry, he’d be laughing at you. still, this is wrong. on so many levels.
“i can’t!”
“will you get in trouble for it?” he challenges, and you shake your head dumbly. no, nothing of that sort. not anymore really. “then i insist. i don’t like eating alone, love. don’t sentence me to that, not when it’s so gorgeous outside.”
the image sharpens in front of you then, ross out on the calm, peaceful ocean, watching the golden sunset, drinking straight from the bottle of champagne that’s on board. the food behind him would grow cold eventually. you don’t think he’d eat it if you sent him out there alone now.
“your wife—”
“doesn’t care,” he says firmly. “she’d be here if she did.”
and that’s not something you can argue with really. so you nod. it’s just to keep him company, you tell yourself, it’s good service which is what you’re supposed to do. the owner would have done the same, she would have gone above and beyond.
“are you sure about this?”
“yes.” the one word answer leaves no room for argument.
you look down at yourself—a cotton t-shirt and a pair or breezy shorts, comfort over style for when you have to constantly run around. if ross notices this inner dilemma, he doesn’t let it on. he simply gestures for you to walk.
“after you,” he says and gives you something that vaguely resembles a smile. on him, it’s still gorgeous, still makes his dimples appear and his eyes crinkle, and for a brief second you simply want to stand here and stare at him in the dying light of the sun.
instead you nod and turn towards the boat, trying not to wring your hands together.
it’s only a couple hours. it won’t change anything.
it’s excruciatingly awkward in the beginning.
you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be up for a good conversation—and you’ve had those, at least once you have. a good conversation over food while he’s all sweaty and his t-shirt sticks to his body.
you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be here with his wife.
“you won’t ask me what happened?” his question startles you. because of course, you want to ask! you just didn’t think he’d appreciate it.
“i didn’t want to pry…”
“you won’t,” he sighs. “you’d be doing me a favour.”
“so i’ll act as your therapist then?” you quirk and eyebrow and ross cracks a tiny smile. “breakfast companion, therapist, makeshift date, what’s next?”
you regret it as soon as the words tumble out of you. what were you fucking thinking?! this is not a date. you and ross, on a boat in the ocean, with fancy champagne and a candlelit table… it’s not a date. it’s two people having dinner so it won’t go to waste. you’ve worked too hard on it to throw it away like this.
“i’m sorry i—” you sputter, shaking your head wildly, “that’s not what i meant, that’s—”
“we’re separating.”
it shocks you so much that you gape at him. it’s a sudden confession, one that you would have never expected him to say out loud. not to you, a complete stranger. then again, maybe it’s better to talk to a stranger anyway.
“but you seem so happy,” you hesitate, wondering if that’s something he’d even want to hear.
it turns out not. ross rolls his eyes. “oh come on, darling, let’s not lie. we have been here two weeks and we’ve already fought thrice. this was supposed to be a last ditch effort, did you know that? this holiday. after this,” he swallows, looking off into the ocean, “when we go back to london… i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers.”
“oh…”
“yeah.”
silence settles over you, uncomfortable and sticky. you wonder if he wants comfort, sympathy. if he wants you to agree with him or challenge him, if he wants you to be a sounding board and just let him vent, if he wants this to be a conversation.
“sorry,” he shakes his head, “a lot to dump on you isn’t it?”
“yes…” you turn to him, taking your time to look over his face. it’s so much more tanned than before, a bit more freckled too. there’s a hint of sunburn poking through his shirt collar and suddenly your mind flashes images of ross on the beach in front of you. ross, shirtless, lying in the sun with those annoyingly hot sunglasses covering his eyes, ross coming out of the water, dripping wet and fucking dreamy. “but i don’t mind.”
you clear your throat quickly, cursing in your head for sounding so breathy.
ross raises an eyebrow. “you tell me something.” he turns and grabs a bottle of expensive champagne. you expect him to get the glasses next, instead he opens the bottle and takes a swig directly from it.
“a secret,” he winks, “for a secret.” then he extends his hand and offers you the bottle.
at first, you hesitate. it isn’t for you, none of this is for you. but you’re here now, aren’t you? so you grab the bottle from him, trying your hardest not to dwell on the brush of his fingers, how you both linger for just a moment too long.
you take a sip of the champagne and think, feeling the bubbles all the way down.
“this is my first year running the villa alone…”
“is it?” ross sounds surprised. you wonders if he means it as a compliment.
“it was, um, it was shut, last year. my mother used to run it. she’s not…alive anymore.”
his eyes widen. “oh, that’s–i’m sor—”
“no please,” you interrupt before he’s had the chance to finish it. “i’ve heard that far too much. i’d rather not be offered condolences ever again.”
for a moment he is quiet, then he nods like he understands something. “you’re a natural at it. everything has been so good for us so far. i mean look at this fucking boat, this food. you’ve planned everything so well.”
a wave of uncharacteristic shyness floods your brain. “it’s not just me,” you smile bashfully, “the entire staff she trained still works here. they do more than i ever could, honestly. i’m just…learning the ropes.”
“and do you like it?” ross takes a sip of the champagne and leans against the railing. you mimic his pose, looking off at the horizon.
“honestly? yes! i never thought i would and now… it’s like i know why she loved doing this. growing up, i’d always feel like a ghost haunting a mansion, and now i finally get it.”
“a ghost haunting a mansion,” he smiles and hands you the bottle, “you were pretty dramatic as a child.”
a laugh bubbles up in your throat because he’s right, you were dramatic. perhaps you still are deep down under all the grief. ross must have sensed the sudden shift in your thoughts because he expertly changes the subject.
“have you always had the villa in your family?”
“oh that’s a funny story, if my mum is to believe anyway.”
ross turns, his back pressed to the railing and his eyes focused entirely on you. he’s so close. golden light reflects on his skin, in the hollow of his throat and over every bit of exposed skin. with his hair tied up now, you can once again see that gold chain, dainty and pretty, and you wish you could trace it with your fingertips, feel it against you somehow. you watch ross swallow some of the champagne, how his adam’s apple bobs and a drop of it clings to his lips and suddenly it’s like your cheeks, no, your whole body is on fire. you look away and continue.
“so the story goes, and mind you i don’t know how true it is, she was travelling around england. my father was, turns out, some minor aristocrat with a useless title, no one important really. but he had an estate, a whole lot of money and an ego the size of britain.
“his mother never liked that he was with a ‘filthy commoner’ like my mother and oh she made that very known…” ross makes a face and you laugh, feeling a bit lighter than before.
“and then she fell pregnant, my mum. she was so happy, wondering how to tell him, getting scans to show him and whatnot. somehow his mother got the news first,” you wince and ross leans forward, his face rife with interest and so much closer than before. “that woman made her a deal—leave now and never contact my father again, they will set her up with a small house and some money in any country of her choice so she won’t have to worry, as long as she stays far far away.”
“generous,” he whistles low.
“it is, isn’t it? she didn’t take it though, she fancied herself in love. that night she told him about me. turns out he was only ‘fucking around’ and ‘did not want a child’. he told her to get rid of it, she said no and they fought. and when she raised her voice, he slapped her. my father slapped my pregnant mother…”
ross gives you his rapt attention.
“she didn’t run though. she stayed there the night, shared a bed with him even though they stuck to their corners. in the morning she went back to his mother and accepted the offer.”
ross laughs, sharp and surprised, and then clamps his mouth shut. “sorry i–it’s not funny, i know, it’s just—”
“no, it is,” you interrupt quickly, “we used to laugh about it.”
“and the house…?”
“is the villa, yes. the small ‘house’ they promised her.”
“seems like his mother had more integrity than him.” ross extends you the bottle of champagne again. gratefully, you take it.
it’s half-empty now, gone in the flow of the conversation. you feel it too, the bubbles flowing through your blood, buzzing through your head in a way that almost feels soothing. that, combined with the gentle rocking of the boat… you close your eyes and inhale the ocean breeze, take another swig of the champagne.
“this is nice, isn’t it?” you speak, eyes still closed and tipping your head towards the champagne.
“‘s amazing,” he murmurs. his voice surrounds you like it’s floating on the breeze, like he’s so close and so far away at the same time. his cologne, too, is suddenly so much stronger.
your heart beats in your throat. you know what you will find when you open your eyes—ross, so close and irresistible, in the dying light of the sun, more tempting than the damned apple. an involuntary gasp escapes you when you feel his breath on your face, feel the fabric of his trousers brushes against your leg. his breath quivers.
“if i kiss you right now, would you kiss me back?”
you swallow, wondering if it’s a yes or a no. “why don’t you find out?”
a moment later you feel his hand on your waist, holding you just tight enough to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. it’s slightly cold from holding the champagne bottle, not that you particularly care. a second later, ross crashes his lips against yours.
it’s not soft like in the movies, it’s not a kiss of love or tenderness.
it takes you precisely one second of hesitation to give into your instincts and kiss him back—you hand in his hair and the other fisting his shirt, wrinkling it, leaving your mark on him even if it’s insignificant and ephemeral. you kiss him back with just as much hunger—all tongue and teeth and roaming hands.
ross’ hands moves from your waist and comes to rest on your ass, hitching your leg up, wrapping it around him. his hand spray across the back of your thigh, rough fingers trailing up smooth skin, it’s all too much, too much for you to hold back a moan.
you moan into the kiss and somehow that undoes him completely.
air whooshes out of your lungs as ross flips you both, trapping you between him and the railing. the bottle of champagne falls and rolls away, dripping the last of its contents on the floor, but it’s so insignificant, so inconsequential… not when you have this burning need coursing through you to feel him everywhere all at once.
involuntarily your fingers fidget with his trousers just as his mouth moves to your jaw. he stops you though, lightly swats your hand away and pops open the buttons of your shorts instead. you let him, mostly because when they touch your stomach it’s like lightning exploding right under your skin, crackling, buzzing, you simply want to feel so much more of him, of his fingers.
“ross…” you moan, not sure if you want to beg him or stop or let him take charge completely.
“i know, darling,” he breathes, kissing you again. tentatively he dips a finger inside the waistband of your underwear, asking for permission.
“please, fuck, pl–please.”
you throw your head back, whimpering when his teeth graze your neck and his finger presses into your clit. it’s heady and intoxicating and all you want to do is be greedy and ask for more and more and more. you don’t have to ask though. his fingers work against your clit, creating a rhythm just perfect enough to weaken your knees, and you hold on to him tight, your nails digging into his back.
would they leave crescent moon marks on his skin? just dark enough to stand out, just dark enough to be distinct. will his wife look at them and know what they are?
his wife…
and just like that all your ecstasy turns into nausea.
you falter, a small hesitant movement. and that’s all it takes to shatter the moment entirely.
“we can’t,” he pulls his hand away abruptly just as he’s about to push his fingers inside you. you stare at him in surprise, gripping the railing to stay upright. it’s hard not to pant and breathe hard, especially when he’s breathing heavily too, guilt written all over his face.
his lips are swollen, wet. red enough to almost make you go back to him and kiss him all over again, thread your fingers through his hair—it looks so lovely and effortlessly messy. the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, gold chain fully on display, gleaming against tanned skin. you swallow. fuck.
“we can’t…” he repeats, and steps away completely.
you imagine what you must look like—t-shirt almost off your shoulder and the buttons of your shorts undone. not naked and yet so exposed and vulnerable. you wonder if his mouth left any marks against your neck.
“what…” humiliation burns through you. what the fuck were you thinking, throwing yourself at him like this?!
ross looks like he’s trying hard not to lose control, jaw set, eyes firmly on you and pupils blown out so wide you resolve almost weakens. but the ring on his finger glints and just like that the nausea is back. the guilt, the self loathing, all of it is back with a vengeance.
“i’m married.”
and that shuts you up thoroughly. surely the captain of the boat heard everything that happened just now. surely…
you hurry as far away from ross as possible, turning around and fixing your clothes. ross stays where he is, his back towards you, hand trembling by his side.
the food stays untouched.
the awkwardness from before is nothing compared to what you feel now, completely unable to meet his eyes or even turn around to look at him, not even to check if he’s still facing the other way. maybe throwing yourself into the ocean is the best course of action right now.
in a moment, you will gather strength again and tell the captain to take you back to the shore. in a moment you won’t have to share the space with him, you will finally be able to get a full breath into your lungs. for now you stay still, ignoring the fire still burning low under your skin and right in your belly, lust coiled like a snake. for now you simply look out into the ocean and will your body to stop shaking.
“enzo, would you set up breakfast today?” you find him in the gardens bright and early the next day. not that it matters how early it is anyway, not to you who hasn’t slept a wink the whole night. you’re sure there are dark circles under your eyes to give that away instantly.
enzo looks down at his hands and then back up at you, slightly apologetic. they are covered in soil, of course. he’s been helping with repotting some plants. of course he can’t just leave all of that and do your job instead because you’ve fucked up and made a giant mess. of course not.
“right…” you trail off and back away.
“it’s okay, i can—”
“no,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended, “that’s alright. i’ll do it.”
and you will. you can act like a professional and do your fucking job. you will be in and out as quickly as possible and not look anyone in the eye. you will nod and smile and get the fuck out of there.
absently, your hand trails over the faint hickeys on your neck. hopefully, they’re well covered by the concealer you slathered on at 5 in the morning, hopefully the collar of your shirt helps disguise it too. not like ava would be there to see it, she’s yet to be in the dining room for breakfast. and yet you don’t know what would be more mortifying, her seeing it or ross seeing it.
“good morning,” a voice greets you the moment you step foot into the dining room. a pit opens in your stomach.
ava sits at the head of the dining table, still in her night clothes with a dressing gown loosely wrapped around her body. it’s… she’s…
“i know i’m up early, and in here” she laughs, “not very much like me.”
her fingers are curled around a fork in a tight grip, knuckles almost white, tines digging into the place mat. it takes you a second to find your voice.
“morning, mrs macdonald.” the words burn like acid on their way out, and for the first time you look at her properly. she looks exactly how you feel—circles under her eyes, a sallowness to her face, like her skin is stretched thinly over her face. she looks like she’s been up all night, tossing and turning. “is r–mr macdonald joining you?”
“no,” her voice turns sharp. “he says he has a migraine. just me today.”
“ah…” you nod, rooted in the spot awkwardly.
“champagne hangover, i suspect.”
a quick hot and cold flash runs through you, like she’s caught you directly in a lie. and maybe she has…how much did ross tell her exactly? did he tell her?
ava smiles, cold and hollow. “i’m starving, though.”
“yes, of course,” you avert your gaze, eyes firmly on the ground. fuck fuck fuck. she knows. bile churns in your stomach as you move on autopilot, doing the same thing you’ve done every day for the last three weeks. except this time there will be no joining ross for breakfast.
through some miracle of fate, ava doesn’t bring up the boat or the dinner or the champagne again. she just thanks you and digs into her breakfast, eating like absolutely nothing is wrong. the ring on her finger is still there, just as shiny as before.
you leave her be and get out of the dining room. there’s no air in there anymore, there’s no air in this entire villa anymore. your breaths turn into pants, footsteps echoing in your ears and the rush of blood almost drowning them out as you run run run through the corridors. you need to get out of here, out of this place but there’s nowhere private enough to go but back to your own cottage, and so that’s where you turn.
soundlessly, you slip out of the back door and run on the little cobblestone path until you get to the door to your cottage. it’s unlocked, to your utter relief. silently, you thank your past self for forgetting to lock it because all you need right now is to shut the world out and rot in bed.
the moment the door thuds shut, you feel your lungs filling with air again. it’s quiet here, it’s silent.
and your bed looks cosy at least.
you close your eyes and release a deep sigh once you settle on top of the covers. does ava know? you wonder if she’s somehow guessed it… if she somehow saw the marks you left behind…
the memory comes back to haunt in full force—your thigh hitched around ross’ waist, your hand in his hair and his in your underwear, touching and teasing and making you taste insanity. against your better judgement you close your eyes and clench your thighs together, wondering if your hand can replicate the feel of his. it can’t, you know it can’t. nothing ever will. and yet…
slowly you hitch your dress up, bringing it up to your thigh and all the way past your hips until it’s bunched on your stomach. your pale pink underwear is next to go, discarded carelessly somewhere in the room.
there’s not much ceremony to it, just your fingers gently pressing against the bundle of nerves as you close your eyes and think back to yesterday, to the roughness of his hand and the hardness of his body… fuck. it doesn’t feel the same, it feels nothing like it did, no matter how hard you try. the only thing you manage to do is get frustrated finding the right angle.
fuck this, a pillow should work just fine if not your hand.
and it does, it’s better once you have a white pillow clenched between your thighs, slowly moving your hips against it, feeling the friction, the familiar feeling. it’s a slow build, but it’s there, it’s something.
inside your own bedroom, you barely hold back moans. unintelligible, lustful sounds, maybe his name slips out once or twice too. if anything, the thrill of it adds to the feeling. you’re sure there’s a wet spot on the pillow now, a slick little stain where you’ve been grinding onto it. your thighs tremble from the effort and it’s only just starting to feel good, feel so so good—
a sharp rap on the door scares a yelp out of you.
shit shit shit, what were you thinking?! it’s probably enzo or marta coming to check on you, wondering why you weren’t in the villa.
“coming!” you yell out, voice shaking, hands shaking even more.
the person doesn’t go away. instead, another knock follows.
cursing to yourself, you get off the bed, and smooth down your dress again. you’ll find the fucking underwear in a minute, the dress isn’t transparent.
“what’s—” you stop abruptly, coming face to face with ross who looks like he hasn’t had a moment’s worth of peace all night. great, that’s all three of you then.
“let me come in,” he breathes, almost urgent. “please.”
your heart's in your throat, thudding and thudding, fast enough that it might just leap out of you completely. and here you are in front of him, trying to stay cool like you weren’t just touching yourself to the thought of him mere seconds ago.
ross’ eyes scan you, from your messy hair to your wrinkled dress. can he tell something’s wrong?
wordlessly you step aside and he enters, closing the door behind him.
“your wife knows.”
“she suspects.”
“and?”
“and what?” he whirls to look at you. “what if i said i no longer care if she does.”
“ross!” your voice rises. your back is pressed to the wall, as far away from his as possible even though the room feels like it’s a tiny cardboard box at the moment, “you can’t say things like that. not after–not…”
“after what i said yesterday?” he takes a steps towards you, you stay rooted in your spot. “what if i changed my mind?”
another step, he’s barely four steps away from you now.
“what if i changed mine?” you challenge, which is perhaps not the wisest thing to do right now but…
“have you?” he asks, boldly taking two more steps.
if you had, you wouldn’t be standing there right now without any underwear on, desperately wishing he’d find out and fucking do something about it. use his hands again, use his mouth too maybe.
you turn your face to the side, trying not to whimper as he finally closes the distance between you and stands close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his body again.
“can i find out?”
saying no would be wise, you know it. and yet… it’s you who kisses him first. unlike last time he lets your hand roam wherever you wish. unlike last time his t-shirt is first to go—the only time you briefly break the kiss to get it off him and somewhere on the floor. his tanned skin is warm under your hands, freckled chest that you instantly touch all over.
his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of your throat, your collarbone. “you are so perfect, fuck.”
his words, spoken in a low whisper, travel straight to your core. heat pools, or rather intensifies, as his hand comes to rest on the back of your neck. ross doesn’t need much strength to hold you in place, to stop you from squirming and firmly against him, tits brushing against his naked chest.
his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed to as much of your cleavage as the dress offers.
“ross,” your fingers tighten on his shirt, “please, i need—fuck, need you.”
he can most definitely hear the blatant desperation in your voice, whiny and practically begging to be touched, to be fucked.
“anything you want,” ross groans. “jump.”
it doesn’t take you another second before your legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping your thighs, under your ass. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck and make him groan. he really is fucking beautiful, especially in the morning sunlight streaming into your room.
you kiss again, urgent and desperate. somewhere at the back of your mind you’re aware he’s walking, taking you to the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed with how his tongue feels inside your mouth. how his tongue might feel between your legs.
but a foot inside the room and ross comes to a stop, his eyes widening.
he takes the room in and you wonder what he sees, craning your neck to look around as well. and there it is, your pale pink underwear dangling carelessly from the bedpost, the pillow in the middle of the bed, sheets wrinkled. it’s not that hard to guess what happened in here…
that much is confirmed when you meet his eyes again and see pure lust in them. they look so much darker than before, so much dilated. ross all but throws you on the bed, climbing up after and practically on top of you.
“what was happening here…before?”
“does it matter?” you raise an eyebrow, hoping he doesn’t see the flush growing rapidly on your cheeks. the chain dangles from his neck, so close now, practically touching your skin. you hook a finger in it and tug him closer.
“did it feel good at least?” ross smirks, and you suspect he already knows the answer.
“not even close.”
“and what do you want now?”
everything, really.
you want to feel his fingers like yesterday and his mouth between your legs. you need him inside you and in your mouth and everything in between.
“why don’t you get on your knees first?”
ross raises an eyebrow. so this is how it’s going to be then…
the anticipation of it makes your pulse raise, makes goosebumps scatter all over your body. he can definitely see you trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, nipples peaking out from the thin cotton of the dress, hair a complete mess. the room burns a million degrees hotter now or maybe it’s just you, dying to be touched.
“let me take care of you then,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”
his words affect you immediately. your toes curls and hands fist the sheets in anticipation of the sounds you know he will draw out from you.
“was thinking about you,” you confess as he trails a finger over your leg, starting from your ankles and up your shin and thigh until his fingers at your hip, resting where the band of your underwear should have been.
involuntarily, you lift your hips up, making the fabric of your dress slide away a little more.
“i could tell” ross teases, a cocky tinge to his voice. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to your stomach. "come on, darling," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”
something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and ross drags a finger through your slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing you and spreading you open while his mouth presses kisses all over. your lower stomach first, then your thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit, and just like yesterday, he works it up in a lazy rhythm.
“shit, ross,” you whimper as a jolt goes through your spine, skin burning wherever his hands touch. the build up is a sweet torture.
you gasp when he sucks on your clit, unexpected and quick, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. your thighs tremble under his hands, your muscles shift and ross doesn’t stop you at all when you squeeze your thighs together trapping his head between them. his hair is already a mess, all over the place, and his beard tickles the inside of your thighs.
“oh god,” you moan loudly. “fuck, just like that…” your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while you squirm and against his face and ross takes it all. his tongue laps at your folds, his nose pushing against your clit.
his hand pushes under your dress, pinching and squeezing your nipples at almost a bruising pace, it’s all too much. and yet there’s no way in hell you’d stop him when he meets your eyes from between your legs—eyes dark and intense, beard glistening with your slick.
you clench around nothing then and for a moment ross looks like he’s going to come undone right there, staring at your with his mouth parted. his eyes have a little glazed-over quality to them, like he’s in a trance.
you’re so close now, rocking your hips against his face, and your thighs squeeze his head harder. you’re so close you can almost taste your release in the air.
“so perfect,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over your clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”
“so, so close…” your trail off and ross places a kiss on your thigh, utterly out of place from everything he’s been doing so far. in the middle of everything filthy, that one soft kiss feels chaste—a request maybe or even a way to coax you.
“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against your clit. his tongue thrusts inside you again and you mewl his name. louder than before.
“don’t stop, ross, don’t—” and you feel it then, feel yourself drenching his lips and his chin. feel the spasm of your thighs and your ragged breaths reverberating through your body.
just like you requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop you have to over, fucks you with his tongue till you’re completely done riding out your orgasm.
once ross straightens you’re met with the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen—his lips raw and red, his beard wet. his hair is almost out of his bun now and that damn gold chain around his neck. it’s all so beautiful, you almost beg him to come up to you. and ross obliges, his arms on either side of you and his body between your legs while he kisses you so thoroughly, you can taste all of you on his tongue—every want, every desire, down to the last drop of lust running through your blood.
“i need to be inside you or i will die,” he says, his voice more like a growl. and yes it’s so full of want and desperation but that just eggs you on more, makes the heat in your belly flare up all over again.
“there’s condoms in the drawer,” you moan, trying not to whine when ross gets off your for two seconds to find them, and comes back with the silver square.
it doesn’t take another second before your legs are around his middle again and his big hands are gripping your thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you run your hand through his hair and make him groan.
“fuck, love” he breathes on your skin and lets you pull the trousers off him. “i couldn’t think of anything else all night. just you…”
“me too,” you confess, a shameful secret, but ross tilts your chin up and kisses you all over again, slow and gentle.
your hands trace his spine and ross shivers
“want to be inside you,” he groans, letting you hook a finger in his boxers. he wraps his hand around yours too, getting rid of them completely.
once they’re off him you can’t hold back the shameless gawking. he’s big, fucking huge and hard and leaking with precum already, you’d die to get a taste of him but that’s not what’s important right now. right now you need him to destroy your insides until you can’t remember your own name.
“like what you see?” he sounds smug, tearing the foil with his teeth and spitting it aside. you blush, and pry your gaze back to his face.
“let me,” you take the condom off his hands, dying to touch him first. and he reacts just the way you want him too—a hiss when you wrap your hand around base and a moan when you twist it, run it all the way to his tip and back down.
“stop being a tease,” he grunts, and you decide it’s enough, decide to finally roll the condom down on him.
there’s barely any words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of your laughter when ross nips at your skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a kiss. he leaves a mark and rewards you with a kiss. he even sees the marks he left before, kisses over them like he’s appreciating his own art.
his hand inches between your legs and finds your clit once again, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until you’re squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and ross definitely knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once you aren’t opposed to begging.
“stop being a tease,” you whine, repeating his words from before, and he laughs at your desperation.
finally, ross decides to end this misery. for you and for him. the need is probably driving him insane too.
when the first thrust comes, hard and fast—and without warning—your eyes roll back in your head. you whimper something, curse softly and hold onto him, legs locking around him so you can take him in deeper.
“shit baby…” he moans too.
he’s stretching you open with his cock, thrusting into you again and again until the buzz in your head grows so loud, it drowns out any other thought. all you can focus on is his breath and the chain brushing against your chest, cold metal against sweaty bodies.
that errant image from that first day comes back to you, your tongue against his chest, and before you can over think you do exactly that—trail kisses against his collarbone, his neck, letting your tongue roam over his skin too. you don’t dare use teeth though, you don’t dare leave a mark. no matter how tempting it is.
your eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open any longer as his hips slam into yours, his hands grip onto your waist tighter. ross tuts.
“open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”
and so you oblige, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting your hips to meet his and grinding your clit on his pelvis.
the pressure inside you builds with each thrust, your entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under your skin. on top of you, he’s as electric as a live wire.
“look at what you do to me,” he breathes and you feel your thighs begin to tremble.
he can probably tell you’re close now; you’re certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so you don't scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, you would have liked to scream out his name though.)
your hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. you’re erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to any of your movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that you feel a wave of it run between your bodies.
you shudder and gasp, trying to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at him still “gonna cum, f-fuck!”
he opens his mouth to speak too, about to say something but you’re already there. your body goes tense as you squeeze around ross, so tight it practically sends him into a frenzy, fucking into you faster and faster, rougher, harsher. you take it all, trying and failing to keep your voice down to a minimum. ross thrusts into you as the orgasm hits you hard. a second later you hide your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and feeling him practically emptying himself into the condom. ross doesn’t stop you, he holds you just as close, for just as long as you want him to.
it’s almost 10 in the morning when you lift your head off his chest in a sleepy haze. ross tries to protest but you kiss him quickly until all his complaints die on his lips.
“you should go,” you bite your lip, guilty, and thumb the chain around his neck again. if he’s noted this particular fascination with it, he doesn’t mention it.
“i don’t want to.”
“but…”
“i have to, yes, i know,” he sighs, deep and almost sad.
it’s a silly thought to want to stop him. the cottage might feel like it’s detached from reality entirely but it’s not. once you step foot outside of it, everything will come crashing down on you. you can easily explain your disappearance away—the farmers market in town, some other errand, whatever excuse that comes to mind. what does ross plan on saying?
you don’t ask, mostly because you don’t want to manufacture and discuss one more thing and make this more morally depraved than it already is.
wordlessly he gets up and walks around the room in search of his clothes. his nudity doesn’t bother him in the slightest, doesn’t bother you either—for one, you finally know all the tattoos on his body, something you’ve been dying to find out since day one. you let your eyes roam over them for as long as you can, try to commit them to memory before they get covered by his clothes.
he finds his t-shirt in the living room and comes back to the bedroom wearing it, fully clothed now while you’re naked under the sheets still.
“right then…”
you smile, a little sad. is this the first and the last time? do you want there to be more?
“let’s just…” you clear your throat, “i’m going to go use the bathroom…”
“and i’ll be gone by the time you come back…”
you nod, already getting up. the sheets fall of your body too but what’s there to care about? he’s already seen all of it now. still his breath hitches in his throat and a jolt of satisfaction run through you.
“kiss me one last time?” you ask, and ross closes the distance between you, pulling you so close to him you’re almost crushed into his chest, held like he doesn’t want to let go.
you try not to dwell too much on that kiss—it’s a fucking kiss, not your first and it won’t be your last, there’s no point in reading too much into it. it’s not a lovers kiss. it’s a kiss. because you asked for it.
and yet his hands cradle your face and you can almost feel him smiling, almost, before he pulls away. then you turn around and practically beeline to the bathroom.
by the time you’re out and ready to get dressed once again, the cottage is empty, silent. a silence that almost echoes with lingering sounds, but you stay in for the rest of the morning, only venturing out when you can’t ignore your growling stomach any longer.
marta looks at you suspiciously before feeding you a bite of her orzo. it’s delicious; it always it, her food. but you still refuse when she offers to make you something. you just want to be alone, not in someone’s company and answer a million questions.
to her credit marta lets you be.
you don’t see the ross or ava at all for the rest of the day. or the day after.
it’s the end of their third week when ross finds you again, well… a handwritten note finds you, a crumpled piece of paper stuffed through the crack in the cottage door.
meet me at the beach tomorrow at sunrise?
the entire night you toss and turn, wondering if you should even go. you haven’t seen him in days, only glimpses of him and his wife. every time he’s in the room your eyes linger on him, stealing glances when he’s stealing them right back. it’s like an unspoken rule between you—no secret meetings. not again.
and now he seems to want to break it.
you know which beach he’s talking about—the one where you had a boat waiting for him. at 4 in the morning you give up on sleep completely. you should still have about an hour and a half till you’re supposed to meet him. and you still don’t have a decision. on autopilot you get up and brush your teeth, take a quick shower. no one’s awake yet. maybe marta, but she certainly won’t be out of bed this early.
by 5, when the mug of coffee in your hands is almost empty, you decide you want to go after all. what’s the harm? it’s not like you’re going to end up fucking him again so publicly on the beach…
and so you leave the cottage, strolling down to the ocean on the sandy path. the twilight is giving way to some light. the sun’s probably almost on the horizon. still, you reach the beach before ross, before the sun comes up. so you linger, sit in the sand and collect the little shells left there overnight.
there’s no one here, just you and waves crashing on the beach. it’s peaceful—perhaps the first time you’ve truly felt any peace all summer. and yet somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t shake off the anticipation of meeting him. five minutes have already passed. maybe he changed his mind.
maybe he’s not coming.
just as the thought is about to solidify, you hear a set of footsteps. he’s here. and still you don’t turn until ross walks up all the way to you and sits next to you in the sand, his body pressed against yours, thighs touching. you lean your head onto his shoulder, taking in a deep breath.
“is this a rendezvous?” you almost laugh. it’s a lame joke but ross cracks a smile anyway. it lasts about a second before his face falls again.
“i’m leaving.”
“i know,” you close your eyes, “next week.”
“no. today.”
a pit opens up in your stomach and you bolt upright. “today?! what…?”
his smile turns sad, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not just because he’s leaving, it’s something else too. you look at his face, properly, at the deep lines etched onto his forehead and the hints of grey in his hair and his beard. his arms, just as gorgeous as usual. his hands, hands that you haven’t stopped thinking about, his fingers…
your eyes linger on them. there’s no ring. he’s not wearing a ring. it’s just pale skin where it used to be.
“our plans changed,” he shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to happen. you remember what he’d said to you all those days ago on the boat. when we go back to london, i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers. so that’s happening then.
“what time?”
“around 10.”
around 10… five more hours.
“okay,” you nod and go back to how you were, resting your head on his shoulder. this time ross rests his head on yours, both of your eyes trained on the horizon where the sun rises slowly and the beach turns golden. the water shimmers, gorgeous and like it’s out of a painting. you can’t bring yourself to move.
“will you have breakfast with me one last time?” ross breaks the silence after a while, and you wonder if it’s a good idea. what’s the point? it won’t lead anywhere, will it?
“i don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you swallow the lump in your throat, still unable to fully look at him.
“i see…” more silence follows. you wonder when he will decide this is enough. you wonder when he will get up and leave you here to be rooted in this spot until the sun blazes high in the sky and you can no longer sit outside. instead ross presses his warm fingers to your cheek, and gently turns your face to him.
“can i at least kiss you one last time then?”
now that… that you can’t say no to. and so you press your lips to his. just that, no movement, nothing—just your face cradled in his hands and your lips against his until you taste salt and realise you’re crying. maybe just a little teary. only then does he properly kiss you, moves his lips against yours until it feels like the sand beneath you is shifting. but it’s going to end anyway, it has to. and so you pull apart, take a deep breath to store his scent in your lungs for as long as you can.
“i’m going to go stare at the ocean now,” you laugh, teary-eyed. his eyes are tinged a little pink too.
ross chuckles. “and i’ll be gone by the time you look back.”
and that’s where you leave it. no goodbyes, no hugs and promises to come back. just you staring at the blue sky while his footsteps become quieter and quieter until you can’t hear him at all.
enzo checks them out. you don’t know if they say anything to him, and he doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary to you. just that he’ll send someone to clean the room, to which you protest, let him know that you’ll do it.
the room isn’t unfamiliar, of course not, you’ve been in here a thousand times now and you will a thousand times more. still, something about it looks different. for one there’s a piece of paper folded on the bedside table. something that looks like a note. you hurry to it, not realising that there’s something inside in your eagerness to open it until a gold chain falls out. his gold chain… the one you’ve spent all of summer being fascinated by. and now it’s yours. then you unfold the note.
thank you for the summer, it’s the best one i’ve had in years.
ps: the chain is yours. don’t think i didn’t notice.
with trembling fingers, you put it around your neck. the metal is cold of course, and yet it reminds you of sun warmed skin and the sweat between your bodies. you clutch the note close, and sit on the bed. it has to be his side, it smells like him. maybe it won’t hurt to curl up there for just a moment. there’s no one to occupy it for another week after all.
and so that’s what you do.
a moment turns to an hour, to several hours until you decide you don’t want to strip the linen just yet. until you decide you want to sleep here for the night. for the rest of the week until you have to give up the villa again. marta raises her eyebrow when she finds out, but you wave her off.
“it’s my house, nonna, i can sleep wherever i want to,” you say, confident in that statement even though it feels a little foreign. it is your house. it is.
she just leaves it at that.
the rest of the summer passes just as you’d planned.
first there is an actual honeymoon couple—utterly in love and completely inseparable. you find them making out in all corners of the villa, in nooks and crannies like they can’t get enough of each other, like there’s no one else for them but each other. and maybe there isn’t.
then there’s a week long bachelorette party. the girls convince you to get drunk with them too, to let loose a bit. it’s then that you’re most tempted to look up his number in his booking information and call him, wine drunk and slurring, in the middle of the night.
what will you say?
what will he say?
it’s a terrible terrible idea. the worst one you’ve ever had. worse than sleeping with a married man and letting yourself feel something for him. maybe you even hate him a little then, just a little bit of resentment tinging the memories of your summer.
a summer that ends within the blink of an eye.
three months gone just like that.
and yet you stay. a ghost haunting a mansion like you’d told him all those months ago. now truly alone. none of the staff stay the rest of the year, just some locals who check up on you once in a while. aldo and his fisherman friends who call you over for dinner some days. other than that it’s just you.
alone all over again. until…
six months later the villa’s phone rings on a cold morning. it’s rare, you think. almost as rare as it is for you to be still here this time of the year, but this year you haven’t felt the desire to go anywhere. this year it’s like you’re froze in summer, trying to chase that which is long gone.
“hello?” you put on your best customer service voice, cheerful and vacant.
“is this the villa?”
the moment you hear it, your heart stops beating. the receiver almost falls. it’s one of those old-fashioned landlines, something you never thought you’d have to change. the chord wraps itself around your finger. a moment later your heart comes back to life, racing twice as fast.
“yes…” you breathe, voice almost wobbly.
“is it booked out for the summer yet?”
a smile blooms on your face, just as tears threaten to fall from your eyes. it’s ross. it’s his voice, it’s really his voice. all soft and lovely and already making its way around the insides of your skull.
“not yet,” you laugh. it’s a watery sound. “you’re early. we don’t start taking reservations this early in the year.”
“oh?” the smile in his voice is clear. “i was hoping you’d make an exception for me. it’s only a party of one…”
you grab onto the chord of the receiver, tightly twisted around your fingers.
party of one. party of one. party of one.
“hello?”
“i’m here…”
for a few seconds, he doesn’t speak. but you imagine he’s smiling on the other end. you imagine his dimples on display and the crinkles around his eyes. “and will you let me come?”
involuntarily you clutch the gold chain around your neck, the one you wear every single day. the one you haven’t taken off since that very first day. it’s warm now, just as your skin is. just as his skin once felt under your hands. the tears you were barely holding in fall on your cheeks, and yet your face splits into a wide grin.
“party of one, you say.”
“it could be two,” he laughs a small, secret laugh, “if you’ll allow it.”
you do a little jump in place, giddy and practically acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. then you clear your throat and clutch the receiver closer. “why don’t you come find out?”
A/N: First time writing Ross, could be the last time too! It's long (7k), it's smutty and it's a day late (sorry @abiiors). This is part of Promptober '23 and I'm not sure if I've written it right as it's set in November (as you can tell it's going well lads).
***
November 23 2023.
Six hours and forty-seven minutes.
It made sense for him to fly straight into Glasgow. It shaved almost two hours off the red-eye flight in comparison to London and another twelve hours in the car to get you to your destination.
This airport and this place weren’t something foreign to him either, he found himself popping up here more often than not just to get some advice. At times he knew he could pick up the phone, but nothing beat an actual, in-person conversation with his big brother in a normal pub with a cheaply priced pint without any pretence.
As he walked to the carousel to grab his bag, he slid the second strap of his backpack onto his arm and immediately followed it with pulling up his hood. He was knackered, body achy from the cramped flight and blinking heavy from the lack of sleep.
His glasses-covered eyes silently followed the black tracking as it moved bag after bag past him. Inside his mind, he began to ridicule himself for not just flying with hand luggage. He didn’t need the extra items, only staying here for seventy-two hours before he would be back in America.
Utah he thinks, or was it Oregon? He made a mental note to figure it out before he left.
Subliminally, he felt himself perk up when he saw his beat up silver luggage push through the black rubber flaps at the start of the carousel. Rather than waiting for it to meet him, Ross went to meet it dragging himself to the other side of the carousel.
Plucking up the item with ease, his gaze quickly scanned the case. He made sure to spot the battered dragonfly sticker that represented one of his favourite bands, therefore knowing he was picking up the right case. Last thing he needed was to be on the phone to Glasgow Airport sorting out their mistake (or maybe it would be his).
Wheeling the case through the airport was easy, even at this hour. Hood still up, he was able to keep himself to himself as he headed towards border control.
The queue shuffled along quite nicely, and he couldn’t help but smile as he read your texts that had been sent throughout his flight. The last one saying, “I’m standing beside the massive Christmas tree, it has mistletoe x.”
He was dying to kiss you, mistletoe or not. He didn’t need an excuse.
Passport scanned and stamped, he softly smiled at the lady on the desk before letting his feet take him to you. His ears perked up at the sound of the accent around him, one that always filled him with the warmest of emotions. It reminded him of the soft lilt his nephew was beginning to pick up.
Walking past W H Smith’s, he weaved around what he perceived to be a couple greeting each other and let his eyes scan over the crowd milling around him.
Christmas tree, Christmas tree, Christmas tree.
He actually spotted you first, regardless of the size of the tree that you were next to. All flannel shirt (which he was sure was his), leather leggings (which he definitely knew were yours) and black boots. Ross gently smiled to himself, taking you in.
You hadn’t noticed him, too engrossed with turning around to look at the flight board that was placed over your left shoulder and reading whether there was any delay with his flight. Truth was the stupid board wasn’t updating so it wasn’t the latest information and you couldn’t be anymore in the dark if you tried to be.
It was almost like slow motion when you turned back around, this sea of hair moving behind you as you looked through the crowd and found him. You knew your smile was megawatt, as you ran your gaze over his entire being; biting it away when you saw the way he had embraced his miserable, emo self and pulled his black hood up.
You couldn’t blame him.
Part of you could already see the heavy tiredness in his body, even though he was at least two yards away from you. Guilt was the heaviest emotion in you, relief was the second. You knew it should be happiness, and god it was there as a close third, but your thoughts were so strongly filled with how much he must love you to do these kinds of things for you.
Flying red eyes. Fucking his body clock up even more to see you for three days. Only to pack his shit up and do it all over again.
Ross closed the gap between you both easily; long and strong strides making the most of his 6’4 stature. When he was in front of you, your hands found his abdomen with ease. Arms sliding underneath his hoodie, desperate to feel as much of his warmth on you now that he was here.
Your head buried itself into his neck, and his arms immediately anchored you to him; hand sliding up to gently cup at the back of your neck. Staying in silence allowed you to really breathe him in, he even smelt tired if there was a way to describe it.
“Where’s this mistletoe then?” He queried, voice wrecked from his time in the air, his lips at your temple.
“Any excuse,” you playfully murmured, as you nudged your head back to look up at him.
“I think you’ll find, you text it to me,” he jested, eyebrows raised as he looked down the bridge of his nose at you. You always loved when he looked at you with such a roguish expression, dimples framing his closed lipped smile.
People often thought of him as sensible and he was, but the times that you saw his eyes light up in this way were some of the most alive times of your life.
“Details,” you whispered, as he pulled you up to him with a know-it-all hum and a mumbled “I’ll give you details” leaning down the rest of the way to meet you.
You’d missed his beard, that was the first musing that came to mind. It’s juxtaposing bristle and softness, always something that distracted you in the best way.
His lips were of course a close second, especially in that moment as they tenderly plucked at yours in a way that heavenly sighed god, I’m glad to see you.
This contented hum left you as he pulled away gently, his lips not done as they nipped at your jaw before he buried his face into your neck now. He started to sway the two of you as you hugged, your hands sliding up his back and gripping to the worn band tee that he donned.
“How was the flight?” you asked, voice slightly strained due to your head being tilted upwards.
The question hung around in the air for a while, before he lifted himself and pressed his lips in sponging kisses to yours once, twice and three times once more.
“Shit,” he let the word linger at your mouth as you heavily sighed, “but ‘s fine.”
With a deep breath, Ross raised to his full height once more, chest puffed out as he stretched, before asking, “Where’s the keys?”
“I’m driving,” you replied, quickly. He eyed you, right hand rubbing at his chest. You hated driving, especially in Scotland. He knew it, you knew it. The times you’d let out the girliest of screams when picking him and Rob up from Murrayfield were far too embedded into his mind to not tease you religiously about it.
It was almost like you could hear his thoughts, reminding him of all the moments you’d panicked when on the roads up here.
“I’m driving, Ross,” you stressed, cutting the thoughts dead. You knew he meant well but there was no way he was going to complete the almost six hour drive that you had on your hands after being sat uncomfortably on a plane for six hours himself and most likely only running off fumes.
His lips quirked, amused at your tone which was so heavily laced with reprimand. “Alright,” he conceded. “After you, darlin’.”
***
He had fallen asleep to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac about an hour and thirty minutes into the drive. You had assumed it to be because you had hit the A82 which was such a large stretch of road which you had to drive along for such a long period of time that it had bored him enough to nod off.
As you had slowed in traffic, you took the time to admire him while he slept. His glasses hung at the neck of the tee, never far away so that he would be able to see almost instantly when he woke rather than panic trying to find them.
His arms were folded across his chest; his neck awkwardly propped up by his bunched up hoodie made into some makeshift pillow and placed between him and the car door. You knew he would regret it later - his body was about to remind him that he was a thirty-four year old man who needed a proper bed to rest in - but regardless you were glad that he had given in to his need to sleep.
A soft smile lifted at your lips as you took in his slightly rounded chin, you just knew a double chin was hidden by his impressive beard and it filled you with such affection that you wondered if you needed an intervention at this point.
Eyes back on the road, you lifted your hand to turn down the music even further, not wanting anything to disturb him during his slumber, and concentrated on the journey ahead of you.
“What a dickhead,” you muttered after a while, pressing the break harder than you liked and watching the navy car to your right almost cut you up without a care in the world.
“He had right of way.”
Turning your face to the left, you blinked in silence over at Ross, whose face was far too amused for your likening. He did not just wake up and berate your driving. How long had he been awake?
“Easy to say when you’ve been asleep for just over four hours,” you commented, pulling off and taking the next left onto a road you didn’t catch the name of. “Must’ve needed the beauty sleep.”
The laugh that he gave you was sudden and hearty. He wasn’t afraid to let you know he was amused by your previous comment which was heavily petulant in its delivery.
“M’necks fuckin’ killing me,” he broke the silence.
“Karma.”
He meowed at you then, communicating he was heavily aware of your cattiness towards him. You cut your eyes to him, infuriated by the way his gaze sparkled before he winked at you to try and soften you up.
Next his right hand moved to brush your hair behind your shoulder. He could feel the tension sitting at the back of your neck and across your shoulders without really touching you.
“Ross,” you mithered, “I’m trying to drive.”
“Pull in ‘ere, let me do the last bit.”
“Sweep in and take the glory, true United fan.”
“No,” he spoke, voice level. “I can feel your apprehension, and I want you to relax. Pull in.”
Sighing, you felt your fingers reach for the indicator before you could stop them, signaling that you were moving to the curb. His belt was off him before you had actually stopped, an annoying beeping sound filling the car to signify someone wasn’t wearing their seatbelt as it was still in operation.
You undid your seat belt slowly, watching him wait at the front of the car as traffic moved around. When it became clear, he rounded the car to your side, opening your door for you and giving you space to get out.
“Any CDs in the glove compartment?” He asked when you were stood in front of him. “Driver's choice.”
You rolled your eyes knowing you were about to endure some scream-o band from the early noughties with heavily distorted guitar sounds and tons of drum snare.
“On you go, Passenger Princess. I’m not changing my mind.”
You squinted your eyes up at him, as he patted twice at your backside.
Watching him in your car, fixing the seat for his long legs always did things to you. It felt like an age since you had last seen him drive, hands moving smoothly over the steering wheel and placing the gear stick into first to pull off.
The finesse he showed was always far more attractive than it should be and you always remembered so vividly the first time he had taken you on a drive in America in this fancy old car that just wasn’t responsive.
You had felt on edge the entire time. Ross? He was so calm. So in control. Taking it all in his stride. Not at all bothered about driving on the opposite side of the road than when you were both home.
It weirdly comforted you. Made you feel safe, secure. Here was a man who was exactly everything you had ever wanted. A little bit geeky, a whole lot manly. Able to act the fool when he felt it, but sweep in and put the pieces back together when needed.
Grateful is what you were.
He must’ve felt it too, because as he pulled out back onto the road and got comfortable, his left hand found its spot atop your thigh. You quickly encased it with both of yours, weaving the fingers of your right hand through his before using your left to gently stroke at the top of his hand, knuckles and forearm.
“Woah, what’s this wanker doing ‘ere?,” he broke the silence with his high pitched and incredulous tone, followed by “ya could fucking indicate, mate!”. You watched as Ross turned the wheel with his right hand alone and looked through his mirrors, almost asking himself silently if those around him could actually drive.
“Doesn’t he have right of way?”
“No, he fucking does not.”
The delivery of his response was so deep and astute you bit back your laugh, before lifting his hand to your lips; giving in and chuckling against his skin.
Of course, he didn’t!
(He absolutely did).
***
The Isle of Skye was renowned for its beauty. A hidden gem of sorts within the Scottish islands. Known for its rugged landscapes, picturesque fishing villages and medieval castles, the largest island in the Inner Hebrides was to be your home for the next seventy-two hours.
The feeling you got when you drove over to the coast via the bridge that connected it to Scotland’s northwest was like no other. You heard Ross chuckle under his breath at the way you let go of his hand and clambered for your phone so you could film the scenery around you, mountains and hills that were awash of oranges and browns, with the odd bit of greenery clinging on even though you were fully in the throes of autumn.
Panning your camera across the car, you filmed his profile as he drove with poise along the bridge, barely any cars in front of you giving an open road feel. He looked at you from the corner of his eye when he felt you filming him, this devilish grin lifting at his mouth as you watched him through the camera lift your hand to his lips then placing it against the side of his face.
“Eyes on the road, Romeo,” you replied to his non-verbal action, stroking his cheek with your thumb, before gently turning his head away to look through the windscreen.
The rest of the drive had been quite a damp one, the heavens opening and rain battering down onto your car. With about fifteen minutes to go, you wrapped yourself up in Ross’ hoodie, glancing over at him to see him sat further forward in his seat as he wiped at the inside of the window which was misting up.
You fiddle around with the blowers to help him, blasting them up to the highest they would go and seeing the way the hot heat helped clear the windscreen slightly.
The sat nav told him to take the next right, the car dropping down to 15mph due to the narrow streets that he was driving around and then it was the next left to take you to the cottage that was nestled in the village of Elgol.
The beauty of Elgol was something the two of you had discovered and became captivated by over his short and sweet summer break after attending a wedding of his brother's friend.
During those four days, you had spent time exploring the breathtaking coastline and ventured on scenic walks through the landscapes that were so often talked about when it came to Skye.
When you had last been there, you had been able to experience the perfect balance of seclusion and adventure, which was exactly what you and he had been after for the longest time.
“We’re going to be rained off,” he mumbled, a little agitated as he pulled the car to halt outside your cottage for the next three days.
“You say that as if there isn’t plenty for us to do inside.”
It was meant to be suggestive and you appreciated that he had picked up on it immediately, this smug smile plucking at his lips; the kind that was absolutely driven by a dirty thought or two.
“I know how much you love a game of chess, babe.”
He glanced over at you unamused, as you laughed in such a dirty way, you were almost shocked a sound like that could leave you.
“Just love it, me.”
His deadpan was second to none. It was definitely one of your favourite things about him: made the list of the top five favourite things ever.
“Getting really good at it.”
“And who’s told you that?” He dropped his head back against the headrest and rolled his face to the side to look at you. He was currently on a losing streak, truth be told.
“Hey, Waughy and I talk. Usually when I’m waiting for you to reply to my text but you’re too hungover to pick your head up off the pillow.”
“Oh, I see how it is, fraternising with the enemy. Giving him all my tricks.”
You rolled your lips into your mouth, breathing deeply through your nose. “Not all of them.”
Those words were weighty.
There were some things John didn’t need to know about his friends. Things that were for only you and Ross.
A silence fell over you both, filling the car. You kept your eyes on each other, Ross’ occasionally falling over your features and dropping to your lips. He’d stare at them for a while, before they’d lift and he’d start the process all over again.
He did this a lot when he was away, sometimes in person like now after he had dared to take the flight, or other times through the phone when FaceTiming from California, or New York, or Perth. It was like he needed to memorise you in some way, just in case you changed by the time he got home.
You took him in too, his usual hair less sleek as flyaways made their presence known thanks to the damp moisture in the air. His skin wasn’t as perky as usual, a little sallow in colour but regardless he was still the most handsome man you knew.
Under his loving gaze, you shivered. It was probably more from the cold than anything, but that didn’t stop the light blush invading.
“Best get you inside and warm,” he spoke. “Gonna have to make a run for it.”
You giggled to yourself as you opened your door, breath catching in your throat when the cold splashes of rain hit you. You turned briefly to see Ross using his long stride to his advantage, jogging to the blue front door of your cottage and moving from side to side to keep himself from going numb as the November cold whipped around him.
Car door slammed behind you, you held your bag in your hand and ran to stand next to him, both trying to cram yourself into the alcove under the thatched room.
Your hands shook as you fiddled with the keys. Trying your best to align it with the lock. He watched from the side of you as you shivered on the front door step, all-natural radiance and slightly sodden, swaying from side to side as you tried to keep warm.
“Come ‘ere,” his deep voice chuckled, unable to watch you struggle any longer, gently taking the keys from you and pushing them into the lock. “How are you so fuckin’ freezing and you’ve even nicked my jumper?”
You didn’t answer him, instead opting to push the door open the minute he’d unlocked it and prayed that the owners had left some kindle for the open fire so that Ross would be able to sort it immediately.
***
One warm shower later, you stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge, eyes moving over the scene in front of you. Hair thrown up in a messy bun atop your head, the tartan pyjamas you had purposely packed were loose against your frame.
Ross has disappeared into the bathroom about thirty minutes ago now to wash away the travel, his rendition of And She Was muffled but still present over the sound of the shower.
You’d spent that time going through the welcome pack that was filled with freshly baked bread courtesy of the owners, a burgundy white wine which boasted buttery tastes of peaches and citrus zest, and of course a bag of coffee that sounded completely to Ross’ fancy.
With the bottle uncorked, you poured yourself a glass, quickly placing it into the fridge to keep it chilled. Regardless of it edging closer to winter by the day, there was nothing worse than room temperature wine.
Shoulder pressed to the door jamb, you sipped at the alcohol and rested the cool glass against your lips.
The Nest as it was known, was definitely romantic. All thatched roof and spectacular panoramic views which overlooked Knock Castle and across the Sound of Sleat to the Knoydsrt mountains.
Inside it was all vintage French fabrics and fine linen. With its sheepskin rugs and real wood fire stove, the cottage was described as the “perfect getaway for couples looking to explore and return to comfort after a day walking in the hills and mountains”.
While your exploring had only consisted of you carrying your items from the car and into the cottage, you were definitely ready to get cosy next to the fire and relax in the lived-in space.
“Forgot my clothes,” he spoke in a hushed tone not wanting to break the serene silence when he spotted you across the room. His voice slowly tapered off as he took in the particular tartan pattern that you were donning, recognising it to be that of his own family name.
The smirk that lifted at his lips, and the flare of his nostrils as he inhaled deeply let you know he had caught on. As tribal as it was, you didn’t mind the way his eyes ravaged you.
Your eyes ran over him without shame in return, his hair wet and sitting against his shoulders, lines of water dripping down his hairy chest and over the tops of his broad shoulders. The delicate chain that he always wore was decorative against his neck.
His right hand held a white towel securely at his hips, clenching at the fabric as he glistened and walked closer to you.
“Any of that going spare?” He nudged his head towards the wine, causing you to peel your eyes away from him and down to your own glass. When you looked back at him, he was so close to you you had to tilt your head back slightly.
“Depends,” you started, watching his eyebrow quirk up at you with intrigue. “Are you planning on sitting around in that towel, or covering yourself up?”
The crackle of the fire cut through the room and your question.
“How’d you want me?”
***
Ross opted for clothes, which meant he had to pour his own glass of wine when he came back from getting dressed. Rather than giving him a verbalised answer earlier, you’d flirtatiously tugged at his right wrist trying to get him to drop the towel.
“Towel stays on babe,” he had whispered against your lips, wet hair moving to almost curtain around you. “This cold won’t do anything for my ego.”
You rolled your eyes at him bringing up “winter penis”, which if you recalled correctly had been a topic of conversation a few nights ago when he had called you from Toronto. A conversation that had started with the guys, and one he thought fitting to continue with you.
It wasn’t, but you’d rolled with it. Mainly because at the time of the call you could hear the stage whisky fuelled slur and wanted to humour him.
You had fawned over him in that moment, openly discussing the size of his dick and before you knew it you were engaged in particularly erotic dirty talk while you sat and ate your Weetabix. Time zones were fucking bizarre, but you did what you had to to survive tour. That’s just how it was.
“You know the other morning when you phoned me and started talking about your dick,” he hummed, wanting you to continue. “I was eating breakfast-“
“Was it any good for you?”
“The Weetabix? Ten out of ten.”
He laughed, his head falling back against the cushions as he sat on the floor with his back resting against the bottom of the sofa.
“Cheers,” he bit back in good humour, looking at you upside down.
You let your fingers run gently across his brow, thumb stroking at his forehead as you softly smiled. “You know how I feel about your dick,” you whispered.
“Do I?”
You hummed your response of “yes”, voice light and airy.
“Why are we whispering?” He asked. You shrugged. “They deliver cocktails to this cottage, did ya know that?”
You hummed again, watching him flip through the menu he was holding. His fingers tapping at one of the cocktail names, “Reckon I’d like this one.”
Leaning down and looking over his shoulder you read the title.
Highland Fling. How predictable.
You chose to stay silent as you read the few lines explaining it underneath its bolded title.
The Highland Fling cocktail is a bold, robust and a slightly sweet drink with a flavour of citrus. The smoky and rich flavours of the Scotch whisky are balanced by the sweetness of Drambuie and tart lemon juice. Mixed together they create a complex and satisfying taste experience.
The cocktail is a popular choice among whisky enthusiasts and those who appreciate the rich history of Scottish culture.
“Technically we’re not in the Highlands,” you paused, glancing over at him and seeing his rich eyes were already on you. “For someone who likes to think they’re Scottish, you’ve fucked it there.”
He raised his eyebrows. Touché.
“Spoilsport.”
You leant forward to soothe him with a peck to the lips, whispering against his mouth, “Get four of ‘em.”
***
Before you knew it you were both a few cocktails deep, glasses lined up either side of you on the floor where you sat.
As he looked over at you, he knew you were at the very least buzzed by the soft flush that littered your cheekbones. He had zoned out at whatever it was you were talking about, too engrossed by the way you shone as you talked to him.
He knew he was fucked, in more ways than one. Hopefully literally, at least later on, but that thought could wait for another hour or two. Loving someone and being in love were different things, and in that moment he knew he was in love with you. He knew a lot of things actually; like he knew he needed to ask you to marry him before the tour was out.
He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when but he knew he had to make it happen.
Maybe he could find some time in the new year, whisk you away somewhere warm to fight away the January blues. At least that’s what he would tell you.
With your feet in his lap, you leant back on your right hand as you sat on the floor, left holding your fifth cocktail to your lips. It was something pink and fruity - watermelon or strawberry based, he couldn’t quite remember - but the way it was staining your lips was all too satisfying.
“I actually think he has a soft spot for me now,” you spoke softly, humming and closing your eyes as you felt his hands move to massage your feet.
“Who?”
You spoke the name of his eldest nephew, seeing the way his eyes smiled at the mention of his brother’s son, when yours fluttered open and looked back at him.
“He’s always liked you,” he reassured, hand rubbing gently along your calf. He liked you talking about his family so breezily, even if you were showing a need to be liked by his three year old nephew in this scenario.
You shook your head, biting down at your lip. “No one compares to Uncle Ross.”
“Uncle Ross, is really fucking cool that’s why.”
He widened his eyes to emphasise what he was saying, wondering how he wasn’t cringing at describing himself as cool.
“Pretty fit too.”
He looked at you over the rim of his glass as he stalled his movement to drink; holding your eyes with his he let his lips encase the rim of the glass. They were dark and smouldering, never leaving your face. There was no chance he didn't know what he was doing; he didn’t need to verbalise how much he wanted you at that moment.
“How fit we talking?”
You breathed deeply, a blissful sigh leaving you on exertion. “So fit.”
He laughed down his nose, the additional sip of his cocktail he had taken now swallowed.
“Really eloquent.”
“I know,” you played along, voice breathy. “The most eloquent, but tell me I’m wrong.”
In goading fashion you pressed your foot gently into his stomach, feeling his hand clasp around the top from your action.
“Behave.”
“Make me.”
Ross pulled at your leg then, hand curling under your knee, needing you closer. Your joyful squeal turned into a throaty laugh as you threw your head back and somehow found yourself in his lap.
He was back against the sofa then, hands sliding up the back of your pyjamas and gripping gently to the nape of your neck. He guided your face down and towards him. His mouth smiled against yours, the two of you too happy to engage in a proper kiss.
Giving up, he slid his lips across your cheek and underneath your chin as you tilted your head back and breathed his name. He gently nipped at your throat, tongue licking and tasting your skin which was slightly salty due to the heat within the room from the roaring fire.
Your fingers were woven into the hair at the nape of his neck, pushing upwards underneath where his hair tie sat, to try and loosen his bun. His hair was still damp from where it had been tied up after his shower hours earlier, and the cool strands felt delightful to your fingertips.
“I fucking love you in this,” he confessed, face buried in your chest as he finally acknowledged you wearing his family tartan. His right hand had a strong hold on your back, hand splayed between your shoulder blades as you leaned back.
His left was fumbling with the buttons of your pyjama top, desperate to rid you of the clothing item. Your mind was telling you to help, but you were too engrossed by the feeling of his lips suckling at your sternum.
“Babe,” you gasped, when you felt him nudge the fabric away with his nose, mouth wet along the top of your boob before he enclosed his lips around your exposed nipple. A satisfied moan left you, as you stroked down the back of his neck and lightly grazed your nails over his skin.
His fingers were firm, deftly plucking at the remaining buttons of your top like the strings of a bass as he grew confident. Top now sat open, his hands were quick to encourage you to move yours from around his neck, so he could slide the sleeves off.
Ross was so immersed in you, the smell of your skin and the way your breath got caught in your throat as he lapped at your nipple.
“Your tits are incredible.”
The comment was boyish and almost lost against your skin. It made you smile, teeth biting down at your bottom lip as he switched boobs.
“I missed you too,” you replied, humour lacing your words.
From your response you felt him lightly trace his nose against your breastbone, he tilted his face back to look up at you, his chin resting at your chest. Your hands moved to gently cup at his face, Ross turning slightly to press his lips to the inside of your palm.
His eyes were imploring as they looked up at you, silently watching you slide your top off completely and aimlessly throw it away before welcoming you back to him by sliding his hands up your bare back and applying a small amount of pressure to your shoulder blades to pull you down to him.
He had missed you. He didn’t need to voice it literally at that moment. It was in his gaze, his touch, the way his fingers dug into your skin as he held you.
You cupped his cheeks, the sound of both your inhales mixing just before your lips met and his face became blurred to you. He started off delicately, almost allowing you to process the feeling of his beard beneath your right hand, and his lips against yours. It wasn’t long until a fervent, urgent need overtook, building from this graduation of intensity that had you clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in your ever-changing world.
Ross’ mouth was insistent as he parted your lips and it evoked a sensuality within you that you had missed the minute he had parted from you all those months prior. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, gentle but demanding, causing a swimming giddiness to overflow your being.
You smiled at the smacking sound of your lips audible, like two teenagers necking on. Faltering lips and a low and muffled moan omitting against your mouth from him as you curled your fingers in his hair and lightly pulled.
Fighting a losing battle, Ross’ lips moved messily down your chin and to your neck. He paused momentarily, holding you against his body before moving to lay you back against the sheepskin rug. It felt sleek and inviting against your skin and you looked down your body at him waiting on his next move.
“Thought about you fucking me on this carpet when I booked this place,” you softly voiced like it was some lewd confession and not one you were sharing with your long term boyfriend.
This wicked glint flickered across his gaze and the smuggest grin you had sworn he had ever worn lifted at his lips; slowly he sat back on his haunches and started to unbutton his top. His eyes were everywhere; at your bare chest, on the sea of hair that haloed above you.
“Did ya?”
Looking down at him, you nodded happily wearing your soft blush and lifted your hand to try and reach for the bottom of his shirt to help him remove it quicker.
“Lured me here under the pretense of wanting a nice little getaway,” he teased. “Really just wanted to have your way with me.”
His eyes took in the way you looked at him, all doe-eyed and biting gently down on your bottom lip. You weren’t going to deny it; why would you?
You instead reached for his hand. The heat and wetness between your legs felt all too inviting, desperate for his touch. He palmed you over the top of your underwear so easily, dexterous digits swiping at your clit in the right way.
“Don’t start without me,” he paused, as your eyes started to close from the feel of his fingers. His lips pressed to your warm cheek when he continued, “Let me go get some condoms.”
As he rose to his feet, he quickly stripped his lower half leaving him naked, unphased and all bare bottom as he walked away. It wasn’t lost on you the use of the plural.
Starting without him was exactly what you needed, fingers caving and picking up where he left off: gently rubbing at yourself and spreading your wetness over your clit.
“Hands,” his chided when back in the lounge, hearing a soft whine escape you and seeing your hands move to easily rid you of your pyjama trousers. When you returned to your place on the floor, you watched the strip of condoms bounce to the carpet next to you, from his relaxed throw.
“Someone’s confident,” you casually commented, gazing up at him through hooded eyes and taking in the open wrapper that was placed between his teeth. He smirked around it, head dropped and looking down at his hands as they adeptly rolled the latex over his erection.
Joining you back on the floor, Ross leant over and pressed a kiss to the inside of your left knee, his eyes finding yours from under his brow. He mumbled, “Some would say prepared…”
He stalled his words, lips now at your right knee. “…. Safe.”
“Sexy.”
“How’d you want me?” He queried in return, feeling your hands pulling at him.
“You decide. Just want you.”
He moved so effortlessly between your legs, them pliant in his hands and accommodating. His weight above you was always welcomed, comfortingly looming and imperturbably virile.
“Put me in,” he spoke, voice low and caught in his throat as slipped his tip between your folds. You whined around your bitten lips, reaching up to pull him down closer from where he was hovering over you.
His lips were heavy on yours once more, all tongue and hungry. He groaned against your mouth as you stroked him over the condom that he wore, hands sliding down your waist and angling your hips.
“S’yours, you know.”
You slowly smiled at his slurred and barely audible words, mouth dropping open and head falling further into the carpet as he slid into you with no resistance, bottoming out in one long, smooth stroke and the manliest “fuck me”.
Humming deeply, Ross bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires.
“More,” you craved to feel the power you knew he held.
He listened, thrusts more measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what you wanted and needed. Undulating and determined.
He jutted his hips forward, knocking your body with more force as you lay relaxed below him, arms above your head and boobs bouncing with each swift jolt of his thrusts as he fucked into you.
“Yes, fuck me,” you breathily moaned, head pushed back further into the floor beneath you, hands moving to the rug upon which your lay, fingers grasping at the soft material.
To think that all those hours earlier, you thought that neither of you were going to get warm. Now you almost choked around the thick air that consumed you within the room and from the roaring fire.
Ross’ thrusts kept their measured in pace, more forceful than before and you couldn’t help the blissful sighs and heavenly cries that left you lips as he devoured your sweaty skin, licking and sucking at the curve between where your shoulder and neck met.
The feeling of his touch let you know how sure of himself he was. You couldn’t disagree as your body welcomed him, receptive and pliant and willing.
He frowned along with you when he felt you begin to go taught. When you breathily gasped his name, he scooped you into him and held you against him.
Your orgasm had crept up on you, causing you to cup the back of his neck and bring his face back to yours. He was muttering words of approval into your skin, something that you couldn’t decipher that had you opening your legs wider for him.
He knew you liked it when you couldn’t quite figure out what filthy things he was saying to try and get you there. It summed up the mystique that peppered throughout your relationship.
As you shook, he sloppily fucked you through your release, hand tilting your hips up as you become slack.
“God, I love you,” you desperately gasped when you came to, face flushed and feeling clammy from the mixture of the heat from the naked flame to your right and pure exertion.
“‘Think you love fuckin’ me,” he roughly spoke, his right hand seeking yours and lacing your fingers together against the rug. You looked at him with desperate eyes, a shake of your head to his words. “No?” He sniggered down his nose, his own skin taking on a pink flush.
His other hand wound underneath your lower back, as you arched slightly, liking the way he wanted to drag it out; to roll his heavy hips into yours this entire time and making it so your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone on every thrust.
He watched your eyes roll back and your chin lifted upwards, him finding your spot once more causing you to clench around him. Ross groaned your name, begging you to look at him. Your hazy eyes found his shortly after he aired his request, hips snapping forward when you silently begged him with fucked out eyes to fill you up.
“Fuck, ‘m comin’.”
The sound of his voice was watery; choked as he groaned causing you to blissfully sigh when you felt him drop down to you, your arms enveloping his body and holding it to yours.
You ran your fingertips lightly down his back, listening to his breathing even itself out, you pressed a fluttering kiss to his temple and purred, “Welcome home, baby.”
circa 2019. ross is 29, its the notes era. imagine graham norton ross. there's a lot of waffling because I feel like I need to get back into the swing of writing, and also set the scene because this is going to be three parts! so apologies for that. i've missed you all so much and i'm just glad to be posting something for the first time in ages. i hope you're all okay i would love to hear what you've been up to in the, like, five months i've disappeared into the abyss for. I'M WAFFLING AGAIN. sorry. okay. fresh out the slammer! enjoy. i'm nervous. okay.
Word Count: 2,848
Part One: 'Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you.'
Who were you supposed to call on nights like this? The question seemed to be the only thing your brain circled back to as tears streamed down your face, a sob caught in your throat, heels harsh and loud on the pavement, even over the chaos of muffled bars. Your 28th birthday, stood outside a club that you were probably too old to be at in the first place, phone vibrating with 'where r u???' - who were you supposed to call?
Your birthday didn't feel very worth celebrating when you looked back on the year you'd had, your freshly shattered heart stinging as a very raw memory of being walked out on a week earlier seared itself through your memory. He'd always been a dickhead, the kind of boyfriend who'd told you that he was the best thing to ever happen to you, or that the whole writing thing wouldn't work out, but what did you have if you didn't have him? He'd been a pillar in your life since, well, forever. He'd shown you your favourite holiday destination, your favourite wine, your favourite book - were you just a product of him? The thought panicked you. No, you were cool. You had loads of interests, and friends, and hobbies.
The one thing he'd not shown you was something you'd kept a secret from him.
Your favourite band.
Even now, your stomach twisted as you recalled him and your youth, nights tangled up in bed sheets and clumsy hands on sticky dance floors, the mere thought of his recurring aftershave sending a wave of nostalgia over you as you perched on the ledge, lighting up a cigarette. It'd been years since you'd spoken to Ross. Now that you thought about it, it was probably around the same time Charlie had come on the scene, private-schooled, 5'9, biology-studying Charlie. You'd ignored Ross' messages inviting you to their gigs out of guilt for Charlie (his ego would have been well and truly tarnished), reluctantly un-followed him on Instagram when there'd been questions asked about him, tried to pretend that there wasn't an invisible tattoo of his hand prints at your waist, the memory of his fingertips forever stained in your hair, remnants of his kisses on your starving lips. Nothing has ever come close to Ross, and you'd be lying if you said that when Charlie had been away for work, you'd replayed the reels of your nights together in your mind.
You looked at the time - 3:17.
His number probably wasn't even the same as the one you had in your phone.
You leaned your head back, looked up at the sky, squeezed your eyes shut. There's no way you were about to do this. He probably thinks you're a weirdo anyway, cutting contact like he'd been a random one-time snog in a club. He might not even be in the country, for all you knew, with his world-famous band and world-famous records and most likely world-famous girlfriend. You'd not thought about that up until now - his girlfriend. Perhaps non-existent, probably existent. Jealous curled up your spine, a sick feeling settling in your stomach.
It was like your hands weren't your own as you scrolled through your contacts, brain on auto-pilot and suddenly feeling 20 again, stood outside a bar at university, ringing him to come and get you. The picture you'd set all those years ago was still the same somehow, and it made you swallow heavily - his head pressed next to yours, hair swooped to one side and probably wearing a Hollister polo. You both looked so young. It stopped you in your tracks, almost. You thought of how different things could have been if you hadn't ran away from everything, panicked and settled down like you thought you'd wanted, let him go on tour with the band and forever have the 'what if' hanging in the windows of your newly-purchased house with Charlie. What a success that was.
You pressed it and waited. It rang. And it rang.
As if you'd thought he'd pick up. It probably came up as an unknown number. You felt daft as you held the phone to your ear, tears stinging at your eyes again. The only person you'd thought to call.
Your stomach dropped when the ringing came to a halt and you could hear crackling.
And then his voice. Sleepy, low, tired.
Familiar. Warm.
"Y/n? Can you hear me?" he repeated as you stood in silence, lips pressed together at the sound of his name down the line.
"Ross," you managed to choke out, running a hand through your hair.
"Is everything okay?" he sounded concerned and you could hear his footsteps across what sounded like a hardwood floor, pacing.
"I just..." You looked up again, swallowing. "I'm so sorry."
"Y/n/n? What's going on?" Coming to a halt, his voice softened.
"I'm in Manchester, and I guess I'm kind of lost? I don't know, it looks different than it used to, and I'm on my own. I don't know why I called, you're probably not even here, are you?"
There was silence from across the line for a second and you squeezed your eyes shut. If he didn't think you were crazy before, he definitely did now.
"No, I'm here. I'm in my flat." He said softly.
"Oh, right," Your head was spinning. "I'm sorry for bothering you, I just-"
"Whereabouts are you?"
You breathed in sharply.
"I'm not sure, it used to be that bar we went to every week, but it's changed now, it's a kebab shop, I think." You glance at the neon sign, voice shaky.
"Are you staying in a hotel or anything? I can order you an Uber, or-"
His voice crackled down the line.
"I was, but I've lost my friends, and I've had a drink and I can't call Charlie and I don't know what to do." Your throat feels tighter when you say it all out loud. "I don't know, I called you because it was the only thing I could think of, but it's fine, I can-"
"Stay there," you can hear him moving around, "I'm leaving now."
It felt like an eternity between him hanging up the phone and arriving, perhaps because all you could do was think about how you've ended up here.
The car pulled up slowly and your stomach dropped, the window rolling down and his smile visible as he ducked his head.
It was like your feet were frozen to the ground for a second. His lips curved at the sides, hair messy and just as dark as you remembered it, but his eyes were older. They creased at the corners a little, slightly darker, a bit more tired. It wasn't just you who'd been trying to figure things out since you graduated, exhausted by the demands of post-graduate existence.
"Just move that, sorry." he mumbled as you opened the car door, throwing an empty water bottle onto the backseats. His eyes seemed immovable for a second, like he was having the same thought process as you. You felt intensely vulnerable for a second, and suddenly remembered the ladder in your tights and the mascara stained cheeks that faced him.
"God, it's been so-"
"I've missed you-"
You both started at the same time, an airy laugh escaping as you let the silence consume you.
He started the car without another word. It took everything in you not to stare, or cry, or say how much you'd missed him and how sorry you were that you'd abandoned it all. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, drinking in the streets you'd traipsed as a student.
"We're here." he glanced at you, pulling up outside an apartment block.
"Oh, you didn't need to bring me here, it's okay, I think there's a Premier Inn up the road." You furrowed your brows at him, shaking your head and starting to rifle through your bag. "I've got my card, it's fine, I-"
"It's fine." He said with a slight smile, shaking his head. "You can stay at mine. 'Will be nice to have the company."
You smiled at him softly, in the way you might smile at a cashier or your boss. It felt strange, transactional, like maybe there was a void between the two of you. You'd put it there.
"Thank you." You said quietly, following him out of the car and up the steps.
The lift was creaky and you closed your eyes for a second, the tiredness hitting you. The past two weeks had been a lot, and you'd thought a night out might fix everything.
His flat was just as you'd expected it to be. Records and CDs and books on every available surface, a scattering of guitar picks, some empty mugs, a weeks' worth of unopened post.
"Is it just you that lives here?" You asked as you stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching him as he put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs. A Macclesfield FC one, and a souvenir one from Germany, it seemed.
He nodded with a hum, glancing at you. "You can get comfy, it's fine."
The fluorescent kitchen light felt exposing as you slid your heels off, placing them neatly by the door with your bag. He handed you the cup of tea promptly after and you followed him into the living room. It was spacious, yet the sheer amount of stuff everywhere made it feel lived in.
"Why couldn't you ring Charlie?" he asked after at least five minutes of the two of you pretending to watch whatever random Top of the Pops repeat that BBC 2 had shoved on for the 4am slot. He looked at you intently, but his tone was calm, simply wondering.
"We've split up." You looked down at the mug, mouth drying out. "About a week ago."
"I'm sorry to hear it." He said after a beat, looking back to the TV.
"Don't be." I shook my head, lips pursed. "Wasn't as good as it seemed, all that house-owner, engaged shit."
His gaze softened, but you could sense his sadness for you.
It's strange, to sit in a room with someone you once slept with on the regular, thought you were going to marry, like people do when they're 19, and feel like you know nothing about them. You could mentally draw him, the identical placement of the birthmark on his right hip, the exact colour of his eyes, yet you couldn't identify which bedroom was his in this flat, or what he'd had for tea the night before.
"I'm sorry for calling you at this time." You said meekly, looking back at the TV.
"I was awake anyway, it's okay." He glanced at you. "It was nice to see your name on my phone."
"I'm sorry for not calling sooner, then." You corrected your earlier statement, watching as his lips tilted into the oh-so-familiar smile your fingers had traced over countless times.
"I missed hearing from you."
"I missed hearing from you, too."
The silence was deafening, almost claustrophobic as you inhaled deeply. His eye contact faltered, skitting back to the TV, blinking heavily. You wondered what he was thinking, whether memories of you under him were also still as fresh in his mind as if they'd happened yesterday.
He downed the last of his tea, sitting forward.
"There's a spare room across from mine, down the hallway. Feel free to get a shower, use some of the clothes in those drawers, whatever you need."
"Thanks." You placed the half empty mug next to his on the coffee table. "Do you have any paracetamol or anything? I can't really hack hangovers anymore, even if it is just a couple of cocktails."
"Could you ever hack hangovers?" He teased as he stood up, walking into the kitchen. You blushed - so he was thinking about those mornings, too.
He handed you the box to take to bed with you, showing you the bedroom.
"There's a clean towel in the bathroom," he pointed to the on-suite, "I'm just in here if you need anything." His neck craned to look into the bedroom behind you, pointing to the bathroom and drawers, but you could only look at him. His tan skin, his tousled hair, neat, tidy beard, the chest hair that poked from the top of his t shirt.
Standing across from each other in the hallway, you could see into his bedroom. Light green sheets, a book next to his bed, a pair of jeans thrown over the end of the bed-frame. You wanted to know him again. To know him, and his life, and his body. Charlie was superficial - his lavish proposals, extravagant holidays, Instagram posts declaring you as 'the love of his life' and lonely nights spent waiting for him to get back from a boys night out. Ross was everything. He was 'picking you up at 3am', remembering how you liked your tea after 7 years apart, dark eyes and curls and haphazardly strewn clothes and empty beer cans on bedsides and you.
"Thank you, again, for letting me stay over." you looked up at him, his gaze already fixed on you.
"It's not a problem."
A second passed before you turned on your heel, a shaky nervous hand reaching for the doorknob.
"Night," You said, with a small smile.
"Night."
You closed the door and watched his turn away, broad shoulders disappearing into the opposite room.
The shower was hot, steaming up the bathroom, as you turned it on. You'd dug out a stripy t-shirt and some joggers you could roll up from the back of the wardrobe.
You tipped your head back in the shower, letting the hot water run over you. The shower gel lathered against your skin, and it felt symbolic, to be washing away the day, the thoughts of Charlie, the fake smiles of your fake friends in fake, pose-y bars. Ross had always felt real to you, the realest thing in this city. He'd been brutally honest with you when you'd needed it, soft with you when he knew he had to be. The memory of your fight flashed into your mind - the last day before you went back home after graduation, tears in his eyes, down your cheeks, raised voices and a final, slammed door. Your eyes opened quickly as you remembered how you'd told him you wanted stability, not to follow his 'silly band around the world'. You hated yourself for it, even now. He's been hurt, like it had meant nothing to either of you, the way you'd got into your car and drove back to your parents with blurred vision, Car Seat Headrest blasting through the stereo as you fled the scene.
You thought about him laid across the hall. Was he wide awake? You tossed over onto your side, duvet pulled up to your neck. It must've been about 5am. You willed yourself to just fall asleep. The sound of floorboards creaking forced your eyes open, but they hushed as soon as they'd chorused through the flat.
The smell of coffee was the thing that roused you from your sleep. So I did sleep, you thought.
His back was to you as you entered the kitchen, the rustle of the TV and clanging of utensils echoing off the walls.
"Morning," You yawned, smiling as he jumped and turned to you. His gaze trailed up and then back down for a second, the sight of you in his clothes clearly taking him by surprise.
"Did you sleep okay?" He smiled. His hair was flat on one side, sleepy eyes, crinkled t-shirt. You nodded, heat rushing to your stomach at the sight of him. "Did you?". He just hummed in reply, pouring water in the mugs.
You sat and ate scrambled eggs on toast. You talked about work. You discussed the rugby, each other's siblings, old uni friends. It felt comfortable, and right, and you had to catch yourself when you stared at him for too long and began to picture doing this every morning.
"We leave soon, though."
"Leave?" You asked, sipping your orange juice.
"Yeah, for tour." He looked up at you from his plate. "Next Wednesday."
Next Wednesday, for tour.
You felt silly for thinking your lives would be sewn together seamlessly, that you would fit into his world like you'd never left.
There wasn't much conversation after that, and it was like you could read his mind for a second. He'd said that to warn you, to prepare you, because he too was imagining this as a constant. This wasn't going to work, and you both knew it. You wanted it to, desperately, and when you left his flat that morning, your eyes welled like they had that fateful day in 2011.
You'd hugged him tightly before you'd left, his arms around your waist firmly, yours around his neck. He was going away for a year, touring the world, and you were going back to your mum and dad's, because where else could you go?
You meet Ross when he's on a brief break from tour, and hit it off straight away. You agree that it's only going to be a bit of fun, nothing serious, just sex and adventures until he has to go away again. Except it doesn't work out like that and by the time he goes away for the second leg, he's really fallen for you. You feel the same but you both stick to the plan, neither of you aware of the other's true feelings. You keep in touch on tour, casual at first but the flirting ramps up and it soon becomes very apparent that you're mad about each. May or not end up with Matty sending you plane tickets 😆
Just a fling
Warnings: smut, swearing, use of good girl bc I can’t help myself! minors DNI
Loud music pumped through the speakers, drinks flowed through your veins, you and your friends laughed and chatted across the table in the bar together, sinking more and more drinks, you were happily buzzed. Ross was on the other side of the bar, sipping on his whiskey, eyes dragging across various faces in the bar as he half listens to what his friends are saying to him. Taking in the space, when his eyes land on you, his eyes narrowed slightly as he stood for a moment just watching you across the room as you laughed with friends, occasionally sipping your drink, eyes eventually leaving the group when you feel a heavy gaze burning into your skin. Your eyes find his and you see a subtle smirk settle on his face, a smirk that almost read ‘you’re mine, if only for tonight.’
You hesitantly return your gaze back to your group of friends having missed what they said “huh?” You draw out, eyes still lingering back and forth between your friends and the tall, dark haired, handsome stranger. “We said it’s your turn to buy a round” one of your friends practically shouts across the table at you, finally regaining your full attention. “Oh, uh, okay, same again for everyone?” They all nod as you grab your bag heading towards the bar, you place your order with the barman and wait patiently, about to turn around to look at your friends when a broad chest blocks your vision. You raise your head to meet the eyeline of the man an entire foot taller than you, to find the same brown eyes you had met across the room moments ago, only now they were right in front of you, and the warm lights of the bar were glistening in his eyes making them shine, and making your heart race. You gasp when you realise how close he is and that he is in fact real, not a figment of your imagination. “Sorry love, didn’t mean to make you jump” his voice is deeper than you had expected, but he smiles and his dimples pop out making your shocked gaze soften. “It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, which is silly really because this place is packed…” your voice trails off, eyes leaving his to look at the floor for a moment, out of embarrassment.
“No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been standing so close, but you caught my eye earlier and I thought I’d catch you while you’re alone” your eyes widen slightly as he speaks. “Wow didn’t mean for that to come out as predatory as it sounded” he jokes making you laugh, easing the tension, the barman hands over your tray of drinks and your about to pick it up when the kind stranger takes it for you, you give him a strange look but he nods his head for you to follow him. He walks over to your table, your friends all go quiet and stare wide eyed at the incredibly good looking man stood next to you carrying their drinks, he places the tray down and the girls fly to their cocktails like vultures, all needing a drink in their systems for whatever was about to happen next. “Hello ladies, I’m Ross, I was wondering if I could borrow your friend for a little while?” He speaks to them so politely you want to die, the girls all gawk at you until your friend hannah “babe take her, she’s been away with the fairies all night anyway” they laugh and you shake your head whispering a thanks to her as you lean down to grab your drink. Following who you now know to be Ross, across the bar and to an empty table.
“So, you know my name but I’m yet to learn yours, would you enlighten me?” He smirks once more as he sips his drink. You roll your eyes own drink burning down your throat, “Y/n” he smiles and reaches across the table, fingers grazing your knuckles as your hold your glass. “Y/n, beautiful, I like it, it suits you” you feel yourself blushing at his forwardness. “Thank you" you breathe. The night carried on, more questions asked, learning the ins and outs of each other, you learn he's in a band, a successful one, which has you surprised as to what he's doing in a little bar like this, in the middle of nowhere. He learns that you're a writer and write a column reviewing films and Tv series, for a notable news blog. You were both successful in your line of works which was something he liked. He also hated to admit it, but he liked that you didn't immediately know who he was, only recognising him once he told you who his band mates were. "We nearly met once actually" he raises an eyebrow at you as you speak. "I was asked to be one of the journalists reporting at the brits a few years ago, but I had to pass up on the offer" you admit, raising your glass to your lips, as his eyes widen, "and what was more important than a night at the brits?" Ross smirks as he talks, edging himself closer towards you, "I prefer to do my reporting behind my screen, never really been one to get out in front of a camera, besides, couldn't have you fawning all over me when you were supposed be answering questions about your award" You wink a the man, earning a blush and snigger.
You don't know how you ended up here. Back pressed against the elevator wall, as Ross peppered hot, wet kisses along your neck, jaw, biting your earlobe. You're not sure a what point in the night, the soft touches of your hands turned into kisses, but it didn't take much after that for you to get your coat and follow Ross back to his hotel. You hear the ding of the lift doors opening signalling you'd reached his floor, Ross practically dragging you down the hallway, hand struggling to swipe the card through the reader to unlock his door, you stand behind him, hugging him, hands roaming across his chest, dragging them down his front to rest above his belt buckle. You chuckle into his back as you hear him groan tapping recklessly as the door lock trying to get it open. It finally clicks open, Ross turning in your arms, taking you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss as he pushes through the door.
Hands sliding up his stomach, past his chest to land on his broad shoulders, giving them a squeeze, pulling him closer to you as his lips press firmly against yours, tongue begging for entrance as it glides along your bottom lip, you grant him access, colliding the muscles together, his fingers digging into your waist, bunching your dress up, you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his lips pressing harder against yours, Ross pulls away from you briefly to close the door, backing you up against it again once it's closed. "Do you wanna go over to the bed for me?" Ross lowers his mouth to your ear, lips brushing against the joining of your neck and jaw as he whispers the words to you. You don't trust your voice, settling for a nod of the head, slipping off your heals, making Ross tower over you even more, he can't help himself but raise one of his hands to caress your cheek, leaning down to peck you, the new height difference fuelling something inside him, he felt the need to hold and protect you. You pull apart and walk over to his neatly made bed, feeling bad for the maid who would inevitably have to clean up your mess the next day. You sit down in the middle of the bed, hands pawing at the soft fabric of the duvet beneath you. Ross comes to stand in front of you, kneeling on the, shuffling closer to you, out of instinct your legs parted for him, making him smirk. His rough hands hind their way to either sides of your legs, stopping under your knees, he feels the silky skin of your thighs under his finger tips, running them up and down the length of your bent legs. Your eyes bore into his from your seated position, hands leaving the mattress to find the top button of his dress shirt, beginning to un pop each button, his eyes watch your fingers carefully as they move along each button, slowly and skilfully undoing each one, until you reach the bottom, hands making their way back up his now uncovered stomach, hairy chest, to land on his shoulders, gently pushing the fabric down his back so it hung off him loosely.
You notice the small gold chain that laid flat around his neck, one of your hands reaching round, fingers delicately playing with the metal, you take a hold of it between your fingers and gently tug him towards yourself, stretching your top half up to meet him in a hungry kiss, he moans into your mouth at the feeling of the cold metal digging into his skin, and the way your fingers clench at his shoulder, as if to feel him closer. His grip on the back of your legs tightens, he manoeuvres himself to settle fully between your legs, resting a hand on your back as he pushes the two of you back until you reach the mattress. Your lips moving together in sync, drawing moans and gasps form one another as he pressed you further into the mattress, lowering himself on top of you, your hand reaches behind his head, gripping onto the bun, tugging at the strands, feeling the soft hair wrap around your fingers, and loving the sound the sound that falls from his lips when you deliver a particularly harsh pull. His tongue traces your bottom lip, drawing a line, from your lips and licking down your neck, your head rolls to the side, at the tingly feeling surging through you.
Ross's hands skim over the fabric of your dress, stopping at the bottom, where it had bunched up at your waist, lifting it up further revealing the lace of your underwear, his breath hitching noticing the wet patch gathering, he continues to drag the fabric up, you sitting up to help him rid you of the barrier, he throws the garment to the floor, the second it's off your body, admiring your bare chest, loving the fact you opted out of wearing a bra for the night. Feeling like a teenage boy seeing boobs for the first time, absolutely mesmerised, a hand reaches up to cup your left breast, palming at the soft skin, running his thumb across your nipple, feeling it pebble beneath his touch, he squeezes again earning a breathy moan, and your back arching, practically falling into his hand. His other hand grazes your jaw, thumb running along your bottom lip, watching the way your eyes close briefly in pleasure under his actions. "Does that feel good darlin?" his words come out an octave lower than before, making you putty in his hands (quite literally) "yes" you whisper the words out not trusting your voice. He lays you down once more, leaning forwards sprinkling kisses along your chest, down your abdomen, nipping at your hipbone, and kissing along your inner thigh, placing a kiss to your clothed core, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He continues kissing over the soft spot, laying his tongue out flat licking up the wetness that had gathered on the front of your underwear, groaning to himself at the taste, his fingers dig into the sides of your knickers dragging them down your legs, revealing perhaps the most obscene view he had ever laid his eyes upon, you laid back, head tilted up to the ceiling, tits perky, back arched up, legs spread and pussy dripping, all for him.
"You look fucking divine darling, tell me what you want" his hands are all over your body, unable to settle on one spot, occasionally squeezing in a spot he finds particularly tantalizing. "You... your fingers, anything I just need to feel you" You grab at one of his hands bringing it to your entrance, watching a sly smile absorb his face as you guide two of his fingers inside you, mouth falling open and whining as he pushes them in fully to his knuckles, hooking them upwards, feeling you tighten around him. He pumps rhythmically, other hand grasping onto your hip, hooking your leg around his waist in his seated position. Your eyes meet, and you swear you could fall apart right there from just the look alone, his big brown eyes boring into yours, scanning your face intently for traces of pleasure, as he works away below you. Your eyes roll back as his actions speed up setting a new thunderous pace, feeling your walls contracting around him each time he thrust his fingers inside you, his thumb reached up and began rubbing circles on your clit, gaining a lewd moan of his name, which he would die to hear again, circling the bud with more ferocity, to match the pace of the fingers inside you, the tense feeling building in the pit of your stomach, begging for release. "Are you gonna cum for me like a good girl?" your nails claw at his wrist, the other hand clinging onto the duvet for dear life. Your head nodding, turning to the side and lulling back all at once, too far gone to comprehend your actions. You feel his fingers hitting and curling upwards one last time sending you spiralling, your legs clench around his waist, walls contracting around his fingers as he continues to pump you through your orgasm, "Ross, need you" you moan out, tugging on his arm until he was close enough to crash his lips back to yours, the connection feeling warm and passionate, he withdraws his fingers from you lifting them between the pair of you, licking one finger himself, slipping the other past your lips, allowing you so suck the juices off from the digit, moaning as your tongue swirls around, keeping heavy eye contact as you suck his digit clean, he pulls his finger from your lips, hand moving around the back of your neck, attaching his lips to yours again.
"Do you wanna carry on?" Ross mumbles against your lips, feeling himself painfully hard in his trousers, "God please don't stop" clutching his shoulders you sit up, flipping the two of you so you were straddling his lap. You wanted to burn this sight into your brain for the rest of your life. His hair messy and falling out of his bun, shirt undone, dick hard in his trousers pressing against you. He raised an arm to lay under his head as he watches you with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You fingers trace over the top of his trousers, stopping at the button, looking up at him through your lashes to ask permission, his head nods slowly, enjoying the sight of you taking control, knowing fully well he could take it back any moment. You popped the button undone and slid the zipper down, pulling them down slightly, along with his boxers to reveal himself to you. Your mouth watering at the sight of his cock leaking with precum and throbbing in your hand.
You pumped him a few times, listening as his breath goes rigid when you raise yourself upwards, sinking down onto him in one swift motion. His eyes rolling back, large hands making their home on your hips, digging into the skin as you start to bounce up and down on his shaft. He loves every little moan and gasp that leaves your mouth as you fuck you self on him, hands firmly placed on his stomach to balance yourself. “You feel so good Ross” you gasp arching your back, hair cascading down, becoming sticky with sweat. Ross thrusts up inside you, encouraging you to set a faster pace, “come on baby, you can do better than that, I wanna feel you cum for me again, be a good girl” the words are lost to your deaf ears, only caring about the groan that leaves his lips when you fuck yourself even harder on him, pulling him up by his shoulders and finally ridding him of his shirt, your fingers claw at his back as he continues to thrust up into you, you circle your hips, feeling your clit rub against his pubic bone, you continue the action feeling your walls clench and the knot tighten in the pit of your stomach. Ross’s hands trace a pattern up your back, one hand clutching your jaw as he pulls you in for a kiss, wet, sloppy and still tasting the remains of your juices on his tongue. You can’t help but to moan his name over and over into his mouth like a mantra. “I can feel you’re close, let go for me” his words are spoken between broken kisses and hushed moans, feeling you clenching around him.
All you can do is nod, forehead leaning against his as he holds your hips down delivering a particularly harsh thrust, he feels the spasm of your walls crashing around him, and your legs shake as what feels like the most earth shattering orgasm hits your system. “Good girl” he whispers, planting a kiss to the side of your head. Suddenly you’re being flipped again, onto your stomach, ass up in the air and Ross is between your legs once more. You’re not sure you’re ready for what’s to come when you feel him slam his length back inside you. Hand making contact with your right cheek as you pull away slightly, unintentionally awakening something in you, at the all but pornographic moan you emit. Your head flicks back to make eye contact with Ross, who was wearing the most sinister smirk you think you may have ever seen. All at once his hips are roughly pounding into your arse as, hands holding them in place while he fucks you roughly and thoroughly. Your top half falls limp feeling exhausted from exerting yourself as you cling onto the quilt, knuckles turning white. The sound in the room was obscene, anyone walking in the hallway would know what was going on, the bed was rocking, slamming into the wall, Ross was grunting and moaning away above you while you gasped and screamed out his praises, you could only pray that the people in the room next to you were out. His dick pounded into the sweet spongy spot inside you repeatedly building that all familiar knot once more, not sure you could handle much more you cry out for him, eyes watering, pressing the tears away into the pillows. “Ross…please..I” your brain can’t comprehend words too fucked out to form any real sentence. “You can take it, be a good girl, one more, then you’re done okay?” His hand sweetly moved some hair out your face to check you’re okay, a sweet juxtaposition to the actions of his hips pounding away at you. He leant forward placing a kiss at the top of your back as he continued to hit away that spot inside you, “well done, good girl” you feel the fire ignite in your belly once, clenching around his dick feeling your juices flowing, you could feel him pulsating inside you knowing what was about to happen, you contact your walls around him once more milking him for everything he had, hearing him moan your name loudly for all to hear, he stilled inside you as he emptied his load before pulling out slowly flopping down next to you on the bed with a humph.
You roll onto your back turning your head to face him, his fingers brush away the hair that had fallen into your face, admiring your beauty once more. You smile at him and lean in to peck his lips, fingers softly running though his beard. “That has to be the best sex I’ve ever had” you sigh and giggle looking away from his eyes at your confession. “Mmm me too, I can die happy now” you laugh as he slings an arm over your stomach pulling you into his side, you look up at his face and can’t contain your smile. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder, and settles back on the bed, expecting you to lean back with him, but you don’t, you sit up, looking around on the floor to reach for your clothes, Ross frowns. “I should probably get going” you turn to Ross once you’ve slipped your dress over your head. He finds his hand reaching out for you “oh okay, um sure…” it was the first time you had seen him at a loss for words, “I’m just gonna use the bathroom” you give him a awkward smile, crossing the room to the bathroom and closing the door, you freshen yourself up and notice your flushed cheeks and messy hair in the mirror, you look well and truly fucked. Well you had been.
You run your fingers through your hair, splashing some cold water on your face before exiting the room, seeing Ross now standing in the middle of the room, his trousers are done back up and he now has on a T-shirt instead of his button down. You walk over to him, unsure of either of your next moves. “You can stay if you’d like, I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave because you don’t” his words trail off, eyes glued to the ground almost as if he was afraid of your answer. “I uh, I’ve never done this before, I assumed you’d want me to leave” you take a step closer to him, head tilting so you can meet his eyes. “No, I want you to stay, if you want to that is, don’t feel like yo-“ you take another step forwards and attach your lips to his once more, feeling him relax under your touch.
That’s how it all started. Ross was in town visiting friends for a few weeks on a break from tour before going back to America. So you two agreed that while he was in town the two of you would meet up and have some casual fun, however what was supposed to be just a fling, or hanging out a couple of times turned into every night huddled up in each others arms after hours of exhausting sex, exploring each others bodies, learning how to make each other feel good, and learning everything about one another. It was like Ross had a fixation with her, the second they were apart, he wanted her close again. They had spent their time doing novice things like visiting garden centres and book stores, hiding from friends when they saw them crossing the street, then giggling like school children if they nearly got caught, but they promised each other just until tour restarts so no one gets hurt.
The day did finally come for Ross to leave and you’d spent the night before in his arms telling him how much you’ll miss him and begging him to promise to stay friends with you, to which he kissed you so hard it knocked the air out your lungs. And you thought in your mind that when he left that would be it, just a bittersweet memory of your time spent with the bass player, but when your phone wouldn’t stop dinging with the back and forth text messages every day you couldn’t help but feel hopeful. He’d been gone a month, the both of you never failing to message everyday and call when you can when Matty noticed something was up. The once sociable Ross kept hiding himself away, quieter than usual, always staring at phone, and when it did finally ring or buzz, he couldn’t help but notice the smile that reached his best friends face, he looked like a Cheshire Cat. But there was one day where Ross just moped around, not saying a word to anyone, barely eating, and he hardly interacted with the crowd when they performed that night. The band were in their dressing room after the show having a drink all chatting and praising each other feeling the after show high, bar one, Ross was skunked in the corner on a sofa staring at his phone, Matty watched as the taller man shook his head and made his way out the room, leaving his phone behind on the sofa. He knew it was wrong but the way he’s been staring at his phone for weeks has given Matty his suspicions, walking across the room sitting where Ross once occupied the seat. Seeing Ross had left his phone unlocked he took a quick glance, instantly tapping on his text messages, seeing the first name that popped up being an unfamiliar name, he clicked on the messages, and clearly he had found the source of Ross’s discontentment that day.
Y/n 🖤 - I hope the tours going well I miss you xx
Ross - it’s going great, would be better if you were here tho, I miss that beautiful face xx
Y/n🖤 - I wish lol xx
Ross - please come, I’ll send you ticket, I really wanna see you babe xx
Y/n 🖤- Ross, you know what we said, besides what would everyone think of you bringing a random girl on tour with you! Xx
Ross - I know we said it was just a fling but I want you, I miss you too much, and the guys would love you, please just think about it? Xxx
- message read
Matty looked at the name and the photo attached in his friends phone, feeling giddy at the thought of his friend having a secret girlfriend, he sneakily puts your number in his phone dropping the phone back to the arm of the sofa before standing to join the other boys.
———
Another week passes and you dodge the topic tour all together when you speak on the phone, at least you try your hardest. It’s another late night for him, early morning for you spending as time talking to each other, wanting to hear each others voices. Ross can’t help but feel how deeply he missed seeing the way your lips would move with each word you would annunciate. He missed watching your smile light up until it reached your eyes and he missed the pretty sounds you made, just for him. He would give anything to have you close again.
“Sorry what did you say, babe?” His voice relaxed finally hearing the soothing tones of your voice in his ears he forgot to listen to what you were saying. “ I said I saw some videos of you the other night, you looked really good, like you’re having fun” he waits a few seconds before replying knowing he’ll get reprimanded for it. “I’d be having a lot more fun, if a certain someone I know would come along” he sighs dramatically, head resting back on his pillow as he daydreams about the girl on the other end of the phone. He just hears you chuckling, picturing you shaking your head, “I have to get ready for work soon” you wished you didn’t. “Don’t go, come back to bed, we’ll cuddle a bit longer” Ross sighs eyes shutting at the thought of you being with him in his bed. “You know, I cuddle your jumper every night, it’s starting to smell like me instead of you though, it’s making me sad” you admit, pouting as if he can see it through the phone. “God I would give anything to touch you right now” you gasp at his words he can hear you biting your lip through the phone and it drives him wild. “Not even like that, I just miss holding you, feeling your skin on mine, I don’t think you realise how much I miss you, I really care about you y/n”
————
After that night Ross finds himself in a bit of a slump, he had tried his best to push his feelings down but the more he did that the more they grew. And even though you were both making the effort, the calls and the messages just weren’t enough. He longed to be near you and didn’t realise that being without you was bringing him down. He was messing up on stage, missing cues and looking miserable and the band noticed, trying to cheer him up onstage to no avail. The person that would cheer him up was thousands of miles away blissfully unaware of the affect she had on him. After 3 consecutive nights of fluffing up on stage Matty confronted the tall bearded man, much to his surprise.
“Hey man, what’s going on?” He decided to keep things simple, afraid he’d aggravate the man. “Nothin, just missing someone I guess” he draws out, taking a sip of his drink, subconsciously tapping his phone while he thinks about you, Matty notices, “anyone in particular?” He pushes, tilting his head to the side hoping his friend would finally open up to him about the mystery girl he has been messaging. “It’s uh…” he sighs shaking his head thinking for a moment “no one, just family, you know how it is” Ross stands from his place on the sofa, clutching his phone in his hand tightly, nodding his head to Matty, before walking off out the room, head in is phone.
You were asleep when your phone began ringing on top your beside table, you groan as it carries on ringing, the caller relentless to speak to you apparently, you click the green button before seeing it was an unknown number calling giving them a very groggy “hello” down the line. “Is this y/n” you hear the other person speak, “yeah, uh who is this? And why are you calling me at 3am?” You question flinching as your phone screen brightens to find out the time. “Oh shit sorry about that, I always forget about time zones, it’s Matty, Ross’s friend, from the band…” it takes your tired brain a second to comprehend what he’s saying before it clicks. “Oh right, hello Matty” he laughs, a bit too loud for your liking, you wince pulling the phone away from your ear. “Uh basically I’m calling because Ross has been super down the last couple of weeks, and really isn’t himself, and I think he really misses you” you almost jump up in your bed, “he’s spoken about me?!” Matty chuckles shaking his head, if she was as mushy about him as his friend was they were a match made in heaven. “Indirectly, he just keeps moping around waiting for his phone to go off all day and if it doesn’t he looks like he could cry…anyway I was wondering if I could sort you out a plane ticket and get you out here to surprise him?” You could feel your heart beating fast in your chest at the thought, and before your brain could say no your mouth was saying “yes!”
-
Matty had picked you up at the airport telling the guys he had some ‘business to attend to’ then not really caring what that meant to question it. Ross had been messaging all day but had received no response, making him worry. And when he tired to call it went straight to voicemail, had something happened or were you angry with him about something, his head was reeling and he felt like he could pass out. They were performing a few shows at the same venue, opting to stay in a hotel for the week instead of the usual bus, which you had been glad to hear about, not liking your chances with squeezing into a bunk with your giant of a man. Ross was sitting impatiently on his bed in his hotel room staring at his phone, waiting for the read receipts to appear next to his text messages when there’s a knock on his door. He huffs and drops his phone reaching the door in a matter of seconds. Eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when he spots you behind the door. In the flesh. “Hi” he doesn’t respond or acknowledge Matty standing next to you holding your bags, he lurches forwards lifting you into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands find their way to his hair and beard, combing through the locks, noticing both had gotten a bit longer. “Hi” he finally says, lips pressing to yours with so much passion. His arms around you squeezed you as you kissed making sure you were really there. Matty stood awkwardly before dropping your bag walking down the hallway muttering “so much for thank you Matty” shaking his head laughing. Ross pulls away to laugh resting his head back against the door frame “thanks Matt, appreciate it” he shouts to his friend, who in return waves the pair of you off, entering another room on the floor. Ross sets you back on the ground, hands flying to your face, brushing hairs out the way, and caressing your cheeks. “I’m not even gonna ask why, or how, just gonna thank god because I’ve missed you so much” he kisses you once more and you feel everything he gives you in the kiss, all the hurt he’s been feeling, all the joy he feels now, and you want to feel everything. “Come on Mrs, let me show you how much I lov- miss you” you’re eyes widen, biting your lip as you excitedly follow him into his room.
domestic fluff with ross after he comes from tour?
A/n: I'm so sorry but I combined two asks together.... I am absolutely feral for Ross so unfortunately everything I write turns into smut
You had been waiting way too long to be reunited with the tall, handsome man you were lucky enough to call yours.
It had felt like years since you last saw him, you had been counting the days until you'd next see him again. They had just finished the first leg of their tour and you were beyond excited to see your partner. The endless facetime sessions and late night calls were simply not enough.
Ross told you their plane was landing at 2PM, you offered to meet them at the airport as you wanted to say hello to the guys. But they informed you they would be round within the week to have dinner with you both and they didn't want you overwhelmed by the amount of fans that usually show up to greet them.
So you waited at home, eventually getting too angsty waiting for him around 11AM so you decided to do a little shopping spree of all of Ross' favorite things.
You arrived back home at 1PM, opening the door to your shared house, you smelt the familiar scent of your boyfriend as soon as you entered the house, not thinking much into it at first. You walked into the kitchen, his bags left by the door completely ignored by your brain. You had got so used to not seeing his things scattered around that your brain didn't quite register it quick enough.
You set the groceries down on the counter, pausing for a moment. What you had just seen and smelt finally caught up to your brain and you gasped, rushing out to the hallway, he must have heard your ruckus as you heard a deep chuckle coming from the living room.
You rushed into the room, finding your awaiting boyfriend standing in the centre of the room.
"Was wondering how long it would take you to figure out" he said, laughing to himself. Your body quickly found this, all but jumping into his arms, legs wrapping round his waist as he held you up.
"You're back!" You gasped into his neck. He clung to you, holding you right within his grasp.
"I'm back! We set off early" he explained, the smile on his face, not that you could see it, was a massive one, the dimples popping out on his cheek and his eyes creasing with how wide he was smiling.
"I missed you so much baby" you say, pulling back to look at him, your eyes soften over his features, tears coming to your eyes. Your fingertips find his beard, which has grown quite a bit since you last saw him. Your eyes take in his features, he looks tired but undoubtedly like your Ross. Your eyes finally find his lips, the smile resting on them was one you had missed dearly.
"It's unreal how much I missed you" he says softly, your fingertips still playing with his beard.
"Can't get over how long your beard has gotten" you say softly. He chuckles, eyes drifting down to your lips, he then realises that he hasn't even kissed you yet.
"I know, like it?" He says and he laughs as he sees your eyebrows furrow in contemplation.
"Looks good..." You say but he senses some hesitation.
"But?" He asks, you slowly lean down and he knows what's coming, he sighs as your lips meet his. The kiss is firm and passionate, having gone months without one he's reluctant to let you go. After a few moments of soft pecks his tongue slips past your lips and meets yours. He groans into your mouth as you sigh, his arms move around you, gently setting you back on the ground, your lips part momentarily before he quickly connects them again, he has to lean down quite a bit to do so but he couldn't care less.
You pull away a moment later, his lips chasing yours searching for the taste of you which he's missed so much. The act makes you chuckle.
"Thought it would be itchy but it's nice" you say, fingers pulling his chin to yours for one last quick peck.
You find yourselves on the sofa a little while later, your cushioned against him, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you close. His bags sit unpacked next to the door still and you realise you left the groceries unpacked in the kitchen. But you can't find it in you to care.
You catch up on everything, how the tour went, how works been for you, what you've been up to: everything. Eventually the both of you don't say much, you just find yourselves staring at each other, occasionally one of you mentioned how much you missed the other. Many soft (and not so soft) kisses were had.
He tells you he really needs to unpack his bags so you both head upstairs, the two of you unpacking his clothes, hanging up the clean ones and making a pile for the ones that needed to get washed.
At some point you slip on a shirt of his, it smells like him and he smirks at the site. His arms wrap around your waist as you place some of his things on the side. His lips find your neck and he places soft kisses there.
"I'm so happy to be back" he mumbles into your skin. Your hand comes up to find his hair and you lace your fingers through it.
"I'm unbelievably happy too baby" you say, turning around in his arms.
"I love you so much, honestly the boys were getting sick and tired of hearing me moan about how much I missed you" he places a kiss on your forehead then and your eyes flutter shut as your stomach flips at his words.
"I love you too. And I know, they kept texting me, told me to get my arse over to where you were so you would stop complaining" and then he's laughing the laugh you missed all too much. You hear his belly rumble and you smile up at him, his fingertips drifting softly along your cheekbone.
"Want me to cook you some food?" He groans at that sound of that, having missed your cooking so much.
"Yes please" he asks nicely before pecking your lips again.
"I'm going to finish unpacking and have a quick shower, that alright?" He asks and you nod but frown slightly.
"What's up?" He asks.
"Was kind of hoping I could shower with you" you say and he smirks down at you, coming to whisper in your ear.
"Once I'm done with you we'll both need to shower again" his words make you sigh in to him before his pulling away to place a contrast soft kiss to your forehead. He leaves you after that, showering as you make your way to the kitchen, beginning to cook his favourite meal.
You listen to bfiafl, dancing around the kitchen as you chop and cook different ingredients. At some point, he comes down stairs, leaning against the door frame and he just stares at you: dancing around in your kitchen to his music.
You can smell his freshly washed hair but you don't turn to look at him, letting him bask in everything that was you, on his own for a few minutes.
He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.
"Smells heavenly love" he says, pressing a ray of kisses to your cheek and neck.
"As do you love" you say, weaving a hand into his damp hair.
"Your hairs got longer too" you state simply.
"Mhmm" he says into your neck, swaying both of you to the music.
"Need any help?" He asks, not moving from your neck, bruising his lips against them, making you groan out.
"With the cooking?" You ask and you can feel him shaking his head "no" into the crook of your neck.
His large hands drift down your waist, landing on your hips, he pushes you back into him and you gasp as you feel his member, plump and hard against the swell of your bum. His hands drift under your shirt, moving up the expanse of your stomach, taking up the whole surface with how large they are until he reaches the bottom of your lace bra. His fingertips hook underneath the fabric, moving until they're barely touching your nipple, making you sigh. His lips moved against your sweet spot, sucking at the skin there, teeth tugging it making you grip the counter in front of you.
"Missed you hun" he says and you nod "going to let me have it?" He asks and you're nodding vigorously as you instinctively push back into him, making the both of you groan in pleasure. His deep tone resonates within you, and he's quick to spin you around, taking handfuls of your arse into his large palms as he smears his lips against your own. His tongue makes light work of finding yours and he groans at the taste of you.
His lips are massaging perfectly against yours, tongue greedily moving against your own, relishing the taste of you which he has gone far too long without. Your hand slips into the back of his jumper, feeling the muscles move under your small hands as you run them along his skin.
"God I've missed you" he groans, hand moving behind you to turn off the stove. He's quick to pick you up then, carrying you easily up the stairs to your joint bedroom.
He places you softly onto your bed, worshiping your skin, hands drifting along anything he could touch, having been without you for so long. He's quick to rid you of your clothes and his, leaving you naked whilst he adorns his boxers still.
His mouth is quick to find yours again, meeting in a passionate kiss, his hands grasping at the bare skin of your waist. You easily manage to flip the both of you, making him chuckle at how strong you were.
"So strong for such a little thing" he murmurs against your mouth, he runs his hands over your chest as he says it. His hands find your breasts, massaging them as his lips wrap around your nipple causing you to rut against him. His other hand comes down to grasp your hips controlling your movements: encouraging you to continue to move against him.
"That's it, fuck" he grunts as your continue to grind down on him, tilting your head back as pleasure courses through your body. He needs more of you, being without it for so long has made him starved, so he quickly flips the both of you. He begins thrusting his clothed erections against you, making you sigh, grasping his hair harshly, needing him closer to you.
"I need you Ross" you sigh, lips claiming his as your own. He drifts along your breasts, tongue poking out occasionally, leaving a damp trail in its tracks. He's tempting your thighs apart, placing kisses against your inner thighs, making your hips raise off the bed. He pins them down before placing a teasing kiss against your clit, earning a gasp from you.
"So wet for me, god i've missed you" he says and you truly do not know how many times he's said those words now but god you cant get enough.
"This what you wanted love?" he asks and you're quickly nodding impatiently. His lips are then finding their place against your mound, sucking your clit into his mouth.
"fuck Ross" you say, his slightly longer beard adding a delicious burn to the already euphoric pleasure.
Your back is arching against the bed, moaning his name repeatedly as his tongue moves languidly against your wet center. You're almost screaming in pleasure now as his tongue pushes against your folds.
"Missed how you taste" he admits and the confession has you drawing ever closer to the edge. His clothed cock is twitching against the confides of his underwear, seeing you this blissed out is somehow making him harder and he knows he needs you and soon.
"Lovie I need you, that okay?" he's asking and your pulling him up to you then, pushing his boxers off and wrapping your hand around his large member, the drops of precum drizzling from his swollen head. His forehead presses against yours as he watches your small hand moving against his cock.
"Need you" you repeat again and he doesn't need to be told twice. He threads the head of him into your entrance, making you both gasp before he's suddenly pushing into your tight folds.
"Oh fuck" he groans, taking your lips into yours, pouring his love into you.
"How did I go without you for so long?" he asks and you groan against him, your voice broken from the pleasure. He pulls almost all the way out before he's pushing softly back in, repeating the action again until you're arching your back and meeting his hips with your own movements, moans and curses and his name repeatedly falling from your lips. His deep grunts can be heard in your ear and your name falls from his lips too, along with I miss yous and god i love yous.
His thrusts are deep and purposeful and he's suddenly angling your hips up, thrusting against your g-spot with every calculated strike of his hips.
"Ross" you moan, clinging to his large shoulders. You feel the muscles contract under your touch, so receptive to you.
"I love you sweetheart" he says, his words sweet. His movements slow down, wanting to take his time with you, wanting to show you how much he missed you, how much he needed you every waking moment, how being without was agony. His dark brown orbs find yours and they tell you everything you need to know.
Your hands gently find his face, pulling him into a passionate kiss as he continues to angle his hips upwards in slow, deliberate thrusts.
"I love you too Ross" you finally say, making his movements waver.
"Lovie" he says and you know he's close, you are too. Being without your soulmate for so long has you both desperate, the need for each other needing to be quenched.
"Let go for me Ross" you say, voice airy as your own high draws closer. His thumb finds your clit, circling it as his hips stutter forward as he reaches his peak, a long drawn out whimper of your name delivered into your neck.
You sigh out his name as his lips find yours, your own high approaching until your falling off the edge. He holds you through it, not ready to let you go quite yet.
You cuddle thereafter, Ross never taking his hands off you, needing to commit every part of you to memory, hoping it would make the next time you were apart easier (which of course it never does).
"Going to make you my wife one day, you know that right?" He says, his words making your heart skip a bit.
"Will be the most beautiful wife" he says, sleepy eyes finding yours.
"And you the most handsome husband" you say before his snores are filling the room.
