HI ITS CRAIGNON!!!
HOW ABT A V-DAY STAN FIC???
inexperienced reader maybeee like romanticle !!1!!!
IK I REQ ALOT I JS HAVE THOUGHTS FEEL FREE TO IGNORE :P
with love
craignon
ALRIGHT, SO
I have been evil with this one.
Because THIS concept for a Stan fic has been in the back of my mind for a whiiiile now, but I never got to writing it because it just wasn't a priority. But then I read your ask, saw 'STAN' and I swear my mind lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Think immediate running to the Google docs to get some words down before I forgot them. (And yet I still managed to only finish it today...)
So it's not necessarily a V-Day fic? And it also doesn't involve an inexperienced reader because that wasn't on my original vision. But it IS romantic as all hell and actually made my heart so so soft while writing it
I'm sorry for self-indulging on what was supposed to be your request, Craignon jdkjsdkjsdkjskdjskdj but I really do hope y'all like this
Happy Valentine's day, everyone!
Stan Marsh x Reader - deep sleep
Also available on ao3!
Summary: The one where you and Stan take a relaxing bath together.
Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Established Relationship, Penis in Vagina Sex, Bathtub Sex, Cowgirl Position
A/N: Dude, am I exhausted. I stayed awake through the night struggling to write the last few bits and pieces of this so I'd have it ready for Valentine's day. Well, at least I did.
I have the understanding that I might've made Stan into a pathetic needy dude in this. However, I will not apologize for my actions - I've acted stupid for men way too much in my life, so the role reversal is very much in my best interests and I do not promise it won't happen again.
“I already told you, babe. It’s whatever, you can choose.”
The key to your apartment made an irritating noise, metal against metal, as you scraped it around the keyhole trying to get it in without looking. If Sherlock Holmes were to inspect it, he’d be sure that you were an alcoholic or having a seizure - but in reality, you were just looking over your shoulder the whole time, engrossed in a conversation with your boyfriend Stan.
“Well, then, what about seafood? There’s that place our friends usually go to…” The man behind you suggested, stretching his neck to see past you and notice what the difficulty was in opening the door.
“No way! Remember what happened last time we went there? I was sick for three days!” With an annoyed huff, you faced forward again and inserted the key into the hole with more pinpoint accuracy this time, turning it with a click and giving the both of you access to your house.
The discussion continued as you both entered, throwing your bags on the floor of the living room to give your tired backs a break. Having returned from your respective practices at university - yours cheerleading, his football -, you had taken the opportunity to invite Stan over, an invitation that he accepted with the same amount of eagerness a child would if invited to eat nothing but candy for a whole year.
He was still that eager, of course, except for one small issue. During basically the whole ride to your place, you two had been debating what to get for dinner, wanting to replenish your calories after the exercise, indirectly taking into consideration that you’d burn all of those as well later anyway. Actually, ‘debating’ might be a misused word - all of that time, you had continuously told Stan to just pick the restaurant you’d order from and acting like you’d be fine with whatever decision he made, only to react unfavorably to every single place he suggested, for one reason or another or none at all.
“Maybe we could go for that tex-mex place near the gym,” he commented, “I have some coupons for that we can use.”
“Nah, the lady at the counter there always looks at me funny.” He bit his tongue to not tell you that you’d be ordering from home and not seeing the lady at the counter at all - he just knew that wouldn’t mean anything for the final decision.
“What about that shawarma place we like?” “Hmmm…” If Stan had a dollar for every time he had heard that little prolonged sound in the span of the last half hour, he’d be richer than Tolkien. Twice that if he had another dollar for every time it came accompanied by some negative sentence. “Not really feeling that…”
Starvation made his stomach basically curl into itself the entire time, growling as if it was personally pissed off at him, and Stan was almost running out of places he knew off the top of his head for suggestions. He had half a mind to just take you up on the ‘you can choose’ offer, being held back only by an innate need to see you comfortable and happy and also a knowledge that he would have a less than stellar night if his choice wasn’t to your liking.
“Pizza, then?” Although it was still a question, this one had more of a hefty tone to it, an insistence; probably because your boyfriend knew that this was the decision that would end up taking root. Whenever you’d start going in circles over what to eat, pizza was always the safest option - one you chose a lot and had yet to disappoint.
And with the small ‘hm’ that you made and the way your movements slowed, Stan knew the discussion was over. “Alright,” you nodded, turning to him, “Same place we always do?”
An almost imperceptible sigh of relief left Stan’s lungs. Finally, this was over. He didn’t know what he’d do if today you also decided out of nowhere you didn’t want pizza. “Yep,” he gave you a short nod and picked up his phone in his pocket with a bit of urgency, as if not acting fast enough could cause you to change your mind, “I’m just gonna order real quick and then we can do something else.”
He shifted his attention to his phone and made a motion to sit, intending to relax while he placed the order - however, his back had barely touched the couch cushion before you started hollering and walking towards him, your hands tugging at his jacket, pulling him back to his feet frantically. “Hey, no no no! You’re not sitting there!”
“What? Why?” He wobbled a bit as he got back up, your frenzied actions startling him, but managed to keep stable.
“I just got it back from deep cleaning! You’re not gonna sit on it all sweaty! It’s gonna stink!”
With a small oh of realization, Stan remembered the situation he found himself in. The showers in the locker rooms were under maintenance, so he couldn’t get clean after practice - which just so happened to have been particularly hard and left him virtually drenched by the time it ended. He had changed out of his sweaty football clothes before leaving, of course, but the smell and the stickiness lingered in him, dried but disgusting all the same. It wasn’t like he wasn’t planning on showering at all, to be fair; It’s just that, with your whole conversation and the way you drew his attention, plus the fact that he usually showered at campus and didn’t tend to have this problem, it was easy to forget.
“What about you? Aren’t you stinky, too?” He made a gesture encompassing your whole body with his hand. The womens’ locker rooms were also getting worked on, so he knew for a fact you also hadn’t showered after your own practice.
“No way. Women don’t stink like men do.” You retorted playfully, sticking the tip of your tongue at him.
Stan rolled his eyes at your comment, but with the smirk that tilted his lips, it was clear he wasn’t really offended by the joke. “So you’re not showering?”
“Of course I am. I’m going before you.”
One of his eyebrows arched, the joking smirk faltering a bit to make way for genuine confusion. “And I do… what, exactly?”
“You order the pizza, like you said. It’s gonna be ready by the time I get out of the shower.”
“But then I have to go shower!”
The playfulness in his voice had returned as he noticed where you were coming from, and you reflected his smirk. “Yeah.”
“So what you’re saying is, you want me to order food for us while you shower, and then wait for it to arrive, on my feet the whole time, and then after that you get to eat by yourself while I shower?” He chuckled, feigning incredulity.
You shrugged in mischievous nonchalance. “Exactly. Good to know you’re on board.”
You almost turned to leave, but Stan’s hand quickly got a light hold on your wrist, stopping your movement. “No way!” he called out amidst both of your laughters, “I’m not gonna pay to eat cold food!”
“Look, if you’re that bothered, say…” Your free hand moved as if adjusting something on the collar of his jacket, despite there not being anything to adjust, “How about we bathe together? That way we both get that sorted out and we can order dinner after and nobody gets cold food.”
Hunger seemed to fade instantly from his needs as soon as those words left your mouth, and his own went dry, his hold on your wrist letting go. Playtime was over for him; even though the situation practically begged for a smooth and sexy response, his brain went blank on all of those due to your forwardness, and all that was left was…
“Ah- Uhm-… Okay, we can do that, yeah,” he wished he could just claw at his own skin and die with the stupid stuttering that was his reaction - ‘we can do that’? Really?
Whether you hadn’t realized his fluke or had deliberately decided not to mention it, he was thankful anyway. With a smile and a nod, you concluded the ordeal - and allowed him to not crack under the weight of his own embarrassment - by saying, “I’m gonna get things ready then. You can leave your stuff in my room, I won’t be long.”
While you went to prepare said bath, Stan went alone through the very well known path to your bedroom, shedding himself off fully of his dirty clothes in unnecessary haste before realizing that he was not at his house and couldn’t just throw them on the floor to make them a later worry. Being careful not to sit or lean against any of the available surfaces, his only option was to awkwardly stand around naked with his clothes in his arms and his phone in his hand as he waited for you to finish whatever you were doing. About ten minutes in, just as he was starting to wonder if he should just go anyway, you called his name, making him let go of the device and rush to meet you.
The first thing he noticed as he slowly opened the door to your bathroom was a light scent of something pleasant, drawing him in - not like an overpowering sensation, more in a gently inviting manner. It felt herbal and flowery, but that was where his knowledge of it ended; he was not a flower guy by any means, so ‘pretty nice’ was as good of a description as he’d come up with. He looked around the room to try and find the source of that perfume, realizing it almost right away, the lilac color of the water inside of the bathtub making it pretty obvious. Kneeling by it were you, fully naked with your back to the door, absentmindedly playing with the colorful liquid by swishing your hand around leisurely inside of it.
Trying not to get distracted himself with staring at the dimples on your lower back and the soft curves of your silhouette, Stan took a step inside and cleared his throat to draw your attention, his heart skipping a beat when you turned your face over your shoulder to catch his eyes, a smile on your face that seemed to shine pure levity and comfort onto him. “Hey,” his greeting was quiet, unwilling to break the moment.
“Hey,” you greeted back just as softly, hand steadying yourself on the edge of your bathtub as you slowly rose to your feet, turning around and gracing his sight with the front view of your nude body.
And he was suddenly extremely grateful for the decision to bathe before dinner, otherwise all of that pizza would’ve immediately turned into a disgusting pile of puke on the floor that would’ve soured the whole mood. Truth was, the butterflies that Stan always got in his stomach ever since the first time he saw you never quite left or calmed down; they were permanently there, growing and multiplying and flapping their wings around at the mere mention of your existence. He was no stranger to your naked form, but it always made him feel that way, dumbfounded with how gorgeous you were, smitten and falling in love all over again - and strangely self conscious, too: for his mind still could not comprehend how a goddess like you could lend yourself so eagerly to a meager human such as himself.
“Bath bomb?” Trying to shake himself off of the daze, he gestured towards the purple water with one hand while closing the door behind his back with his foot. “What’s the occasion?”
You made a small hum in agreement. “It’s chamomile and lavender,” the explanation would’ve told him nothing if you hadn’t added, “Supposed to help with sore muscles and stuff like that. Could be nice for us.”
If it works, Stan thought. Saying he was familiar with bath bombs would be a lie - he’d always dismissed the stuff as a ‘girly’ kind of deal, not really bothering to find out if they worked for anything besides making the water colorful and, in some cases, staining your bathtub. Of course, he had taken many a bubble bath when he was younger, but those were more fun pastimes instead of having any actual relaxation purposes. But he wasn’t about to ruin your fun, and it wasn’t his bathtub to clean, so he wasn’t mad about it, either.
“But what took so long?” He asked as he dropped his dirty clothes in your laundry basket, “I mean, you just drop it into the water and it dissolves, no?”
“Well… I like to watch it fizzle,” you explained meekly, turning your eyes to the bathtub again. “I know it’s stupid.”
It wasn’t stupid at all - if anything in that room was stupid, it was him for not having stayed with you, not participating in that small thing that brought you so much joy. He’d have bought the whole Lush store and thrown it into the university’s pool, swim team practice be damned, if it meant seeing that sweet expression of yours again.
“No, no… It’s not, really,” he shook his head slowly and stepped close to you, taking your hands in his and intertwining your fingers, “It’s… Pretty cool. For real. Thank you.”
He didn’t quite feel like he had salvaged himself from the dismissive comment, but no extra attempts at deliberation were made, because the way you looked up at him so kindly showed that you hadn’t taken it to heart. “Let’s get in then,” he was quick to nod once you murmured that, “Relax a little bit.”
Contradicting normal rules of chivalry - would they even apply in this situation? - Stan stepped into the bathtub before you did, sinking into the warm water with a deep exhale of relaxation. Scientists might’ve said something about how cold baths are actually great to help recover from strenuous exercise, but at that moment, the warm water was the real blessing to his exhausted muscles, calming down pain he didn’t even know he was still feeling and melting away his problems.
Once your smaller foot broke the water surface, his legs spread as far as they could go on the bathtub to make space for you, allowing your body to settle nicely between them. Stan resisted the temptation to immediately wrap his arms around your body, not yet wanting to burst the gentle bubble of tranquility you had worked so hard to form in that tiny corner of your house.
“I think it’s working,” he mentioned after a moment, “The bath bomb, I mean.”
“It’s too early to tell, silly,” you giggled, “We gotta soak in a bit more before it really works.”
No arguing with that. Stan leaned back with his head on the headrest, his arms over the edges of the bathtub, not moving at all - getting entranced as he watched you peacefully capturing some water on your hand and dropping it on the non-submerged parts of your body, rubbing it all over, looking every bit like a fairytale princess washing under some sort of magical waterfall.
Reaching out for the bar soap on the corner shelf behind you, you frowned slightly when your fingers curled around nothing. Your boyfriend had picked it up before you did, locking his eyes onto yours once you looked over your shoulder to see what had happened. “Let me,” he offered, his voice carrying a hint of hope - a hope he didn’t need, considering you accepted the request with a heartfelt readiness.
Your loofah rested in its little hanger, damp only from the steam that rose from the warm water, while Stan’s hand did its job of spreading the soap thoroughly over your wet body. The bar of soap he held slowly glided over your skin with a reverence that bordered on fearfulness, as if even the slightest more pressure would have you disintegrating into a million fragments - atom-sized pieces of you mixing with the water, seeping through his pores, cleaning his soul as well as his body and leaving a lather of love that he could never, or would never, wash away.
Hell, maybe he should really just let you do that.
He tried not to spend much time with his hands on your breasts, knowing that he’d surely be unable to contain himself if the soft perky flesh were to fill his palms. But that battle was lost anyway, since with every inch that his hands drifted down your body, the way his breathing would grow heavier and more tense became harder to ignore. You had relaxed almost completely against his body, watching quietly as he washed you; the longing tension you felt only noticeable by the steady increase in your heart rate, mirroring Stan’s own as his heart thumped against your back.
Once his hands got to your hips, however, there was no avoiding it anymore. His movements ceased briefly as he attempted to compose himself behind you, trying to focus on his task; however, that tiny curious noise you made with your throat when you tilted your face towards his a bit to check on him almost had him unraveling. His lips soon found your jaw and you faced forward again while he kissed the side of your face, starting small at first, giving plenty of time for you to pull away. When you just sighed, closed your eyes and leaned with almost your full weight against him, he left the soap on the edge of the bathtub and let his fingers inch down to your inner thighs, then closer and closer towards your pussy.
“Just let me… wash here real quick…” His kisses to your jaw and earlobe grew sloppier as his fingers made their way to your slit, index and middle nestling between your pussy lips and gliding up and down with ease. Your building excitement was undeniable - even underwater, he could still feel your arousal against his fingertips when they brushed against your entrance, that familiar warm slickness that suddenly felt wasted to him when it mixed with the lilac bath water once it left your cunt. Perhaps he’d ditch the pizza order and just eat you out for dinner instead.
Slow ripples began to break that water’s surface with the movement of his submerged hand when he zeroed in on your clit, well-taught fingers circling that pleasure point with a precision that contradicted how worked up he was on the inside - but the small moans that began to spill from between your parted lips once his touched focused on that part of you really tested that focus, while at the same time keeping his mind rooted on that moment, erasing all possible outside distractions. His cock steadily grew to full hardness, throbbing against your lower back with insistence, the slight pressure the weight of your body created clearly not enough to sate him.
As the pleasure built inside of you, Stan’s efforts grew sharper to match. Those ripples on the water turned into small splashes against the walls of the tub as you started to actively rock your hips towards his hand, trying to intensify friction of your own accord. The added erratic movement made it harder to keep his touch steady on your clit, but he maintained a soldier’s discipline, finger pads pressing more firmly against the sensitive nub, not wanting to let them slip for even a moment and risk denying you of the sensation that was getting you so lusciously winded.
One simple thought kept on creeping back to the forefront of your boyfriend’s mind as he touched you, one he had to continuously force away; with you almost fully on his lap like this, at the mercy of his arms, how easy it would be for him to just pull you up like you weighed nothing, get your entrance in the perfect position to slip his cock into your cunt with one sharp thrust upwards. Stan’s need for you toed the line into thorough desperation, the primal part of his brain threatening to go absolutely berserk if he didn’t have his way with you soon, being held back only by the sliver of rational thought that hadn’t been blown into the humid air by the shaky breaths you were emitting.
That question, the request to be buried inside you, almost crossed the veil from intangible thought into audible words; But then he didn’t need to. When you suddenly snapped your thighs together - stopping the movement of his fingers and your hips - and turned your head back to the best of your ability, there was barely any blue left to be seen in his irises, pupils completely blown over by desire.
“Stan, I need you,” your voice was thinner with that very need, “Please.”
As you shifted position over him, turning around to straddle his lap, his hands moved to your hips - a move meant to seem like he was helping you settle, but that in reality was also a way to ground him; because, as beyond humiliating as it was, he could’ve finished right there just from hearing you beg for him like that.
“Mmph... Yeah, fuck yeah,” it felt almost ridiculous to be giving you that ‘permission’ when he was just about to plead for you as well, had strained himself mentally with the effort to not do so. But any thought of that irony was gone once your hands had sneaked to the back of his head, bringing him away from the headrest and physically towards the softness of your lips to mirror the pull it had on him emotionally.
The kiss, just like his touches earlier, started off soft, picking up momentum once the sensation of your bodies pressed together made you both burn with the yearning to be closer, to melt together - when Stan’s tongue got to the inside of your mouth, that was exactly what he wanted to do. There was a possibility that the vapours from the bath were tricking his brain, because he swore he could feel the taste of your strawberry-flavored lip gloss, even though he had made sure to rid you of all that during a particular stolen moment before practice. Or maybe you just tasted that way naturally - he would’ve believed you if you told him that. He started roaming your body with his palms again, calloused fingertips from years of playing guitar spreading goosebumps on your skin despite the warm water you were both covered in. His touch had more depth this time, more pressure; not feeling like he was afraid you’d crumble anymore, for if you did, he’d be right there to hold you together.
Your boyfriend’s eyes snapped right open as soon as he stopped feeling the rake of your nails on the back of his scalp, and the small groan of disapproval he hadn’t bothered to restrain as you pulled back from the kiss had you giggling. The exploration of your skin ceased and his hands settled on your sides once more when you lifted yourself the tiniest bit off the water, positioning his cock with one of your hands, his tip kissing your tight entrance. He was vaguely aware of how useless he was being right then, just laying there and watching, but it felt too challenging to seize control from you when you started sinking so deliciously down on his dick, those velvety walls squeezing inch by inch of his dick.
A deep groan rumbled in his chest as you bottomed him out inside of your cunt, gentle curvy hips flush against his harsh strong ones. In his younger days, he used to feel a lot of unneeded anxiety about his average size, wondering if it was really enough or if bigger cocks were more satisfying; yet now, every single time he felt your tight walls stretching to accommodate his girth, putting pressure in every single inch of both your sensitivities, he always felt like the biggest motherfucker in the world - in more ways than one.
“Babe, you alright?” Your sweet voice snagged him back into focusing on you instead of his own sensations, and he found that awareness much more appealing.
“Yeah, yeah, just…” And suddenly he didn’t even know what he was thinking about, kicking himself mentally for even daring to not pay attention to you for even the shortest amount of time at that moment.
“You were thinking,” your lips found his in a chaste peck then curved into a gentle smile as you pulled back, pretty hands placed on both sides of his chest, “I know. It’s okay.”
He still felt stupid for having gotten distracted. But then all ties to the external world, even those inside of Stan’s mind, were severed as you lifted your hips away from his slowly until only his leaking tip remained inside before bringing yourself back down with just as little rush. The languid movements you started off with were both Heaven and Hell to him; Heaven because he could feel every single ridge in those tight walls when they dragged up along his shaft, and Hell because, with the way he so desperately needed you, it felt like torture to be at mercy of such a pace, his aching cock throbbing inside of you like it was personally angry with the situation. But maybe slow and loving was all that he needed - there was no confirmation he’d last very long if you did go rough on him, and the setting was so peaceful he felt like he could just make love to you forever.
“Wow,” an unnecessarily amazed chuckle left his mouth, “How are you always so fucking tight?”
A few breathy moans preceded your answer, making your boyfriend’s fingers dig a bit more into your flesh, not enough to cause pain but enough to let you feel his want. “I guess it’s… It’s just for you,” you murmured, “I need to be perfect… For you… Everywhere…”
Damn, he should’ve written his will and put you on it before this. Because you were going to be the death of him, and it would’ve been unfair to not leave all of his admittedly-not-many possessions to such a wonderful killer.
“You’re always… Perfect,” it was his time to let out a choked-out moan when you started going a bit faster on top of him, his words fuelling you up like gasoline to a flame. “Too much… Too fucking perfect… All the time…”
Your hands found stability on his shoulders as you leaned with your chest fully against his, the softness of your breasts squished up against his becoming another of the focal points of warmth in his body that have nothing to do with the water. Then your head settles in prime position to send into his ear those downright sinful whimpers that start coming out of your mouth, and he understands - your clit was now constantly pressing against his lower abdomen, turning that friction into even more pleasure. His hands got even more of a firm grip on your hips, almost as if trying to press you down further, help you out in the pursuit of release in any way he could.
Even the perfume of lavender that still wafted powerfully from the bath water couldn’t mask the alluring scent of your skin, which overpowered Stan’s senses once he traced the crook of your neck with his nose, clouding his senses even more and making him hyper-aware of the feel of you. His hips began to surge upward, meeting your thrusts halfway; he needed to set his own pace, take more than what you were giving him.
Luckily, you were keen to meet the demand - bouncing more fiercely against him, purple water splashing all around you and on the floor when your hips met his, that obscene sound of skin slapping on skin audible on the tiny bathroom even with the underwater muffling. Just when he thought he couldn’t love you any more, you did shit like this - made full use of the fiery chemistry you both shared, showed you ached for him just as much as he did you.
“Fuuuuck, Stan…” Even your cursing sounded cute to him when it conveyed how horny you were. “Feels so good…”
“You… You like it like that, baby?” He breathed out, using the strength of his arms to pull you down hard onto him, feeling your body tense up briefly in his arms when you gasped. “When I do you like this?”
“Yeah… Fuck, yes… “ He kissed your neck through your babbling, the tip of his tongue sneaking past his lips to trace a line on the sensitive flesh there, giving his taste buds just the faintest hint of soap, unidentifiable bath bomb water and that ultimate flavor of your skin. ”Keep going… Just like that… Please…”
Oh, he had no intention of not doing so. Not when you were so gorgeously melting on top of him, making yourself even tighter around his cock with every brush of his tip against your G-spot. His already exercise-strained muscles began to burn with the effort of fucking up into you and supporting your weight, but he pushed through it with little more than panting breaths through his mouth. You had begged for him - who on Earth was he to deny you anything?
A blazing sensation in Stan’s lower abdomen that made his abs instinctively tighten eventually warned him that he was nearing his release, and finally a coherent thought graced his brain, making him more alert - a determination to not come before you did. He needed to be attentive for that, to capture the moment when you unraveled, and there’d be no doing that if he lost himself in that haze. Plus, he knew you were close, too; he knew your body like he did his own, and the way your cunt fluttered repeatedly around his cock, that small arch your spine made towards him and how your head was slightly tilted back were visible indicators of an experience that he absolutely adored partaking in.
But damn if it wasn’t fucking hard to hold back. He almost forgot himself when you pulled back and stared deep into his eyes with that needy desperation plastered onto your face, parted lips trembling as if you needed to get the words out before your brain turned to mush. “Stan… Baby, I need to… I’m gonna…”
Quickly, your boyfriend pulled one of your wrists from his chest, intertwining his fingers with that hand and holding a tight grip on it - the most soothing act he’d manage in that moment, a symbol of his encouragement. “Yes, yes baby, just do it, I got you,” his urging, supposed to be controlled as to bring reassurance, came rather strained from his mouth - he needed you to do it, maybe even more than you yourself needed that release, however selfish that thought might be. “Please, just cum for me…”
And then Stan was king of the world when his request did make you finish, shaky whines that seemed to turn into sound the shocks of pleasure in your body leaving your mouth as you came. With sheer fascination he witnessed you, letting you use his cock and ride it through your orgasm; holding on for just a little longer before his own loud cry echoed inside of the bathroom, jerking his hips in small stuttery thrusts as he emptied his balls inside of you finally, the white lights of the bathroom having apparently made their way to the inside of his brain, overwhelming his eyes with brightness that coursed through his veins.
The weight of your upper body fell against his chest as you tired yourself out, but to him it was no heavier than a feather; all he could feel was your softness anyway, on his thorax and around his throbbing cock while it willingly gave the last drops of his cum to you. Your heavy breaths ghosted his neck, while his own were off to the bathroom air, his face turned to the ceiling as relaxation finally washed over him.
The only thing he didn’t allow to relax was his hand on yours, kept tight throughout your climaxes and still with no intention of letting go - staying like that even when you finally shifted position again, laying on your side, on top of his body with your head on his shoulder. That was when he looked at your angelic face again, resting over him like the most comfortable mattress, a delicate smile curving your lips. His softening cock had slipped from you when you moved, and your combined releases were now certainly mixing with the bath water, but Hell would freeze before he gave a fuck about that - not when he was so completely consumed by his love for you like he was at that moment.
Although the lighting in the bathroom was harsh, the way it shined on you was smooth and pleasant; or maybe it was just you that were glowing, your sated expression radiating a more beautiful light than any star and bringing a thousand new colors to the spectrum of his eyesight - while at the same time calming the self-doubt monster inside of him by showing that he had made you bloom like this, he was the one that made love to you and held you once you beautifully toppled from those edges of pleasure.
He could only follow with his eyes as you sat up in the tub again and straightened your posture, letting go of his hand while stretching your neck in a circle slowly. “Well, time to finish up before the water gets cold.” How the fuck did you still have any energy left to think of that after what just happened? He would’ve astonishedly questioned you if his vocal cords didn’t feel so damn lazy.
One of his arms rose above the water, but almost instantly fell back in with a splash, all four limbs feeling like overcooked spaghetti attached to his spent body, floppy and mushy and difficult to control. “We can chill some more,” his voice was raspy and tired in that murmur, and he looked around the bathroom lazily, not really acknowledging the environment.
“You still need to get clean,” you reminded him, trying to pick up the soap bar and bring it to his body as well - but he just forced himself to lift his arm again and pushed your hand away gently, urging you to let go of it.
“Just… Five more minutes,” his eyelids fluttered with the effort to stay open, “Then I’ll do it…”
The end of those five minutes didn’t quite come. Because, before it could be called out, the both of you had already drifted into a peaceful nap inside of the tub, enveloped by the calm scents and the comfort of each other’s bodies, waking up only one or two hours later feeling very dazed and twice as hungry. The now cold water seemed to mock you as you then had to hurriedly wash up in it, but Stan didn’t mind - he still felt completely warmed up from the moment you two shared.
He never did find out if the bath bomb’s soothing properties really worked or not. Because the ultimate relaxation agent that worked for his body would always be you, and he’d long vowed with his life to make sure you’d never crumble or fizzle out.
Dividers by @cafekitsune
