Waste No Time
Wordcount: 8.3k
A lil snack while I tinker with all my bigger projects
Chase x F!reader
No use of Y/N, PIV sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), Chase is a cocky ass dom but we love him for this
A sort of continuation about this post but it's also kind of a more fleshing out? Also I'm endlessly amused that everyone on my feed seems to have gotten the brain rot for Chase at the same time. WE ARE ONE
It was stupid, he thought. At first, anyway. He was 43 when you started at SDN, and Chase had never really examined why he understood Robert so well until then. For Robert, fifteen years on his own, fighting crime, did a number on parts of his psyche.
For Chase, it was more like nine years. His heart wasn't always dodgy. Older women were still pretty horny, he'd found. He stopped indulging his powers just to squeeze out that last bit of youth, enjoy himself, but eventually, it became an issue. He couldn't participate anymore.
Touch starved. That's what people called it. It was why Robert sank into hugs, why Herman made this soft, sad noise whenever anyone so much as shook his hand -- and it was why Chase let himself be so fucking stupid.
He was gonna die sooner rather than later. Why not? You didn't even know at first; who he was. That he wasn't actually 73. But it didn't change a thing: you'd lose him faster than you'd blink. He wouldn't live to see 55, most likely. What he should have been doing was hitting on the aged-like-wine ladies at the bingo hall, not enabling your ridiculous crush.
He was too charming, was the problem. As blunt and abrasive as he could be, all you'd ever do was laugh. You took his jabs in stride, threw them back, even. You'd smile at him too long. And sometimes, after, you'd frown to yourself, because even you probably knew how weird this was.
You were hot for some old guy. And, God help him, he'd catch himself thinking about how it could work. It wasn't that sex would kill him, it was the heart rate issue. Fuck you for making him think about meditation and yoga. What the hell?
SDN had it's 50th anniversary, and the whole place was hopping with guests and employees alike. Chase couldn't party like he used to, and headed to the atrium to get some fresh air, only to find you unceremoniously barfing into a bush.
“Gotta pace yourself, dumbass,” he gruffed with a laugh. “Take it from me.”
“I for—guh—forgot Jello shots have booze in them...”
Chase guffawed. "Yeah, that's why the best liquor tastes a bit awful, kid. Reminds you not to overdo it. How many did you have?!"
“Like, seven?” You wipe your mouth and stand up, fishing around your purse for a bottle of water. Swish, swish, spit. You pop some gum between your lips and he watches them too long. The little pearly square disappears and you chew, either too drunk to notice or happy for the attention.
Chase pauses. Seven shots? “Lightweight,” he teases.
“Sonar made them,” you elaborate.
“Fuck me, no wonder they fucked you up. You're lucky there wasn't LSD in them.”
You have an ugly laugh as a baseline. Loud, cackling, sometimes you snort. He grins and looks away from you, because he loves it.
“You headin’ home?” Your words are a little unsteady, but you’re not blackout drunk. Just a bit north of tipsy, he’d wager.
And he cannot help it. It’s become a habit at this point; first it started as a joke, but then Chase got too comfortable with it. This shameless flirting that he figured you’d write off as an old man being a perv, unserious and ignorable, not really cool of him but he’d get away with it anyway…except you started flirting back. And it got less of a joke and more of…
“For the last time, I’m not letting you into my damn sex dungeon,” Chase speaks before he thinks better of it, earning another one of your laughs.
“You’re just worried it’s not as cool as mine. Could give you pointers, you know.”
He snorts and eases himself down on a bench, immediately regretting the decision because you sit right next to him. “How the fuck did we get here?” he asks. Trying so hard to ignore it when you lean on him.
“Well, I kind of ran out here. I assume you shuffled.”
Chase shakes his head, chuckling. “Smart ass. You know what I’m fucking talking about.”
You hug his arm. Fuck. But you sigh — not frustrated, or sad, but in this optimistic and amused kind of way — and rub your face on his shoulder. “I have weirder hear me outs.”
“Oh?”
You’re biting back a smile, half-laughing when you say, “you remember that dumb old movie, Little Monsters? That kid makes friends with the monster under his bed?”
“Don’t you fuckin’ tell me you’d fuck Howie Mendell.”
Bursting into a fit of laughter, you sheepishly continue, “nah, no, the bad guy at the end.”
Chase squints and turns to stare at you. He barely remembers this movie. But that guy was a core memory because he remembered that it scared the shit out of Robert. “The pasty-faced fuck with the second head?!”
“He had a second face, actually, under his human one, but yeah. That guy.”
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
More laughter. “I’m just saying. Foxy grandpa isn’t even the weirdest thing I’ve been into.” You shrug.
You miss his look of indignance, because you’re busy cuddling up when he shouldn’t be letting you. “So you do think it’s weird.”
“I think people think it’s weird. I also think people should mind their fucking business.”
A non-committal laugh forces air out his nose. “You know I can’t…”
“Listen, Chase.” You scoot closer, silently chewing your gum, and sigh. “Your sweater’s so soft,” you muse, distracted. “Mm. Anyway. Listen. I got my whole life to get my back blown out. I only have the rest of yours to do whatever we’d do. Probably snuggled up watching sitcoms. Sounds nice.”
“That’s—hah. That’s kinda fucked up.” He frowns. “I’m cooler than watching fuckin’ sitcoms in bed.”
The way you grin up at him nearly kills him on the spot. “Wanna bet?”
It’s been months since you finally got under Chase’s extremely hard outer shell, and as you suspected, the guy’s really a big softie. He still refuses to admit it, still doesn’t do the mushy things, but it’s in his eyes. You know when he wants to just hold you for a while, when he needs to be held, when he wants a kiss. He’s even touched you a few times, but it’s not because he lacks desire.
Staying chill is hard for him in those moments. The tragedy is he’s good at it. You think about it when you’re flying solo — which is often — but when he thinks he can stop his BPM from getting too excited, Chase enjoys watching you. He’s recently taken to requesting that you sleep naked, just because. He likes feeling your skin. He jokes that it’s to build up his tolerance so he can do more for you, but he’s always got this softness in his demeanor when you climb into bed.
The way he plants his soft, delicate hands on you. The way he tucks his face into your neck.
He’s savoring it. Things he missed, things he couldn’t have anymore — or, rather, the thought he couldn’t. Because the elephant in the room, cold and cruel, is he won’t have this for long. You won’t have it for long. And maybe now, you’re spoiled. Chase is setting standards you’re not sure will be easy to find. A man as sweet as he is crass, who’s happy to hold and caress you, who fusses over your well-being more than he’ll admit.
Telling you to stop being so damn sentimental every time you coo over him making you extra snacks because he knows you forget. Scoffing when you kiss his cheek and thank him for this or that, just the small gestures that really tell on the man. He’s head over heels. Chase won’t write you poetry or even spill his heart, but he says it in his actions, in the small touches, in those lingering glances.
He says it every time he chews someone out for crossing you at work.
And of course, people noticed the shift. Asked questions. Only Robert, in your opinion, deserved that information, but you told him that he’d have to get the answers from Chase himself. “Tell him I said I don’t care what you know.”
That in itself was a confession.
He took it oddly well. Not for any ‘secret crush’ reason, but because, well. You’re, essentially, dating his dad. His older brother at best. Chase is important to Robert, possibly the most important, so you didn’t like keeping him in the dark. Robert’s supportive, too, albeit a little…you couldn’t say uncomfortable. But it’s something in the vicinity. But, leave it to Chase to lighten the mood. “You’d fuck Geena Davis if she came on to you, don’t look at me like that.”
“She’s hot. What’s the problem with that?!”
“She’s closer to my age than yours, is my fuckin’ point.”
You giggle from the kitchen. “God, she is so gorgeous, isn’t she? Chase, you want a third?”
That broke the ice. Whatever hangup Robert had fell away.
You didn’t keep it a secret, per se. But, as you said, your love life’s nobody’s business. No company-wide email. Just you and your wildly older boyfriend, unafraid to give him a loving hug before heading out on a call. You always do this. Never big on feelings of course, you don’t tell Chase why. Just let him enjoy the extra dose of affection. But. Someday, you’re going to walk into SDN, and he won’t be there. So.
You hug him. Tight. Just in case.
To be honest, Chase was banking on you getting bored once this was out of your system. But, fuck him dead, you’re sticking around.
It’s making him fucking depressed.
He kept it together last night. Focused his breathing, kept his blood going at a normal rate, shoving his fingers into your heat while you arched and pawed at the arm locked around your chest. His name falling from your lips as he jogs his memory, how to do this. It’s like riding a bike. His wrist is killing him, and he doesn’t have the dexterity he used to, but you’re working together on this. When he couldn’t thumb your clit at the same time he was plunging into you, you took over.
Deep breaths, he tells himself. In slow, out slow. Keep that heart from bursting. It’s next to impossible to not feel turned on by this, but he does keep himself conscious. No pains in his chest. He even feels heat stir where he hasn’t in a long time, and even then, there’s no warning signs. Chase lets go of it a little, lets his mind wander. If he was younger, more able, he’d be raging hard by now, and this would just be foreplay. He’d work you open, bend his knees. You wouldn’t even need to move. He’d find a way in, just like this, your back to his chest, his hands pinning you here, swirling a fingertip on your arousal.
He stops himself before that half-chub becomes a medical emergency.
Wrist pain be damned, he fingers like he’d fuck if he could, drifting the grip he has on your shoulder up your neck, until your lips close around his thumb, grinning like the dirty old man he was letting himself be. Shameless, with abandon, because, well. Who knows how many more times he’ll get to enjoy this. Your body draws his fingers in of its own accord, his wrist cracks with the speed he’s managing, and then you clench around his digits with a cry.
You’re out like a light not five minutes later, still lying half on top of him, fingers toying with his locs until your hands went limp and your breathing deepened. And he laid there, your slick still on his hand, flexing the pain away, and Chase almost wept.
This shouldn’t be his fate. It wasn’t fucking fair. He had, at best, maybe eight years left. His body already two years out from the national average lifespan, Chase’s good health (heart aside) might get him a bit past that, but he knew these moments would be gone, soon. He’d be gone. In private, in secret, he’d chatted with Malevola on this very subject. What’s it like?
She didn’t know. She just knows there’s more than just a good or a bad place, though those planes do exist, there’s almost infinite places a soul can go, and she’s not an expert on it. But, she says, it does persist. A soul is matter. Matter cannot be created, or destroyed. And Chase laid there with you, kissing your temple intermittently, beneath the weight of that.
Would he be able to look in on you? Would he want to? You’d move on. He’d have to be a special kind of asshole to expect you not to. God forbid he checks in on you and you’re impaled on someone’s cock. And if there’s infinite places a soul can go, would he even see you again? Aging prematurely hurt him more than anyone knows, because it offered a grim perspective. However fast the years flew by for a normal person, they launched past for Chase, and he didn’t want them to.
If he could go back and fix it, God. He’d make the best of it all. Not a single second wasted. It would feel so slow to him, considering. But he still wouldn’t waste a fucking tick of the clock. He wanted more time. With Robert. With his new, fucked up found family. With you.
It makes him wonder.
“So, you lookin’ to maybe fix what happened to you?” Royd muses thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair.
“Yeah,” Chase admits. “And I’d prefer it to be on the down-low, just in case. You know. I can’t get Robert’s hopes up, you know?”
Yeah, sure. That’s part of a truth. The other part is you. The bigger part is himself. Chase isn’t sure he’ll be all right if he can’t figure this out. It would be one thing to be told it’s impossible outright, but if he actually gets a lead, and that falls flat? Fuck. It’ll be devastating. He’s trying not to hope, but it’s hard.
“Mmhm, yeah, I feel you man. I’ve actually been studyin’ this, since Shroud. Blazer’s amulet, real powerful magic. Saved ya life. Gave me time to figure out how to fix your ticker. How’s the pacemaker, by the by?”
“It’s great.” Chase nods, smiling. “Really.”
Royd’s grin is so contagious. “That’s good ta hear. I learned a lot about your powers, then, and since then. I didn’t wanna bother you with a nothin’ burger, though, but since you’re askin’, I can tell you what I know? It’s all, I’m tellin’ ya now — it’s all just theory, though. Right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I figured. Well. Lay it on me.”
“Right.” Royd brings up a screen with a shitload of math Chase doesn’t understand. Graphs of his blood sample, tissue samples. A DNA profile. “So the answer to why you run faster than any human alive is because I think, the core of your powers, is you somehow manipulate time in a very small bubble just around you.”
Chase just nods, pretending he understands all the charts Royd is flicking through.
“But that’s just one. The other idea I got, is, it takes just so much energy, yeah? To run like that, it takes all the energy out of your cells. Sucks ya dry. And that one, I think, is the most likely thing that’s goin’ on. Because, the medallion.”
“What do you mean?”
“Blazer’s got crazy healing powers when she’s wearin’ that thing, see. So did you. It brought you outta the coma, and while you fought and had your fun with it on, it was healing the damage your powers did to ya. If your powers displaced you in time, it wouldn’t be damage, ya know? It’d just be, aging. Which I guess…aging is damage, but, not like this is. Aging is more of a degradation of cells which, I’m splittin’ hairs there but trust me, it’s different. It’s proof that your powers hurt you, versus just separatin’ you from our timeline. Which is to say, Chase, whatever put you in that coma had healed by the time we had that super pacemaker ready for ya.”
Cautiously optimistic, Chase poses the question. “So…you’re tellin’ me that Blazer’s medallion can fucking fix me? If I wear it enough?”
“It’s possible. And worth testin’. I’ve, I have been talkin’ to her about this, on and off. Askin’ her where she got the thing, if there’s more, if it’s possible to take just a little chip off it. She even let me scan it in my analyzer, observe the properties, maybe I could, you know, make another one?”
At that, Chase leans forward. “Well? Fuckin’ hell, Royd, just spit it out. Can you fix my old ass or not?”
That smile gives him more hope than he should let himself have. “I neva gave up on makin’ our own Astral Pulses, just, you know, in case. Blazer’s gem can’t be chipped or cut with known tools, so I had ta make an unknown tool.” Royd holds up what looks like a dremel tool, but the handle’s glowing blue. “Can’t make a pulse that powers the suit, yet, but little things like this, work just fine. Got a tiny sample. And it’s powerful stuff. No harm ta Blazer, either, before you ask. In fact, that gem healed itself once I took a core out.”
“That better be on some kind of security clearance, Royd.”
“Oh. Yeah. For sure, bud. We only need one Blonde Blazer. And, of course, you.” He winks, opening a safe near his desk. From within, he pulls out a clear case that houses a tiny version of Blazer’s gem. “It ain’t the size, we found. These gems, they’re just chock full o power, yeah? You wear it, you get souped up, just like she does. Except, you neva want to take this one off if you wanna use your powers whenever you want.”
The possibilities rush through his mind. “How fast would it…you know. Heal me?”
“I’d say we got a waiting period. It outpaces the damage your powers do to you, that’s for sure, but. I’d like ya to take it easy, so it’s easier for me to track if it’s working. When you were Starblazer, you really looked five years younger. And I think you were. I think if you’d kept it on, you’d have gone back to the way ya were before all that speedin’ around sapped your cells.”
Chase frowns. “Royd, I was born with these powers. I’m not lookin’ to be a little kid again. That’d make, uh. I couldn’t…”
“Ha. Yeah, that’d, uh. Make datin’ your girl a bit. Illegal.” He scrunches his nose. “Nah, nah. See, thing is, people start dyin’ somewhere in their twenties right? That’s when your cells stopped being able to handle your powers. They couldn’t regenerate, because that’s just how life goes. Cells degrade faster than they can heal once you’re about, say, 25? But it’s not a hard rule. Just somewhere in that decade is when the clock starts tickin’. So, at worst, you’ll be 20.”
At least he’d be an adult. And it’d be weird if he actually was 20, because then you’d be the older one, but Chase wasn’t even 73. In his head, he was in his forties now. It evened out. And confused the average idiot. “All right,” he says. “Let’s fucking get started before I die.”
“I just don’t wanna leave yet,” Chase admits, barely meeting your gaze. “Not that much older than Robert, in here.” He taps his head. “And, Royd, he can…”
“You don’t have to convince me, Chase.” You take his hand across the table. “I know you don’t like talking about this shit in serious ways, but, it’s not fair.”
Deflecting, as always, he drawls, “you just can’t wait to have someone young again.” A smile. A playful light in his eye. Behind it, mild despair.
You roll your eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t hot in your heyday. Aged well, in my opinion.” He thinks he hides his swooning, but he actually sucks at it now that you know what to look for. Barely containing a laugh, you go on. “Besides. It’s like a dream come true. I get a preview of our golden years. Then you get to rearrange my guts. Like an R-rated Benjamin Button.”
Of course, this sentence leaves your mouth just in time to mortify the waitress that definitely thinks this man is either your grandpa or someone you’re taking care of, and she scurries away to both of your amusement.
“Oh, honey, if this works, I don’t think you’ll walk for a while.”
Biting your straw with a grin, you shoot him a look that just says how welcome you are to that challenge. “I could use some time off, anyway.” The ruby-red earring catches the light, and your attention. “Does it help already? Feel any less…creaky?”
“Oh, fuck off. But yes.” You’re both laughing. “Still, need to take it easy. See if it does what Royd thinks it will. Might be a while. Might…not work at all.”
“Hey,” you squeeze his hand. “Either way. I’m still here.”
You are, of course, intentionally implying that he’s your ride or die, and you get some deep enjoyment from what that does to him. You see it, just for a second. This man almost fucking lets himself get mushy. He wants to say something nice. But in the end, he smirks, shakes his head. “You say that now, but wait til I need fuckin’ diapers.”
“In sickness and in health,” you sing-song, and watch the blood drain from his face, that millisecond of shock.
“Babe, we’re not married,” he tries to recover with another joke. “Unless my memory’s really gone to shit.”
“Commitment’s a state of mind, Chase.” You wink.
It’s fun to fluster him. Chase always throws everyone new for a loop with how cocksure he is, borderline arrogant even, and it’s so funny to spin his head. He points at you with narrowed eyes. “Quit tryin’ to stop my heart.”
It’s the closest he’s come to I love you. You’ll take it.
“Just testing our your stud, stud.”
Laughter. “I said knock it off. Ass.”
“It’s fucking working. Royd, holy shit. You seein’ this?”
Chase marvels at his reflection. His hair’s salt and pepper. Wrinkles, receding. He stands taller. Behind him, the proud scientist stands with his hands on his hips. “Is sure is. Those samples ya gave me show me cells that are about fifty. Only been three months. By the end of the year, I wager, you’ll be right as rain. Runnin’ circles around villains again. You excited?”
“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am.” He feels leagues better. Heart’s in working order, too. Medical just cleared him for his first run: the big test. The thing that will determine if this was a band-aid or the real deal.
“Good.” He claps a hand on Chase’s back. “Cause I wanna see the progress, right now. C’mon.”
He couldn’t sit still for the whole car ride to the outdoor track. Royd reserved it. Nobody around. Since Chase began showing signs of improvement, Royd wanted him in the lab more and more, until he found himself sleeping while hooked up to all kinds of machines. Far from you. You visited him not two weeks ago — Royd was very strict about outside stress — and you had no idea. None at all. Two weeks ago, Chase was 67. It was working faster by the day. Shit. Tomorrow, he might wake up and be his old self.
“Dug this outta storage for ya,” Royd says, beaming. He gives Chase a zipped up suit bag, and he knows what’s in there. But his face still lights up when he sees his old suit.
“How’s it look?” He steps out of the nearby restroom, arms out.
Royd whistles. “Oooo man. That’s a nice fit for you, bud. Oh, ya girl’s gonna flip.”
“Yeah, yeah, well. Let’s make sure this works first.”
The moment of truth. Royd’s standing at the edge of the track with a stopwatch and some kind of camera. He’s stuck some kind of slim monitor to Chase’s chest, just above his heart. “All right. Do as many laps as you like, but keep listenin’ in ya ear piece, friend. I’ll let ya know if something’s gone off. And if it does, trust. I can find a fix. We got this far, after all.”
“Say less,” Chase laughs, wild and unleashed, and the world blurs around him. One lap. Two. Ten. Thirty. God, it feels good. The wind in his hair, the rush, the feeling. Like he’s flying. He remembers that he can now, thanks to the gem, and delights in the realization he can fly even faster than he can run.
“Ay!” The voice in his ear brings nothing but sadness. “Stop! Stop!”
Chase skids to a halt nearby, ready for terrible news, but Royd’s just laughing. Doubled over, hands on his knees. “Man alive, Chase! Ya fucked up my hair and wore a line in the track!” He stands, whooping. “Knocked down the flag pole! Gonna get me in deep with the owners!”
Barely even panting, Chase straightens up, fighting tears. “What, so, you—you mean it…?”
“You good, brudda! You GREAT! It worked! Bring it in!!”
Chase hugs Royd tighter than he meant to, earning a strained groan from the mad genius that has given his life back, and finally breaks. He can’t help it. “Don’t you fuckin’ tell anyone,” he sobs out the warning, balling Royd’s shirt in his hands.
The big man chuckles and pats his back. “I can’t. Not without admittin’ it got me too.” His voice breaks. “Welcome back to your proper timeline, Trackstar.”
You were on a damn call when word got to you. A text, from Chase. It’d been almost three weeks since you’d seen him, and you were ready to strangle Royd and his stupid I need unaffected data first bullshit, and all that’s on your phone screen is:
It fucking worked. Party at my place. Sonar’s bringing Jello shots. Do not fuck yourself up. That’s my job now.
You snort.
And blush.
You were honestly expecting a total dilf to answer the door when you knocked. Chase: fucking 24 year old Chase from the looks of it, laughs and grins at you as all you can do is stare at him with your jaw on the floor. He’s either trimmed his moustache back or it regressed to the style he had before, because now a stylish, thin line frames his lips, groomed to flatter his face. He’s wearing his old hero suit, beaming, and you know in your gut he simply hasn’t taken it off since he put it on. It brings you joy. “You’re so baby-faced!!”
“Ah fuck. Too far back? Not decrepit enough for you? Are you gonna go browse the old folk’s home for a new dinosaur?”
You smack his shoulder, then hug him close. “No! Fucking idiot. You’re just. Holy shit.”
“Gonna have to wait for me to fossilize again before you can have that mug back, I’m afraid.”
It’s there again, hiding in his voice, woven into how he hugs you back. Those feelings he never likes to touch on. “Chase.” You say it soft. The reality of it all finally hitting you. Too busy enjoying the time you had with him until now, too busy to really be sad about how short it’d be. And now it won’t be short. Now, you get decades.
“I know. Don’t you fucking cry. You’ll get me going.”
Behind him is pretty much nothing party-related. His apartment is the same as it ever was. No snacks. Nothing. Peeking over his shoulder with growing suspicion, you ask, “where is everyone? I thought you said there was a party?”
Chase pulls you across the threshold and slams the door. “Oh. Yeah. Party’s tomorrow.”
And just like that, your feet leave the ground, and you are at his mercy. “Chase!” you laugh, trying to kick off your shoes before you run out of tile — one of his “old man” habits was yelling at people for wearing shoes on his damn carpet — but perhaps Chase is abandoning all of those. He doesn’t say a damn thing until your back’s hit the bed.
“You know how many times I figured it was time to die? Not a bad way to go. Fuckin’ your way out of the mortal coil. Shit.” He yanks your shoes off and falls forward, catching himself with one hand, pawing the closure of your jeans with the other. “Damn near tortured me.”
Everything about him is so vibrant, now. Not that you weren’t expecting it, if this worked. But the contrast has your head spinning. Not long ago, he was this soft, careful man, and now? He’s roughly kissing you, swallowing you, using his new dexterity to appreciate your curves, the plush, all while he peels clothes away until he runs out.
“Fuck. Can finally treat you right.” He admires you, sitting on his heels, a hard line forming behind flashy spandex.
You stay him with your hand, pressed to his chest. Heat radiates. “Just, uh. Remember I’m not that super, Chase.” A very standard, run-of-the-mill power ran in your family. You were faster, but not Trackstar fast. Stronger, but not Phenomaman strong. You could hold your own in many fights, but Chase was on what society labeled the Uber tier. “You can break me, so…”
A cocky smile spreads. “Promise?”
Going as red as the stripes on his suit, you cover your face with a laugh. “Fucking hell, Chase.”
He leans down again, laughing, nosing yours and planting a softer, more familiar kiss. Palming your face. Going slow. “You’ll be fine. Safe word’s big dick, just in case.”
You sputter out laughter and snake your hand up his thigh to touch him. He hisses and groans, pulling your hand away. “Ah-uh. Lemme enjoy this. Been a thousand fuckin’ years for me.”
Chase slips off the edge of the bed and drags you towards it with a sharp, painless tug, hauling a high giggle out of you. Before you can blink, your knees are around his shoulders, and he’s looking at you like he’s got a mischief-riddled plan. “Wanna feel somethin’ cool?”
The way he puts his mouth on you has you questioning existence. It’s not like he hasn’t done this to you before, but, as with everything he did while stuck in his older body: it was slow. Careful. And now, you’re realizing just how much his heart limited him. Briefly, you are afraid you can’t keep up with him. If you said as much, he would surely have a joke ready. His tongue plays with you like a cat toys with its food, working just enough to make you squirm into him before pulling back.
Fucking teasing you.
You grab the back of his head with a groan, grinding your hips. “Fuck, Chase.”
He hums, voice carrying through his tongue, sending shivers up your thighs. “Not yet, no. Fuckin let me work. Been a minute. Gotta remember…”
“You’re doing pretty gre—haaaaah—”
It is instant.
First, his tongue twitched against your swollen heat. Then, again. Then again. And again. Faster. Impossibly fast. And he, the little shit he is, just touched the tip of the vibrating organ to your clit, and the world went white behind your eyes. The back of your head hit the mattress with how hard your body locked up, back arching, unintentionally taking a fistful of his locs, sandwiching his face between your thighs. Clenching around nothing, leaking like you’ve just been bred, you suck in air and cry out.
And this deep, throaty chuckle carries out of Chase as he stands and stretches. “Still got it. And yes. I can do that with my dick. Speaking of.”
You’re still trying to recover from whatever the fuck just happened to your central nervous system. By the time you have your wits back, Chase is naked. Which, you’d also seen before. But. He’s got his muscle back. And that look on his face, mostly, is what’s getting you. Maybe not even Chase knew how much his unfortunate fate sapped his confidence, but you’re definitely getting a good idea. There isn’t a single doubt in those eyes.
He’s thick. It hangs against its own weight, jumping with his pulse, and you fight back the reflex of worry. He’s better now. Royd said so. Chase said so. “You’re…Chase, it’s, you’re okay though, right?”
Hand over his heart, he exhales. “Yeah.” He leans, slipping his first two fingers into you, biting his lip when you arch. “I’m fucking great.” He rubs his thumb into your clit, gently, like he’s testing.
You jolt again, wheezing out his name.
“Mmm. Probably did too much there.” Chase pulls it away, but keeps his fingers buried. “This fine?”
You nod, slipping your hand up your face til your fingers reach your scalp. He pushes in delightfully hard, bending to kiss your stomach. “Use your fuckin’ words, babe.”
“Feels good,” you rasp, bucking into him.
“That’s fuckin’ right, it does. That’s cause it’s me.” Chase kisses his way up your torso, between your breasts, to your neck, breath fanning in your ear. “Wanna feel something amazing?”
You wrap your arms around his neck, rolling your hips as he keeps pumping. “Y-yeah,” you manage. “I want it so bad.” It’s almost a sob.
He shudders, planting a wet kiss to your jaw, and mutters, “well. Maybe later this week.”
“Chase!” you whine. He can’t He wouldn’t. He’s not gonna fucking leave you like this. He wouldn’t dare.
Slippery fingers leaving a mess along the inside of your thigh so he can grip, hoist you higher in bed, settle himself between your legs, Chase laughs. “Don’t you dare tell a single, solitary soul, or so help me. But it’s been a while, honey. A while. Don’t be shocked if I go off the second I’m in that gorgeous fucking pussy.”
You bite your lip with a grin, surging your skin against his, giggling at the choked sound he makes when his cock brushes you. “You act like that wouldn’t be hot,” you counter.
“You’re just beggin’ to be full of me, huh?”
“Maybe your ego would chill out if both of us were full of you.”
Chase sags into you, chortling. “Fuck,” he wheezes. “Cut that shit out, I’m trying to be sexy and shit…”
“You are,” you say, kissing him. He deepens it immediately, faltering for the first time. A shiver under his skin. His hand on your hip, just a little clammy. “Always were…” you add when he gives you space, kissing his neck.
“Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” is all he has to say.
Closer yet. You know this idiot loves you. You’re gonna make sure he’s the first one to admit it. The bragging rights alone are worth the game. “Chase…”
“Don’t worry.” He pushes against you until you feel the resistance start to give, the stretch, and he stops. “M’not fucking with you, though. I could do that thing and even the score?” Chase raises his brows, smirking like he’s God’s gift. He just might be.
“Never wanted your powers, Chase.” You move first and take him slow, feeling giddy as you watch his cheeks hollow. “Wanted you.”
“Jesus fucking Christ—”
His hips slap into yours and his eyes fly wide, like he didn’t mean to do that, like it was a reflex. Checking in. Did he just wreck your shit, or? No. You’re staring up at him, completely gone. There’s a sting to it, but the pleasure beats it down, and stroke by stroke, it melts away. Is he too close? You don’t care. Lips swollen from how often he moves to lavish them with his own, face flushed, legs shaking, you know now that he was lying when he implied he wouldn't break you.
It’s just that there’s some pretty fun, enjoyable ways to break.
As with any other situation, Chase can’t shut up for the life of him. It’s adorable. He’s saying the most filthy things in your ear; that he’s gonna fuck you til you forget your name, he’ll eat you instead of breakfast every day, that he’s never going to stop until you need help getting out of bed. Between his words, wrecked moans, curses, and breathy sighs. “Fuck, lasting—fuck—longer than—you’re just fucking suckin’ me in, Christ—” You clench, a pleasured shock flying through the center of you. Listening to him, like this, is arousing in itself. “God damn, don’t do that, or…shit, shit, fuck—”
He scrambles to reach between you, completely cheating at this, but you don’t care. You can barely see his thumb, and you don’t get your breath in time to tell him that might be too fast. His dick alone feels incredible, you’re just a few steps away from close, but when he can turn any part of him into a vibrator set to Hold Onto Something, you achieve some new plane of enlightenment.
Chase takes it back. This is how he wants to die. He could have gone out like this a few months back and had no complaints. You claw his back, clenching so hard it nearly hurts, and it’s all too much. You are wrapped around him on a molecular level when the wave hits, barely touching the mattress anymore because he’s pulled you up into him. Drilling you with everything he is. Well. Not everything. He is worried that might kill you. But. It’s everything he is, on a normal-ish, more human level.
Digging his knees into the mattress, he buries himself deeper with a gasp that melts into a shamelessly loud groan, drowning even you out. Skin electric. Head light. Fuck. He actually forgot how good this shit feels. Got used to never having it, got used to not even getting hard anymore. Woefully, quietly accepted his fate. And then Royd, that wonderful bastard, shit. Chase had to buy him dinner one of these nights.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, Chase was busy.
He paints the inside of you with what feels like endless ropes, shuddering and driving into you until it feels too much, feels almost bad, and only then does he let you breathe. Only then does he sit up enough to look at you. Sweaty, flushed, your skin holding the sheen of a job well-fucking-done. Eyes closed. Humming as you pant, cursing softly here and there. Chase missed the feeling of all of it. How snug you are around him, still fluttering, twitching. Fuck, he can even feel your pulse.
Hammering.
He smirks.
“That…wasn’t…fair…” you heave.
“What wouldn’t be fair—” He sits up more, gripping your thighs so you can’t wiggle away. Not yet. Just a little more. You’re so fucking warm. Chase wants to keep fucking you soft, forcing a spent cock through you until it wakes back up, then send you to the edge over and over. “—is not holdin’ the door for you.”
A sleepy, lazy giggle jiggles your tits. He wants to make you laugh more.
“There’ssa joke about doorbells in there but. I can’t think anymore.”
A loud, one-note laugh makes you squirm because the flex made his cock twitch again, and you can’t lie now. He felt that little clench. “Want more, huh?”
That lip bite is all he needs. But your wrecked, needy, “yes” definitely adds something to it.
“Gimme a break,” Chase assures, leaning to kiss you. “Maybe ten minutes. Or less. Keep lookin’ at me like that and it’ll be three, fuck.” You chuckle. “Shoulda grabbed a goddamn towel…” How’s he going to get up and hydrate without making a mess? The answer, of course, is that he won’t. So he just resigns to doing laundry a few days early, presses his palm to your stomach, and makes this noise in his throat. “Can’t believe you took it all like that. God damn.”
You reach and play with his fingers, ultimately holding his hand, watching him from the pillow you’ve made of your arm. Pouting when he finally pulls out and steps away. Chase kisses your knuckles. “Where you goin’?” you mumble.
“Gonna get us some fuckin’ Gatorade so we don’t die tonight. And like four towels. Five? Hell, I’ll just grab the stack.”
“Surprised you have more than one,” you call. “Most guys never have a collection.” The air from the fridge damn near turns his dick into an innie, but it’s such a massive relief, he basks in it for a moment. Grabs a few bottles with a scoff.
“Not most guys,” he fires back, making sure you can hear the grin. It widens when he hears you giggle weakly.
“You’re sure not.”
As the night wears on, Chase calms down. Explores you more. Stops to enjoy it, deeper than just satisfying that part of his brain he had to starve. He didn’t want to waste any more time, he said. He couldn’t spend the rest of the night just sleeping. Not after being a shadow of himself for so long. But he, somewhere between the fourth round and now, rediscovered the benefits of stopping to smell the roses. Fucking you slow, pausing to kiss you, drawing it out.
He makes you come without using any of his tricks, just himself, and you take him with him because he can’t believe how explosive it is for you. He figured his magic tongue and fingers would be the top-tier bedroom move, but there you are, screaming his name the loudest since he started his mission of deleting your name from your memory banks. Just from him.
The bedspread is a sweat-dampened mess. The whole room smells like sex. He might need at least three new towels. And Chase is the happiest man alive. “N-no more, can’t, m’sorry, shit, Chase…”
“Shh.” He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. You barely have the energy to kiss back. “Gonna sleep like a fuckin’ corpse, ain’t you? Was it worth the wait, baby?”
Your words are dry, nearly silent. “Best dick in the fucking world.”
“Pf. Tell me something I don’t know.”
You do this thing when you laugh extra mischievously, where you tuck your head in, and your chin scrunches into your neck. You’re so fucking cute, he can’t handle it. Without knowing why, you’re once again under assault by loving, deep kisses that you happily go along with. “I love you,” you offer, and his blood runs cold for a moment.
Maybe someday, Chase will write you a damn ballad, a sonnet, all about the things he loves about you. But he’s not quite ready to be that guy. So he sits up with a triumphant noise, pointing at your now-surprised face. “You owe me eighty fuckin’ bucks! I TOLD YOU you’d say it first!”
You cover your face with both hands. “Oh, god damn it. I hate you.”
“The fuck you do,” he laughs along with you. “Pony up. I got all the apps.”
Eighty dollars poorer, your loveable jackass of a boyfriend has the gall to think he’s going to get snuggles now that you’re both clean, the bed has new sheets, and you’re too tired to go home. It’s two in the damn morning, and you are absolutely never going into work tomorrow. There’s no damn way. You have plenty of sick time, but everyone saw you at work yesterday, chipper and energetic.
You concoct some kind of excuse and set an extra loud alarm just so you can call early. Send an email to your dispatcher with “high importance” marked, titled, Food Poisoning — Can’t Work Tomorrow.
It all looks legit. A 2 AM email with a brief explanation that alludes to you sleeping with your arms around a toilet. Because you cannot, under any circumstances, write the real reason in a company email. Those are public records. Anyone requesting correspondence from SDN would risk seeing that you called in dick-sore and fucked out of your mind. Nope. You’re pretty open about your life, but not that open.
When Chase was still old, you swatted away so many uncomfortable questions. It would forever and always be nobody’s business, even now that it was socially acceptable. You’re actually mad that you forgot the bet you made with him, and doubly so that you failed it just for the sake of banter, but to be fair, your head was pretty empty. Running on fumes. You should have figured that Trackstar had endurance.
Still. Anger and pouting aside. You don’t swat him away when he slips his arms through yours, puzzling your body into him, kissing the back of your neck, your shoulder. “Thanks, you know,” he mutters, cozying up.
You back into him, lacing your fingers with his, hugging the arm he’s not-very-subtly slipped between your breasts. “F’r’what?” you mumble back. He better elaborate fast. You are barely conscious.
“Seeing me. Stuck in there. Being with me. Worst case, I’da died happy. Means a lot.”
You kiss his knuckles and hug his arm tighter. “Still get to. Just way later. I hope.”
“For sure,” he answers, squeezing you.
You got him to be mushy. He should send you at least forty back. You plan to tease him tomorrow, but for now, it’s too nice a moment. You fall asleep grinning.
Body still heavy with exhaustion when your alarm goes off, reach to silence it before it wakes Chase up. He’s still thoroughly entwined with you, and you ready a soft apology when he stirs. It catches in your throat when he immediately smooths his hand down between your legs with a sleepy, horny, “mornin’, sweetheart.”
“Chase, I have to ca—haa—call my—hold on!” You trap his hand between your thighs, but he’s already laughing like he’s discovered you in the middle of a dastardly plot.
“So fuckin’ wet already? Just being near me does it for you, huh?”
Chuckling, you quietly fight with him while you dial your boss, stuffing your phone under your ear so you can have two hands to fend off the monster you’ve awakened. By the time he answers, Chase is a knuckle deep in you, and you’re fighting for composure. Chase has beef with your dispatcher. Because you may or may not have dated him. A little bit. Way before you had an eye for Chase, way before you even worked at SDN. Small world. Sucks sometimes.
So of course, now, Chase is going to have this possessive, competitive thing about that. It would be hot if you weren’t on the phone with the man, trying to talk through the magic Chase can work with his fingers. Lightly vibrating inside you, he’s working you open while his morning wood burns against your thigh, chin on your shoulder.
“Hey, Evan, uh. Oh, good, you got my em—mmmh. Yeah I’m. Still ssss. Sick.” You cough. Chase traps an impish giggle in his throat.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. This is stupid. Evan was a lifetime ago. He’s married now. He never tried to rekindle anything, not once. You should not have told Chase he broke your heart. “Do you need the week?”
Chase bullies himself between your thighs with a quiet shudder, grasping under your knee, pulling your legs apart. You don’t move fast enough to stop his shenanigans.
“I don’t think—AH.”
A suppressed grunt from behind you as Chase slowly pushes inside, mouthing every curse he knows against your skin, his fingers dig into the meat of your leg.
“Whoa, you, you okay?”
“Yeah! Yeah, um. I st—fuck—sorry, shit, I stubbed my toe.” He’s bottomed out now, and you reach up to slap his cheek. Chase muffles his laughter into your back. “I’m uh. I gotta go, feeling woozy, Evan. Sorry for today.”
“It’s no problem. Just feel better!”
He’s cheerful, polite. A good boss. And you have to hang up on him because the next thing out of your mouth is a loud moan, followed by, “fuck, Chase, you asshole—”
“I’m your asshole, though,” he shoots back, thrusting lazy and slow. “Right?” A little rougher. He kneads your breast, flicking over your nipple with his thumb.
You reach behind you and twist, inviting him to kiss you, and you don’t need to repeat the gesture. He’s there, invading with his tongue, savoring you again, broad palm cradling your face. He stays, cheek smushed to yours, losing himself in you again, matching his rhythm with his index finger pressed to your clit. You keep trying to get closer, and he keeps adjusting, until you’re laying on top of him, thighs splayed apart by his own, back to his chest.
Arching, the back of your head rests on his shoulder while he dutifully rubs you just the way he’s learned you love, his free hand oh-so-gently gripping your neck. Fucking up into you until everything snaps once more, except this time, you’re truly a jellied mess. Thank fuck you both came at the same time, because you don’t know if you could handle more today. Your legs don’t feel solid. He has to help you to the shower.
“Chase…” you sigh, leaning on the wall with a dopey grin.
“Too much?”
You nod slow. “I know it’s been…a while. But. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You hold his hand, shuffle closer. Nuzzle skin.
“Just don’t. Want to waste a moment. Ever again,” he admits.
There’s no surprise there. “I know,” you say. “But you won’t be. We’ve got decades now. And I think you’ve just made up for at least one of them. We are ahead of schedule.”
It’s hard to kiss him when he’s laughing so hard, but you manage. “Want me to get you my old cane?”
Tears prick in the corners of your eyes. “You fuckin’ joke, but, I just might take you up on that.”
