41
prompt a little blurb about a young wet Van and some highly requested smut.
notes I am super rusty at this. apologies.
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He’s standing outside your window, jacket and jeans soaking wet. Thunder and lightning slashed through the sky and the rain drove down on your roof.
“I’m sorry!” he yells up to you, curls dripping wetness onto his shoulders. It cascaded down the valleys of his jacket down to the wet grass. It was pouring outside.
“Just get in here,” you call down to him exasperatedly, and he immediately begins climbing the trellis up your wall to the second floor.
After a few minutes of you waiting nonchalantly at the foot of your canopy bed for him to pull himself up through the window, you walk over to the window to peek back down at him and note his progress. A hand grasped the sill just as you were about to duck your head outside.
He pulled himself up through your window, and landed with a wet thud on your floor.
“Quiet! My parents are asleep!” you whisper-yelled at him.
“Sorry,” he whispered, standing there in front of you like a wet mop. The drip-drip-drip of his clothing was audible on your hardwood floor.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just…. Just stand on the rug so I can’t hear the pitter patter.” You ran down the hall to the linen closet and grabbed a few fluffy towels. You tiptoed back, hopeful not to wake your parents, and handed him one.
“Why are you here?” you ask him indignantly, hoping the faster he answers, the faster he’ll leave down the trellis once again.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Are you, now?”
“I am.” Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. No teenage vengefulness in his eyes, no lies. He was being real with you, as always.
“Van, I just don’t know why you’d say all those things about me to your friends if you felt the complete opposite. What kind of friend does that make you?”
“A shitty one,” he replied, grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
“I’ll say.” You stare at him, pitiful in his soaking wet clothes. You knew you might regret it, but you told him he could sleep there for the night.
Now clad in a pair of your pajama pants (too short on him - the hem barely reached mid-calf) and nothing else, his damp hair settled on your shoulder as you put the TV on low volume. You didn’t know if you were comfortable with him staying in your bed tonight; your parents were down the hall. But you and he had slept in the same bed before, and friends was the label. You doubted it would cause a stir.
Of course, as you started thinking those thoughts, he started changing the way he approached the whole apologetic situation, and you could tell by the way he changed his position. He went from leaning his shoulder in the crook of yours to leaning his whole body up against yours, sending little sparks to your heart. He looked at you with those hooded eyes, and your spine seized up.
“Van, I… why did you really come through my window tonight?”
“I said I wanted to tell you I was sorry.” You could tell he wanted much more than that.
“I know, but… is this your way of showing me?” you asked, his hands trailing up your arms and daintily brushing your chest before slipping over your silk cheeky shorts.
“I don’t know what else to do, love,” he said, pressing featherlight kisses to your neck. His cherry red lips dipped into the hollows between your clavicles, and back up to your neck. He looked at you squarely in the eyes before letting his cupid’s bow part and delicately pressed his lips to yours. Soon, the kiss turned feverish as he let his want show through.
His rough hands went to your silk set, tugging the unyielding fabric around your curves until you felt like it was going to rip; you settled on pulling the top over your head so as not to let that happen. Your breasts fell out into open view and he immediately took to pleasing them as well: hands gripping and tongue flicking and lips sucking. He put a finger in your mouth to suck so you wouldn’t make a sound.
He knew you’d be wet by the time he was ready to take off the pajama pants; a few weeks back your friend group had a discussion of the biggest turn-ons and what made you wettest, fastest. Fortunately, he’d retained that knowledge.
You hummed around his finger as he slowly pulled the little silk shorts off you; with forefinger and thumb he dropped them delicately beside you. His hand gripped your jaw as he let his thumb be the digit you suckled on while he worked.
He teased his length up and down your slit before pushing in, and you had to hold back a low moan from escaping your lips. Childhood bedroom plus midnight rendezvous plus sex did not equal happy parents. You were not interested in them finding out about this little hitch in your night plans, so your clenched your lips tight around his thumb.
He started thrusting harder, and thankfully the bed didn’t squeak. His grunts were quiet enough to be masked by the noise of the ceiling fan. He pushed in his whole length at one point, and you squealed, but he covered your mouth enough to muffle your noises from traveling too far. Between the cover of night and the scandalousness of the situation, you were getting off just fine. His chest hair tickled your own chest as he pressed up against you between your sheets. He tossed decorative pillows out of the way to have easier access to your lips and neck.
The kisses were messier and sloppier as his thrusts became the same, and you knew he was going to come soon; you were about to reach down to your clit to help your own process along, but he got there first.
Not surprisingly, his fingers were good. The rough pads of them stimulated exactly what you needed, and your muscles tensed around him. With your arms free to roam, you let them rest around his neck, pulling him closer. His thrusts were getting weaker and more differently rhythmed, and his eyes started to roll back into his head.
“Come for me baby, I forgive you,” you whispered in his ear, and with a huff of exhalation he came hard, riding into you and sighing. His fingers hit just the right spot shortly after and sent you over the edge.
You both fell asleep naked in the warm cocoon of your bed.
In the morning, he picked up his wet clothes and put them on, complaining of how sodding they were. You kissed him on the jaw, unsure, but he pulled you into a dizzying kiss before dipping out the window and running before your parents could pull out of the driveway for work.
