seven minutes wasn’t enough
a/n: hi hiii!! this is my first fic on here! i rlly hope you like it 🙂↕️ i had way too much fun writing this (you’ll see…) this is set around 2005-ish, so ignore any timeline inaccuracies lol. pls read the warnings before continuing!! likes/reblogs are always appreciated <3
summary: you almost don’t go to the party. but Frank doesn’t really take no for an answer, and neither does the thought of seeing Ray again. you’ve noticed him before. the quiet glances, the small moments that never really turned into anything. but when a game of seven minutes in heaven traps you together in a cramped closet, those almost-moments don’t stay almost for long.
warnings: minors dni, alcohol consumption, they play 7 minutes in heaven, making out, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, reader gets eaten out, fingering, nipple stimulation, p in v, semi-public sex.
word count: 7k
The message comes in at the exact moment you’ve stopped pretending you’re being productive.
Your computer screen glows in the dim light of your room, an MSN chat window sitting open with a conversation that hasn’t moved in at least ten minutes. The little typing bubble had appeared earlier, flickered on and off like whoever you were talking to couldn’t decide what to say, and then disappeared completely. You haven’t bothered closing it. It’s just there, like background noise, like everything else tonight.
Music hums low through your speakers, something you’ve looped so many times it barely registers anymore. Your room feels still, almost too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you aware of yourself in a way you don’t want to be. You’re leaning back in your chair, one foot hooked loosely around the leg of your desk, absentmindedly dragging your cursor across the screen without clicking anything.
Then the notification pops up. It’s small, easy to ignore, but the name catches your attention immediately.
Frank Iero
That alone is enough to make you sit up a little straighter, your hand pausing mid-movement as you click into the message.
frnkiero: party 2nite. my place. 9. dont bail
You stare at it for a second longer than necessary, your lips pressing together as a quiet laugh slips out of you. Of course. No greeting. No details. No explanation. Just an expectation, like you were always going to say yes anyway.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, not typing yet. You could ignore it. Say you’re tired. Blame something else. God you’ve done it before, ducked out of plans when the idea of being around people felt like too much effort. Tonight feels like one of those nights. You lean back again, eyes drifting away from the screen and up toward your ceiling, letting the thought settle.
A party means noise. People. Heat. Conversations you’ll only half pay attention to. Drinks you don’t really need. The kind of chaos that leaves you drained afterward. You exhale slowly, you don’t feel like going. But then your mind does something annoying. Something so fucking predictable.
It shifts.
Because if Frank’s throwing a party, there’s a good chance…
He’ll be there.
Ray Toro
His name doesn’t just pass through your thoughts, it lingers. It sits there, heavy in a way you immediately recognize and try not to think about too much. God you don’t even know when you started noticing him like that. It wasn’t instant. No moment where everything clicked into place and suddenly he was all you could think about.
The first time you met him, it was barely anything. Frank introducing you in passing, voices overlapping, people moving around you. A quick “hey,” a polite smile, nothing that should’ve stuck.
But it did.
And then you saw him again, and again. At shows, at random hangouts, always somewhere just so slightly out of reach. Then you started picking up on things.
The way he carries himself, soft-spoken, a little reserved, like he doesn’t feel the need to take up space but somehow still does. The way he listens when people talk to him, like actually listens, not just waiting for his turn to speak. The way his eyes linger just a second too long sometimes, like he’s thinking something he hasn’t decided to say out loud.
And yeah, you obviously noticed other things too.
His huge hands, his broad back, his beautiful voice, the way his hair falls around his face like it’s not even trying. You noticed enough that your thoughts started drifting when they shouldn’t.
Late at night, lying in bed, replaying small interactions that didn’t mean anything, stretching them, reshaping them into something else. Wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so.. careful. If that quiet, controlled version of him ever slipped into something less… restrained.
Your stomach tightens slightly at the direction your thoughts are starting to take, heat creeping up your neck even though you’re completely alone.
“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath, dragging your attention back to the screen. “That’s exactly why I shouldn’t go.”
You look at the message again, your cursor blinks in the reply box. You hesitate, and then, before you can talk yourself out of it…
You type.
you: ur so annoying. fine. ill come :P
The reply is immediate.
frnkiero: lol knew it. dont b late ;)
You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile pulling at your mouth as you close the chat. You already know this was a bad idea…. You just… don’t care enough to stop yourself.
Getting ready takes longer than you want to admit.
At first you tell yourself you’re not going to overthink it. It’s just a party, just Frank’s place. You’ve been there before and you’ve worn half the things in your closet to things like this already. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, somehow, nothing feels right on the first try.
You change once, then again, standing in front of the mirror with your arms crossed as you study your reflection like it’s going to give you answers.
You pick something simple. Change out of it. Try something else.
Too much. Too little. Not quite right.
Your gaze lingers on yourself a second longer than necessary, your hands smoothing over the fabric adjusting something small that probably doesn’t even need adjusting.
Would he notice?
The thought slips in before you can stop it. You exhale sharply, dropping your hands. “Stop,” you tell yourself quietly. But you don’t move away from the mirror. Instead, you make one more small adjustment, something subtle but intentional, and step back again. This time, you don’t change.
You grab your jacket before you can give yourself the chance to rethink it, your keys clutched in your hand as you head for the door. If you wait any longer, you might actually talk yourself out of going. And for some reason, you don’t want to.
Frank’s place is loud before you even reach the door. The bass pulses through the walls low and steady, mixing with the distant sound of voices and laughter that spill out into the night air. You pause for half a second before knocking, adjusting your grip on your jacket, your heartbeat just slightly quicker than it should be. Then the door swings open.
“There you are!”
Frank looks way too pleased, like he’s been expecting you specifically, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you inside before you even get a chance to respond.
“Hi to you too,” you chuckle, letting yourself get dragged in as the warmth and noise wrap around you immediately.
“Thought you were gonna bail,” he says, already steering you toward the kitchen.
“I almost did.”
“Rude.”
He grins anyway, like he expected nothing less, grabbing a red cup from the counter and pouring something into it before handing it to you without explanation.
“Drink,” he says simply.
You eye it for a second. “That’s not suspicious at all...
“You’ll live.”
“That’s not comforting.”
But you take it anyway.
The first sip hits harder than expected, the burn sharp enough to make you cough slightly, turning your head as you let out a short laugh.
“Jesus, Frank.”
He just shrugs. “Gets the job done.”
“Yeah, killing me.”
“Lightweight.”
“Shut up.”
But you take another sip anyway.
The party pulls you in faster than you expect.
At first you stay near the edges, letting yourself adjust to the noise, the movement, the constant shifting of people around you. But it doesn’t take long before you’re caught in it, conversations overlapping, laughter coming easier, the alcohol settling into your system just enough to take the edge off your thoughts.
Everything feels warmer. Softer. Less rigid.
And then.. you see him.
Ray.
He’s across the room partially turned away, talking to someone you don’t recognize. One hand moves slightly as he speaks, his posture relaxed but attentive, like he’s actually engaged in whatever’s being said. You notice the details without meaning to. The way his hair frames his face, slightly wild from the humidity and movement of the room, the way he nods when he listens, the way he smiles….
Your attention locks onto him before you can stop it, your grip tightening slightly around your cup, it’s ridiculous how quickly everything else fades just enough for him to stand out. You look away, force yourself to. Take another sip of your drink like that’ll ground you.
It doesn’t.
Because a second later, you look back. And this time, when your eyes find him, he’s already looking at you. You freeze, just for a second, and then he smiles. Not big, not showy, just enough to feel intentional. Your stomach flips, you look away first.
You don’t go to him, not right away. Instead, you let the moment pass, forcing yourself to turn back to whatever conversation is happening around you, nodding at the right times, laughing when it’s expected. You let the noise fill your head again, let the music settle back into something physical instead of distant. But it’s different now, because you’re aware of him. Not just in passing, not just as someone else in the room, but specifically, constantly, like your brain has decided to keep track of him whether you want it to or not. You notice where he moves. Who he talks to. The way he shifts through the space without demanding attention but still managing to hold it.
And every once in a while, you feel it. That pull. Like someone’s looking at you. Every time you give in and glance back you catch him again. Not staring, but looking. Enough to make your chest tighten slightly, enough to make you look away again like it might mean more than it should.
It probably doesn’t, but it feels like it does.
You end up in the kitchen without really deciding to go there. One second you’re in the middle of the room, surrounded by noise and movement, and the next you’re slipping through bodies and voices, drawn toward something quieter without fully realizing it. The difference is immediate.
The music is still there, but muffled slightly, dulled by distance. The air feels cooler. Less crowded. You can breathe a little easier. You lean back against the counter, setting your drink down beside you for a moment as you exhale, letting your shoulders drop. It’s a small break, a necessary one. For a second, it’s just you.
And then the door opens. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You just feel it. Still, you do look. And there he is.
Ray pauses slightly when he sees you, like he hadn’t expected it but isn’t surprised either. There’s a brief flicker of something in his expression, recognition, maybe something else layered under it, before it settles into something easier.
“Hey,” he says, stepping inside, the door swinging shut behind him.
“Hi.” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, but it fits the space, fits the moment in a way that doesn’t feel forced. There’s that pause again. It lingers just a second longer than it should, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he says after a moment, shifting his weight slightly as he leans back against the opposite counter.
“Yeah, I almost didn’t.”
“Why not?”
You shrug, glancing down at your hands for a second before looking back up. “Didn’t feel like dealing with people.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, nodding like he understands that more than he’s saying out loud. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
Another small pause settles between you, but it’s lighter now. You find yourself watching him without meaning to, noticing the small things up close this time. The way his curls fall forward slightly when he tilts his head, the way his hands rest loosely at his sides like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. You realize you’re staring. You look away. And then, right before you can overthink it..
“I’ve seen you play a few times,” you say. “You’re really good.”
It comes out more honest than you expected. For a second, you think you might regret it. But he just smiles. It’s a little bigger this time, warmer.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice quieter now, like the words mean something to him. “I’ve seen you around too.”That catches you off guard. You blink.
“Yeah?”
He nods, glancing down briefly before looking back at you. “Frank points you out sometimes.” Your stomach flips in a way that feels dangerously close to something you don’t want to name.
“Oh.”
It’s all you manage, but it feels like enough. Because the way he’s looking at you now, It’s different.
By the time you drift back into the main room, the energy feels louder than before, like you’ve stepped out of something quieter and into something that hasn’t slowed down at all. You barely have time to readjust before you hear it.
“Alright, alright, I’ve got an idea.” You don’t even need to look to know it’s Frank. The reaction is immediate: groans, laughter, someone throwing a crumpled napkin at him from across the room.
“This is either gonna be really good or really bad,” someone says.
“Both,” Frank replies without missing a beat. You already don’t trust this.
“Seven minutes in heaven!” The room reacts exactly how you’d expect, louder this time, a mix of disbelief and amusement, people immediately talking over each other.
“You’re kidding.” “Oh my god, no.” “Yes.”
You shake your head slightly, laughing under your breath. “This is a terrible idea.” “Exactly,” someone echoes from beside you. And somehow, before you can fully process it, you’re being pulled into it. Sitting on the floor with everyone else, the bottle placed in the center like it’s not about to decide your fate in the most ridiculous way possible. Your heart is already beating faster than it should, you tell yourself it’s nothing. Just a game, it doesn’t mean anything. But your body doesn’t seem convinced.
Turns go by, people spin, people laugh. Some take it seriously, others don’t. The energy builds with each round, the anticipation getting sharper, the reactions louder. You try not to think about it too much. Try not to think about the possibility.. until it’s your turn. Everything feels closer. Quieter, somehow, even though nothing has actually changed.
“Your turn,” Frank says, his grin borderline suspicious. You roll your eyes, but you lean forward anyway, your fingers brushing the bottle before you give it a firm spin. It moves fast, too fast, then slower. Your breath catches, it keeps turning. Slower… slower.. and then it stops, pointing directly at..
Ray.
The reaction is instant. The room erupts, voices overlapping, laughter breaking out as someone whistles loudly from across the circle.
“No way” “That’s insane” “Get up!”
You cover your face for a second, laughing despite the sudden rush of heat in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears.
“This is so stupid,” you mumble, even as you push yourself up. He stands too. And this time, there’s no hesitation, not really. Something in his expression has shifted. Still soft, but steadier now. Like he’s not treating this like a joke. The closet door opens. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like one either.
The door clicks shut behind you, and the sound feels louder than it should. It seals the space off almost completely, cutting the noise of the party down to something distant and muffled, like it’s happening somewhere far away instead of just on the other side of a thin wall. The sudden shift makes everything feel smaller, closer, more contained in a way that’s impossible to ignore.
For a second, neither of you moves.
You’re standing too close already, the cramped space forcing it, your shoulders nearly brushing, your knees almost touching if either of you shifts even slightly. The air feels warmer in here, heavier, like it’s holding onto every bit of tension you both carried in with you. You let out a small breath, a quiet laugh slipping out before you can stop it.
“This is…” you start, shaking your head slightly. “This is kinda ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a soft laugh in his voice too, low and a little breathless, like he’s aware of it in the same way you are. “It is.” But neither of you steps back. If anything, you both stay exactly where you are, like the idea of creating distance feels more unnatural than the closeness. There’s a pause. You can hear your own breathing. His too, steady but just slightly off rhythm, like he’s more aware of it than usual. You glance up at him, almost without thinking. He’s already looking at you.
There’s something different about it now. Not just recognition, not just that soft familiarity you’ve gotten used to seeing from him. It makes your chest tighten slightly.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, like he’s checking in, like he’s not entirely sure how you’re feeling about being in here. The question catches you off guard for half a second.
“Yeah,” you say, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You hesitate, then add, softer,
“Are you?”
He lets out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think so.”
There’s a beat, then another. And the tension doesn’t go away, it shifts. It settles into something that feels less like uncertainty and more like anticipation.
“Frank’s gonna be insufferable about this,” you mumble, glancing briefly toward the door like you can still see the chaos waiting outside. He huffs out a quiet laugh at that, nodding.
“Yeah, he’s definitely not letting this go.”
You shake your head, smiling faintly, but your attention drifts back to him almost immediately. It keeps doing that, like it doesn’t really have a choice.
“You’ve done this before?” you ask, half joking, half trying to fill the space with something other than the way your pulse is starting to pick up again.
“Seven minutes in heaven?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly.
“Yeah.”
He pauses, considering it for a second.
“Not like this,” he says finally.
The way he says it makes something in your stomach flip.
“Not like what?” you ask, softer now.
His gaze flickers over your face, lingering just a second longer than necessary before he answers.
“Not with you.”
That lands harder than it probably should. Your breath catches slightly, your fingers curling loosely at your sides like you need something to ground yourself.
“Oh,” you say, because it’s the only thing that comes out. There’s a faint flush creeping up his neck now, barely visible in the low light, but you notice it anyway.
“I mean—” he starts, then stops, letting out a quiet breath like he’s trying to figure out how to say something without overthinking it. “I’ve noticed you. Before.” Your heart stutters.
“Yeah?” you ask, your voice quieter than before.
He nods, just slightly. “Yeah.” There’s no joke in it. No attempt to brush it off, just honesty. And somehow, that makes everything feel heavier, closer. Your gaze drops for a second, then lifts again, drawn back to him like it keeps being.
“I thought maybe I was imagining that,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. His expression softens at that, something almost relieved flickering across his face.
“You weren’t.”
The space between you feels even smaller now. Not physically, it hasn’t changed. But it feels like it has. Like something’s shifted and neither of you is pretending it hasn’t. You don’t remember deciding to move, but suddenly you’re a little closer. Close enough that your arm brushes his when you shift your weight. Neither of you pulls away.
His hand lifts slightly, hesitates for just a fraction of a second like he’s giving himself one last chance to stop, then it settles lightly against your arm. Warm. Steady. Your breath catches again, softer this time, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
You don’t move. So his fingers slide, slowly, from your arm to your waist, resting there carefully, like he’s still paying attention, still giving you the chance to stop this if you want to. You don’t. You can feel your heartbeat now, faster, heavier, like it’s sitting somewhere in your throat.
Your hand lifts almost automatically, resting against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing under your palm. It’s not steady anymore, neither of yours is.
“Is this—” you start, then stop, your voice catching slightly. You don’t even know what you were going to ask. Is this okay? Is this happening? Is this a bad idea? He doesn’t make you finish.
“No one’s gonna stop us,” he says quietly, his voice lower now. It’s not pressure, not a push, just a statement. But it sends a shiver down your spine anyway.
You swallow, your gaze flickering to his mouth for just a second before you catch yourself. He notices, of course he does. And that’s what does it. The hesitation doesn’t disappear all at once, it just… fades, replaced by something more certain.
His hand tightens slightly at your waist as he leans in, slow enough that you can feel it coming, can choose to meet him halfway instead of being caught off guard.
You do.
The first kiss is soft, careful. It lingers for a second, like both of you are testing it, letting it settle, letting it mean something before anything else happens. Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt. He kisses you again, and this time, it’s deeper, less unsure.
You feel the shift immediately, your body responding before you can think about it, your other hand coming up to his shoulder, pulling him just a little closer. The space between you disappears completely. His hand moves, sliding slightly along your waist, his thumb brushing against your side in a way that makes your breath hitch.
The kiss slows, then deepens again, your lips parting slightly as it turns into something heavier, something that feels like it’s been building for way longer than just this moment. You lose track of everything else.
The noise outside.
The time.
The reason you’re even in here.
All of it fades, there’s just him. The warmth of him, the way he moves, the way his breathing changes when you shift closer, the way his grip tightens just slightly like he doesn’t want to let you go. You can feel it in the way he kisses you now, less careful, more certain, like whatever hesitation he had before is gone.
Your hand slides up, brushing against his neck, your fingers catching slightly in his hair without thinking. He exhales softly against your mouth at that, the sound barely there but enough to send something warm through your chest.
“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. It makes your stomach flip. You press closer without thinking, your body reacting instinctively, and he responds immediately, his hand tightening at your waist, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for you to do that.
The kiss deepens again, slower but more intense, your breathing uneven now, your thoughts scattered somewhere you can’t quite reach anymore. Everything feels closer. Hotter. Like the air itself has shifted.
His other hand moves, slow at first, like he’s still paying attention, still aware of every reaction, but there’s less hesitation now, more confidence in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you.
You don’t pull back, you don’t even think about it. Your fingers tighten in his hair slightly, and he lets out a quiet whimper against your mouth again, the sound low, almost involuntary.
“Wait,” he murmurs suddenly, pulling back just enough that your foreheads almost touch, his breath still warm against your lips. For a second, you think something’s wrong, your heart stutters. But then he looks at you, really looks at you. Like he’s trying to make sure you’re still there, still with him, still wanting this.
“You okay?” he asks again, softer this time. The question hits differently now. You nod almost immediately, your voice coming out a little breathless.
“Yeah.”
You hesitate, then add, quieter, “Don’t stop.”
Something shifts in his expression at that. Not dramatic, not overwhelming, but enough.
“Okay,” he says, and then he kisses you again. This time, there’s no hesitation at all. And right when you’re about to tear his fucking clothes off..
“TIME’S UP!”
The knock is loud, too loud. It cuts through everything like a shock, like something snapping back into place all at once. You both freeze, still close, still holding onto each other. Your breathing uneven, your thoughts struggling to catch up with reality again. For a second, neither of you moves.
You can feel it. That unfinished tension sitting heavy between you. You pull back just enough to look at him. He’s already looking at you, and it’s obvious. Neither of you is done. Not even close. The door swings open, the noise crashes back in. And just like that, it’s over. But it doesn’t feel finished. Not even a little.
The noise hits you all at once. It rushes back in the second the door opens, music, voices, laughter, everything crashing into you like it never stopped, like the past few minutes didn’t exist in their own separate space. It’s disorienting, the shift from something so close and contained to something loud and overwhelming.
You blink against it, your senses struggling to catch up, your breathing still uneven, your body still caught somewhere between what just happened and what was about to happen next. People are talking. Laughing. Someone says something you don’t quite catch. You don’t really hear any of it. Because you’re still too aware of him.
Ray is right there, just a step behind you as you move out of the closet, close enough that you can still feel the warmth of him, like it hasn’t fully left yet.
For a second, you think that’s it, that it’s over. That you’ll both laugh it off, let it dissolve into the chaos of the party, pretend it didn’t mean anything more than a stupid game. But then you feel it. His hand around your wrist, firm. Not rough, not rushed, just certain.
You turn instinctively, your breath catching slightly at the contact, at the way it grounds you instantly, pulls your attention right back to him like nothing else in the room matters. He’s closer than you expected. Closer than he should be, considering the noise, the people, everything happening around you.
And his expression.. gosh it’s different, not shy, not hesitant. There’s still softness there, still that quiet edge you’ve gotten used to, but it’s layered with something else now.
“Come here,” he says, low enough that it almost gets lost under the music. Not loud, not demanding, but not quite a question either. Your stomach flips and you don’t answer. You don’t need to, because you’re already moving.
He doesn’t let go of your wrist, his grip shifting slightly as he guides you through the crowd, weaving between people like he knows exactly where he’s going, like this isn’t something he’s second-guessing. You barely notice anyone else. It’s all a blur. Voices, movement, flashes of light, bodies brushing past you as he leads you further away from the center of the room.
Your pulse is loud in your ears now, your thoughts struggling to keep up with everything happening all at once. This is happening, you’re following him. And you’re not stopping.
He glances back once, just briefly, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still with him. Your eyes meet for half a second then he turns forward again, his grip tightening just slightly as he pushes through one last cluster of people before reaching the hallway.
It’s quieter here. Not silent, but calmer. The music is more distant, the noise dulled enough that you can actually hear your own breathing again. He slows down just a little, but he doesn’t stop. Not until he reaches the bathroom door.
There’s a brief pause. His hand is still around your wrist, warm, steady, like he hasn’t even considered letting go yet. And a second, neither of you says anything. The tension settles again, heavy and familiar, but different now, more urgent. You can feel it in the way your chest rises and falls, in the way your thoughts keep circling back to the same place.
To him, to what almost happened, and to how it didn’t finish. He turns to you then, finally, his grip loosening just enough to shift from your wrist to your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels softer. Up close, it’s even clearer, the shift in him. Still gentle, but there’s something underneath it now, something that wasn’t there before.
“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You nod almost immediately, your voice coming out softer than you expect.
“Yeah.”
You hesitate for just a second, then add, barely above a whisper
“Yeah, it is.”
He exhales softly, like he didn’t realize he was holding his breath, his hand tightens around yours again. And he opens the door.
You walk in and the door clicks shut behind you, and the sound feels different this time, heavier, final. It cuts off the hallway noise almost completely, leaving the two of you in a space that’s quieter, smaller, more contained, but not in the same accidental way as the closet. For a second, neither of you moves.
You’re standing just inside the door, closer than you realized, your hand still in his, your breathing not quite steady yet. The shift from the hallway to this, this quiet, this privacy settles over you slowly, like your body is catching up to what’s happening before your thoughts do.
Your heart is still racing, but not from the walk. From him. You feel it sitting there, heavy and unresolved, the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at you still too fresh to ignore. You swallow, your fingers tightening slightly where they’re still resting against his. He doesn’t let go.
Instead, his grip shifts, turning your hand slightly in his, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin in a way that feels grounding and distracting all at once. You look up and he’s already looking at you. Closer now.
Close enough that you can see the way his breathing hasn’t quite settled either, the way his chest rises just a little faster than normal, like he’s still feeling it too. For a moment, neither of you says anything. You don’t really need to. Because it’s obvious that whatever happened in that closet didn’t end.
“Hi,” he says softly.
The word catches you off guard just enough to make you let out a small breath of a laugh.
“Hello,” you echo, quieter.
It’s almost ridiculous. Standing here like this, after everything, and that’s what comes out. But it doesn’t feel wrong. If anything, it makes the moment feel more real. There’s a small pause. And then his gaze drops, just for a second.
To your mouth.
It’s subtle, but you notice. Of course you do. Your breath catches again, softer this time, your body reacting before your mind can catch up, that same pull from earlier settling back in, stronger now.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t actually look away for long. “I just—” You don’t let him finish.
“Don’t,” you say quietly, before he can backtrack, your voice softer than you expect but steady enough that it doesn’t waver. His eyes lift back to yours, there’s a question there. A tiny one. But you don’t give it time to grow.
Your hand shifts, moving from where it’s been resting in his to his shirt, fingers curling lightly into the fabric, grounding yourself in something real.
“I meant it,” you add, just as quietly. “Don’t stop.”
That does it. You see it happen, the moment something in him settles, like whatever hesitation was left finally gives disappears. His hand lifts slower this time, it comes to rest at your waist again. He steps closer, and then he leans in.
The kiss isn’t careful this time. Yeah It’s still soft, but there’s no testing to it, no hesitation. Your body reacts instantly, your grip tightening on his shirt as you pull him closer without thinking, closing whatever space is left between you.
He responds just as quickly, his hand firm at your waist now, drawing you in like he’s not planning on letting you go anytime soon. The kiss deepens, your breathing slips out of rhythm again, your thoughts scattering as everything narrows down to the way he moves, the way he reacts, the way the tension that’s been building all night finally has somewhere to go.
He pushes you back against the sink, and the contact knocks the breath out of you more than the force itself. His mouth is on yours again before you can think, the kiss deeper now, hungrier than before. His hands don’t stay still, moving over your body like he’s trying to memorize it.
You barely register the moment your back hits the counter before he’s lifting you, your hands instinctively grabbing onto him as you’re pulled up to sit on it. He steps in between your legs without hesitation, closing the space completely, like he has no intention of letting it come back.
The kiss only gets heavier, your fingers tighten in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he responds immediately, his hands pressing more firmly against you, grounding you in place. After a moment, he pulls back just enough for you to breathe. It takes you a second to catch up.
His lips are pink, slightly swollen, his breathing uneven in a way that makes your stomach twist. He looks at you like he’s trying to take you in all at once, and for a second, it hits you how familiar it feels. Like this is something you’ve already imagined too many times.
His hands move again, slower now, more deliberate as they slide up under your skirt, fingertips brushing over your skin. The roughness of his guitar calluses drags lightly against you, sending a sharp shiver down your spine that makes your breath catch. You don’t hide it, you can’t.
“God…” he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges as his gaze flickers over your face. “You’re gorgeous.”
Before you can respond his mouth is on your neck. One of his hands drifts lower, toying with the waistband of your underwear.
“I’ve been wanting this,” he admits quietly, his voice brushing against your skin. “For a while.”
Your breath stutters.
“Ray…” His name slips out before you can stop it, softer than you meant it to be, almost a moan.
“I—” you start, your voice catching, your thoughts struggling to keep up with everything you’re feeling all at once. “Me too… shit, me too.” Your fingers tighten where you’re holding onto him, pulling him closer. “Please…” you add, “I need you”
“Okay,” he murmurs, and then he moves again.
He kisses your neck again, his fingers already sliding into your panties. “I’m gonna make you feel good,” he murmurs, rough and low. “I promise.” He yanks them down and pushes them aside, lifting your leg up over his shoulder as he drops to his knees on the bathroom floor. The noise from the party completely fades behind the door while he buries his face between your shaky thighs.
His tongue works against you eagerly, hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place on the counter. The cold marble presses into your back as you arch into him. "Fuck, you taste so good," He mutters against you before going back at it. You moan, you’ve never felt this good with anyone before.
“Fuck.. Ray..” you whine and whimper while moving your hands to gently tug at his curls. He groans low into you when you pull his hair, the sound vibrating against your skin. His grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer to his face as he eats you out like a starving man. He lifts his head for just a second, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, looking up at you with dark eyes. You almost faint at the sight of him, you need more.
“Use your.. fingers, please.. fingers,”
Without a word, he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them upward to hit your g-spot. You moan loudly, gripping his hair tighter. He finger-fucks you mercilessly while licking and sucking on your clit. You throw your head back, your hair cascading down the marble counter behind you. Your legs shake around his shoulders as he works on you. He then adds a third finger, stretching you wide, his other hand reaching up to squeeze your breast over your shirt.
Your legs tremble violently, toes curling in the air above his shoulders. Your grip tightens in his curls, pulling hard enough to make him groan, grinding your hips down against his face. He doesn't slow down, if anything, he thrusts his fingers deeper and curls them harder, sucking rough circles on your clit to push you over the edge.
Your back arches completely off the counter, a loud, broken cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, cumming hard and dripping onto his tongue. He works you through every wave drinking down everything you give him, his hands keeping your hips pinned to the cold surface.
You’re panting, resting the back of your head against the mirror, hair sticking to your forehead, eyes closed as you try to steady your breathing. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of it, your own breathing, uneven and too loud in the quiet bathroom. Then you feel him shift closer between your legs, deliberately pressing his clothed bulge against your sensitive center. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans, he’s thick and heavy, straining against the fabric.
"can I? please I’m dying to fuck you.."
“yeah.. yeah please..”
He groans in approval, practically tearing his jeans and boxers down. His thick cock springs free, slapping against his lower abdomen, the tip flushed and leaking precum. He steps between your legs, gripping your hips and pulling you to the very edge of the counter.
He pauses, his hands going to the hem of your shirt. He pulls it off over your head in one swift motion, tossing it aside without care. His eyes darken as he takes in your bare chest, the sight of your breasts makes him groan deeply.
"Shit, y/n..."
He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard. His hands grip your hips painfully as he rolls the bud between his teeth, his tongue swirling around it. He releases it with a pop, moving to the other side and giving it the same treatment. His hips slowly rock against you, spreading your wetness along his shaft.
“you have such pretty tits.. I mean— breasts.”
“Ray..” you whine, “fuck me, pelase.”
Without further teasing, he lines himself up, pressing the heavy head against your soaked entrance. "Relax for me, baby..." he gently thrusts his hips forward, burying his thick length inside you in one smooth stroke. You gasp loudly, your nails digging into his shoulders as he stretches and fills you completely. He's big enough to make your eyes water slightly. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust before starting to move.
He hooks your legs around his waist, pulling you closer so you're flush against his chest. He starts to move, slow and deliberate at first, dragging his cock almost all the way out before thrusting back deep inside you. The bathroom mirror behind you steams up slightly from the heat of your bodies.
"God, you're so tight..."
You arch your back and the movement pushes your breasts against his chest, your nipples dragging over his shirt. He takes advantage of your arched back, gripping your hips to hold you in place while he picks up the pace. He starts fucking you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing loudly in the bathroom, mingling with the muffled bass from the party outside.
You press your head against his shoulder, you feel yourself getting closer to your climax. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply as he continues to pound into you. He's so big that every thrust makes your entire body shake.
Your face contorts with pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you suddenly. You cry out loudly, your pussy clamping down around his cock tightly as a gush of wetness spills out between your legs. Your toes curl tight, thighs shaking uncontrollably around his waist while your pussy pulses and milks his length. You bury your face deeper into his shoulder, broken moans escaping your lips as waves of pleasure make your vision go white.
"Fuck.. That's it... good girl"
Seeing you cum so hard makes him groan deeply, his own hips stuttering as he fucks you through your orgasm. He's so turned on by how wet and tight you are that he knows he won't last much longer himself. “Can I cum inside you?" He asks, you nod.
His jaw clenches, his thrusts becoming desperate. He bites out through gritted teeth, burying himself impossibly deep. With three rough, punishing snaps of his hips, he stills completely, his whole body tensing as he empties himself inside you with a low groan. Neither of you talk.
He stays buried deep inside you, both of you panting heavily, sweat making your bodies slick and warm against each other. His forehead rests against yours, breathing still unsteady. He presses a slow, lazy kiss to your lips, different from the desperate hunger of before.
"That was..." He trails off, unsure of what to say. “Fuck, that was good."
You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, your head still tilted back against the mirror. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice softer than you expect. “Yeah… it was.” There’s a pause after that. Not uncomfortable, just heavy.
You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, like he hasn’t really stopped. For a second, it feels like he’s going to say something else. He doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales quietly, running a hand through his hair. “We should probably—”
“Yeah,” you cut in quickly, before he can finish. “Before someone comes looking.”
Neither of you moves right away. It takes a second longer than it should, then two. Like you’re both waiting for the other to break it first.
Eventually, you look away, your hands moving automatically, getting dressed, fixing your hair, adjusting anything that looks even slightly out of place. It feels strange, almost unreal, like you’re putting yourself back together after something that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place. You can feel his eyes on you again. It makes your hands slow for just a second.
When you glance back up, he looks away this time, reaching for the sink, turning the faucet on just long enough to splash some water on his face. He exhales sharply under his breath, like he’s trying to reset himself, trying to step back into something more normal.
He shuts the faucet off, grabbing a towel and running it over his hands, then through his hair again like he’s not sure what to do with himself.
“Do I—” he starts, glancing at you. “Do I look… normal?” You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as you step closer, reaching up before you can overthink it. Your fingers brush lightly through his hair, fixing a piece that’s sticking out, the contact brief but enough to make both of you pause.
“You’re fine,” you say softly. Your hand lingers for half a second longer than it should, then you pull it back.
“Thanks,” he mutters, quieter now. You both glance toward the door at the same time. Reality waiting right on the other side.
You take a small breath, steadying yourself, your hand hovering near the handle before you actually grab it.
“Ready?” you ask, even though you’re not sure you are. He nods. “Yeah.” You open the door.
The noise hits instantly, music, voices, laughter, everything loud and overwhelming again, like the world didn’t stop while you were in there. You step out first, he follows close behind. And just like that, you’re back in it.
People move around you, conversations overlap, someone shouts from across the room. It’s the same party, the same chaos, nothing visibly different, but it feels different.
You can feel him behind you for a second longer than necessary, close enough that you’re aware of it, aware of him, even as you step further into the room. Neither of you says anything.
Not here, not now. But when you glance back, just for a second, he’s already looking at you.