christmas cabin | tucker pillsbury 𐙚⋆.˚
warnings: language, NSFW content
a/n -my christmas gift to you all! happy holidays :)
the christmas party at your friend ky’s place is already in full swing by the time you arrive. it’s a chaotic mess of tinsel, cheap beer, and overlapping conversations, the air thick with the smell of spiced cider and something vaguely burnt. you know ky, of course, but the rest of the room is a sea of vaguely familiar faces from the industry, people you’ve seen in meetings or at other events but never actually spoken to. the social anxiety is already starting to prickle. you grab a red solo cup from the keg, the beer flat and lukewarm, and retreat to a relatively quiet corner by the window, watching the snow begin to dust the sidewalks outside.
that’s when you see him. he’s standing by the makeshift bar, which is really just ky’s kitchen island covered in a wrinkled red tablecloth. he’s all sharp angles and soft curls, a plaid shirt peeking out from under a worn denim jacket. he’s nursing a drink of his own, looking just as out of place as you feel, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips as he watches a couple attempt to drunkenly wrap a present with no paper.
you must be staring, because he glances over and catches your eye. you quickly look away, a flush creeping up your neck. a moment later, a shadow falls over you.
“trying to escape the madness too?” a voice asks, low and a little raspy.
you look up. it’s him. up close, he’s even more captivating. his eyes are a warm, honey-brown, crinkling at the corners as he smiles.
“something like that,” you admit, taking a sip of your beer. “i’m more of a ‘quiet night in with a book’ kind of person.”
“no kidding,” he says, leaning against the wall beside you. “i’m tucker."
"i'm y/n. nice to officially meet you, tucker.”
“you too,” he says. “so, what’s your escape plan?”
“haven’t figured one out yet. i’m giving it another hour before i fake a headache.”
“a solid strategy,” he nods. “mine was to help ky ‘set up’ and then just… never leave the snack table. it’s been surprisingly effective.”
you talk for the rest of that hour, the noise of the party fading into a dull roar. it’s easy, natural. you learn he writes music, that he has a soft spot for stray cats, and that his laugh is your new favorite sound. when you finally say your goodbyes to ky, tucker is right there beside you.
“so, that headache kicking in?” he asks as you stand on the porch, the cold air a welcome shock after the stuffy house.
“it’s coming on strong,” you play along, pulling your coat tighter around you.
“crazy coincidence,” he says, his breath fogging in the air. “my car’s just down the street. need a ride?”
the drive to your place is quiet, but not an uncomfortable silence. it’s filled with the low hum of the radio and the occasional shared glance. he pulls up in front of your building, the snow now falling in thick, fat flakes.
“well,” he says, turning to face you. “thanks for saving me from a night of talking”
“you too,” you say, your heart beating a little too fast. “i had a really nice time, tucker.”
“me too.” he hesitates, his hand resting on the gear shift. “hey, i know this is forward, and feel free to say no, but… ky’s got this cabin up by the lake. he said i could use it anytime. it’s supposed to snow all night. it’s probably… really quiet up there.”
the invitation hangs in the air, charged with possibility. this is insane. you just met him. but looking at him, at the hopeful, earnest look in his eyes, you don’t feel an ounce of hesitation.
“okay,” you say, a smile spreading across your face. “yeah. let’s go.”
the drive to the cabin is magical. the world outside the car is a monochrome painting of white and black, the snow blanketing everything in soft silence. tucker puts on a low, indie playlist, and you watch the city lights shrink in the rearview mirror, replaced by the dark silhouette of the woods.
the cabin is even better than you imagined. it’s small and rustic, made of dark timber and stone. tucker fumbles with the key for a moment before getting the door open, ushering you into a space that smells of woodsmoke and pine. it’s one room, mostly. a living area with a huge stone fireplace, a small kitchenette, and a lofted bedroom you can see from below.
“it’s not much,” he says, flipping on a lamp that casts a warm, golden glow.
“it’s perfect,” you breathe, your eyes drawn to the fireplace. “can we… can we make a fire?”
“i was hoping you’d say that,” he grins.
while you gather the kindling and logs from the neat pile by the hearth, he wrestles with a string of christmas lights, eventually draping them over the small, sad-looking fir tree in the corner. soon, the fire is crackling merrily, and the room is bathed in a dual glow of flames and colored lights. he makes you hot chocolate on the small stove, and you curl up on the worn-out couch, wrapped in a thick wool blanket he found in a chest.
he sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch. the silence that settles over the room this time is different from the car. it’s heavier, more intimate. you can feel the heat from the fire, from his body, from the mug in your hands.
“so,” he says softly, breaking the quiet. “this is a bit of a crazy first meeting, huh?”
“a little,” you laugh. “but i don’t mind.”
“me neither,” he says. he turns to face you, his expression serious. “i’m really glad i talked to you tonight, by the way. i was about five minutes away from hiding in ky’s bathroom until it was socially acceptable to leave.”
“i’m glad you didn’t,” you whisper.
his eyes drop to your lips, and the air crackles. he leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. you don’t. you meet him halfway.
the first touch of his lips is tentative, a soft question. he tastes like chocolate and mint and the cold, clean air from outside. you sigh into his mouth, your free hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart. that’s all the encouragement he needs. the kiss deepens, becoming more confident, more demanding. his tongue sweeps against yours, a slick, intoxicating exploration that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.
he sets his mug down on the coffee table, then takes yours from your trembling hands and places it beside his. his hands are on you then, one cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, the other sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him. you twist on the couch, throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him, the blanket falling away. the new angle is intoxicating, the hard line of his cock pressing against you through the layers of your clothes.
you break the kiss, panting, your forehead resting against his. “tucker,” you breathe.
“i know,” he murmurs, his hands roaming up your back, tracing the line of your spine through your shirt. “god, i know.”
his lips find yours again, hungry and urgent. his hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him as he rocks his hips up. the friction is delicious, a sweet torture that makes you whimper into his mouth. you’re grinding against him now, lost in the sensation, the need for more building to an unbearable ache.
he stands up, taking you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist. he carries you towards the ladder leading to the loft, his lips never leaving yours. the climb is clumsy and awkward, a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, but it only adds to the desperate, frantic energy between you.
the loft is dark and cozy, a single mattress on the floor covered in a thick duvet and pillows. he lays you down gently, his body covering yours as he settles between your thighs. the room is filled with the soft glow of the christmas lights from below, casting colorful shadows on the walls.
he pushes your shirt up, his hands warm and calloused against your stomach. he breaks the kiss to pull it over your head, his eyes roaming over your bare skin in the dim light. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with awe.
he leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down between your breasts. his tongue flicks out to taste your skin, and you arch your back, your fingers tangling in his hair. he reaches behind you and deftly unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing it until it’s a hard, sensitive point. he gives the other the same attention, his hand kneading your breast, his thumb circling the neglected one. the dual sensation is overwhelming, and you’re writhing beneath him, soft moans escaping your lips.
his mouth begins its slow descent, trailing a path of wet heat down your stomach. his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, and he looks up at you, his eyes dark with question. you lift your hips in silent permission, and he pulls them down, along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.
he settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin. for a moment, he just looks, his expression one of raw, unadulterated hunger. then he leans in and licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit. your back arches off the mattress, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.
his tongue is a revelation. he’s not shy about it. he explores you with a focused intensity, learning every curve and fold. he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing, before flattening it and licking you with broad, firm strokes. he alternates between sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth and fucking you with his tongue, the wet, obscene sounds filling the quiet loft.
your hands fly to his hair, your fingers tangling in his soft curls as you grind your hips against his face, chasing the pleasure he’s building. the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a white-hot knot of ecstasy that’s about to snap. “tucker, please,” you gasp, your voice ragged. “don’t stop.”
he doesn’t. he doubles his efforts, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke that perfect spot deep within as he continues to lavish attention on your clit. that’s all it takes. the pleasure crests, a blinding wave that crashes over you, stealing your breath and making your vision go white. you come with a cry, your body trembling uncontrollably as he works you through every last spasm.
he kisses his way back up your body, his movements slow and deliberate. when he reaches your lips, you can taste yourself on him, a salty, intimate flavor that makes your head spin. you’re still panting, your limbs feeling like jelly, but a new need is already building, a desperate ache to have him inside you.
you fumble with the button on his jeans, your hands shaking with urgency. he chuckles softly, a low, rumbling sound against your neck, and helps you, shoving his pants and boxers down his hips. his cock springs free, hard and thick, the tip already beading with pre-come. you wrap your hand around him, reveling in the velvety skin over steel, the way he hisses and bucks into your touch.
you stroke him a few times, your thumb swiping over the head, spreading the moisture. he groans, burying his face in your neck. “you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.
he pulls your hand away, pinning it above your head. he settles between your thighs again, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. he pauses, his eyes searching yours in the dim, colored light. “are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained with restraint.
“i’ve never been more sure of anything,” you breathe.
he pushes into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. the stretch is exquisite, a delicious burn that has you arching your back. he fills you completely, a perfect, overwhelming fullness. he stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily.
“more than okay,” you reply, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
he starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that’s designed to drive you insane. each thrust is deep, deliberate, hitting a spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. the room is filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, the slick slap of skin on skin, and the soft, desperate moans that escape your lips.
his name is a prayer on your tongue as he picks up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he fucks into you with a primal intensity.
the coil in your stomach tightens again, a white-hot knot of pleasure that’s about to snap for a second time. “tucker,” you gasp, “i’m… i’m close.”
“come for me,” he growls, his voice rough with his own impending release. “let me feel you.”
his words are your undoing. the pleasure crests, a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that washes over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. your inner walls clench around him, and he groans, his own orgasm crashing through him. he thrusts into you one last time, spilling himself deep inside you, his body shuddering against yours.
he collapses on top of you, his weight a comforting, grounding presence. you lay there for a long time, your bodies tangled together, your hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm against your ribs.
eventually, he rolls off of you, pulling you into his arms. he kisses the top of your head, his lips soft and gentle. “merry christmas,” he murmurs into your hair.
you snuggle closer, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “merry christmas, tucker.” outside, the snow continues to fall, but inside the little cabin, wrapped in tucker’s arms, you’ve never felt warmer.
