Just Enjoying Other Peoples Fanfiction 24yrs Old

“Hello, this is Jude?”

“Hey, it’s Y/N,” Y/N said as she flopped down onto her bed, knowing they would set her straight if she was spinning out about this and not seeing it for what it was. 

“Holy shit what’s wrong?” They sat on their bed, hearing their friend’s heart beat practically echo through the phone.

“Nothing ... .ok um…” Y/N tried to think of how to start this, “You know Steve and I make dinner together whenever I’m visiting town?” 

“Oh my god,” Jude sat back on their bed. “Yes? Are you seeing him?” Jude’s brows were raised as Robin came in to water the plants in their bedroom. “Seeing Steve I mean.” They whispered to no avail, because Robin heard everything.

“Steve?” She asked. Jude motioned for them to be quiet.

“Oh god is Robin there?” Y/N asked as she could hear another voice, wanting to crawl up in a hole because if Robin knew she was overreacting she was totally gonna tell Steve.

“Hang on,” They tried to comfort Y/N. “Robin, honey, I need a moment.”

“No, no it’s fine as long as she swears not to mention this to Steve, ever,” Y/N said, emphasis on the ever. 

“No,” Jude said. “Robin, you know I love you. But I need a moment with my sister.” Robin nodded, ruffling Jude’s hair as she walked out of their tiny bedroom, closing the door. “Tell me.”

“Ok so Steve invited me over to do like dinner and stuff which we do a lot when I’m home since he can’t cook, well he couldn’t cook when we started,” Y/N rambled, “He’s actually really good now when he tries-”

“Okay Y/N, sweetie, get to the meat.” Jude was waiting with baited breath to hear what she said.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N finally admitted, “To go over. I’m nervous.” 

“And….is this… a new thing? You said you’ve been going over for a while now.”

“Yeah the nerves are new,” Y/N said with a sigh as she moved to look at the outfits she had been deciding between, “I mean it’s the first time we’ve hung out in a while and…I wasn’t nervous then but I am now. I mean, Jude, I’ve been through every outfit in my closet, I’ve showered and like an everything shower, and….ugh!” 

“Oh god, an everything shower?” Their tone, usually mocking, was warm. “Well…are you planning…well let me rephrase. Do you want something to happen tonight?”

“What?” Y/N asked, the thought suddenly coming to her mind, “I…oh my god…I….” 

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Y/N said honestly, “I…I really hadn’t thought about it because I was so busy with stuff,” a lie, Y/N had thought about Steve every day, “but…it would explain a lot of things.” 

“THINGS??” Jude sat up. “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?? THINGS??”

“I mean,” she thought for a second before going, “I don’t know! I mean I’ve always thought Steve was handsome, he’s a good looking dude, everyone thinks Steve is handsome. And like sure there have been little moments where I wondered, what if, but I…I never really thought about liking him in that way but…then we were making dinner for the first time and he got that little smile and…and I fell for him. Deep and hard and- well not like that! But I just…I’m smitten Jude!” 

“I mean he has been a rock for you after everything,” Jude nodded totally following, “And he’s a good guy. He’s funny and awkward and charming and he…definitely cares for you. You two danced and-”

“But what if he’s changed his mind?” Y/N asked as she flopped down on the bed, “What if I go over there and he’s totally moved on and doesn’t feel the same way and now it’s like starting over from scratch or worse, what if he just wants to be friends and I have to bury it all down again?! Maybe he doesn’t feel that way and maybe he…I mean…I like him so much and I have since…jesus the seventh grade? On and off and…Jude what do I do?” 

“Oh Y/N,” Their voice consoling, for once no mockery. “You gotta go for it. You gotta. You have something special with him whether it’s romantic or not. And look at Robin and his friendship. They are still super close even after he confessed his feelings. He’ll always be there for you.” Relief did wash through Y/N in this moment only to be replaced by a new kind of trepidation. 

“Then what do I wear?” Jude cackled at their friend’s nervousness, finally indulging. 

“What are your options?” Jude said through laughter. 

The drive there was also easy with the radio on blast. Even the way up to Steve’s apartment was easy…it was knocking on the door that was hard. But she did it. And then she waited. 

Steve jumped and blew out the candle he lit. It’s not like that. Well maybe it’s like that. But remember what you’ve practiced. Follow her lead. See where she's at and make sure she feels the same still. He jumped to get the door, swinging the towel over his shoulder before opening the door. 

“Hey,” His jaw hung open slightly, seeing Y/N. Why the fuck did I blow out that candle? “You look beautiful.” Fuck that was way too forward. Can’t take it back now. He scratched the back of his head before backing up and letting her in. 

“Thank you,” She said, her voice so much shakier than she wanted it to be as she struggled to meet his gaze. She came in and kicked her shoes off as she always did out of respect. The lights had been dimmed significantly and there was already something cooking, as the room smelled of rich vivacious flavor. 

“Steve that smells incredible!” Y/N said as Steve shut the door, “What are you making?” 

“ I just made Penne Rosa,” He shrugged it off like it was the most casual thing in the world. Y/N just turned and looked at him, narrowing her eyes. 

“I leave for what…three months and suddenly you’ve gone world class chef on me?” She teased with a smirk, “Steve, there will be no point to me coming over if you can suddenly cook better than I can! Jeez.” 

“Hey now Y/N, just accept that I am officially allowed to be better than you at something,” He grabbed the spoon and offered her a taste. Y/N was far too excited for a taste as she followed him into the kitchen. Steve dipped the spoon into the sauce, got a bit, and without thinking much about it blew on the spoon to make sure it wouldn’t be too hot before passing it over to her. Y/N beamed as she took the spoon and popped it into her mouth letting out a hum in reply. 

“Oh my god that’s so good,” she praised. 

“You like it?” He beamed. “ I can relax now.”

“Like it? Steve that is the best sauce I have had maybe ever,” she said with a little sigh, “Oh that’s so good, wow.” He watched her enjoy it, before having to distract himself with his sauce. 

“The bread I got from a bakery because I didn’t have time to bake any. If you could cut some into slices that would be wonderful.”

“Of course,” she beamed, happy for a task to do as she pulled the bread knife from his drawer where she knew it would be, “So…have you been seeing anyone?” Steve dropped his spoon, splattering sauce on the ground.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” He exclaimed, immediately getting down to wipe his mess. “Uh, no. No I haven’t been. You?”

“No,” Y/N said as she passed him a paper towel, “I um…I haven’t been either.” 

“Oh,” Steve stood up and slung his towel over his shoulder, watching her back as she intently cut the bread. “Huh.” He went back to his sauce, stirring for a minute before finally giving in. 

“So,” Y/N turned to look at him again, facing him fully this time, trying to break the tension she had somewhat created though she was thankful for the relief that he was still single, “What else is new?” 

“Same old, same old”. He turned off the burden, allowing the sauce to still cook without the fire. “Nothing much to do other than work. Things just aren’t the same without you here.” Y/N’s cheeks went red and Steve smiled, confidence surging through him that spark was still there. 

“How’s my brother been?” Y/N asked as she watched him work for a moment, noting how at peace she felt here, with him.

“He’s the same as usual too,” Steve scoffed, “Cocky.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N teased, “You gave him your hair products and since then-”

“Woah, woah, don’t blame the hair,” Steve said as he pointed to his favorite feature, “The hair is not the problem!”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N chuckled, “The hair and you being around boosted his ego…but it’s nice. Except the cat thing when he’s flirting.” Steve cringed at the memory of Dustin doing the “rrrrr” sound he so often did.

“Yeah I was kinda waiting for him to grow out of that.” The pair both fell into laughter at the thought of Dustin - someone they both held dear - only being brought back by Y/N asking,  “Can I do anything else for you?” 

“Just enjoy yourself,” He smiled at her. “Actually, if you could get the wine out of the fridge…..I might have splurged because you’re back.”

“Steve,” Y/N said as she cooed his name on her way to the fridge, “Don’t splurge on my account! I’m just happy to get to spend time with you.” 

“Welp, I should have kept the receipt then.” He plated the pasta. “ Oh, speaking of splurging...you’re gonna hate this,” He smirked. 

“Steve Harrington,” Y/N put the hand not holding the bottle of wine on her hip as she looked at him with mock scolding, “What did you do?” 

“I got Pretty Woman, definitely not because it’s your favorite movie. I just happened to be available at Family Video and I had Keith hold it all day for me.” Y/N literally melted on the spot. She just looked at this man and she knew she was down bad. She had no words and could only smile at him, like he had hung the moon. “Y/N? Hello Y/N?”

“Well I mean,” She started, coming back to earth with a blush on her cheeks, “If you went through all that effort, I suppose we just have to watch it, now don’t we?” 

“I guess so,” He handed her a plate. “Listen it’s a special occasion so if you don’t like the pasta we can order take out. I will not judge or be offended.”

“Steve, I will love anything you make because you made it,” shit, she thought, that was a lot…but I can’t unsay it. So she just walked over and set the bottle of wine down on the table and got two glasses - the only two he had - out of the cabinet. He brought both plates out to his tiny dining room table, practically only enough for two. But she was the only other person other than Robin who ate here, so it didn’t really matter. As they sat to eat, he couldn’t help but feel at peace. He couldn’t help but feel like spending the rest of his life in Hawkins wouldn't be so bad. Maybe getting out every now and then with her wouldn't be that bad. As long as they had a van to drive around in. 

The pair finished dinner and Y/N was up, taking Steve’s plate to wash it before he could get a word of protest in. 

“You cooked, I’ll clean,” she had said before he could speak, “That’s how this works.” He smiled, sort of relieved that he could rest for a moment. He chose to watch her do the dishes, not in a creepy way. You’re being creepy. He looked away, going to set up the movie. 

“Is it okay if I start it? You might just miss the opening.”

“I am so sure I have this movie memorized by now so feel free,” Y/N called from the kitchen as she continued to clean, making sure everything was dried and put away before joining Steve on the couch. 

Soon enough the two were invested in the action, Julia Roberts walking down the street to Pretty Woman, one of Steve’s all time favorite songs. He felt the couch shift ever so slightly as Y/N pulled her feet up, getting even cozier on the couch and moving closer to him as a result. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Should I put an arm around her? 

“I love this song,” He said. Smooth.

“Me too,” she said with a nod. The next pan had the pair watching as Julia Roberts caught sight of the store she had been turned away from earlier in the film…the same attendant on shift.

“This is my favorite part,” Steve whispered. 

“You have a favorite part?” Y/N whispered back. 

“Of course I have a favorite part. This movie is iconic. How uncultured do you think I am?” He nudged.

“Well between dinner and your choice in film clearly I have given you less credit than you deserve,” she shot back with a smile. He turned to her, not expecting such a  genuine statement, and watched the warm glow of the TV flicker against her face. It was soothing in a way. He felt a warm rise up into his face and quickly turned away. Get a grip Steve. 

“Hi. Do you remember me?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“I was in here yesterday, you wouldn’t wait on me.”

Steve sat up straighter, hitting her thigh with excitement. 

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at his excitement.

“Oh.”

“You work on commission right?”

“Ah yes.” 

“Big mistake. Big,” The pair said at the exact same time. “Huge.” They looked at each other, their smiles faded and replaced with something else. Something deeper. 

And with that, Steve shifted his position on the couch, grabbed Y/N’s face, and pressed a long awaited kiss on her lips, finally. He had been thinking about kissing her from the day she kissed him when they were in the seventh grade. A quick peck, a bet, not a real kiss. It wasn’t fair she had kissed him first and that it was so short, not even enough time to blink. He knew that someday when he got to kiss her again, he’d cherish every moment of it. 

Y/N’s eyes went wide for a second, in shock that this was occurring before leaning in, totally reciprocating. She couldn’t help herself, deepening the kiss to prove it was real by placing a hand ever so slightly in Steve’s hair, her fingers running to his roots. Holy shit. 

They moved closer and closer together, continuing to kiss, neither pulling away for air for fear that if they stopped for even a second the other would disappear back into real life once more. Y/N’s heart was beating out of her chest as both their hands wandered, trying to touch everything all at once but also so unsure on where to put their hands. At this point she was basically sitting just to the side of Steve’s lap but he wanted her, needed her closer. In one solid motion, he pulled her into his lap, his hands roaming her body. There was urgency to both of their movements, both allowing soft moans to fall at how nicely they fit together. As much as Steve wanted to treasure each and every second, kissing her like she was his life support, he couldn’t help his hands from coming to rest on her ass. He used the next leverage to pull them even closer into each other which drew a gasp from Y/N - finally making him pull away. 

“You alright?” He asked breathlessly. 

“God, yes,” Y/N moaned as she kissed him again, keeping her hands in his hair, “Fuck Steve, please don’t stop.” 

“Fuck,” Steve swore as her begging without him even having to ask, instinctively grinding his hips against her. The whimper she let out had him on the verge and they were both still fully clothed. Her legs coming to wrap around his waist so that she could feel even closer to him was the nail in the coffin. He needed her. Now. 

Steve broke away from the kiss only for a moment but Y/N didn’t cease, beginning to kiss up and down his neck until she found a spot that made him groan. She focused on it with a fervor as Steve brought his hands up to the top button of her dress since the whole thing was a button down. He kept his hands there as a “May I?” and when Y/N pulled back to nod at him, he didn’t hesitate. Steve went back to kissing her as he slowly unbuttoned her dress, bit by bit, wanting to not look until he was fully done. This proved to be a difficult task too but luckily Y/N helped him out, starting at the bottom as he made his way down. The second their hands met and the last button was undone, Steve couldn’t help but to break their kiss to look at her. His hands came to rest on her hips as he pulled away, sucking in a sharp breath. Steve had never been one to believe in God but to see the woman he had been chasing after for years undressed in his lap wearing lingerie- and Jesus Christ not just any lingerie. His favorite kind. 

It was a light blue and mesh material, almost completely see through other than being covered in beautifully detailed lace flowers. Again, Steve Harrington was pretty sure he didn’t believe in God but seeing Y/N looking better than any porno he had ever even dreamed up - he was ready to start praying. 

“Is…is it ok?” Y/N asked quietly as she looked at Steve, her hands moving to her lap as she fidgeted with them, unsure of what to do. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it and I know I um…I don’t look like a lot of the girls you’ve been with but-” Steve kissed her so hard and fast, one of his hands moving from her hips to tangle in her hair in an effort to keep her from falling off his lap with the force he kissed her with. He needed her to know, to feel how much he wanted her. How much it had always been her. 

“You, Y/N Henderson,” he whispered after pulling away, “Are the most stunning person I have ever seen in my life.” Y/N’s eyes went wide as she took in his compliment. How was this the same Steve she had known all her life? The Steve who didn’t know how to give genuine compliments so didn’t? The Steve who Robin constantly complained acted like a twelve year old boy and couldn’t say anything other than boobies? 

“And holy fuck,” Steve swore as he brought his hands up to her waist, just underneath her breast as he ran his thumb ever so gently over the lace. 

“You can touch me, Steve,” Y/N said gently as she brought her hand up to rest over top of his, “Please…please touch me.” 

“Fuck,” Steve swore under his breath as he didn’t think twice moving his hand up to cup her breast in his hand, marveling at how she felt under his touch. Y/N ground her hips against his with a little whimper and he fucking lost it. He pushed the dress off her shoulders so she was truly in nothing but her underwear before pulling off his shirt, not wanting her to feel like she was the only one undressed. Y/N admired him as he did and felt her heart skip a beat. Steve had filled out. He had always been a decently broad guy but the second he had allowed himself to breathe and live his life instead of merely trying to survive from disaster to disaster he had grown softer instead of being lean muscle. The muscle was underneath but he had become a bit self conscious about the additional mass.

“Is that why girls don’t like me?” He had asked Robin as they passed a joint between them, “Because I’ve…”

“Nah,” Robin had replied with a shrug, “If anything that would help your case. Like the chest hair. Girls like you just fine, you just don’t like them.”

“That’s not true-”

“Yes it is,” Robin had cut him off, “Because none of them are Y/N Henderson.” 

He had laughed then but as he had her on his lap, looking at him like he had brought the sunlight back to her dark world, he knew Robin was right. No one had ever compared to her, no one ever could. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” the words flew from Steve’s mouth before he knew what he was saying, “You don’t even know.” He wanted to take the confession back, afraid she'd vanish despite the grip he had on her hips but she didn’t. Instead she turned her gaze back to his face and leaned in, going to press a kiss to his lips but she stopped just short.

“I know because I’ve wanted you just as much.” With that her lips connected with his again and it felt like the sky burst open. He pulled her closer than he thought possible, her hands coming to tangle in his hair as they kissed, rough and messy, teeth clashing as they both took what they had so desperately wanted. While Y/N was content with her hands tangled in Steve’s soft hair, Steve’s hands explored every inch of her exposed skin, one arm wrapping around her low back to keep the two of them rocking against each other with abandon. Y/N’s soft moans and the feel of her lips against his had Steve barreling towards the edge with shocking speed but he knew he didn’t want to finish still dressed on the couch. No, he wanted to be in her. 

“Y/N,” He pulled away, the pair both breathing heavily, “I want to-”

“Me too,” Y/N breathed heavily as she looked at him, hands moving to caress his face and press kisses to his neck, “Your room?” She didn’t have to ask him twice, Steve’s hands coming to hold her ass as he picked her up. Y/N swore Steve took only three strides before she found herself pressed underneath him in his bed, his lips already back on hers. Her nails raked up and down his back gently and Steve wasn’t content with that. No, he wanted to be able to feel her, see evidence of this tomorrow, otherwise he wouldn’t believe it was true. His one hand came back to grasp at her one breast, tweaking her nipple roughly making her cry out in pleasure while his other hand trailed down to her underwear. The sheer material allowed him to feel just how wet she was as he trailed a finger up and down her slit, a gasp leaving her as her eyes flashed open. 

“Shit,” He swore as he felt her, “So fucking wet. For me?”

“Yes,” Y/N said through gasps as she grasped him tightly, “For you Steve, all for you.” Steve would have smirked under normal circumstances but he felt so out of control all he could do was groan at her words and continue to feel her, rocking his hips against anything he could to try and relieve some tension from his body.

“Please don’t tease,” she begged him without the man even having to ask, “Please Steve, I just…want you now.”

“My fingers?” He asked between kisses and hickeys he pressed to her neck, taking the time to claim her as his. 

“No, I want-”

“The answers are my finger or my mouth, baby,” Steve said as he pulled back, continuing to stroke his fingers along her slit, daring to dip just the tip of one in over her underwear but denying her more until she asked for it. “Can’t have anything else until you’re warmed up-”

“I am, I am, please Steve,” She begged, seeming to be on the verge of tears from how badly she needed him, “Can I…no more pants Steve. Wanna see you, all of you.” Steve wasn’t going to deny her a thing as badly as he wanted to finger her until she came around him, he would do whatever she asked. He climbed off of her and rose, bringing his hand to his jeans but Y/N moved and put her hand over his. 

“Can I do it?” Steve’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly but he nodded as he closed it, moving his hands to her hips to give her full reign. She took his moment of submission to undo the button on his jeans, and then the zipper, before putting her hands through the loops and pulling them down. They fell to his ankles and he took a moment to step out of them, his hands on her hips pulling her into him as all that remained between the two was their underwear, allowing Y/N to feel Steve so much more than she had been able to before. 

“Fuck Steve,” She swore as she brought her hand down to stroke him through his underwear causing the man to groan, “You’re so…wow…” Steve didn’t waste a second, kicking her legs apart a bit with his feet so he could bring his hand down to cup her sex once more, pushing her underwear to the side as he pressed a finger into her. 

“Shit,” Y/N’s knees buckled a little bit at the intrusion and her grip on him stuttered. 

“Lay down for me,” he commanded as he withdrew his fingers only for a moment, bring it to his mouth with a groan as she compiled, “Fuck you taste good.”

“Can I taste you?” Y/N asked as she laid in bed, his bed, and looked up at him with an angelic gaze. 

“Not today, baby,” he cooed as he climbed on top of her, his fingers pushing her underwear aside again with ease as he slipped two fingers into her making her moan, “I’m already close and if you blew me, I wouldn’t be able to do what I really want.” 

“And you want…?” Y/N asked between little gasps as he found that spot inside her that had her nails scratching into his back. 

“Fuck,” Steve swore again as he burried his face into her neck as her hand moved inside his boxers, stroking him in earnest. “To be inside of you. Please.” Y/N moved her hand and brought both of her hands down to her underwear, pushing them off and kicking them to the ground as Steve stripped off his own. She couldn’t help but look at him, fully naked on top of her and looking like a Greek god. 

“You’re so handsome Steve Harrington.” The honesty of her compliment had Steve melting as he reached into his bedside table and grabbed a condom out of the unopened box. Y/N took it from his hands and ripped it open with ease, slipping it onto him as he kissed up and down her neck.

“And you’re so beautiful Y/N Henderson.” Y/N smiled and allowed her one hand to come back to his hair, that combined with the way he stroked himself made him groan. He lined himself up with her entrance and ran his tip over her folds for a moment before remembering her beg not to tease - not that he could even if he wanted to. He was so desperate he knew the second she gave him the ok he would slip into her without a second thought. 

“Can I-”

“Please.” Without another word, Steve began to press into her as gently as he could manage. The room turned into a mix of moans and swears as Steve fell to his elbows, bringing them impossibly close as Y/N’s nails dug into his back as she buried her face into his chest. The first few inches already had her so tight around him as he paused to revel in the feeling. Steve gently tangled his fingers into her hair to move her head from his chest, wanting to see her. Y/N must have caught on as she allowed her head to fall back on the pillow looking up at him in awe. 

“You okay?” Steve asked as the hand that was in her hair moved to cup her cheek. 

“Feels so good,” Y/N breathed out as she looked at him, her eyes watery from the feeling as she allowed her one hand to fall from Steve back and down onto the bed. “S’big.” Steve would have normally chuckled and made some comment about his ego being inflated too much but he couldn’t focus on anything except the way she felt around him and that he was less than halfway in. 

“Doing such a good job,” He praised, trying to keep his voice even as he brushed some of the curls that had fallen around her face away so he could fully see her. “Too much?” She shook her head adamantly which made Steve smile. Seeing Y/N Henderson, one of the most composed and well spoken people he knew, reduced to nonverbal because of him was becoming his new kryptonite. He used his hand not bracing himself above her to hoist her leg over his hip, bringing them closer even still. He then took a moment to lace his hand with hers as he pressed her hand into the bed. Y/N was so distracted by this she didn’t even notice Steve pulling out almost all the way before fully pushing in. A soft moan slipped from Y/N’s lips as her eyes squeezed closed but that didn’t work for Steve. She was holding back. He knew it. And he didn’t want her to. 

“Y/N, honey,” he spoke between kisses to her neck and lips and pretty much anywhere else he could reach, “Wanna hear you. Maybe some noise for me, hm?” 

“But,” Y/N said as she looked up at him, her lust blown eyes blinking gently, “It’s embarrassing-”

“It’s beautiful,” he praised as he gently rolled his hips into her, getting her used to the movement and feeling, “Everything about you is.” Y/N melted and as she felt his tip prod that spongy spot deep inside of her she let out a real moan, her inhibitions slipping away with the pleasure. 

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, “That’s it-oh fuck-” Steve swore as began to rock into her at a harder faster pace as he felt her clench around him. “So damn tight, fuck Y/N.”

“Steve please,” she whimpered as she pulled him closer. 

“Yeah? That feel good?” He said, increasing his pace and making sure to press as deep into her as he could with each thrust. Y/N felt like she couldn’t breath, feeling like she could feel him all the way in her stomach. Steve clocked his too, their hands no longer laced together as Y/N had decided she needed one to scratch his back up and another tangled in his hair, so he was able to trail one of his hands down to where he knew he was in her. He pressed down and watched as Y/N’s mouth formed a little o, her eyes rolling back as he felt her cunt start to flutter around him. 

“All the way in there, honey,” he cooed, through gritted teeth as he tried to hold off his own end until she had found hers. Keeping his hand there, he used his thumb to draw soft slow circles on her clit. That contrasted with the way he was fucking her so rough but with so much passion and praise had her teetering on the edge. 

“Steve-Steve I’m gonna-”

“Let it go honey,” he whispered before pressing a firm kiss to her lips. “Cum for me.” And she did, hard. Her cunt clenched impossibly tight around him, her eyes squeezing closed and mouth forming an o in a silent scream as her release coated his lower abdomen. 

“Holy shit-oh fuck,” Steve swore as he fell to his other elbow, not able to do anything more than let his release follow hers. He came with a high strangled groan - a sound Y/N was sure had come straight from the heavens had it not been so damn sinful. He slowed the pace of his thrusts as he rode out his orgasm but didn’t pull out as he all but collapsed on top of her before he realized oh shit I’m crushing her. He went to move but Y/N’s hands held his head to her chest. 

“Stay,” her plea was a strangled whisper as she tried to catch her breath. And he did, knowing he’d never question her and her wishes, never for a second. He laid on top of her, their breathing syncing as he could feel himself soften, still inside her. He felt his eyes begin to droop and knew he couldn’t go to sleep no matter how comfy he was. Not until he had checked on her. 

“Y/N?” He asked softly as he pushed up on his elbows to look at her. Her eyes fluttered open as they had been previously closed as she just took it all in while playing with his hair. 

“Mhm?” She smiled at him, glowing with sweat and adoration. All words left him as he rolled onto his side, still inside of her and moved her to face him. He just wanted to hold her, that was all he wanted. So he did. Steve wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in so her face was nestled into his neck as he just took in the weight of her in his arms, memorizing every detail of this moment. He knew then that while this was the first night she’d rest in his arms, it wouldn’t be the last. This, Y/N was his forever. 

"I can't say I'm surprised,” Eddie said with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “I knew this day was coming. How does your wife feel about it?"

Steve spluttered on the other side of the line. "Fuck off. DJ has a field trip tomorrow, and they need an extra chaperone." 

Eddie groaned softly. He loved his unofficial niece. He truly did. The brat was pretty sick for a seven-year-old. She liked dragons and heavy rock music. But Monday was one of his few precious days off. There was nothing he wanted less than to spend it with a full gaggle of snot-nosed kids. His precious niece excluded, of course. 

"Can't Robin do it?" he asked, already knowing the answer deep down. If Steve was calling him, he was truly desperate. 

"Not after the zoo incident," Steve reminded him. 

Eddie laughed. He forgot about that incident. Leave it to Robin to lead a revolt full of first graders demanding the zoo animals be released. The administrators were not too thrilled and Robin was banned from all future field trips. 

“Come on, man. I’m desperate. If they don’t get another chaperone they can’t go and DJ has been looking forward to this for months. I would if I could, but I have a big meeting tomorrow.”

“I don’t know…” Eddie trailed off.

Steve sighed. “I’ll owe you one, whatever you want.” 

“Well, when you put it like that…” Eddie grinned widely. “Tell Dustin Junior that Uncle Eddie will be there!” 

"For the last time, her name isn’t Dustin Junior, it’s-"

Eddie hung up before Steve could finish that sentence. 

~*~*~*~*~

“UNCLE EDDIE!” DJ screamed as trampled down the stairs. 

Eddie dropped the bag he was holding and held out his hands, just in time to catch the giggling bundle that crashed into his arms. 

“Deej don’t jump from the-” Steve cried out in exasperation but it was no use. 

Eddie only laughed and held his niece tight. “There’s my favorite monster!” 

She giggled as he swung her around. Even Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly at the sight. 

“Uncle Eddie! Look look look!” She wiggled out of his arms and stepped back away from him to show him her shirt, chosen with him in mind. 

“Guns N’ Roses?” Eddie gasped, his voice perfectly dramatic to catch a child’s attention. “You should have told me! We could have matched.” 

Steve held up her jacket and DJ obediently slid her arms through the proper holes, letting her father finish dressing her. 

“A few ground rules, Munson,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice stern as he knelt down to tie his daughter's shoelaces. “No loud music, no driving fast, and no corrupting the kids! I mean it.” 

“Corrupting the youth?” Eddie asked, clutching at his heart in mock offense. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Stevie.” 

Steve shot him a glare before turning to DJ and handing her her lunch bag. “And you, be extra good for your teacher today. She’s going to be under a lot of stress, herding all you kids. Promise?”  

She nodded dutifully. “Yes, Daddy. I promise.”

Steve smiled at his daughter, all his sternness visible melting away. When DJ was born, Eddie made jokes about her having Steve wrapped around her little finger in no time, and Steve just kept proving him right. 

Eddie clapped his hands together. “Let’s hit the road! Don’t want to be late.” 

Steve handed Eddie the pink and sequined-covered backpack, which he took with only one dramatic grunt.

“Jesus kid, what do you have in here? A couple of phone books?” 

~*~*~*~*~

They arrived at the school for check-in, and after some quick introductions the students, staff, and chaperones were all filed onto the big yellow bus. 

Eddie politely and awkwardly smiled at the other adults, only to receive distasteful looks in return. Sometimes being an adult was worse than being back in high school. 

“Uncle Eddie! Come sit with me!” DJ said excitedly, patting the seat beside her on the bus. 

Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you want to sit next to one of your friends?” 

She shook her head enthusiastically, brown hair flopping wildly. “I see my friends every day. I wanna sit next to you!” 

He pretended to think about it for a moment before flopping down in the seat next to her. She excitedly pointed out the other kids on the bus, catching him up on all the drama and happenings in her second-grade classroom. 

Only once the bus started moving, did Eddie realize he neglected to ask the most important question.  

“Hey kid, where are we going anyway?” 

“The planetarium!” 

“Uncle Dustin is going to be so mad he missed this one,” Eddie responded with a chuckle. “Speaking of Uncle Dustin…” 

She nodded before answering with a wide grin. “...If anyone asks, I was named after him. DJ stands for Dustin Junior.” 

Eddie held up his hand and high-fived DJ. “That’s my girl.”

What was the point of being an honorary uncle if he couldn’t use the kid to get on Steve’s nerves anyway?

~*~*~*~*~

You sighed as you looked out the window. “What time is it again?” 

“It’s only one minute since the last time you asked,” Vi, your coworker, replied. “9:59.” 

“I don’t see the bus,” you said as you turned away from the window. “What if they’re late? We have a tight schedule.” 

“Y/N, most school groups are late. We make it work. No problem.” 

You frowned. “I want the kids to have plenty of time for lunch and free play!” 

She only rolled her eyes and flipped the page of her magazine. “You should be enjoying the last few minutes of peace and quiet we’re getting until those kids leave.” 

You opened your mouth to argue when you heard the distinct sound of school bus breaks. A smile came to your face. “I see a bus!” You cheered as you skipped over to the window. “They’re here!” You waved at the children, grinning as they waved back. 

Vi closed her magazine and stretched. “Babe, has anyone told you that you were meant to work with kids?” 

You nodded, not looking away from the bus that was unloading. “Almost everyone I’ve ever met. Why?” 

She only chuckled. “No reason.” She walked over to join you at the window. “Ooh. Hot dad alert, and totally your type.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, not bothering to look at the man in question. “You know I don’t look at the parents. He’s probably married.” 

She shrugged. “I don’t see a wedding ring.” 

“No way Jose,” you said just as the front door opened, showing a frazzled-looking teacher and a small army of children, already vibrating with excitement. 

“Showtime,” Vi said before plastering on her biggest smile. “Hello everyone! Come on in!” 

The two of you quickly shepherded the group into the private lunch room where they could leave their belongings. Once the kids removed their coats and were separated into their small groups, you walked to the front of the room. 

“Hello, Hawkins Elementary! We are so excited to have you here with us. My name is Y/N and this is Vi,” you started your welcome script. The one you said hundreds of times and could probably say in your sleep. You looked around the group, making sure you had everyone’s attention. “We have a fun day planned for you today, but it’s important we go over a few rules. The first rule is absolutely the most important and that is no-” 

Your voice cut out as you made eye contact with one of the parents. The one Vi tried to warn you about. In retrospect, you wished you had listened to her. Because she was totally right. 

Tight and ripped jeans, with a Black Sabbath shirt and leather jacket? Your type without a doubt. Not to mention the curly brown hair and the deep brown eyes. It was the eyes that did you in. Wide and like a deer caught in headlights, they drew you in and made you lose your train of thought. 

You cleared your throat, trying to will away the heat that was already spreading across your face and neck. “Excuse me,” you faked another cough before continuing, hoping no one would notice your pathetic display. “No running….” 

You continued your speech, making sure your eyes remained diligently in front of you. Unwilling to let them wander to your left and towards a certain DILF. 

~*~*~*~*~

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he tried to figure out what had just happened. You were so engaging and energetic, drawing the children in with your magnetism, then you locked eyes with him, and…that all changed. 

He watched as your delivery became stiffer and you stopped moving around the space so easily. The words tumbled out of your mouth faster and faster, as if you were trying to finish and hurry them along faster.

And you sure as hell didn’t look his way again. 

At first, Eddie felt offended. He knew he didn’t look like the other chaperones there but was his appearance really so off-putting that you couldn’t stand to look at him? Then he noticed it. 

“If you’ll please follow Vi, she will lead you all to the auditorium and give you a demonstration about the stars. Then after that, I’ll take you on a tour of our display about the planets,” you concluded your speech before pointing toward your coworker. 

As everyone began to file out of the room, you chanced another look in his direction, and this time you bit your lip before quickly looking away again. 

Holy fuck, you were attracted to him. 

Eddie told himself to relax, but his heart didn’t want to listen to him as it raced in his chest. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He wasn’t the same freak in high school that acted out to reject others before they could reject him. He was a cool, mysterious, rocker type, and he’d been on plenty of dates. But, he couldn’t remember the last time someone found him so hot they literally choked on their own words. It was new and novel, and most of all….it was flattering as hell. 

He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance for the first time. You were cute. Dangerously cute. Even in your work uniform. You radiated a sense of enthusiastic joy, so there was no doubt that you truly loved your job. It was like you didn’t know how to contain that joy, so you wore it openly and proudly. Eddie could see himself falling for you pretty easily. 

“Uncle Eddie, let’s go!” DJ cried, tugging on his hand. 

Eddie chuckled slightly before letting himself be led out of the room. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

As he walked past you, he winked. He hoped it looked as smooth and carefree as he intended it to. Given the adorably panicked look on your face, it seemed to have worked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After a fascinating demonstration about how stars are made, the kids were rewarded with a cool light show in the dome. Once the main lights were off, everyone turned their gazes upward. 

“I’ve heard this is cool to see after getting stoned-” Eddie said before remembering his company and cutting himself off. 

“What does that mean?” 

He stared down at DJ in horror. “What does what mean?” 

“Getting stoned,” she repeated too loudly for Eddie’s liking. 

Eddie saw his life flash before his eyes, and it ended with Steve beating him to death with the nail bat he still kept in the back of his closet. All in all, he thought he had a pretty good run. Maybe he wished he spent less time alone in his room memorizing guitar solos and more time out enjoying life. 

Nah. That was a lie. Those guitar solos were awesome. 

Suddenly, he got an idea. He sent a silent prayer up to whatever deity was listening. “You know when you go to the lake and throw stones? That’s what getting stoned means.”

DJ considered this for a few minutes. “That makes sense.”

Eddie sighed in relief and sent up another quick prayer. Thankfully, the show began and DJ didn’t have time to ask any more questions. Rock music played on the speakers and the show began. 

The kids clapped and cheered at the lights.  DJ, Eddie noted with pride, quietly sang along to some of the songs she recognized. As he watched his niece, a plan began to develop in his mind. You clearly loved kids, given your job. Maybe that was the best way to get your attention. 

He slumped down in his seat so he could whisper into DJ’s ear. “Hey, you love your Uncle Eddie, right?”  

“Yeah….why?” she asked, giving him a skeptical look that perfectly mirrored her father, that it was scary. 

Eddie continued. “You don’t want him to become a lonely, old man, right?” 

“I thought you already were a lonely, old man,” she replied bluntly. 

“Ouch, brutal Deej.” Eddie wasn’t even being dramatic when he gripped his chest in pain. Leave it to kids to absolutely tear you to shreds without even meaning to. “I need you to make me look good for Y/N today.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

“Because,” Eddie answered, already familiar with this game. 

“Why?” 

“Because.” 

“Do you like Y/N?” she asked. 

Eddie took a deep breath and relinquished a small piece of his pride. An act he was becoming accustomed to since becoming an uncle. “Maybe.” 

“Do you like like Y/N?” she asked, a quiet giggle on her lips. 

One of the other parents turned to the two of them and shushed them. Eddie subtly flipped them the bird before returning his attention to his niece. He probably wasn’t going to be invited back to chaperone another field trip but at that moment he didn’t care. 

“Maybe, and I think it would really help me out if you turned up the charm a bit. Really schmooze them. What do you say?” 

DJ thought about it, tapping her finger on her chin. “Will you take me to the lake this weekend?” 

“This is extortion,” Eddie sighed. “If your parents say yes, I’ll take you to the lake. Deal?” 

She stuck out her small hand and clasped his much larger and rougher one before giving it a solid shake. “Deal.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s not that funny,” you huffed for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“It’s very funny.” Vi wiped tears from her eyes, as she continued to snicker. “You, who refuses to even look at the parents, got tongue-tied over a hot dad!” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s an uncle,” you defended yourself weakly. “The kid he was holding hands with, she called him Uncle Eddie.” 

Vi’s eyes widened. “Uncle Eddie,” She repeated. “That sounds promising.” 

You ducked your head to avoid her gaze as you ate another grape. You didn’t mean for your lunch break to devolve into conversations about the hot chaperone. However, you probably should have known Vi would not be sympathetic when you complained to her about your slip-up at the beginning of the program. 

“You want to know what’s even worse?” you said with a sigh. “The kid he is with is such a sweetheart. During my program, she kept volunteering to help and asked so many questions.” 

“Babe, you’re a goner.” Vi teased with a wide grin. “I don’t know why you won’t go for it. Worst case scenario he says no, then leaves on a bus to never return.” 

“Worst case, I lose my job,” you protested. “Hitting on our visitors is extremely unprofessional.” 

“Please! This is a part-time job that pays nothing. If they fired you, I would have to quit out of solidarity, and no one is rushing in to fill our spots.” Vi rolled her eyes. “You need to lighten up and live a little.” 

You considered her words as you popped another grape into your mouth. Vi had a point. She usually did. However, you still weren’t sure. You loved your job, and despite Vi’s assurances you didn’t want to risk it. Especially on something that wouldn’t pan out. You weren’t sure if you could survive the double ego hit of being rejected and reprimanded.  

It just wasn’t worth it in your opinion. 

~*~*~*~*~

After a lunch break, the kids were released into the museum to wreak havoc. Eddie watched in amusement as a group of kids ran past him, despite their chaperone’s exhausted reminders that they needed to walk. 

Eddie turned to the small group he was in charge of, his niece and five of her friends. He was certain he could handle a group of six girls. Stereotypically girls were less rowdy than boys, so his afternoon should be smooth sailing.

DJ tugged on his arm to get his attention. “Can we play over there, Uncle Eddie?” She pointed to a mock space station play area.  

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he answered with a smile. He followed along at an easy pace as his group walked excitedly to their chosen target. 

This would be a piece of cake. 

~*~*~*~*~

You did your rounds as the kids explored the planetarium. It was your favorite part of your job, getting to explain the different exhibits and share fun facts with curious young minds. You loved to see the enthusiasm that some of the kids had for science, and it warmed your heart to be able to encourage that love. 

You were surprised by how well-behaved this group was when a sudden shout made you jump.

“DIE ALIEN SCUM!”

Your head snapped over towards the voice, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. A group of young girls were all sitting inside the fake rocket ship, using the controls as if they were weapons and pretending to target their chaperone, Eddie. 

To his credit, he made a convincing alien, stalking around and gurgling out “Take me to your leader” whenever one of the kids got too close. It was sweet and you felt your heart melt a little as he played with the kids. Most chaperones preferred to stand back and observe passively. Eddie seemed like he was having just as much fun as the kids. Even they were playing too rough. 

“You know, that’s not how the exhibit is usually used,” you said with a teasing voice. 

Eddie’s head snapped up, and a slight blush spread across his cheek. His wide brown eyes met yours, and you could have sworn your heart literally skipped a beat. 

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled nervously. “The girls wanted to play space invaders, and who am I to refuse them? I hope we aren’t in too much trouble.” 

“Well…” you trailed off as if you were thinking deeply. “I think I can let it slide. Just this once.” 

Eddie gave you a relieved smile, and you noticed how devastatingly charming he looked. “Much obliged.” 

You wanted to continue the conversation, as you felt a pull towards Eddie, but you had no reason to. Even as Eddie looked at you with those warm, big brown eyes, you could not find a reason to stay and keep talking to him. 

Instead, you cleared your throat. “Well, I will leave you to it.” 

“Excuse me!” DJ said, stopping you in your tracks. She ran up to you, looking at her uncle and then at you. “I have a question.” 

You could feel your shoulders relax as the tension melted from them. This was familiar ground for you. “What’s your question?” 

“Are you married?” 

You choked at her question, unsure where she was going with it. Eddie’s eyes seemed impossibly wider as he was also shocked by the sudden question. “Um, no.” 

“Why not?” She asked with all the innocent persistence that only a child could possess. 

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I guess I just haven’t met the right person.” 

DJ considered this before speaking again. “My uncle, Eddie, is also single. Daddy says it’s because he talks about dragons too much. But I think that’s a good thing. Dragons are cool.” 

You could only laugh and lean in to whisper to DJ, although you made sure your voice was loud enough for Eddie to hear. “Guess what, I like dragons too.” 

DJ’s face lit up. “You two should get married, then!” 

“Deej!” Eddie almost hissed, an adorably embarrassed look on his face. He looked at you, half apologetic and half mortified. “Sorry, about her. She’s just a kid.”

You grinned, feeling strangely confident. “I’m not looking to get married anytime soon, but could I give you my number? So we can talk about dragons?” 

Eddie stared at you as he willed his brain cells to resume their proper functioning. They barely managed to get him through high school and they were failing him now. “Sure-I mean yeah. Cool. That would be cool. I’d like that.” He felt like a goddamn teenager as he tripped all over himself. 

You chuckled and took out a pen before writing down your number on his palm. “Call me,” you said before turning to leave and continuing your walk through the exhibit floor. You hoped you looked more cool and mysterious than you felt while wearing a name tag.

Once you were out of earshot, Eddie whooped and fist-pumped the air. Truth be told, he was impressed that he was able to hold it in until you couldn’t see him anymore. He turned to DJ with an excited grin. 

“Deej, I don’t know how you pulled that off, but you are the best wingman ever!” He laughed as he picked up his niece and spun her around in a circle. 

Peals of giggles fell from her lips until he set her down again. “Does this mean we get to come back to the planetarium?” She asked. 

“Hopefully, kiddo. Hopefully.” He said before messing up her brown hair. “Now come on. We still have time to check out the gift shop.” 

~*~*~*~*~

“How did it go?” Steve asked once Eddie and DJ walked through the door. 

DJ ran in and hugged her father’s legs. “It was so much fun. There was a big dome and it looked like the night sky. There were all these stars…” She continued to recount the entire day, with a few additional details from Eddie. Steve listened with the same besotted smile he got on his face anytime any of his children did anything. 

The kinds that Eddie couldn’t even make fun of anymore because it just made him a good father. 

“Oh, and Uncle Eddie flirted with one of the teachers there,” DJ added at the end of her story. 

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise as Eddie blushed. “Did he now?” 

DJ nodded sagely before wandering into the kitchen, searching for a snack. 

Steve immediately turned on his friend, his shoulder silently shaking with mirth. “Please tell me you didn’t harass some poor employee at the planetarium.” 

“There was mutual flirting.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “And I wasn’t the one who started it.” 

Steve grinned. “Tell me everything! What happened?” 

“Oh no, Harrington.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m not gonna jinx this. All I’m going to tell you is that they gave me their number, and I’m planning to take them out this weekend. If that goes well, I’ll have details for you then.” 

Steve opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by another, younger voice. 

“But Uncle Eddie, you said you would take me to get stoned this weekend!” DJ pouted, crossing her arms from where she stood in the doorway. 

From the death glare Steve sent his way, Eddie figured he would be lucky to make it to tomorrow, let alone this weekend. 

“I-I can explain!” 

“Oh, you better…”

You’d been here before, always stumbling in after a night out with friends because they were the only 4am place in town. Those late nights turned to early mornings were more of a thing of the past now so when you got to the familiar chipped red door you didn’t recognize the bouncer standing outside. He has a head of honey colored hair that’s just long enough to run his fingers through. His toned frame sits pretty wrapped in a tight black tee and long legs covered in dark wash jeans tight enough for you to really have to focus on keeping  your eyes on his face. A freckle covered neck leads to a strong jaw and a chiseled nose. Leaning against the brick wall with his boots crossed at the ankles a toothpick twirls between his straight teeth.

The platform of your sneakers hitting the pavement as you come to a stop and the jingle of your power beads alerts him of your presence, hazel eyes going round like the moon in the sky. Straightening his posture he snatches the tooth pick out of his mouth, stuffing it in his back pocket. You swear you see a Tamagotchi tucked away as he clears his throat with a puff of his chest.

“I.D.?” 

Your lips twitch, the forced deep baritone in his voice isn’t fooling you, and you wonder if it fooled anyone when the signature beep of a Tomogatchi pet needing to be fed goes off in his back pocket. He coughs to try to cover the noise while you quickly pull what he needs out of your cross body. Holding it out for him to examine you look up with a glossed smile matching the one in the picture. Narrowing his eyes, you catch a glimmer of playfulness when he clicks on his flashlight. 

Examining it like it could be a fake, you bite back a giggle while he turns it around giving it one more once over before handing it back to you with a soft chuckle.

“Funny, we have the same birthday.” His voice comes out normal this time, soft and friendly just like you thought.

“Twins!”

A genuine smile lights up his face like the sign above your head, his boyish features coming out despite the stubble on his chin.

“Might as well call us the Olsen’s.” Throwing you a wink he pulls the gold handle to open the door for you. The sounds of Return of the Mack break through the hums of the street behind you. “Have fun tonight honey, be safe. If anyone bothers you, just come grab me okay? I’m steve.”

Your cheeks heat up at the endearment and you have to remind yourself that you’re here for a date. You catch a hint of his cologne when your shoulder brushes against his chest on your way in, the expensive scent making you dizzy when it hits your senses.

“I will, thanks Steve,”your words are shy when they come out, making his lips twitch in response. Nodding his head, you catch the tinge of pink on his skin before he closes the door with a small wave.

It's even louder inside with the drunk conversations battling for dominance against the music. Tugging nervously at the bottom of your dress you look around the bar for the vague description of this guy Craig your friend gave you. 

You scan the crowd a few times before your eyes catch the big brown ones of the bartender. The stool in front of him freeing itself at the same time your eyes connect, the corners of his plush lips pull up as he beckons you over with two heavily ringed fingers. The unruly dark auburn curls that hit just below his shoulders catch the low light behind the bar, the yellow glow softening up all his edges. 

Rocking back on your heels you pull the strap of your cross body closer, doing your best to collect yourself before you push through the crowd accepting his invitation. His smile widens, pulling up his stubble covered cheeks to reveal a set of perfect white teeth to you. The one you give him in return comes out a little shy as you plop down on the ripped vinyl that matches the red of the door.

Ink litters his arms disappearing under the frayed ends of his sleeves letting you know there was more under the tight fit of his worn faded black Metallica shirt. The two rips near the collar give you a glimpse of the chain wrapped around his neck. The scruff lining his jaw adds a few years from afar but from this close he looks your age. The silver hoop in his nose catches against the bright lighting under the bar like the rings adoring his fingers. Pulling out two empty shot glasses with a twirl he quickly fills them up with Jameson.

“This one’s on the house sweetheat, it’ll help make your date cuter.”  He winks with a sly grin, your stomach flutters with his full attention on you like this.

The glass is heavy in your grasp as you stare at the dark liquid with a faint grimace. His low chuckle catches your attention before the pop and hiss of the soda fills your ears. As if reading your mind he slides over a coke, letting you keep your pride by not having to ask for a chaser.

“How do you know I’m here for a date?” Raising a questioning brow, the sides of your lips twitch as you struggle to hold a straight face. “A girl can’t come to the bar alone on a Friday night?”

The chocolate in his eyes lights up at your playful banter, slinging a white towel over his shoulder he leans in, forearms pressing hard against the counter as he invades your space. The spice of his cologne and the burn of cigarette smoke joins with him and you find yourself sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Are you telling me you’re available then?” Dropping his voice low enough to feel between your legs, you wished more than anything you had a different answer to give him.

The heaviness of his gaze has your cheeks warming, the intensity of the eye contact forcing your gaze away for a second as you clear your throat. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear you muster enough courage to meet his eyes again. 

“N-no unfortunately, you were right.” Exaggerating a heavy sigh, his confident demeanor never wavers despite his confirmed suspicions.

“Unfortunately is right, huh?” Winking, he pushes back leaving only the lingering scent of his cologne raising his shot in an offering of cheers. “To what could have been, baby.” 

A giggle bubbles past your lips when his fingers brush against yours meeting in the middle with a clink. Downing his shot like a professional, he’s left to watch the way you struggle with yours. Amusement is evident on his face while he watches the way your throat stays unwilling to open. Holding the alcohol in your mouth longer than anyone would want, it finally gives in letting the bitter liquid go down with a bite. Pushing the can of coke towards you with his knuckles, his laugh booms loud from his chest as you search for reprieve in the sweetness with desperation.

Chugging with abandon, you forget your surroundings for a second before your eyes meet his over the rim of the can and it’s almost enough to have you snort the rest of it all over yourself. 

Coming up for air you grumble a half assed “shut up” doing your best to try and fight the smile begging to spread across your lips as you wipe them with the back of your hand.

“Not a whiskey girl I take it?” Punctuating the ‘t’ harder than normal, his teasing falls on deaf ears when you get distracted at the way his thick fingers wrap around the shot glasses.

“Not a shot girl in general, I’d rather not taste the alcohol if I can help it.” Shrugging, you trace invisible patterns on the sticky quartz of the bar top with french tipped nails silently reminding yourself for the second time tonight you’re here for a date.

“So how’d you two meet?” He raises his voice so it comes out sickly sweet while a shaker and a lemon appears in his hands. Setting them down on top of the worn jagermeister logo that covers the drink mat he starts rolling the fruit against his palm.

“We haven’t met yet actually, a friend set us up.” 

Eddie’s movements freeze for a second, eyebrows furrowing together in a look of confusion as if that was the craziest thing that anyone had ever told him. He grabs the bottle of simple syrup adding more to what looked like it was going to be a sweet drink before he answers.

“Someone like you shouldn’t need to be set up, sweetheart.” He looks up at you from under the hood of his lashes quickly picking up on the effect he has on you.

He twirls another empty glass onto the counter top before he smashes the lid of the shaker on, not giving you a chance to respond he starts shaking it louder than you know is necessary. The bats tattooed on his arm dance across the muscles with the flex of every flick of his wrist.

“Really? Laying it on thick, huh?” Raising your voice enough to know he could hear you, he taunts you by cupping his free hand over his ear to make a show of pretending he can’t, mouthing a ‘sorry’ with a smirk. The laugh he earns from when he finally relents is the prettiest sound he thinks he’s ever heard. 

“Well I hope this ‘friend’ has a good vetting process. No less than three interviews or no dice.” He pours your drink with panache, like he’s putting on a show for you, like you’re sure he does with all the other girls.

Grabbing a straw he plugs one end with his index finger before he dips it into the slightly lighter liquid. The heat between your legs becomes almost unbearable when his lips wrap around the end tasting his creation with a low groan, his pink tongue pokes out to collect the sweetness left behind.

“I think, I think you’re gonna like this one. It’s an Eddie Munson original, I’m calling it "Wasting Love.” The roll of your eyes makes him bark out another laugh. The signs of the smoke you smell on him are more noticeable in this one’s rumble.

“I wonder what could have inspired it?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you knew you shouldn’t be flirting with him while you waited for Craig, but you can’t help yourself. Besides, he was already ten minutes late.

“I think you know what inspired it sweetheart, I can tell you’re not just some pretty face.” Dimples poking through his cheeks, he finally takes notice of the glares from the customers filling up the bar. Everyone’s patience starting to wear thin while they waited for whatever this was to be over. 

“I gotta stop ignoring all the other people in here real quick, but I’ll be back for your review.” He throws you another wink and it has you shifting in your seat as he starts to walk away.

“Wait! I never opened a tab!” Calling after him as you reach for your purse, he tuts loudly, turning around to face you, continuing his path walking backwards. 

“You shouldn’t be paying for a thing tonight, gorgeous.” He waves his hand dismissively before his back is to you again giving his undivided attention to the bearded man who looked ready to murder the carefree metal head if he didn’t get his Bud Light in the next five seconds.

Trying not to get too caught up in someone that wasn’t your date you timidly bring the straw to your lips. Humming appreciatively when the sweetness hits your tastebuds you’re pleasantly surprised at how much you actually like it. Feeling bold enough to take a bigger gulp, you look around for Craig again. So lost in the little bubble you had been in with Eddie you didn’t realize how much more the bar had filled up since you arrived. A new kind of rowdy energy in the air — the low murmurs of conversation get loud enough to drown out Semi- Charmed Kinda Life.

Glancing down at your pink swatch watch, your date was now twenty minutes late. Turning around to check and make sure the lavender cross body you told him to look for was visible, you crane your neck around looking one last time. It’s easy to shrug off the sinking feeling of rejection when you turn back around to watch Eddie in his natural habitat. 

He moves behind the bar like he’s been doing it his whole life, like everything was muscle memory.  As if he could feel you staring he catches your gaze throwing you a smirk before he tosses a bottle of tequila in the air catching it with ease. Pouring it into four lined up shot glasses, the group of girls in front of him celebrating what looked like a bachelorette party with all their multi-colored hats and boas squealed with drunk delight. Your eyes hit the back of your skull in a hard roll when one of them bats their eyelashes at him with a hand on his arm.

Sucking down the rest of your drink, the slurping once you hit the ice is loud enough to annoy the guy next to you who shoots you a warning look over his shoulder. Mouthing an apology you push your empty glass away looking around the bar one more time. The guilt of flirting with Eddie starts to disappear when you look at your watch again and start coming to terms you were actually being stood up. Searching for his doe eyes again, your heart sinks when you find him this time.

Dimples in his cheeks again, he’s practically beaming at her. Their body language telling you this isn’t their first time meeting and how animated he is when he talks to her is like he’s known her for years. Gesturing wildly with his hands while she nods enthusiastically, something he says has her throwing her head back with a laugh loud enough you can hear it over the music. You huff through your nose, the sting of rejection sneaking its way back in. The reminder that he was just doing his job and you were here for a date, one that never showed up, slaps you right in the face.

Averting your gaze to spare whatever confidence you have left, your eyes find the bouncer at the front door. Inside the bar now with a hard glare set on his handsome face. His arms sit folded across his broad chest while his jaw clenches at the same time as the muscles in his shoulders flex. Steve looks pissed.

Interest piqued, you follow his line of sight despite it going in the direction of the bar you were trying to avoid. Somehow not surprised when your eyes land on her again, you notice Eddie has already busied himself with someone else. With his back towards both of you he fills two pints with Blue Moon, the uncomfortable look on her face couldn’t be missed. The greasy blonde hair on the man that was clearly invading her personal space told you he’d been drinking all day. The grimace on her pretty face says she could smell it on his breath too.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you see him grab onto her arm while trying to whisper in her ear. You feel yourself ready to stand up and help when she pushes him away, with the way the veins in her neck were flexing whatever she was saying to him wasn't nice. Shoving her hand in his face she storms towards the front door where Steve is waiting, looking seconds away from killing the man who followed her path out of the bar with a leer.

The scowl on her face softens instantly when she’s met with Steve opening the door, the glare on his face being replaced with a deep flush when you catch a “Thanks, Stevie” fall appreciatively from her lips.

SMACK

Jumping at the sound of metal hitting wood, Eddie’s dimples show themselves only this time they are for you as he leans forward on his arms again, eyes flicking towards the spot next to you. He pulls himself even closer when he notices no one new occupying the stool, making you search for friction with the fat of your thighs. 

“Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?” Flashing you his perfect teeth for the second time tonight the bruise to your ego already starts to disappear.

“I drank it without gagging, didn’t I?” Crossing your arms on top of the bar it's your turn to lean into his space and you swear you hear his breath hitch at your new boldness.

Licking his lips, your eyes greedily follow the path of his tongue. His smile stretches across his face even more when he notices, making no effort to move- unwilling to back down from the silent standoff you’ve challenged him too.

“‘I’ll have you know I take that as a very high compliment coming from you.” His breath fans across your cheeks from this close, mint and whiskey hitting your nose when he huffs a laugh. “Where’s Prince Charming?”

“Turns out there was no Prince, just an ugly old toad.” Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you look up at him through half lidded eyes, “Good thing I didn’t kiss him, huh?”

A low rumble shakes in his chest as he dares to lean in even closer, the tips of your noses almost brushing while the bubble you’d lost yourselves in reappears.

“Yeah baby, you can’t give those out to just anybody, they gotta be for someone special.” His voice is low, dripping with the kind of want you’d never had directed at you before. His eyes take in every inch of your face from this close while you try to keep up with his smooth tongue.

“Got anyone in mind, Eddie?” Doing your best to match his tone, his brows pinch together at the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth taking one last look at your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah, I know a guy actually. He’s a bartender with a great head of hair.” Wiggling his eyebrows when you snort, the front door swings open, breaking you two apart as the girl from before commands the room like a record scratch, silencing the bar for the first time all night.

“Eddie! It’s bad, Steve needs you!” The sheer panic in her voice is enough for the jealous monster inside you to stay at bay as Eddie pushes back on his heels.

An irritated sigh escapes him while he mutters ‘not a-fucking-gain’ under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before his eyes find yours. You jump a little when he grabs your hands, the warmth of his palms enveloping yours while he gives you a pleading look.

“Don’t - I mean, please don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back, I need to go save my buddy’s ass again. But I promise I’ll be right back, this conversation is too important to leave unfinished.” He flashes you that million dollar smile like chaos isn’t ensuing outside and all you can do is nod, signaling that you’ll stay put.

Hopping over the bar his loose fitting combat boots squeak over the counter top, the black jeans that were hidden from your sight somehow fit him even better than his shirt. Your gaze is shamelessly hungry as it follows him until he’s out the door. The scuffle outside leaking through the music with a blur of bodies outside. 

Too focused on the glimpse of Eddie’s towering frame stepping between the two guys to break up the fight, you don’t notice the person who walks through the unattended door until it shuts behind him with a thud. Ready to glare at whoever it is your eyes widen when you meet the ones belonging to who you can only assume is Craig. The burnt auburn hair he sports and the way he zero’s in on your purse confirms your suspicions. This was Craig, you're incredibly late and not even remotely as attractive as the bartender, date.

“Shit, shit, shit.” No matter how quickly you averted your stare, you knew it was too late, he saw you. Panic sets in while your brain goes a mile a minute trying to think a way out of this.

Looking around the bar for some sort of escape, the thought of ducking into the bathroom sounds like a winner but then the image of Eddie coming back and seeing you gone seeps into the forefront of your mind making you quickly toss that idea out the window. Turning to the people on either side of you who are too lost in their own conversations to notice your dilemma, you try to decide which one you could interrupt the most naturally. 

The couple on your right looks like they’re on a date going really well and the one on your left seems like two friends catching up. The tap on your shoulder is enough for you to make a split second decision, clearing your throat you spare the newly blossoming romance next you from your desperate antics, choosing to interrupt the friends who are reconnecting with a loud fake laugh.

“That’s when she told me- um excuse me do I know you?” Gruff and confused, the man closest to you looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads. First your loud slurping and now this? This plan was never going to work from the get-go.

Another persistent tap on your shoulder has you grasping for straws. You open your mouth to try to sell whatever this was one last time. 

“Umm excuse me?”  Craig’s voice comes out loud enough to cut you off and for the poor guy next to you to give you the final cold shoulder. Unable to ignore him any longer, you force yourself to turn around and face him head on. Kind of. 

Channeling your inner Alicia Silverstone you try to give him the best Clueless look you can muster and he returns it with an even more confused expression, clearing his throat.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I’m Craig, Ariana’s friend. I think I’m supposed to be meeting you?” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, the maroon sweater he wears fits loosely over his thin frame, dirty black chucks on his feet, his look screams ‘I listen to Nirvana’.

“Umm, I think you have the wrong person? I wasn’t supposed to be meeting anyone here tonight.” It’s not believable in the slightest when the words leave your mouth, your less than confident delivery giving you away. The look on his face lets you know you’ve definitely been made

“Are you sure? I was told to look for the girl with a lavender purse.”  As if to prove his point he points to the exact one he’s talking about slung across your shoulder. He scoffs when you keep up with your charade, “I know I’m late but this is ridiculous.”

“A lot of girls have purple bags, Craig.” His name comes out dripping in venom, the need to get rid of him before Eddie’s return throwing any logic out the window. You needed to believe your own lie.

The sudden harshness has him raising his hands in defense, backing down a little under the daggers of your glare.

“Whoa, chill out, my bad. You just match the exact description I was given, that's all.”

Clenching your jaw in frustration because he just won’t give up, you try to hold your composure while your eyes flick towards the door in anticipation for his return.

“Well you’ve told me you were late twice already so she probably just left. Rude of you to keep her waiting honestly.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you know that he’s aware of exactly what you are doing but you don’t care anymore.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened, and not her being bitter I’m one measly hour late.” The way his words clip signal the rejection sinking in, a glare setting firm on his face.

It’s the stare down of the century before Eddie comes barging through the entrance with a loud huff and a clap of his hands. Cheeks red from yelling and hair slightly more wild than before. He checks to make sure you’re still exactly where he left you before he glances over to Craig for a split second not registering who he is. Hopping over the bar with another skid of his boots, he still manages to give you a lopsided grin when he gets to the other side. Hitting the top of the bar in a series of beats - he’s a ball of energy.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart, Steve’s lucky the girl he took a knuckle sandwich for has a first aid kit. Rick keeps saying he’s gonna get one but I have yet to see it. Want another cocktail?” Talking a mile a minute with the leftover adrenaline from the fight, he still doesn’t notice the way Craig watches the two of you until he catches how awkward you’re being. Eddie’s face hardens, the softness he was giving you disappearing. “Something I can help you with buddy?”

You don’t even have to look at Craig to know he’s puffing out his chest with a point of his chin addressing Eddie.

“Actually pal, maybe you can.” His tone makes Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, a tested smile spreading over his lips while he lets Craig continue. “I was supposed to meet someone here for a blind date, I was told to look for a girl with a lavender purse exactly like this one. You haven't seen another girl with this exact same bag have you?” 

Eddie’s wide eyes meet yours, amusement filling the specks of golden brown as he picks up on exactly what’s happening. The corners of his lips twitch before he nods his head licking his bottom lip holding your gaze long enough to make you squirm before bringing his attention back to Craig with a low whistle.

“Oh yeah, I remember that hottie, man. It’s a shame you were late, she took off with this dude she met waiting for you. She didn’t stand a chance, though, honestly. I know the guy, he’s too smooth for his own good. Pretty good looking too. Can’t be leaving your girl unattended around him. Probably wouldn’t have worked out between you two anyway.” Eddie catches the roll of your eyes at his self indulgent story as you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand to hide your face splitting grin.

“Why don’t you walk away with some dignity. What’s that saying? There’s always more fish in the sea or some shit.” Eddie adds more salt to the wound, finally breaking Craig enough to give up.

“Whatever you say man, this bar is fuckin’ lame anyway. Who wants to drink to Third Eye Blind.” Grumbling his insults as he slinks away, he takes one last look at you and Eddie before his final exit with a flip of his middle finger.

Eddie’s stare is hot on your face, while you bashfully avoid his gaze keeping your eyes lingering on the door. When you finally dare to meet his eyes the shit eating grin on his face makes you groan, the buzz of your drink pulling a giggle out of you. 

“Eddie, don’t —“

“Well, well, aren’t you just a little heartbreaker, huh?” His teasing only makes your cheeks grow hotter as you try to hide your face from his view.

“Don’t you need to go attend to all the customers you left?” Your words come out muffled from behind your hands as you slowly pull them down just enough to uncover the fake glare you were sending his way.

“I’ve got my favorite one right here.” Voice dropping low with a smirk, he was right, you didn’t stand a chance.

“I haven’t paid for a single thing, you refused my money if you remember.” Bringing your hands down to fully come out of hiding, he bites his bottom lip when he can take in your features again.

“It’s no good here, baby, I could actually get arrested if I take it and then how would I be able to take you out to get pancakes after my shift if I’m behind bars?” Bringing his hands together in mock shackles and a pout, the chain wrapped around his wrist catches your eyes for the first time.

“You’re takin’ me to get pancakes?” Flirting like a love sick teenager, you even start to kick your feet under the bar.

“It’s the least I can do since you’re my fill in bouncer for the rest of the night.” Smirking, he nods his head to the man at the opposite end of the bar flagging him down with a twenty dollar bill. His eyes sparkling with something new now that he had you.

“Me? A Bouncer? I’m not intimidating in the slightest!” Your cheeks hurt from how hard you smile at his retreating form, the game of ‘playing hard to get’ becoming a thing of the past now.

“Sorry, you owe me, heartbreaker.” He shrugs like it’s out of his control before flashing you the same lopsided grin leaving you a mess of nerves from getting to spend the night with him.

The hours till close go by faster than you anticipate with Eddie topping off your drink any time you ask, the buzz from the alcohol is just enough to handle the growing intensity of his flirting. Now that the only obstacle in the way of each other was time, he was relentless.

Enjoying the game of chicken the two of you had started unconsciously playing, you stop noticing the clock. Every six customers earns you five —sometimes ten minutes of his time and he makes sure to use every second of those breaks as an excuse to lean in close, whispering in your ear, holding your face close every time you talk. He was getting off on the way he could make you shift in your seat and hide your bottom lip between your teeth when he got close enough for his lips to brush against your ear. Your fingers find excuses to wrap around his wrist when he invades your space, playing with his chain, you keep him close making sure to tilt your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse down your neck into the low cut of your dress.

The small hand on the clock above the door hits the three and it’s not until his breaks start getting longer and your touches are able to get a little bolder that you notice the murmur of voices over the music disappears. The few stranglers left sipping their last drinks of the evening are paying the two of you no mind despite the way he’s tucking your hair out of his way to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose.

The realization that you’re finally about to be alone with him brings your nerves to a head and the need to check yourself over in the bathroom mirror becomes urgent. The flick of his tongue along your earlobe distracts you for a second as your head nudges against his when it tickles making a giggle slip past your lips.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, Eddie.” You inhale the scent of pine lingering in his shampoo, giving him one last nudge with your nose before hopping off the stool. He gives you his best puppy eyes as you get up to leave, pushing out his bottom lip when you tug your dress down.

“Please, I’ll be like three minutes.” You roll your eyes at him but the smile that lights up your face tells him you’re eating it up.

“I’ll be counting every second you're gone, baby.” Holding his hands over his heart for dramatic effect the man at the end of the bar snorts loudly ruining the moment. He earns an annoyed glare from the bartender, “Better hurry up and finish that shit old man, it’s closing time.” 

You hear him grunt in response to Eddie’s rude reminder before disappearing into the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. Stickers and writing with permanent marker cover every inch of the dark crimson walls. The doors of the black stalls barely hang from their hinges, dents from many reckless drunk nights at The Foxy Lounge punch random spots into the metal. The bottom of your sneakers stick to the floor with every step to the mirror where more stickers and black scribbles line the surface including a girl named Leigh’s phone number with the note ‘for a good time call’ attached at the end leaving just enough room to see your face.

The space buns on top of your head are messy from Eddie nuzzling his beard into your hair all night. You try to salvage what was left of them by tightening the knots a little more before deciding it's a lost cause. He was probably just going to mess them up more anyway. The thought of Eddie’s hands being free to touch you in every way you’ve wanted all night has you taking a deep breath while you hold your own eyes in the mirror.

“It’s happening, you’re gonna have sex with him. You’re gonna fuck the super hot bartender who flirts like it’s his second language tonight and you’re gonna be confident about it okay? You hear me?” Pointing to yourself in the mirror, the determination in your stare is enough for your tipsy pep talk to work its magic.

Taking one last look at yourself with a nod of your head you pull open the bathroom door ready to take on the rest of the night. Only to stop in your tracks when you notice the stool that was occupied is now empty and every inch of Eddie is also in full view from where he stands in front of the jukebox. Your eyes are insatiable taking in his tall frame like this for the first time all night. 

You notice the giant chain that hangs from his belt loop this time, and there’s even more rips in his jeans than before giving you a peek at the pale skin hidden underneath. His shoulder blades move under the thin fabric of his shirt when he clicks his choice on the machine. Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer spills out from the speakers of the bar as he turns on his heels, the smirk that plays on his lips dares you to catch the hint with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Very subtle.” Crossing your arms as if to act immune to his charms, you know he sees right through your facade but he plays along anyway raising his big hands up in the air in mock surrender.

“It’s just one of my favorite songs, I don’t know what kinda ideas you got going on in that pretty little head of yours.” He takes a few more steps towards you slowly closing the gap, daring to be closer to you than he had been all night without a wooden bar separating you.

“Interesting, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Sixpence fan.” Raising your eyebrow, you have to look up at him when he finally takes the last few steps to stand in front of you. 

“Why? Cause I’m such a tough guy?” His grin grows wider when he looks down at you catching the roll of your eyes while you uncross your arms opening your body up to him with a laugh. 

“I can’t stand you.” Your swat is flirtatious with your palm hitting his chest. He’s quick to catch it, using your hand as leverage to pull you closer, biting back his groan when a breathy gasp slips past your lips when he tucks you into chest. First your giggle and now this? He just knew you were going to sound so pretty falling apart for him.

“I think Craig would call that bluff sweetheart.” He gives you a minute to let his words sink in, throwing his head back with a loud laugh when you huff at him embarrassed. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. He needed to be dumped, a girl like you deserves someone that's gonna show up when they’re supposed to.”

The sweetness of his words has you melt against him, the playful pull from before surrendering to his touch and you swear there’s hearts in your eyes from the way he looks down at you after saying something like that. 

“Thanks for tonight Eddie,” your voice is small when it comes out laced with adoration, and it’s his turn to get bashful making your favorite dimples come out again.

“No problem sweetheart, honestly it’s my fuckin’ lucky night.” Pulling your knuckles to his lips, he places a gentle kiss to the skin stretched over them before letting your hand drop, noting the disappointment on your face that you’re quick to cover up. 

“Wanna get some fresh air while I smoke before I close this place down?” 

——

Eddie somehow looks even better under the twinkling stars and pink fluorescent lights of The Foxy Lounge sign. The low hum of the electricity filling your ears as you lean against the brick of the building. His eyes are brighter out here, catching them with your own when he looks at you over the end of his cigarette.

He winks when you meet his pointed gaze, the flame of his lighter casting shadows that dance across the strong lines of his jaw, the orange glow highlighting the stubble that covers it. Batting your lashes at him, you push your hips off the wall playfully while he keeps his eyes on you through his entire first drag, only breaking contact for the split second he needs to blow the smoke he inhaled away from you. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” His words come out like a warning before he takes another hit.

“How am I looking at you Eddie?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you make sure to say his name extra sweet just how you figured out he likes. He shakes his head with a low chuckle blowing more smoke into the clear night sky. 

Despite only taking two drags, he flicks the barely smoked cigarette to the side before closing the distance with a few steps leaving him crowding you against the building. Your chest brushes against his with every shallow breath. Getting lost in the darkening amber inside his eyes, the calloused tips of his fingers catch against the soft skin of your chin. The pad of his thumb pulling the velvet of your bottom lip from between your teeth.

“Like you want me to kiss you.”

Ducking his head down he nudges your nose with his, the heat of his breath fanning against your open mouth. His eyes go from yours back down to your glossed lips silently begging for your permission.

“I think it was you that was hinting at kissing me earlier.” Pushing up on your tiptoes, you smile against him when your lips just barely touch. 

“Oh? You think that’s what I was doing hmm?” Asking the question he already knows the answer to, his tongue licks against your top lip as your hands find the material of his shirt, fisting as much of it as you can before yanking him down to collect his lips with an eager mouth, giving up winning whatever game this was. 

You swallow his moan when your tongues meet in the middle battling for dominance, teeth scraping, you taste the few puffs of tobacco still lingering on his taste buds as his muscle massages against yours. Sliding his knee between your thighs, he smiles smug into the kiss when your hips search for friction against the denim.

He breaks away from your mouth long enough to start trailing wet kisses down your jaw, the rough hair on his chin rubbing your skin raw as he starts nipping and sucking bruises along your neck. Biting hard enough at your pulse point to have to soothe it with his tongue after the mewls he pulls from you are enough to drive him insane.

Your fingers tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck, giving his roots a pull while you turn your head, opening more of yourself to him. Taking your silent invitation he nips at the dip of your collar bone before lifting his head to press his forehead to yours. 

“I gotta close up baby, but then…”rubbing his hands up your curves with a low groan he squeezes at the plush of your hips before finishing his sentence, “I think I promised you pancakes.”

Nodding your head because words are stuck at the tip of your tongue, he grabs your cheeks with a strong grip, smushing your lips together before stealing one last kiss.

——-

Eddie doesn’t give you the attention you’ve grown accustomed to all night when he starts the process of actually cleaning the bar. Your body still buzzes like a live wire from the drinks and the kiss outside. He’d been counting his tips with his back to you for the last ten minutes and you were growing impatient for more of him. You needed it. 

Counting the last bill he finally turns around and your thighs press together when you get to see his face again. Shifting in your seat when his eyes barely meet yours, he makes his way to the other end of the bar. Pushing yourself up to lean forward with puckered lips, he ignores your advances passing by without so much as a glance in your direction. Huffing when you plop back in your seat, he flips the knob starting to wash his hands in the mini sink with his back to you again. Your foot taps against the metal of the stool as you watch him grab the scratched up red bucket hanging below and a fresh rag quickly replacing his hands with it to fill up.

You wonder if he can feel your stare when he adds the soap, taking his time while he spins the rag in the steaming water, he starts ringing it out. Arms flexing and suds spilling over his knuckles, you were gonna lose your mind if you didn’t get your hands on him soon. 

He makes big swipes as he starts working his way towards you, keeping his eyes so focused on his task you’d think you were invisible if it wasn’t for the smirk that was getting impossible for him to hide. It only grows bigger when he stops in front of you, adding a low hum to his charade purposely wiping around the outline of your hands that were splayed out on the counter ready to push yourself up again. 

“Eddie - c’mon!”  

You’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for the laugh that falls easy from his chest when he finally looks at you. His face softens and his eyes darken when he catches your angry pout, your fingers are quick to find his free ones making him tsk at you but he doesn’t pull away.

“My hands are wet baby.” He knew you didn’t care and the teeth showing in his wide grin told you he didn’t either.

Giving into your persistence like it hasn’t been a fight to keep his hands to himself this whole time, he leans forward brushing his nose with yours before nudging it against your cheek so your lips just barely touch. When you go to close the space he pulls back just enough to tease, a small whine escaping you at his games.

“What’s got you so needy, huh?” His words are whispered as he presses with the slightest pressure before pulling back again. “I didn’t kiss you good enough outside, you need more?”

“Please.” Your cheeks burn when you hear how your voice sounds, but his grip on your fingers tighten and a low moan breaks through his front at how desperate you sound just for a kiss.

“Gotta give my girl what she needs.” Your brain gets stuck on the words ‘my girl’ taking you a minute to realize he was finally giving you what you want.

It’s slower than outside, he’s taking his time with you this time. Untangling his fingers from yours, his hand comes up to wrap around the side of your neck. The water feels good on your skin as the pad of his thumb starts rubbing soft lines under your jaw while his tongue swipes at your bottom lip looking for more. You don’t give into his advances on purpose, keeping your mouth closed to get him back for all his teasing you feel his smile grow against your own.

Expecting him to stop and surrender, he only doubles down. Catching your top lip with his bottom, he pulls away just enough for you to open your eyes. God, you wished you kept them closed. The brightness from outside had turned them into nothing but black leaving no trace of the specks of brown from before. The knowledge that he was just as affected by all of this as you sends you reeling. Toes curling inside your sneakers.

“Whining over here for me to give you what you want, and here I am baby, and you’re playing hard to get.” Nipping at your bottom lip he meets your heavy lidded gaze again, “Gonna let me give you what you want?”

He barely lets you finish nodding before he’s on you, the hunger from outside coming back as he leans over the bar to deepen the kiss like you’d been begging him for. Opening your mouth for him without hesitation when he asks for permission again your tongues meet lazily, exploring each other like you didn’t get a chance to before. Pushing up again eager to get more of him he pulls back leaving you breathless with spit slick lips.

Despite the way his chest heaves trying to catch his breath, he does his best to play it cool, smirking when you have no shame chasing for more.

“I gotta finish closing up.” He gives you one more chaste kiss before he starts wiping the rest of the counter down. 

Jutting out your bottom lip into a pout, he laughs, throwing out a ‘you’ll survive five minutes baby.’

You leave him alone doing your best not to distract him, despite how much your fingers itch to have him close again. Grabbing the money from the register and the receipts for the night he disappears back into what you could only assume was Rick’s office. When he pops back out he looks a little more relaxed.

“Just gotta wipe the bottles down and then I’m getting the prettiest girl the best pancakes in town.” Clapping his hands together with a rub of his palms, he grabs another rag.

You were starting to hate pancakes. Not that you didn’t want them, you just wanted him more.

“Hey Eddie?” Trying to hide your ulterior motives in the sweetness of your voice, his eyes meet yours almost instantly and they narrow just as quick.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Setting the rag down he leans forward with his palms on the bar he gives you his undivided attention. An intimidation tactic. Unable to help yourself, your eyes trace up the ink covering his arms.

“Teach me how to make that drink?” Looking up at him from under your lashes, you see something flash across his face, fingertips digging into the countertop after the question leaves your mouth.

“Wasting Love?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t call it that now, would you?” Laying it on thick, a slow smile spreads across his face. He saw what you were doing and he was going to fall into your trap willingly.

“Why don’t you come back here then, we’ll make our own.” His voice comes out low, his pupils taking over all the brown, pretty white teeth baring themselves at you.

His gaze is predatory when he watches you jump from the stool, the exaggerated sway of your hips keeps his eyes trained on the curve of your waist as you make your way into his space for the first time all night. Leaning against the back counter, his legs are spread wide leaving little to the imagination on how worked up you had him. His eyebrows raise when he sees the automatic press of your thighs at the sight. It wasn’t fair, you were trying to seduce him, not the other way around. He wasn’t even trying.

As if on cue the jukebox that had been left to play all night clicks, Ginuwine’s Pony pouring out of the speakers as he licks his lips unashamed at the way he’s drinking all of you in like this.

“Gonna teach me how to make something sweet, Eddie?” Trailing a finger along the bar while you close the distance, you drag out the ‘e’ at the end of his name just enough to get him to groan.

His hands grab your waist squeezing just hard enough to feel his strength before using it to pull you flush against him. The material of your dress doing nothing to hide how hard he is pressed into your ass. His lips trace the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath tickling your neck as you push back into him searching for more. The stubble on his face rubs rough against the soft skin of your cheek as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips.

“The sweetest, baby.” 

You bite back your moan when his nose trails up your neck, his lips just barely grazing the warmth of your flesh before they settle back against your ear. You hold onto the wood of the bar in front of you when he hums low, feeling it deep in your core. His calloused fingers start a path up the bare skin of your thigh hiking up your dress when they catch the hem.

“Tell me,” your eyes close when his nose is pressed to your temple as he speaks, “Do you like cherries, baby?” His tongue catches your earlobe sucking it into his mouth, grazing it between his teeth when he lets it back out.

Your knees almost buckle at how good everything feels, the slow rock of his hips never stopping as he plucks at the lace trim of your underwear. 

“Y- yeah, I love cherries,” you whimper when his palms lay flat on the outside of your thighs, the cool metal of his rings biting into your skin when he squeezes at the fat working his way back up.

“Of course you do, pretty.” His thumbs hook the sides of your underwear, “You’re just so sweet all the time, huh?” Despite the need for friction, you spread your legs for him wondering if he can hear the way your lips pull apart sticky, arousal coating the inside of your thighs.

He chuckles soft in your ear praising you with a ‘so sweet’ before giving them a tug, letting the red lace fall to the floor. Keeping his hands on your hips, he presses himself against you hard enough to have the heels of your sneakers pick up off the ground. A low ‘fuck’ slipping out from under his breath when you whine a little.

“Red lace? Was Kurt gonna get lucky or was this just a ploy to get me all along, sweetheart?” Your cheeks burn at his question, his low chuckle tickling your ear when he hears you huff out an annoyed breath. “‘Cause if that’s the case all you would’ve had to do is walk through that door on any given night.”

He grinds himself against you one more time, but you can really feel him this time and it makes your legs shake.

“Are we gonna make this drink or do you wanna keep talking about Craig?”  The shake of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed despite trying to be sharp with him but the grip on your waist still tightens at the mention of the other man’s name

“Sure we can, if that’s really what you wanna do.” His words taunt you but with one hand holding you against him the other flips a clean cocktail glass onto the bar top with ease, like he wasn’t rock hard digging into your back.

Reaching around, his hand trails up the front of your thigh sending goosebumps across your heated skin. A shiver runs down your spine when he dares to dip between your legs inching his way towards where you want him most.

“We better not mix liquors so why don’t you be a good girl and grab the whiskey for me.” His lips brush against your ear with every word, his hand never faltering on their path even when his fingertips meet your slick folds. Feather light, he traces along your slit, not daring to break the barrier yet. Brain hazy with want you don’t even comprehend what bottle you reach for, blindly grabbing for whatever was in front of you.

“That is tequila, sweetheart. Tsk, tsk, tsk are you even listening to what I’m saying? Or are you too…” Before he finishes his sentence he pushes his index finger past your entrance, your warm walls wrapping tight around his digit, “…distracted?”

Your head lulls back against his chest, your eyes closing when he pushes two knuckles deeper. Your needy whimper makes him kick up again making you grind your ass against him in response. Licking your lips, you try to collect yourself only chasing for more of his finger once. 

“N-no, I can do it.”  Determined to prove him wrong, you focus just long enough to grab the Jameson bottle, “What’s next?”

He hums in approval while his smile grows against your skin. Deciding to indulge in your stubborn game still, he curves his finger enough just to make you gasp his name.

“Are we keeping this simple, or do you want something a little more—” Adding a second finger, you stretch easily for him now, dripping down his hand, “Complicated?” 

You shudder, a moan slipping past your lips while your grip on the bottle tightens so much you're scared it’ll shatter. Fuck, you gotta keep it …

“S- simple - oh.” His thumb finds your clit applying just enough pressure to have your mouth fall open and your brows to knit together, and just as quick as he’s there, he’s gone. 

Pulling himself free, he tries his best to ignore the way your pussy tries to suck him back in, your body begging him for more. You whimper at the loss, your eyes opening to remind you where you are.

“I’m gonna need both hands to do this, baby.” His fingers shine with your slick when he wiggles them for show, stepping back just enough for you to see the grin on his face but not enough to get out of your personal space. 

Grabbing his wrist, his eyes go dark when he realizes what you’re about to do. Gaze turning half lidded when your mouth opens, huffing out a deep breath when your tongue flattens against the pads of the two fingers that were just buried inside of you. Wrapping your lips around them, your arousal is tangy sweet hitting your taste buds.

Hollowing your cheeks as you suck them clean, you watch the confidence drain from his face, eyes rolling in the back of his head at the sight. The blunt ends of his nails dig through the soft material of your dress and he starts rutting into you with a little more force when you slide your tongue between each knuckle.

“Jesus christ,” his voice is strangled, words coming out through gritted teeth when you let him go with a loud pop.

“Now you can use both hands,” you say innocently, like you didn’t just suck them clean. You let his fingers tug at your bottom lip before dropping his wrist.

He fists a handful of your dress, a low growl rumbling from his chest getting a taste of his own medicine. Licking his lips, his eyes narrow at you before his teeth start to show, mischievous in the low light.

“Well if we want this drink cold, we need to fill this shaker with ice.” Just like the glass, he flips it on the counter one hand never leaving your waist despite his claim. 

Pressing his lips to your ear again, he makes sure to let his breath linger a little before he talks, enjoying the goosebumps that appear from such a simple touch.

“Fill it up for me, baby?” Your thighs clench at the deep rasp in his voice, both of his hands finding a home spread out on your thighs.

Nodding your head you slide open the silver metal door of the ice chest below you, bending over more than you needed to to scoop it up into the shaker. He groans loud when you press into him like this, his fingers making quick work to flip the back of your dress up. 

“Look at you, so fucking messy for me and I’ve barely touched you.” Grabbing a handful of your ass, he ruts into you, the rough denim hitting your clit in a way that has you moaning his name.

He laughs quietly at your neediness flipping your dress back down when you straighten out. Chests heaving in time with the other, neither one of you was ready to back down. Not yet.

“Might need to unzip those pants.” Looking over your shoulder at him you fake a pout, “Feeling a little strained back there handsome.”

Smugness dripping from the smile on your face, he raises his eyebrows at you in a challenge. 

“Since you wanted something simple sweetheart, we just need two more things.” One hand snakes its way back between your legs, squeezing at the inside of your thigh before he lets you go for the first time since you set foot behind the bar.

Craning your neck so you could follow him, you find him bent down grabbing lemon juice from the mini fridge under the shorter back counter. Shutting the door with his foot when he stands up, he throws a wink your way when he grabs the simple syrup.

Setting the bottles in front of you he steals a quick kiss that leaves you wanting more before he grabs the small tub of cherries from the fridge he forgot his first go around.

“Okay, so you’re gonna grab the Jameson, and I want you to pour it out to the count of three for me then cut it off.” He returns to his place behind you, his large hand swallowing yours when it shadows your movements.

Your pour is shaky when he counts low in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair calling you a good girl after each successful addition to the simple concoction.

“Alright, now you’re gonna shake it as hard as you can angel.” His hands squeeze your hips for encouragement.

Doing as he says he pulls you against him even harder when your arms start to go wild. Your chest bounces with each movement making you giggle and you almost don’t hear the hitch in his breath at the sight. 

He helps you by putting the strainer over the rim of the glass when you’re ready to pour. Mumbling soft words of praise while he nibbles at your ear lobe. The drink is much lighter than the one you had all night, the dark orange turning lemon as the white foam fizzed on top.

“I think I could take your job.” You smirk reaching for the cherries to top it all off. 

“You think you could take my job?” He snorts incredulous, watching you unwrap the plastic wrap from the small tub dropping three cherries into the already very sweet cocktail.

“Absolutely.” Grinning while ignoring his stare you reach for another cherry, “No doubt in my mind.” You grab the fruit between your teeth, finally meeting his eyes as you pull the stem, relishing in the burst of sugar and grenadine that erupts against your tongue.

“Tough luck princess, unless you know how to tie that cherry stem in a knot with your teeth, no bar in this town is gonna touch you.” Grabbing his own cherry, he dangles it in front of your frowning mouth for you to bite. Obliging him with it bumps your bottom lip you tug gently, taking the fruit before chewing slowly while he sucks the stem once before it disappears in his mouth.

“I’m calling your bluff now. No one knows how to actually do that.” Daring him to prove you wrong he mutters a ‘watch me’ between his working teeth.

You don’t lose focus on the way his hand on your waist starts to wander, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the fat of your thigh while his tongue ties the stem like it’s easy. Jaw flexing with each twist of his tongue before he pushes it out to show you, a pleased look on his face when the small knot in the middle comes out perfectly placed. 

Swiping it off his tongue with the fingers that were inside you minutes ago, you wonder if he can still taste you when he sets it next to your drink satisfied by the way your jaw drops.

“How do you think I got this job? I’m more than just a cute face.” The touch of his hands grows bolder when they start working their way up your dress, a thickness in the air that wasn’t there before filling your lungs.

“That’s quite the skill set you have there Mr. Munson,” your giggle is breathless, your eyes going from his down to his lips as you try to play it off.  

“I can do more than that with my tongue sweetheart, if you wanna find out.” His nose nudges against yours, the smirk on his face making you sweat when his fingers trace up your wet folds again.

Surrendering instantly, you forget all about the drink the two of you made nodding without hesitation the desperation for him all night finally taking over.

“Yeah?” His voice breaks when his thick fingers push into your entrance again feeling just how worked up all his teasing had you.

“Please - Eddie,” the pad of his thumb finds your clit again making you beg, “Fuck.”

“Asking me so sweet, how could I say no to you?” Murmuring against your lips, he finally gives in and kisses you. Wet and sloppy he only does it long enough to take your breath away before dropping to his knees.

His big hands on your hips angle you to face forward, flipping your dress up over your ass again. The air of the bar is still hot against your folds, arousal dripping down your thighs, you’re fully exposed to him now. You hear him suck the skin of his teeth at the sight, a ringed hand coming down just hard enough on your right cheek to make it jiggle before both hands palm the fat.

“I can’t believe you were gonna let anybody else but me have this pussy. Should be a punishable offense.” Pulling your cheeks apart to expose more of you to his hungry eyes, he pushes at the small of your back signaling for you to bend over more for him.

He moans loud enough to make you jump when you listen to his command, even you can hear the sound of your lips pulling apart for him. 

“All this for me, baby, fuck, you spoil me.” He wastes no time burying his face between your folds, his talented tongue collecting your juices before finding your clit. The rough hair on his chin rubbing your sensitive skin raw as he shakes his head from side to side. 

Squeezing your ass to pull you closer to his face when you try to run away, he sucks your bundle of nerves harder when he gets you back to where he wants you, dipping his nose into your entrance every time.

He does the motions he would do when he ties the cherry stem into a knot against your clit, a strangled moan ripping from your throat when he does it again.

Your hands find purchase on the top of the bar, eyes closed tight while you see white behind your lids. Your nails dig into the wood when his tongue flattens, the lewd squelching of your arousal filling your ears when he pushes his face so deep between your legs you aren’t sure if he can even breathe. The moan that rumbles through his chest and vibrates to your core tells you he doesn’t care. Wrapping his lips tight around your clit he sucks even harder, not caring when your legs start to shake from overstimulation. 

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna - fuck!” His name comes out long and drawn out when you fall apart on his tongue. Relentless, his teasing never stops, his hands holding you up while your body starts to shake. Humming low in satisfaction against your cunt.

“I n- need, I need…” willing your eyes to open, your vision’s blurry from how hard he made you cum. Pulling away with a loud smack of his lips, he palms your ass cheeks before craning his neck to try and get a good look at you.

“What do you need, baby?” He nips at the curve of your right cheek before pressing his face to it, dazed from getting what he’s wanted all night completely content.

“I just, I just need you to fuck me,” you don’t recognize the choke in your voice when you whine for him. Whine for more.

“Jesus christ.” His words tickle against your skin when he groans, kneading the soft flesh of your ass one more time before standing up. 

His hands are on your hips before you can fully register the change in position, spinning you around and lifting you up he sets you on top of the counter behind the bar. The one where drinks aren’t served and the one that’s low enough for Eddie to slot himself perfectly between your legs. 

Eyes blown black while his beard and nose ring shine with your slick, his lips part - swollen and pink from pulling your first orgasm out of you. Bangs clinging to his forehead, his hair is a wild mess on top of his head from your hands. The confident air about him is gone, replaced with nothing but the need to have you. Snapping out of your daze, you’re quick to find the metal of his belt buckle.

His forehead presses to yours, while he watches the way your dainty fingers work the leather out through the loop. The white tips of your nails catch his eye when you undo the button of his jeans and his cock twitches at the thought of them pumping him for all he’s worth.

He hisses when you push the denim down his hips, his hard dick springing out to smack against his shirt that you immediately wish wasn’t there. Precum leaks from the angry looking pink tip while your hands fist the hem of the worn cotton, silently begging him to get rid of it. The big vein that follows the curve of his length makes your mouth water as he obliges your pleas, ripping his shirt off and throwing it somewhere you’d have to find later. 

You’re able to really take all of him in like this, his chest is heaving covered with just as many tattoos as the rest of him, the silver chain you’d peeped earlier hanging right in the dip between his pecs. Your eyes follow the dark patch of hair that leads to his cock, long with the kind of girth that you know is going to be a stretch, a strangled whine bubbles out of you at the sight while your thighs spread begging for him.

“God, I want you so bad,” you whine wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him even closer giving into your animalistic instincts. 

“I know baby, me fuckin’ too.” He pumps his cock a few times groaning loud, squeezing hard at the base before pressing the head between your dripping lips. Mesmerized at how they wrap around his tip, his precum mixes messy with your arousal making lewd noises as he sweeps it through your folds.

Body shaking every time he hits your clit, you finally hook your ankles growing impatient when he teases your entrance.

“Fuck. Me.” You get out through gritted teeth, the lopsided grin he’d been giving you all night turns cocky when he pushes the tip in, your head lulls back at the invasion, the silk of your walls desperate to start sucking him deeper.

“Not so sweet now are you, huh?” Pushing himself all the way in, his rough thatch of pubic hair hits your clit when he bottoms out. His confidence falters for a second when a deep moan rips through his chest at the feeling. “So fuckin’ tight baby - shit.”

Your nails dig half crescent moons into his inked skin while you adjust to his size, his nose skimming against your cheek while he whispers how good you take him when your walls start to milk him, your body letting him know it was okay to finally move.

“Feel so good, Eddie, fuck - so good.” Your hips start a slow rock, feeling every ridge and curve of him. Your dress sits rucked up at your waist giving a perfect view of the way you take him, and it’s even better than what his imagination had come up with all night. 

He lets you use him for a minute, big hands resting on your waist — content with just watching the way you coat his cock with everything you have left over for him from the first time he made you cum. 

“That feels good, huh?” Cooing at the way your brows knit together and your mouth falls open, he picks up the pace, taking control. 

Pulling you all the way to the edge, his strokes get deeper, the tip of him hitting the spot that you know Craig would have never found. He pulls his cock out half way, relishing how your velvet walls try to keep him in place, he holds his composure before pushing back in, filling you to the brim. Addicted to the way it makes you gasp his name and arch your back, your body asks him for more when you’re too cock drunk to get the words out.

The straps of your dress start slipping down your shoulders with every thrust, your breasts bouncing just begging for his attention. His cock twitches inside you, it's almost too much. Greedy for more despite fighting the urge to cum, he tugs the front of your dress down to reveal a matching bra to the panties on the floor. Hips stuttering for a moment he growls at the reminder of your date before tugging the lace down, your nipple pebbling instantly for him before he takes it in the heat of his mouth. 

Pushing yourself closer, needing more, your hands find their way to bury themselves in his curls, holding him close. You needed him close. His tongue flicks at your sensitive bud and it makes you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hips finding a way to match his strokes, reigniting the flames deep in your gut. God, he was gonna make you cum again.

He grunts around your breast, spit dripping down your soft skin from his ministrations while the snap of his hips start to get harsher and you know he’s nearing his end. He lets your nipple go with a loud pop before his hand comes up to grip your chin, his lips finding yours in a frantic mess of teeth and battling tongues.

The wood creaks underneath you from the force of his thrusts and the bounce of your ass to meet them. Mouths tangled, you swallow each other's ragged breaths, both of you desperately searching for your end when his fingers find your clit. Rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have your body start to shake against his, he nips at your bottom lip grunting when he feels the way it makes you flutter around him.

“Come on baby, give me another one. Be my sweet girl again and tell me how good I make you cum.” His fingers slip against your clit, fingers wet from how worked up he had you but his words are enough to have your world stop for a second.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Ed-“ Going blind behind your closed eyes he coaxes your second orgasm out of you with a silent scream falling onto his turned up lips. Proud of his work, his hips start picking up their pace inching closer to his own release he’d been fighting off since going down on you. 

“God, - fuck I’m close - where d-do you-?” Sweat drips down his forehead while he struggles to find his words, his impending orgasm making him short circuit.

“Inside, shit - please, I need it, Eddie.” Still needy and barely coming down, your legs around his waist tighten their hold, locking him in place while you use the last of your strength to help get him there. 

“Whatever you’re doing - holy shit , Jesus - I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” His hips press hard against yours when his cock twitches, spilling warm inside your greedy walls that don’t stop asking him for more. His face hides in your neck, the heat of his breath fanning against your sweat kissed skin while his body shakes with his release.

The roll of your hips never stops, just slowing enough to make him shiver after he starts softening, spent inside of you. You know there’s a mess starting to drip but neither one of you has the energy to move just yet. His lips start leaving small kisses along your neck, nose nudging against the space behind your ear and you can feel his smile against your cheek before he finally lifts his head up. The brown in his eyes return to a warm auburn like before when they meet yours.

“Rick is gonna fucking kill me if he ever finds out what happened on this counter tonight.” Rolling your eyes, you snort at his joke before shoving against his chest.

“You’re telling me you don’t fuck all your cute customers behind the bar, Eddie?” Batting your lashes at him, he squeezes your hips with a smirk. 

“Only, the really, really cute ones. I take them to get pancakes at IHOP around the corner, too.” Something shifts in his eyes and you think for a second you might see self doubt in them for the first time all night, “That is, if they still want to.”

“Well lucky for you, I only let bartender’s from The Foxy Lounge take me out.” Nudging your nose against his, your smile touches his lips.

“Sweetheart, you know I’m the only bartender here right?” Grinning like someone who just won the lottery, he quickly gets rid of the space between you, kissing you like it too.

---

----

-----

“What do you want?” 

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says. 

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference. 

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second. 

He’s covered in blood. 

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow. 

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?” 

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained. 

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?” 

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave? 

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.  

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile. 

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.” 

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue. 

Joel doesn’t answer. 

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard. 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that. 

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict. 

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?” 

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side. 

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.” 

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one. 

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child. 

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips. 

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest. 

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable? 

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand. 

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction. 

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage. 

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy. 

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.  

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” 

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell. 

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.” 

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do. 

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. 

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….” 

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard. 

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you. 

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes. 

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching. 

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges. 

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling. 

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper. 

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide. 

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up. 

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration. 

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing. 

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder. 

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?” 

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed. 

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you. 

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought. 

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk.  Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask. 

“It was sitting out.” 

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits. 

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound. 

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them. 

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?” 

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head.  “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.” 

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection. 

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-” 

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool. 

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done. 

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it. 

I’m sorry. 

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once. 

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward. 

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film. 

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy. 

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide. 

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap. 

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to. 

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase. 

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?” 

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes. 

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts. 

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur. 

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement. 

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans. 

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you. 

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you. 

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.” 

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well. 

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time. 

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate. 

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.” 

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again. 

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known. 

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer. 

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing. 

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling. 

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him. 

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved. 

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles. 

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.” 

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

You’re not entirely sure how you got in this position; lying on your back on a dusty old floor in an abandoned building outside the QZ, the bottom half of your body bare, your thighs clenched around a man’s head, his mouth unrelenting on your cunt, your legs trembling, whimpering from sensitivity having come already.

That’s a lie; you know exactly what got you here.

Joel got pissed off at you for not paying attention and almost getting you both killed because you were distracted, and after you’d found a safe place to hole up, he’d grilled you about why you weren’t on top of things like usual. This led to you revealing that your boyfriend had cheated on you, got another girl pregnant, and left you for her.

His eyebrows are pinched, arms crossed over his chest, scowling.

“Gotta get you out of your fuckin’ head, or you’ll get us killed.”

“I’m sorry, Joel. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Take off your pants.”

“What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me. Take off your pants. I’m gonna make you forget about that asshole and save our fuckin’ lives.”

Here you are, Joel’s lips wrapping around your sensitive little clit, your back arching, crying out, thighs clenching harder over his ears, him not caring and feeling him groan into your pussy. Your fingers are gripped tight in his grey hair, cunt pulsing, the muscles in your body tightening up until the knot snaps, and you’re coming again, brokenly moaning as the waves of pleasure move through your body.

Joel says something, words muffled in your pussy that vaguely sound like ‘good girl,’ his mouth moving to lick up your release, lapping at you, while your breaths even out.

His big hands grip your thighs, prying them from his head, as he sits up, your brain a pleasurable haze, thoughts feeling like molasses—slow, thick.

You know he’s talking to you, but you don’t hear him, gasping at the sting of his hand slapping your hip.

Your eyes open, tilting your head to look at him. You’d made a mess of him, the lower part of his face shiny with your juices, looking at you with a serious expression.

You wonder if Joel knows how to smile, he’d probably have a great one, but you’re used to him frowning, always a hardened look on his face, that’s normal. You’ve known him for years, Tess bringing you in for jobs here and there, and he’s always fascinated you—this much older, gruff man of few words, who only listened to Tess, and was a force to be reckoned with. Did you have a bit of a crush? Yes. But you have no chance, he’s too closed off, and you’re not even sure if he likes you in general. Though, after the way he ate your pussy, you think he might like you a little, and you’re happy to take whatever he’s willing to give.

“I asked how you’re feelin’,” he says.

A dreamy smile pulls up on your lips as you reply, “Fucking fantastic.”

“Good.” He nods. “I’m gonna fuck you, hard, until you’re droolin’ and can’t even remember his name.”

Your cunt clenches at his words, having to hold back a moan. You just know it’s going to be so fucking good, your body hot and thrumming with anticipation.

“May I kiss you?” you ask, sounding hopeful.

“No,” he answers, bluntly, your stomach dropping. “I’m just helpin’ you out, nothin’ more. You understand?”

“Yes,” you reply, not at all surprised. It’s nice of him to help you forget. Maybe there’s a little bit of softness hidden under all those rough edges.

“Good. Hands and knees.”

You scramble to do as you’re told, Joel grabbing your hips to help move you into position, hearing the clinking of his belt as he works open his pants, followed by him spitting on his fingers, gasping when he rubs the saliva over your entrance.

One hand grips your asscheek to spread you open, the other pushing his cock through your folds before he’s notching at your entrance. Your eyes go round, feeling the bulbous tip, knowing it’s going to be a stretch, your pussy throbbing needily, wanting to feel him inside you. He starts pushing in and your eyes roll back, mouth falling open at just how thick he is, stretching you to accommodate his girth, moaning in unison as he slides home in one smooth thrust.

“Oh my god,” you whine.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts.

You don’t have a chance to respond, his hips moving back, almost pulling all the way out and pushing back in hard enough the air leaves your lungs, setting up a brutal pace.

He hadn’t been lying, he’s fucking you hard and fast, his hands gripped tight on your hips, hearing your bodies colliding, his balls slapping against your clit, Joel grunting, soft sounds slipping between your teeth. Spreading your knees a little further apart has him going deeper, his thick cock rubbing against spots that has your head spinning, fingers digging into the concrete floor as he works you up, pleasure building higher, and higher with every slick slide of him moving in and out of you.

You’ve never been fucked liked this, and you love it, taking what he’s giving you, completely at his mercy, knowing he just wants to make you feel good, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly he’s getting you to your end, fucking you too good.

His hand leaves your hip to rub your clit, and the jolt of pleasure has your muscles squeezing, moaning loudly.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he grits out.

You are, panting hard, the obscene slap of flesh the soundtrack as you fall over the edge with a cry, body seizing up, your release dripping down his cock, euphoria exploding in your veins.

“Good girl,” Joel groans, fucking you through your high. “You’re tight little pussy is squeezin’ me.”

Your arms give out, resting your head on them, heart hammering in your chest. He’s kind enough to move his fingers off you, continuing to piston into you, grunting with exertion, his thrusts wetter. You’re pretty sure you’re drooling, your slick coating your inner thighs, legs trembling.

He leans over your back, pressing his front into you, slowing his movements, his mouth at your ear, holding himself up with hands beside you.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he rasps. “You’re gonna make me come.”

He kisses your neck, goosebumps rising on your skin from the softness.

“Come inside me,” you whimper, wanting to feel him.

He makes a pained sound.

“I can’t—gonna paint your pretty pussy in it.”

He pulls out suddenly, making you gasp, Joel manhandling you onto your back, his hips slotting into the cradle of your thighs and pushing back inside quickly, his slick cock sliding in easily.

His arms bracket your head, pulling your legs up his ribs as he starts moving again, picking up pace quickly, spearing into you over and over. His face is screwed up like he’s in pain, rough sounds coming from his mouth.

“You take me so fuckin’ well,” his words come out strained. “So tight, wet, fuck.”

Your hands work their way into his hair and he groans, leaning up to press your lips to his stubbled jaw.

“You’re so soft—so fuckin’ soft,” he says.

His eyes open, meeting yours.

“Can you give me another?”

You’re too sensitive from your previous orgasms, there’s no way you could come again.

“I don’t think so.”

“I think you can—just one more.”

He sits up on his knees, pushing your own up your chest, changing the angle to have him plunging into your pussy so deep and rubbing over something that causes white-hot pleasure to shock through you, making you gasp.

“I know,” he says, massaging that spot with each quick snap of his hips. “Wanna feel you come again. Soak my dick.”

You’re so wet, leaking all over his cock, hearing him working in and out of you, your pussy fluttering, another orgasm building in you, feeling the heat growing at the base of your spine, chanting his name.

It makes you throb, losing your mind at how good it feels, drool wetting your chin, eyes squeezed shut. You’re honestly upset that this is a one time thing, knowing no one will ever fuck you like this ever again.

Everything comes to a head, you’re right on the precipice.

“Oh, god,” you moan.

“Come for me,” he growls.

He says the words and it’s like he has a line straight to your cunt, because you do—the muscles in your belly tightening and tightening until you’re clamping down on him hard, coming with a shout, Joel growling, his hips stuttering, pleasure radiating through your body.

He pushes your legs apart, laying back over you, short strong strokes pushing in and out of you, extending your high.

You moan in surprise when his lips crash into yours, kissing you hard, happily opening when he licks into your mouth eagerly. He must be close, his breaths shakey, thrusts uneven, kissing you like his life depends on it.

Suddenly he’s pushing up and off of you, pulling out, taking himself in hand and jerking off frantically, panting hard, until a long drawn out groan pulls from his throat, feeling the hot spurts of his come painting your pussy.

There’s no coherent thoughts in your head, feeling lethargic, spent, not even sure if you can move with how your limbs are shaking.

“Fuck, that’s pretty,” he pants.

You peek an eye open, lifting your head to find him staring at your cunt. He pushes a finger through his mess, rubbing it over your little clit.

“Oh,” you gasp.

His gaze meets yours, a small smile pulling up on his lips, and your eyes go wide.

“It’s better than I imagined,” he says.

You’re feeling confused, not only from what he says but the soft look on his face. He’s handsome normally, but seeing him like this has your body feeling warm.

“What’s better than you imagined?”

“Your pussy.”

“You’ve imagined fucking me…?” you ask slowly, not quite believing what you’re hearing.

“Yeah? From the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

“I didn’t think you liked me.”

His eyebrows furrow.

“I like you plenty. I do jobs alone with you, don’t I?”

“Yeah, ‘cause Tess tells you to.”

“‘Cause I ask Tess to let me.”

It hits you then.

“You’re sweet on me.”

He sighs, looking away.

“I’m sweet on you,” he mumbles.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

He looks at you, his eyebrow raising.

“Well, you were datin’ that asshole for one—never liked him.” You snort. “And I’m old, really fuckin’ old. I ain’t got no chance with someone like you.”

“Well, you’re wrong about one of those things.”

“I thought you said he left you? You’re not still datin’ him are you?”

“What? No.” You wave away his questions. “That’s over. Done. I don’t want to ever see his face again.”

“Good.” He nods.

“You’re wrong about not having a chance with me. I’m sweet on you, too.” You smile.

He doesn’t look convinced.

“You’re lyin’. You didn’t even think I liked you.”

“Well, yeah. Just ‘cause I didn’t think you liked me didn’t stop me from crushing on your grumpy ass.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

“You really like me?”

“I do.” You nod. “You wanna make this more than a one time thing? I’d really like to do this naked and in a bed,” you ask, biting your lip.

He grimaces.

“I don’t have much to offer…” he says slowly. “I can fuck you, warm your bed, give you my body, but feelings and shit, I’m really fuckin’ bad at it.”

“That’s fine.” You shrug. “The orgasms make up for it,” you say, winking.

His thumb circles your sensitive clit, making your mouth fall open.

“Yeah? You like how I play your pussy?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Very much.”

“Good. If you’re with me, it’s mine.”

You nod. “Only yours.”

He smiles. “Then we’ll keep doing this. Now, let me clean you up. We gotta get goin’.”

You’re wondering what he’s gonna use to wipe you down with, but then he’s moving back and bending down, his tongue sweeping through his come and making you moan.

Masterlist

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Finding the familiar way to inside - finally able to breathe again when the window slides shut with a click. When you’re curled in his bed, the blankets pulled over you like a shield.

It will get you shot, one day. Sneaking in like this. With anyone else you might have been already - but not with Joel.

You think he doesn’t really mind your nightly visits. The way he keeps the crates stacked just so, beneath the fire escape.

How he only locks one side of the window after you leave - the other just out of the reach of your knife, when you wiggle the latch open from the outside.

It smells like him - these faded, patterned sheets. Ones he’d never pick out for himself, in another life.

Before.

Ones that you can’t imagine him not having, because this is the only way you know him.

The familiarity soothes you, even though he’s not here. Exhaustion starting to weigh you down, starting at the tips of your limbs and curling around you like vines.

Eyelids growing heavy, listening to the rain that’s just begun to sprinkle down. Drowning out the stomping rows of boots outside - a white noise that lulls you to sleep.

This time - you don’t dream.

———

He almost missed that you’re here. The sound of your breathing, the little hitches of breath while you sleep, engulfed by the downpour.

Only seeing the lump in the blankets as he sheds his rain-stained coat, the canvas soaked-though at the shoulders.

A mark deepening between his brows as he glances at your form - the jacket and pants thrown over the broken radiator. Moving to the window, flipping the latch on the left side back into place.

You’re slippery. Squeezing through cracks. Worming your way into his room and under the hardened armor of his skin.

For anyone else, this layer you’ve peeled back and crawled beneath would be no more than surface-level. An acquaintance, perhaps.

But with Joel, it’s so much more. It makes his skin itch, as if it was flayed back - exposed and raw.

Uncomfortable. But not unwelcome.

He hadn’t seen you today - the silent check he does. Just needing a glance of your hair, your shape in the crowd. It’s enough, a second in the long minutes and hours that make up his day.

It’s a small relief, a fresh breath of air he didn’t know he needed.

Silently, he strips down. Clothes folded on a chair with chipped paint - someone old DIY gone wrong. Looking like The End had already hit, years before it did.

A hand running through his hair, pushing the damp strands back, padding over to the edge of the bed.

“Come on, honey.” His words hold a softness that doesn’t exist when the sun is shining - a moment he knows you won’t remember.

Gently easing you over, so he can fit himself in behind you. Curling into your warmth, the blankets tucked back around you both.

The frown easing from his face when you murmur - face burrowing into the pillow, fingers brushing against the arm that wraps around your ribs. The hand that flattens against your stomach.

His name, no more than sleepy murmur, as you get comfortable again.

“Joel.”

He wonders if you’re dreaming about him.

He wonders if he’ll dream about you.

———

He’s solid, strong back and broad-shouldered. Shifting in the night to face away from you, as he often did. For comfort or another attempt to keep others out - a literal barrier - you’ll never know. Your chest presses against his spine, an arm curling around his waist.

Your eyes crack open. It’s still dark out, the sky just starting to streak with grey. You hadn’t slept long but you had slept soundly - the best you’ve had in days.

The tip of your nose brushes against the cotton of his shirt. Shifting so you can move higher, so it can skim against the base of his neck, instead. Press into the soft hair that curls - smelling like rain and sweat and him.

Your fingers trace the cotton at his hip, skim across the elastic waistline of his boxers. It had been over two weeks since you had last caved - had last come here.

It had been a good run. But the nightmares had come back - flashes of your past that you can’t bear to relive.

He shields you from them. Waking easily at the first sound of your muttering - his hand curling around your shoulder, low voice pulling you back out.

You know he understands. How he talks in his sleep as well, how you do the same for him. An unspoken agreement.

He shifts, against you. Only the slightest change in his breathing - he can wake from a dead sleep in an instant.

A hand, warm and calloused, finding yours as it brushes the strip of bare skin where his shirt has ridden up.

Dragging your hand down, to where he strains against the fabric. The pressure of his fingers curling yours around his length as he groans.

His hand leaves yours to tug down the waistband, removing the barrier between your palm and his hot, bare skin. Pushing them down his thighs, kicking them off to twist in the blankets.

The tip of your thumb brushes over the head, smearing precum over the tip. Air hisses between clenched teeth as he inhales, as you press yourself closer, crushing yourself against him as your arm pumps.

“Is this why you’re here?” Joel asks you, shifting his hips, pushing himself deeper into your fist. His voice rough with sleep, the sound making you squirm behind him.

It was easy to pretend it was.

That he didn’t go to bed hard, like this - the only thing keeping him from waking you up was knowing how much you needed the sleep.

That it was just physical. Fucking the nightmares from your head - that it could be anyone else burying themselves inside you, and the outcome would be the same.

It’s a lie, though. You both know it.

He’s the only one you go to. You’re the only one he’s let in.

You hum your response, trying to peek over the bulk of his shoulder. To watch him fucking your hand, skin sliding against skin.

Lips press against his neck again and he shudders. Moving your hand from him, twisting in your grip until you’re trapped beneath the spread of thick thighs.

The heavy jut of his flushed cock swaying, as he adjusts himself on top of you. Leaving a damp patch smeared across your breast, as he takes himself in his hand again.

He hasn’t meant to end up quite like this.

Had just wanted you warm and soft beneath him. Moving up too high on your waist on accident - still hazy with sleep - ending up with your arms pinned against your sides.

Making to move, until he sees the way you’re focused on his hand, your lips parting. Showing off a pink flash of tongue. Fingers gripping on to his ankles - the only part of him you can reach - nails digging in.

“You want this?” He asks, stroking himself - his fist fitting in the valley between your breasts. His other hand cupping his sack, squeezing.

Leaving you to watch the flex of his forearm, the flushed tip appearing between thumb and forefinger. Nodding, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips.

“Ask me for it.” It’s not a request, his head tilting as your hands tighten around him.

As he angles his cock down, shifting until it’s hovering, just out of reach. Your chin lifts, mouth opening as your eyes fix on his.

Joel’s jaw grits. You can see the heave of his chest, the hand cupping himself dropping to the curve of your breast. Thumb rolling over the tight bud - the sensation dulled by your thin top, but it’s him and your body still sings.

You crack first.

“Wanna taste you.” Your eyes are still on him, can see the way he swallows hard, how he shifts over you.

“Fuck, baby.” He growls. The hand around his cock drops to curl around the back of your neck, twisting in your hair to angle you.

All while he moves forward, pressing himself against the flat of your tongue. Where you’re open and waiting for the weight of his cock, to taste the salt of his skin and the drop that still clings to the tip.

Wet and aching for him already - a dull thudding between your thighs, where they press and rub together.

You groan, as he inches inside. Lips wrapping around and sucking, causing him to hiss out a breath, his hips hitching.

Nudging him a little too deep, as you cough - tears springing to your eyes. He shifts back with soothing words, the hand on your breast moving to cup your jaw - thumb rubbing against your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” There’s a pinch to his brow, your head shaking minutely to tell him it’s fine. A second, as he thinks, “Tap my leg if it’s too much. You got that?”

He waits for you to listen, giving an experimental tap. Before he tries again - hips rocking, a slow and shallow press into your mouth.

You take him, relaxing into the cup of his hand. Eyes wandering across his stomach, chest - whatever you can see when he draws back. Closing, so you can listen to the groans that reverberate in his chest. Letting him use you, to fuck your mouth - trusting him, putting yourself in his hands.

A hand that flexes and twists in your hair. His thumb of the other sweeping against your cheekbone, the hollow under your eye - brushing away the tear that glistens against your skin.

So tender it makes your chest ache. Fingers curling against his leg, squeezing. He’s pulling himself from you, then - out of the warmth of your mouth, as you swallow.

Trying to protest that it wasn’t the signal, your lips glossy and shining. He’s shifting back, nudging your thighs wide to fit between them. Lowering himself down, his cock wet and thick and digging into your hip.

“I know.” He murmurs. Before his mouth presses to yours, the kiss sloppy. Tongue brushing where his cock had been, as he tugs at the waistband of your underwear.

Dragging them down to join his, fingers dipping between your thighs. Groaning into your mouth when he feels how wet you are from sucking him off, the tips pressing and circling against your clit.

You whine his name, the stubble on his cheek scraping against your skin. Breath hot in your ear as his weight pins you down. Thumb smearing your slick across your clit, so he can fit a finger inside.

You’re tight, molten hot. Gripping him already as you arch into him, as he slips in another. Curling them until they drag against a spot that makes you moan - strung tight beneath him.

He need to calm down, make you come, before he fucks you. A pressure swiftly building in his belly when he watched you, the trust in the way you took him.

The sound of his fingers is loud, the wet suck as he fits in a third. Stretching you out, each of your breaths harsh, your nails biting into his skin.

Already so needy, already near the edge. Each of your breaths coming shorter as his hips press against yours. Letting your fingers drift to feel the hard curve of his cock, hearing his grunt in your ear when you tug on him.

“Don’t worry about me.” He groans, voice rough before his lips press against the column of your neck.

As if you ever weren’t.

As if you didn’t always want him.

His words were unneeded, because you’re losing concentration quickly. Only focused on the tension in your belly - the pressure like a finger squeezing down the trigger, about to fire.

He’s relentless, fingers pounding, the wet flick of his thumb. Feeling your racing pulse beneath his lips, the sharp gasp of each breath, your muscles flexing.

Tightening around him until that tension snaps. Pleasure thrumming through you as you buck into his hand, your mind going blissfully blank and fuzzy - your moan strung out and pitched high.

Missing his words, feeling the brush of his other hand over your legs, smoothing over your hips. You can just make out the timbre, leaving you to imagine the rest.

Christ, just like that.

Good fucking girl.

Fingers slow as he pushes himself up, only removing them to tug at your shirt - pulling his own from his shoulders.

Folding himself between your limp, spread thighs, before hooking his elbows under your knees. Opening you up, where you’re soaked and the fluttering is still ebbing.

The twist of his wrist as he lines himself up - smearing his tip across your slit. The briefest tease, indulgence, before he slides in. Sinking inside of your tight heat in a long, fluid motion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” You breathe, brow pinched as he fills a chasm you didn’t realize you had.

His breath comes out ragged.

It’s not in the script. The words you both know. No, this had come from the soft pulp of your heart, a late night confession.

He doesn’t know how to take it. Mouth crushing against yours as he sinks deeper, swallowing your words to keep them safe.

Trying not to think about how his own answer had sprung to his lips, unbidden. It’s dangerous. To think like that, to have any sort of claim on anything, now.

It’s easier to pretend you just miss his cock.

That you just came here to forget.

That’s something he can do - drawing his hips back, snapping back in. Watching the way your tits bounce, everything softened and hazy with the thin grey light that creeps in.

Shifting, lifting a leg to brace on his shoulder, pushing him deeper as you gasp. The other pressing against his ribs, curling around his waist.

Freeing up his arms so he can taste your release on his fingertips. Licking you from him before he presses the calloused pads against your own mouth.

You take him, tongue curling around spit-slicked fingers. Tasting yourself on them, your sighs muffled when he presses down on your tongue.

Thumb dragging against your lower lip, before he pulls himself from the heat of your pretty mouth. Finding his way to where you take him, tracing slick fingers up your slit. Feeling where you’re stretched wide around him, puffy and slick.

Teasing at your clit - as your hands clench in the sheets, twisted up near your ears.

In a world where the right protection can mean life or death - where a bite can end everything - it’s a wonder how you bare yourself to him. His hand ghosting across soft skin, from breasts to hip. Fingertips indenting flesh, gripping, pulling, tugging.

Watching with greedy eyes how you gaze up at him, an ankle digging into his shoulder - trying to force him deeper. He leans forward, putting more force behind his thrusts, watching the way your lips part with a soft “ah!” with every breath.

Fingers pressing and swiping against the tight bud of your clit, the way he knows you like it.

He needed this too - to bury himself in you. Feel the way you wrap tight and warm around him. His own tongue loosened like this, his own release building again.

“Christ, look at you.” He grits out.

Admiring. It makes you preen, lips stretched wide in a grin, a bright flash of teeth in the dark. Eyes half-lidded and heavy, doing your own slow sweep.

Over a tight waist that your leg hooks around. Bare stomach and broad chest, dusted with dark hair, only the slightest hint of grey. Not like the strands at his temples, the ones that streak throughout the curls. Peppering his facial hair.

Ruining you again. It had been a long time since you wanted something, and you can’t get him out of your head. Always coming back, even though you’re sure it won’t end well.

Because nothing does, any more.

You won’t let your soft heart ruin tonight. Not when his thumb sweeps across your hip. His eyes dark and glittering as he watches your face, as he works you up again.

The sharp rut of his cock and swirl of his fingers so perfect, that the tears start to well up, again.

“Joel,” You say his name again, “F-fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You felt like heaven on his fingers - tight and hot and sopping wet for him. It doesn’t hold a candle to now, how you squirm beneath him, the slap of his skin against yours.

The snug fit of your cunt, as you clench around him.

“Want you to.” He rasps out, resisting the urge to fuck you harder, faster. Keeping the same pace, the same circle of his fingers, “Let me feel you, baby.”

Need you to.

You come with a cry. Back bowing against the mattress, limb wrapping around him. Turning his thrusts into a sloppy grind, your hands coming to grip at his forearms. The waves crashing over you stronger and longer than before, your vision turning dark and hazy.

“Fuck. Fuck-” He growls - as the tight pulse pulls him to the edge.

It’s too much.

It’s all he can think about, as he pulls himself from you. Fisting his cock, jerking himself until he spills across your mound, your slick pussy.

How he wishes he could have stay buried, throbbing inside you, coating your walls with his release. Marking you, only pulling out so he can watch it leak from you later.

The word echos in his ears, layered with the thudding of his heart.

Dangerous.

———

You’re gone, when he wakes up.

The hazy morning sun is just barely casting warm rays of light onto the worn wooden floorboards as he drags himself from bed - a hand passing over his face, pressing into his eyes.

Pushing himself up, making his way over to the window.

But there’s nothing - just puddles collecting in the broken ridges of the roads. The streets washed clean from the rain.

Fingers drift, tracing up the cool frame of the window, until it’s touching the chipped white paint of the latch. Lost in thought for a long moment - before his hand drops back down to the sill.

He leaves the right side unlocked.

She lets out a sigh but gives up on trying to stop you, which you take as her blessing.

Jamie Rogers' building is on the other side of campus. It's a short walk over, and you spend the whole time buzzing. The second you saw her dad on her Instagram story with a caption about how he had surprised her with a visit, you knew you had to at least try to see him.

You know exactly where she lives, thankfully. Her apartment is right next to Pietro's, which you frequent. When you get there, you knock on her door a few times, before stepping back and smoothing down your skirt. Almost a month has passed since you last saw Mr. Rogers, and you're itching for your next hit.

The door opens and Jamie immediately looks disgusted. "Are you lost?" She asks you, looking you up and down with a frown. "Maximoff lives next door."

"I'm not here to see Pietro," You reveal with a friendly smile, holding up the poster in your hand. "I came to invite you to help out with a fundraiser the Falconettes are hosting."

Utterly confused, Jamie scoffs. "You came all the way here to give me a poster for an event I most definitely will not be attending, let alone helping out with?" She asks incredulously.

You take in a deep breath before pushing past her, casually strolling into the apartment. "It's for a good cause," You insist, feeling your stomach flip when you see her father leaning against the breakfast bar. "Hi, Mr. Rogers! I didn't know you were visiting."

A smile grows on his face as he sees you, looking you up and down. "Hello, Y/N. It's good to see you again," He greets you with a subtle smirk.

"Yeah, she was just leaving," Jamie interjects, snatching the poster from your hand. "Why should I care about this fundraiser?"

Giving her a warm smile, despite how much you just want to give her just as much attitude back, you reply, "We're trying to raise money for our flights to Nationals. But whatever we have left over is going to the Falcons, so I figured you'd be interested in helping out."

"That sounds great," Mr. Rogers suddenly chimes in. "Honey, you're always complaining that you guys don't have enough budget for a new uniform."

"Exactly!" You add on with a grin, holding your hand and taking Jamie's. "Everyone can win, Jamie, if we all work together."

She grimaces before pulling her hand back. "Why are you being so nice to me after last week?" She questions you with narrow eyes. "Get high off your boyfriend's supply, again?"

The mention of last week makes your eye twitch. At a party, you and Jamie had got into yet another argument, which ended with her dumping her drink on your head. Most of your motivation to fuck her dad again comes from the rage you felt that night, but you slap on a fake smile and keep up the act.

"Don't be silly, Jay! Bygones!" You exclaim with a soft laugh, gently hitting her arm. "And Pietro and I are just friends, you know that!"

Raising a brow, she lowers her voice. "Yeah, that's not what I heard the other night-"

"Anyway!" You cut her off, turning to Mr. Rogers. "Have you two got any fun plans today?"

Jamie huffs, giving up with trying to make you leave anytime soon. Mr. Rogers steps forward, folding his big arms across his chest. "We're gonna watch a play," He tells you.

"Right after I shower and get ready," Jamie mumbles, looking down at her watch.

"Oh. Right," You say, feeling a bout of mischief as you slowly back away towards the door. "Well, I'm going next door to hang with Piet."

"When?" She questions, confusing you.

"Uh, right now?" You retort with a frown.

"No, when did I ask?" She asks with an eye-roll, but you're too busy giving Mr. Rogers fuck-me eyes to notice her diss.

"Enjoy your shower, Jamie," You sing, before getting down on one knee and pretending to be tying your shoelace.

"Enjoy screwing your boyfriend, slut," She retorts quietly, to which you shoot her a wink.

"I will," You whisper while she storms out of the room.

When you hear her bedroom door slamming shut, you look up from your shoes to see Mr. Rogers walking over to you. You're about to get up, but he cups your cheek in his hand and lowers his voice. "Stay there," He orders with a mumble, making your pussy throb.

You say nothing, too awestruck by his silent dominance as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his hard cock. Your other knee lowers to the carpeted floor and your lips part instinctively.

"Miss me?" He asks you teasingly, tapping his tip on your bottom lip.

"Yeah," You whisper breathlessly, already flustered into complete submission.

"Been thinking about how good I fucked you?" He questions lowly, slowly inching his dick into your mouth. "'Bout how nobody else could ever make you cum that hard?"

Your stomach flips and you know that it's true; nobody comes close to being as good as him as pressing your every button. For the past month, you've been masturbating to the memory of him, and now that you have the chance to experience him again, you're utterly overwhelmed. Fucking Pietro is nice and all, but he doesn't hold a candle to Steven Rogers.

Without warning, he begins to fuck your face. You tightly grab his thighs in each of your hands, taken aback by his rough intrusion. "Keep your eyes on me," He growls, running a hand through your hair before pulling on the ends. "That's it. Don't act so coy, baby, we both know this is exactly what you came here for."

You let out whimpers around his cock, your heart racing as it tunnels down your throat. Incapable of a single coherent thought, you simply stare up at him, letting your jaw relax and letting him use you like a toy. You feel yourself getting wetter, every one of Steve's grunts making your cunt throb. In an attempt to feel some relief, you squeeze your legs together and slightly move your hips back and forth.

"Look at you," He mutters with an arrogant smirk, slowing down his thrusts. "Getting wet for me, baby? Need me in your pussy?"

You nod as best as you can, eager to fuck him again and also keenly aware that you don't have much time with him. Jamie could jump out the shower any minute, and the two of you know that. Without wasting a second, Steve pulls out of your mouth and grabs your arm, dragging you up to your feet. Dazed, you stumble backwards, and he follows you to push you against the wall and give you a sloppy kiss.

"Haven't stopped thinking about you," He admits lowly, squeezing your hips as his forehead rests against yours. "That perfect pussy. I'm hooked, baby."

Timidly, you wrap your fingers around his dick, gently and slowly stroking it. Steve's jaw clenches as he groans lowly, his eyes darkening.

"Fuck. Come here," He mumbles before lifting up your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You rest your arms on his shoulders and your stomach flips with excitement as he brings his cock to your entrance. "Ready?"

"Yes," You whisper, before gasping when he sinks into you. Slowly, he feeds you every inch of himself, his pulsing dick filling you up.

"Oh, fuck," He groans, throwing his head back. "Shit, you're gonna kill me."

Once you're used to his intrusion, you squeeze his shoulder and nod profusely. Steve takes that as his green light and begins pounding in and out of you, fucking you against the wall and making the shelves shake. Your voice is stolen as he fucks you, and you're unable to let anything besides weak whimpers and moans out of your mouth.

"That's it, baby, you're taking me so well," Steve praises you, thrusting harder. "That's my girl."

You light up at his words, butterflies erupting in your stomach. He can tell he's already got you in the palm of his hand, and he loves it. Suddenly, he stops his movements and begins walking you over to the couch. Jamie's couch. Steve puts you down onto your feet before bending you over the back of the couch and lifting up your skirt again.

"Such a good little slut for me," He utters, slapping his tip against your pussy a few times before pushing it back into you. You feel him much deeper in this position, and it makes your toes curl when he brushes against your cervix. He gives you no time to adjust, fucking into you hard and fast once again.

Steve takes your hands in his, pulling your arms behind you as he slams in and out of you. Your moans are loud, but you don't care. Jamie's music is blasting from the bathroom, and even if it wasn't, you grin widely at the thought of the look on her face if she were to walk in on her dad railing her worst enemy on her own couch.

"You are unreal," Steve says, making you smirk at how smitten you've made him. He slows down his thrusts and cups your face, bringing you up so your back is against his front. "Tell me, baby, who does this pussy belong to?"

Through your smile, you reply, "It belongs to you, daddy. I'm all yours."

He pulls out before turning you around to face him and cups your cheeks in his hands. With a deep kiss, he lets you know exactly how obsessed with you he is, and you're glad your feelings are mutual. During the kiss, as his tongue dances with yours, Steve picks you back up and takes you over to the breakfast counter. There, he sits you down onto a stool before lifting your legs up and placing them on his shoulders.

"All mine," He repeats with a mumble, marrying his cock back to your cunt, sliding back into you. "My good little slut."

He fucks into you deeper than ever, lightly wrapping his hand around your throat. You feel dizzy, overcome with pleasure. "Daddy," You whine as your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, baby, take it," Steve grunts, pawing at your tits through your top. "That feel good?"

"So good," You reply, digging your nails into his biceps. "Please don't stop, daddy, make me cum."

Your words spur him on to fuck you harder, and soon you feel your core tighten. With a loud cry, you let go and cum, overwhelmed with a rush of bliss and intense relief.

"That's my fuckin' girl," He groans, thrusting slower. He pounds into you a few more times before cumming, shooting his load into you with a grunt. "Shit."

Shuddering, you slowly come down from your high while Steve gently puts your panties back into place and smoothes down your skirt. Once your mind is back on the ground, and you can see clearly again, you realize you're sitting at the counter and Steve is opening up a bottle of kombucha before he slides it over to you.

"Drink up, cheerleader," He says, giving you a smile.

"Fuck," You mumble, fixing your hair. "Did we really just do that?"

Smirking, Steve rests his hands on the counter. "You wanna come watch the play with us?" He asks, watching as you take a sip.

"Absolutely not," Is your instant reply.

He knows to give up, shrugging before holding out his hand. "Give me your phone," He orders, waiting for you to fish it out of your pocket and place it in his pal. "Password?"

You tell him the number code, curiously observing as he types and swipes. After a few moments, he hands it back to you.

"Call me," He says simply, to which you snort.

"You're so old," You tease him.

With an eye roll, he sighs. "Fine, text me, or whatever the fuck," He huffs.

"I will," You chirp, putting your phone away.

"When?" He asks.

"When I want to," You say with a casual shrug. "Might not be a while."

Steve raises a brow, giving you a cold look while saying nothing. It's enough to knock all the confidence out of you and you immediately lose the attitude.

"Tonight," You correct yourself, earning a smug look from him. "When will you get home?"

"Around 9," He answers, before a mischievous glint shines in his eyes. "Come with me."

"I have classes tomorrow, and don't you have work?" You wonder with a frown.

Steve shakes his head. "Retired."

Taken aback, you scoff. "You're like, not even forty! How are you retired?"

"Created a banking software in my early twenties, developed it for a decade, sold it in my early thirties, invested in a bunch of companies with the money, and here I am. No need to work for the rest of my life," He explains calmly, as though he isn't describing his journey to self-made millionairism.

"Oh," You say simply. "Nice."

Steve leans forward, resting his arms on the counter. "So, come see my big house," He invites.

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Sounds good, but I have training tomorrow," You say with an apologetic look. "Nationals are soon, and I can't let my girls down."

"So you're gonna let your man down instead?" He asks, smoothly using the possessive pronoun like it's nothing and turning you into a giddy ball of nerves. Your man.

Thankfully, before you have to say something in response, Jamie re-enters the living space, screwing her face up when she sees you. "Why are you still here?"

Sitting up, you give her a grin. "Your father and I were just talking about finance. His journey is truly fascinating, I'm a big fan of his work," You lie through your teeth.

Unconvinced, she raises a brow. "You care about finance?" She asks incredulously. "The cheerleader majoring in Excercising Science cares about finance?"

"I have a quiet passion for math," You claim, standing up.

"Whatever," She mutters. "You can leave, now."

"Aren't you gonna invite your friend to the barbecue next weekend, J?" Steve asks, giving her an expectant look.

"She's not my friend, dad," She reminds him, frustrated.

"Don't be rude, Jamie," He says sternly, before giving you a smile. "You should come, Y/N. Jamie's Uncle Bucky works in Sport Science; I'm sure the two of you will have plenty to talk about."

Storming over to you, Jamie lowers her voice. "I'll come to your stupid fundraiser. Now, will you please get out of my life?"

The twinkle in Steve's eye is holding you captive, and you can't help but smile back at him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," You sing, before shooting her a wink.

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifs 💞

Part 3 >

— 🦾 TFATWS!Bucky

— 🪖 1940s!Bucky

— 🔪 Mob!Bucky

— ⛪️ Priest!Bucky

— 🖤 Stepdad!Bucky

— 📚 Professor!Bucky

— 💸 CEO!DBF!Bucky

— 🩸 Vampire!Bucky

— 🍬 Pick’n’MixAUs!Bucky

— 🌅 Moodboards

— 🎃 Kinktober & Flufftober 2022

— 🎭 Random prompt event Masterlist

— ❤️‍🔥 Twitter P0rn Links #1

You ran straight to the Harrington’s house, one hand knocking impatiently on the door, the other holding the box of sugar cookies you had insisted on saving and taking home to Steve. 

You weren’t sure when it had happened, not really. But at some point over the course of twelve months, Steve Harrington had become your best friend. It happened the way summer did, a slow roll into warmth and blue skies, the familiarity of seeing him every day, the same way the sun slipped through the cracks in your bedroom window shutters. 

He was bike rides, fresh banana muffins from the bakery on Main Street, water balloon fights when you were supposed to be in bed, running in the back yard as your parents shared wine and barbecue dinners. He got taller, his hair got wilder and you both got closer. 

Steve opened the door, smile wide, eyes bright, just for you. He took a cookie and your hand, leading you to his bedroom as his parents yelled out their greetings from the kitchen and you tumbled into his room, chest bursting with how happy you were ‘cause the entire car ride home, you had been so excited to see Steve. 

Steve had too many pillows on his too big bed, a guitar in the corner, a basketball shirt in a frame above his desk. There were books lining shelves, a stereo on his dresser and towers of cassette tapes. His room always smelled like fresh air and boy, something minty, the summer sneaking in from his always open window, the chlorine from the pool below. 

He’d turned to you then, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, taking in your bare shins with their new bruises, one from falling in your skates, the other from tripping outside the library. Steve was yet to turn fourteen but he decided then that yellow was his favourite colour, buttercup bright, that deep rich shade that was painted on your dress. 

“You look like a princess,” he said earnestly, voice soft with embarrassment ‘cause Kyle from school said it wasn’t cool to be best friends with a girl. 

Steve had told him to shut up, brows knitted together, cheeks blushing and he’d spent that rest of recess so confused, ‘cause the boy thought you were the coolest person he knew. 

You flushed at his words, nose scrunched and you picked at the hem of your dress, dipping into a clumsy curtsy, the way all the Disney princess did on the tapes your mom let you watch. 

“Thanks,” you beamed, all teeth and sore cheeks ‘cause Steve always made you smile real hard. 

You felt nervous then, wondering where you and your yellow sundress fit into Steve’s room, but the moment broke, that unfamiliar jitter in your stomach disappeared Steve tugged you down onto his navy blue carpet, NES console beeping as it came to life and he handed you the extra controller, smile bright. 

The day turned to night too quickly, the way it always did when you were with Steve, and soon enough the Harrington’s phone was ringing and Steve’s mom was yelling up the stairs, telling you it was time to go home for dinner. 

Steve walked you out like he always did, shoulders touching as you both hurried down the stairs, eyes tired from the TV screen, fingers sticky from sugar cookies. The sun was just starting to set, the world outside was hazy and peach coloured, lavender clouds low in the sky and everything smelled like cut grass and your mom’s lemon trees. 

Steve walked you to where his lawn met yours, the streets tired and empty ‘cause the summer heat was still lingering, making the air heavy and sweet. You watched as the boy chewed his lip, uncharacteristically nervous, backs of hands brushing as you walked across the grass, damp blades brushing your bare ankles and you wondered why your best friend's cheeks were so pink. 

“Paul Matthews kissed Gemma Kennedy under the bleachers,” he suddenly blurted out, and you frowned, lips twisting. 

“He did?” You asked, unsure of why this news was being shared. You didn’t like Paul Matthews, he was annoying and never gave anyone else a shot of the swings at recess. “What’d he say?”

Steve shrugged, all boyish and innocent. “He said it was kinda gross.”

“Gross,” you repeated, features scrunched. “Why’d Gemma wanna kiss him anyways? Paul smells like gym socks.”

Steve snorted, a shoulder bumping into yours. You could smell your dad’s pasta from the open kitchen window, the pop of a bottle being opened, soft music from one of your mom’s favourite bands. 

“Do I smell like gym socks?” The boy asked, suddenly self conscious and you poked at his ribs, head shaking. 

“No,” you told him earnestly, voice all quiet and sweet ‘cause it was like you were both the only two in Hawkins at that moment. “You smell nice. Like cookies and bubblegum.”

He grinned, too pleased with your assessment and before you hopped over the flowerbed that split your home with Steve’s, he caught your hand, palm a little clammy. 

He murmured your name, voice shy and it made your tummy tumble in a way that you still didn’t understand, not properly, not yet. 

You turned, eyes wide ‘cause you were both reaching an age where boys and girls didn’t really hold hands playing in the street anymore, and if they did, it meant something else. It made kids whisper in the playground, pass notes in the classroom and suddenly watching the older students kiss each other at their lockers didn’t seem as icky. 

“Have you kissed anyone?” Steve asked you, voice laced with curiosity. 

You flushed, heart raging, pulse picking up ‘cause you hadn’t and suddenly it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world. But Steve still had his hand over yours and he squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and something about it felt so reassuring, like he’d keep every secret you gifted him. 

“No.” A pause, a worry, a flutter of nerves. “Have you?”

Were you supposed to? Was a boy meant to like you now? Has Steve kissed a girl? Have you missed something monumental? 

“No.”

Oh. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch an age. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh. 

“You wanna kiss me?” You asked, lashes blinking slow, mouth parted. You could taste the sugar cookies you’d shared with Steve still melting on your tongue. “Me?”

Steve stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed rose and he licked at his lips, unsure of what to say ‘cause Jesus Christ he was thirteen years old and had no idea what he was doing. But he remembered something that Paul had said to him, legs kicking as they sat on the swings together, sun beating down on their backs.

“Wish I had kissed Kimmy Cheng instead,” the boy had said, somewhat thoughtful, brows scrunched. “I really like Kimmy, maybe that would’ve made it better.”

It had made Steve think then, chewing at his cheek ‘cause the only girl he really liked was you, his best friend. You didn’t make him nervous, and when the movies you watched with him got too scary, you held his hand, face behind a pillow and he didn’t hate that. Not at all. 

“I mean, I guess?” Steve mumbled and god, he didn’t understand why his stomach was flipping over, that same feeling he got when he decided he was gonna climb that old oak tree over by Fifth, the one that was too high, that had thick branches that swallowed the world below your feet. “Would be easier if our first kiss was with each other. Might be less embarrassin’, y’know?”

That made sense, you thought, ‘cause you really didn’t want another boy telling everyone your kisses were gross and Steve wouldn’t make fun of you if you were bad at it, would he?

“Okay.” You said decisively, and you took a deep breath, wondering why your heart was beating so fast, the same way it did when Steve went too fast on his bike, your fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders, eyes tearing up at the whipping find, hair covering your face and his. “Now?”

“Now?” He repeated eyes wide and then he swore, quiet, ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to and his hand readjusted his grip on yours, palms clammy and fingers linking. 

You hadn’t held hands like that before. It felt different, a little funny, closer.

But before you could comment on it, the boy was leading you between the two houses, the air warm and trapped between bricks and he opened his garden gate, feet clumsy as you both half ran down the skinny strip of yard at the side of his home. 

It was overgrown there, the little hidden patch of long grass and wildflowers that grew underneath Steve’s bedroom window and it smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. You could hear the trickle of the pool, your mom’s music and the setting sun cut through the slats in the fences in stripes, lighting you both up with gold and bronze. 

It smelled like summer, you decided, the perfect July day and when Steve spun to face you, you let out a noise of surprise. You were happy to notice that he seemed nervous too, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, hand tugging through his already wild hair.

But you were both hidden there, in the edges of the garden, stolen away from the rest of the town and out of sight of your parents. It felt like the biggest secret of all, one to lock away in the depths of your journal and this felt so much more than giving away the last cookie, more than backseat bike rides and a handmade friendship bracelet, more than sleepovers on Steve’s living room floor, heads touching when you fell asleep.

“What do we do?” you asked, nothing more than a soft whisper. 

Steve shrugged, heart rattling against his ribcage and he licked his bottom lip and stumbled a little closer. The toes of his trainers touched your sandals and he was already a little taller than you but he blinked, gaze settling on you from underneath thick, dark lashes and you gulped.

“I don’t really know,” Steve murmured, hands flexing by his sides ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold yours, or place them on your sides, your shoulders. 

He shoved them in his pockets instead, hiding the way they shook a little with nerves and he gasped when you moved closer still, knees bumping clumsy against his own and he could count the freckles on your nose, and he wondered if they matched the ones on his skin, a present from long summer days outside.

“Will I just-?” Steve’s voice cracked and he flushed but you didn’t mention it, you didn’t laugh, you never did. “Should I?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you, maybe all the sugar you’d consumed, maybe it was the heat of sun on your shoulders, maybe it was the way your tummy was rolling with nerves and worry but you grasped at Steve’s shoulders, pushing yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to the boy’s without any sort of announcement. 

Another gasp, warm skin, nails digging into arms, two pairs of eyes wide, noses bumping. 

It lasted a few seconds, maybe less. But your lips were tingling when you pulled away, cheeks a new kind of hot and Steve looked a little shellshocked. You both rocked on your heels into the grass, too tall lavender brushing against your shins and then the boy smiled, a burst of sunshine in the shadows, and he looked delighted.

You were sure your ears were burning, the tips feeling hot and when you looked at Steves, you found his were pink too. You beamed, a nervous giggle, a laugh that got caught in your chest and when you heard your mom’s voice call from the back door - so close to where you were both still standing - you jumped, two kids trying not to be caught doing something they shouldn't.

The garden gate squeaked when you ran back through it, the hinges calling after you and you smelled like a bouquet of flowers as you ran across both lawns, feet tripping over your front porch as you ran inside. 

Something pretty bloomed in between the spaces of your bones that day, when Steve Harrington decided that you were both going to be each other's first kiss. It stayed there, for so much longer than you thought it would. You’d always remember it as brown sugar and vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle, feeling brave, honey coloured eyes and complete and utter innocence. 

1981. Devils roll their dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.

You didn’t even want to go to the party, you didn’t even like Karen Vincent and you were damn sure she didn’t like you. You knew you were only invited because of Steve, a slip of pink paper passed to you after Karen and her friend Shauna slid between you and the boy at his locker, hands on his chest, on his arm.

You’d wrinkled your nose at it all, fingertips gripping the invite like a ticking time bomb but the girls had learnt the hard way that Steve wouldn’t show if you weren’t welcomed too. 

It’s how you found yourself crammed into the Vincent’s basement with too many other fifteen year olds, the music making the walls vibrate, the punch bowl spiked with something that shouldn’t have been mixed with fruit juice and god, it was too warm. 

It was just past ten o’clock and your parents wanted you home for eleven, which meant that, by default, that was Steve’s curfew too. You’d both been allowed to walk home on the condition that you stuck together and kept to the main roads, the summer months making the nights light enough that you could see both the sun and the moon in the sky, the clouds a hazy orange as they sunk into the horizon. 

You’d spoke to a few kids you shared some classes with, avoided the snack table and its fizzing punch bowl, the concoction no longer the same colour it was when Karen’s mom poured it. And then there was a pop of a bottle cork, splashes of spilled liquid on the already sticky floors, some cheers and a circle was made. 

Fuck. 

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Yelled a boy you didn’t really know, some kid from the same basketball team as Steve, “let’s go losers!”

There was a symphony of wolf whistles and giggles as kids piled into the middle of the room, coffee tables and armchairs pushed out of the way in favour of a seat on the floor, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with their classmates, eyes wide and searching for their next possible date to the arcade. 

“Harrington!” the same boy called out, “get in here!” 

Steve appeared beside you, hand brushing gently on your elbow and you frowned without meaning to, wondering why it’d taken him so long to return from the bathroom. But then you saw Karen by his other side, lips glossy and smacking blue bubblegum, eyes sharp on you as she grinned.

“Are you playing Steve?” she asked, lashes blinking, voice coy. 

You grimaced, already taking a step back from the ever growing circle. Someone was placing the now empty bottle in the middle and you eyed the closet door across the room like an old nemesis. Your stomach was twirling, and it wasn’t from all the pizza rolls but the smell of chocolate pretzels and red vines wasn’t helping. 

But Steve’s hand curled around your arm, still gentle, but he could read you like a book. He tsked, his smile playful but eyes gentle, as if he could feel the nerves radiate off of you. Maybe he could, maybe he could hear the way your heart rattled inside your chest, louder than the music, deeper than the bass.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, crowding into you a little so he could find your ear with his mouth. He was so much taller than you now, the top of your head barely reaching his chin and you scowled, knowing what was coming. “Where you goin’ princess?”

“Home,” you told him stubbornly and you suddenly hated the way your denim skirt was sticking to your thighs, too constricting, too warm. 

You heard him sigh, making a noise that only a best friend could, the sound of someone being done with your shit but loving you nonetheless. You moved backwards, hips bumping into the table that was piled high with empty red cups and the boy followed, a puppy at your feet, the same way it had been for three years now. 

“Aw c’mon,” Steve groaned, “if you go home, I gotta leave too and you promised me you’d stay until curfew.”

You huffed, arms crossed protectively over your chest, ‘cause you hated the way people were starting to stare. They always did with you and Steve, especially when he touched you like, so casually, so gently. 

“I can leave on my own, Steve, I’m a big girl.”

No you weren’t. You were fifteen and still scared of the dark after Steve made you watch Day Of The Dead when both of your parents were out late at the new Italian restaurant just outside of town. 

But then, a poke to your arm, your cheek, the end of your nose. You swatted at him, hiding your smile between a press of your lips.

“You know my mom would kill me if I let you walk home alone,” he grumbled but it was soft, still gentle. “Fuck, your mom would kill me after.”

“You can’t be killed twice, stupid,” you said but it lacked heat, an excuse to say something other than agreeing to a game you didn’t wanna play. 

He still knew you too well, scoffing at your evasion, hand curling warm around your wrist and pulling you back to the party, back to him, bodies bumping in a too close proximity that became more tense with every year that you got older. 

It was becoming harder to ignore that your best friend was pretty. You were sure he’d wrinkle his nose at your choice of adjective but Steve grew up and missed the awkward stage, shoulders broad at the same time he grew a foot, wild hair becoming only a little tamer, more product in it and eyes still warm and brown, a new dimple in his cheek you loved to press your finger into. 

You’d heard the other girls in your year call him hot, a total babe, whispered through giggles in the locker room. But your best friend still looked at you all soft, the same way he did before he gave you his first kiss and he took yours, pressed against the honeysuckle in his backyard. He teased gently, took your hand when the streets got too dark and you were both late for curfew, pressed a foot over yours under the dinner table when your mom started talking about test results and extra curriculars. 

Steve was still your best friend. But he was really, really pretty. 

“There he is! Harrington!” Another boy -  Jake someone, from your English class - had forced his way through the crowd to clap a hand on each of your shoulders, pushing you both into the circle. “And you brought your princess, how ‘bout that, huh?”

You flushed, with both annoyance and embarrassment, ‘cause one day when you were all still twelve, Steve spotted you across the park, hands twisting around a basketball as he took in another new dress you wore and called you a princess again. It just so happened that his friends had heard it too. 

His nickname for you never left, but neither did your classmate's memory of the incident. 

And then Steve’s hand was ripped from your arm, bodies separating you both and he was manhandled to the one side of the circle, you to the other, shoulders squished between a boy and a girl you vaguely recognised from gym class, maybe biology too. It was warmer on the floor, heat and teenage hormones gathering sticky between too close bodies, the smell of cheap aftershave and someone’s mom’s perfume mixing with Kool-Aid and sprite. 

“Okay so! You guys know the rules!” Karen was standing from her spot in the circle, suspiciously opposite to Steve, eyes wide and hands animated as she gestured to the closet door on the other side of the room. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is all yours for a whole seven minutes.”

The group giggled, excitement rippling through the circle, bodies shuffling, overflowing cups spilling. 

You panicked, scanning the line of faces until you found Steve’s, his eyes already on yours, knowing and soft. He was mouthing something to you, silent underneath the music and chatter. 

“It’s okay.”

But then Jake was shoving a hand to Steve’s shoulder, urging him into the middle of the circle with a raucous cheer that only teenage boys could make, the rest of the basketball team joining in and Steve bowed his head, lips twisting into an almost smile that he couldn’t really hide. 

You watched as every girl perked up like a meerkat, backs straight, hair twisted around fingers, elbows digging into competitors that tried to make their space in the circle more known. 

Your stomach rolled again and it only got worse when Steve spun the bottle and the glass flashed green in the centre, bodies bowing forward to see where it would land. 

It sounded like you were underwater, excited voices and yells sounding far away, dulled with the thump of the music. The bottle had spun and  spun and spun, landing on you with such precise finality that Karen audibly groaned. 

You looked up, Steve’s eyes wide on yours, lips parted and cheeks pink. Before either of you could speak, before you could shake your head or grab your jacket from the sofa and run up the basement stairs, your hand was grabbed by Jake, lips stretched wide and voice booming. 

“King Steve and the princess!” He cheered and his excitement was echoed by your classmates, hollers and whoops following you as the boy grabbed Steve with his other hand and the three of you were tripping over stretched legs and forgotten bottles, heading for that fucking closet door. 

“Wait!” You said, voice sharp and god, you could hear the panic there. 

You couldn’t kiss Steve. You didn’t want to kiss Steve. You shouldn’t kiss Steve. 

But Jake ignored you and the music was turned up a little louder again as the rest of the party lounged on their spaces on the floor, heads turned and tilted to watch you both with interest, and your arms only found Steve’s chest when the door was yanked open and a few sets of strange hands shoved you both in. 

The door closed, a gust of air, a click, the muffled sounds of the party locked away behind wood. It was dark, musty and your foot hit a shoe rack, your back against a bundle of winter coats that had been retired for the summer. 

“M’sorry,” Steve whispered and you knew he was referring to making you stay. You could’ve been half way home by now, trainers scuffing the edges of the sidewalk, fresh air kissing your cheeks. “Didn’t think it would land on you.”

You grunted an unladylike response as your eyes adjusted to the low light, a sliver of warm white coming in from the cracks on the door hinges, letting you see the way the boy was looking at you guiltily. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled ‘cause you really didn’t want to kiss your best friend but you hated the way Steve sounded disappointed at the idea. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep lying to yourself, but you were certain you had another few years in you. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, voice still soft, as if anyone outside of the closet could possibly hear the music and yelling. “S’not like we have to kiss.”

You snorted, chest sore in a way that felt like rejection and you hated how it stung. You looked at Steve, his eyes still on you as he shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, another raking through his hair in a way you knew all too well. He was nervous, agitated. 

“Sorry I’m not Karen Vincent,” you snarked and god, you hated the way you sounded jealous, you hated the way the words burned your tongue but Steve didn’t pick up on it. There was nothing to pick up. “Promise this wasn’t some sort of elaborate cockblocking plan.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, a huff of air that hit your cheek ‘cause he was so close and he was all cheap beer, gummy worms and hair gel. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the boy mumbled but there was a teasing to his voice, a not so serious lilt. 

You pressed your fist into his arm anyway, a hardly there punch that packed no heat and he poked his finger into your side in retaliation. You swatted at him, glaring ‘cause he knew you were ticklish and all the movement sent an empty shoe box hurtling down from a shelf above you both. 

“I do not cockblock you,” you pouted, almost offended. 

“Not on purpose.” Steve snorted, “Took me all of freshman year to get everyone to believe you weren’t my girlfriend.”

You scrunched your nose at the memory of it, boy’s catcalling you from afar, whispers when you and Steve walked to school together every morning, the unappreciative glares from the girls who wanted him instead. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled again. “How long left?”

“It’s only been like, a minute, jeez, that bad being stuck with me princess?” Steve’s voice was teasing and his hand snuck out to grab at your waist again, touch familiar, but his fingers were tickling, poking gently at the spaces between your ribs and you wriggled against him, knees bumping off of skis and old bikes. 

“Yes,” you lied and the boy knew, ‘cause you could see the way the light through the crack lit up the curve of his grin. 

“Besides, we’ve kissed before,” Steve suddenly said, cautious and soft. His hand was still on you, cupping your elbow to hold you near and it slid down to grasp your wrist. He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Remember?”

You warmed at the memory, wondering why on earth Steve had to bring it up now when you had both never mentioned it since.

“Of course I do,” you huffed, hating the way you sounded bothered. “It wasn’t that long ago. And it hardly even counted.”

Steve scowled, his hurt puppy expression painted across his features. Big, brown eyes set you in place with a stare. “It did so count,” he grumbled, “you were my first kiss.”

“And you were mine,” you fired back, as if this was suddenly an argument that you had to win. Steve always let you win.

“Have you kissed anyone else?” His voice was full of curiosity, void of any embarrassment, not like the way you felt when he asked you such questions. 

It made you flush, eyes wide and lips parting, as if you weren’t supposed to say, as if you weren’t supposed to let him know. Steve had told you about his kiss with Lucy Greeves, behind the bike shed, a few months back. 

He’d told you it was wet and she tasted like the chocolate milk she’d had at lunch. You remembered how he’d thrown himself into your pile of teddies and pillows at the foot of your bed, expression thoughtful as he told you he didn’t really like chocolate milk all that much. 

Then there was Samantha Duncan the year before, a game of truth or dare at the skatepark when the sun started to set and your curfews got a little later. You didn’t watch when Steve leaned into the middle of the circle, friends giggling as he pressed his lips quick to the other girls. 

“Just Miles Campbell,” you muttered, gaze lowered and set on the floor because you could feel the mischief bristle off of the boy as you spoke.

“Miles Campbell?!” He crowed, voice boisterous and no longer quiet. “He’s a giant, what did you do, climb a step ladder- ow!”

You pushed at Steve’s shoulder, face aflame. “Shut up! If you have to know, Harrington, we were sitting down.” You sounded haughty, but you didn’t care, ‘cause the boy was still laughing. 

Steve settled down, a dopey smile just on his lips and despite his teasing, his eyes were fond. Your sides bumped as he shifted, too close and not enough space in the small closet and you were so, so aware that your gaze was level with the bottom half of his face. 

His lips looked really soft. 

“Was he a good kisser?”

“Why d’you wanna know?”

He shrugged. 

“Thinking about asking him out?” You smirked. “Don’t think you're his type, Stevie.”

“Shut up.” 

There was a knock on the door, a sudden sharp sound that had you both jumping apart and you weren’t even sure when you had wandered that close. 

“Five minutes left, lovebirds!” Jake, voice muffled by the door and the music, called out, sounding way too pleased. 

Steve stared at the door, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and you knew he was thinking about something. He only hesitated a little before he knocked a foot into yours, catching your gaze and he spoke as if he wanted to get the words out fast, before he could stop himself. 

“Was he, though?” Steve asked again, voice quieter this time, almost unsure. He looked nervous, “Miles?”

You stared at him, maybe for a beat too long ‘cause the tips of his ears were turning red and he coughed, a little awkward. You made the same strangled noise, shoulders shrugging.

“I mean, sure,” you whispered, “I guess? He was… it was fine.”

You weren’t overly sure if the darkness was playing tricks on you or not, but you could’ve sworn you saw the boy smile.

“He tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” you continued, face warm from embarrassment, ‘cause you suddenly felt like you were sharing too much, even with Steve. “It felt weird, like a dead fish. I didn’t really know what to do.”

“You’ve never made out with someone?” Steve asked and god, you were almost positive he was the only person who could’ve asked you that question without sounding like he was making fun of you. His voice was soft, all fond affection for you that he’d collected over the years and he moved closer, toes touching yours like he knew exactly how to handle you. “Kissed someone like that before?”

“That was the first time,” you squirmed under his gaze, feeling much younger than you were. Were you supposed to have that much experience in making out with someone at fifteen? Did Steve? “I don’t really know if I did it right.”

“Oh,” he breathed and he didn’t sound like he was judging you at all. There was another slow silence, warm and not at all uncomfortable because it was still Steve, and it wrapped around you both like a question. “I could show you. If you wanted.”

The music bled underneath the gap in the door, vibrated against your skin and the drums made your heart drop and stop, thundering to the beat quickly after. You were sure it was the music. You were positive it was the music.

But then Steve mistook your silence for hesitation, a silent ‘no’ and he was already opening his mouth to cover his tracks, to take back the statement, to tell you he was stupid, that he was only kidding.

“I didn’t mean-, we don’t have to… shit, I-”

Four minutes left. 

“Okay.”

You could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, skin warm, cheeks hot, tongue sneaking out to peek between your lips and you wondered if he’d still be able to taste the lipgloss you put on before you left the house. 

“What?”

“Show me.”

He took a step towards you and you watched as the boy tried to keep cool but his ever expressive face gave him away, brown eyes all wide, jaw a little slack and his hand found your waist, a sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt, a place he’d not really touched before.

“Is this alright?” His voice cracked, and he blushed but you didn’t laugh. You never laughed, but you did nod. “Just do what I do, ‘kay? Can I kiss you?”

Was it really that simple, you wondered? But you didn’t get a lot of time to think it over, because as soon as you nodded, Steve was crowding into you more, pressing you into the coats and you still had to press up on your toes to let his mouth meet yours.

It was so different from last time and it was almost the same.

Steve Harrington still tasted like sugar and vanilla, hidden under cheap beer and you gasped when his lips touched yours, the same way you did when you were thirteen. But your hands grasped at his neck, steadying yourself, and he clutched at your waist to help, as if you had both gotten a little older and suddenly knew where to touch.

His mouth was soft over yours, a little hesitant at first, but then coaxing. Your lips slid over his once, twice, three times and then you felt the soft lick of his tongue at the seam of your lips and you remembered the way he’d told you to copy him.

So you did.

Your tongue touched his and your breath hitched with how nice it felt and the kiss moved soft and slow. You grabbed Steve a little harder, body swaying into his in the dark ‘cause your stomach was swooping and your heart was hammering and it felt like you were on the front seat of a rollercoaster, hanging off the edge. 

Maybe Steve felt the same way, despite having more experience, because he gripped you the same way, fingernails leaving little half moon marks on your hips. 

It felt strange, it felt good, it felt warm and it made everything tingle, breath stuck in your throat and a sigh leaving your chest and you felt like you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t, because it was Steve. 

But then voices outside were counting down from ten and they got louder and louder, hands hammering on the door and you both ripped apart before the door swung open, harsh strip lights and the smell of artificial strawberry and natty light swimming back into the closet with you. 

The walk home wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering you and your best friend had had your tongues in each other's mouths. Maybe it’s ‘cause you were still too young, maybe it was because you didn’t realise it yet, but there wasn’t much about yours and Steve’s friendship that would ever be awkward. 

So you followed the yellow lines on the edge of the road home, footsteps a little behind Steve’s and every now and then, the boy would look back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. It smelled like nighttime and summer and everything you associated with the boy, damp grass and leftover smoke from someone's barbecue, chlorine from the pools and you could hear sprinklers in backyards, hissing in the still warm air. 

You were a little late, just over curfew and the television was making your living room glow, the flicker of light coming out from the window. So Steve took your hand and led you through the back garden gate, pool lights leading you both to your patio doors, the rest of the house dark and you could smell lavender and honeysuckle from Steve’s yard.

He helped you find the key to the door, the spare hidden in a plant pot filled with pebbles and moss, one lone rose sprouting from the dirt. Both of your hands fumbled together as your fingers touched, all sudden pink cheeks and lowered gazes and Steve whispered a ‘good night, princess,’ before sneaking back down the lane, hopping over the lower part of the fence and into his own yard.

By the time you had tiptoed upstairs, past your dad who was dozing in the living room arm chair, Steve was in his room, bedroom window across from yours and the lights were still on as he lounged on his bed, shirt off and a baseball clutched in his fist. 

He was throwing it from his hand, watching it fall up and down in the air before catching it again, one arm thrown underneath his head and you couldn’t help but gaze at the muscles there, all new and never really seen before. 

You swallowed, suddenly too warm, the heat from the day trapped in your bedroom and sticking to your skin but you didn’t want to open the window, you didn’t want to alert the boy to your staring. You and Steve had spent nights, weeks, months and years hanging out from the sills, talking over the trailing ivy and flowers and growing below. 

But this felt like something you shouldn't have been doing, especially since you could still taste him on your lips, feel where his hands had burned against your sides, so you pulled your curtains and trapped all these brand new thoughts inside your room with you.

You took them to bed, slipped between the sheets with them and everything smelled like brown sugar and honey, gummy bears and Steve Harrington. 

1984. Killing me slow, out the window, I’ll always be waiting for you to be waiting below.

“Princess, c’mon, every time.”

Steve’s voice was exasperated, laced with something softer and it made swinging your leg over your bedroom window sill a little easier.

You peered down at him, long grass brushing his shins ‘cause no one but you two used that little path that took you out of the back garden gate. He was gazing back up, setting sun brushing his face with gold and caramel, peachy pink clouds in the sky and Steve held his arms out, beckoning.

“You’ll catch me?” You murmured, still unsure, despite this being a well practised escape. 

“Don’t I always?” the boy scoffed, almost offended, but the small edge below your window didn’t offer a lot of footing and you swore the drainpipe was becoming more loose than it used to be. 

“Harrington, I swear,” the threat was empty and it fell idle on your lips when you pushed yourself over the edge, hands gripping at the window frame and feet finding their footing. 

“Don’t second name me,” Steve grumbled and you sensed him moving closer, buttercups and daisy crushed under his sneakers as he kept his arms outstretched towards you. “You good?”

You mumbled some noise of confirmation, knees bent and ready to drop. You hated this part, and weirdly, it got harder as you got older, limbs stretched, body heavier, no longer small and quick to scramble up tree branches and out of windows.

“Steve?” You couldn’t really see behind you, the soft summer breeze picking at your hair and blocking your view of the ground below but you lowered yourself as much as you could, fingers too warm and slipping against the window frame.

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

So you let go, the short drop softened by the boy’s hand catching at your waist and pulling you against him, your back to his front and he held you there, ankles swishing in the damp grass. 

Steve was all hard muscle and cologne, arms stronger than they had ever been, tanned from the summer and wrapped tight around you, hands pressed into the skin underneath your breasts. He let you go when you found your feet, white chucks soaked by the evening dew and you blew out a breath and set the boy with a stare. 

“We have front doors, you know,” you watched him grin at you, wide and bright and so familiar. “Why do we have to do this?”

“S’more fun,” the boy answered and he landed a firm smack to your ass when you bent over, fingers tugging at your laces. “Nice shorts princess.”

“Fuck you,” you squeaked, cheeks warm and you reached out to do the same, plan connecting with the denim of his jeans and Steve laughed before groaning a little dirty and exaggerated. “You’re such a dick.”

He spun you both, feet leading you backwards towards the garden gate, clumsy between the flowers and he grinned, wolfishly. 

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Steve,” you tried to sound huffy, as if you weren’t impressed by his jokes but you sounded flustered instead and you hated how the boy knew it.

But he never said anything, never commented on the flush across your chest or the way your tongue snuck out to wet at your lips, he never poked fun. He just always watched with knowing eyes and a soft smile you could never discern, and kept on teasing you. 

“Y’know it’s better if my dad doesn’t see me leave,” he finally answered, fingers bullying the lock, almost rusted shut from years of only being used by both of you. “I get asked too many questions and I give answers he doesn’t like and suddenly I’m back in my room filling out fuckin’ college applications for the eighteenth day in a row.“

A pang of sympathy hit your chest and before you could tell your friend that you understood, you sympathised, he was placing a warm hand on the space between your shorts and your shirt, guiding you out the gate. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” you grumbled good naturedly, “I could meet you out front like a normal person.”

“Fuck off, we both know you love jumping into my arms as much as I love catching you.”

You couldn’t remember when you started flirting with your best friend, or when he started flirting with you. You couldn’t pick a place or time when it began, or who did it first. But you were both eighteen and more appreciative of all the strong lines and muscles, the soft curves and different ways you looked at each other. 

It would be a comment, a sly remark, a hand touching too close to areas yet to be discovered, a wink, a hug that went on for a beat too long. 

Nothing had happened, not really, not since the closet at Karen Vincent’s party, but everyone at school called you Steve Harrington’s girl and the boys you hooked up with in the backs of cars always pulled away mid kiss to ask if you were definitely single. 

It was all fun and teasing, familiar touches with a familiar boy, sprawled together in the same bed you’d shared with him since you were twelve years old. Except now there wasn’t as much space between you both, limbs longer, bodies taller, leftover alcohol soaking into your heads in the mornings that you woke up wrapped around each other. 

You would pretend you didn’t feel how hard he was, morning wood pressed into the small of your back, the curve of your ass and Steve wouldn’t comment when your shirt had rucked itself up your ribs in the middle of the night, too much showing to be decent. 

It was enough to keep you both on your toes, the close friendship teetering over the question of what if? Could we? Should we? Will we?

Steve didn’t hide the way he looked at you, affection always strong in his brown eyes, hands soft and face fond when he picked a wildflower off the garden wall, tucking it behind your ear but there was always a linger over your bare legs, the way the hem of your shorts cut high on your thighs, the way they pinched in at your waist and made your shirt ride up your ribs. 

The roller rink was busy as expected, ten o’clock on a Saturday night and filled with teenagers looking for something and someone to do. The kids of the day had long left and the lights were dimmer, the whole hall darker with flashes of red and aquamarine, bubble gum pink and candied lilac that flashed across the floor and faces. 

The disco ball twisted in the middle and it sent rainbows and reflections across the walls, painted Steve’s face in technicolour and you gave his cheek a little pat as you took off, wheels spinning you backwards, music thumping in your chest. 

He smiled at you, knowing, brows raised as he took a seat on the tables that lined the roller rink, crowded by the friends you’d found from school, flasks pulled from pockets, clear liquid dumped into red and blue slurpees.  

“Where you goin’ princess?”

You did a little spin, already warm from the sticky air, summer leaking in and slipping between the people skating and dancing, bodies too close. Your foot found the rink, hands leaning on the barrier wall as you sent Steve a wink, your cherry glossed lips widening in a smile that was borderline salacious. 

“To find someone to play with.”

The boys surrounding Steve whooped and hollered, cat calls ringing out underneath the music and you could hear the comments directed to Steve, playful intones about how his girl was nothin’ but trouble, and wasn’t he gonna get a pretty thing like you locked down?

But Steve just shook his head at you, playful and exasperated, while he leant back on the bench, waving away his friends remarks with quiet whatever’s and it’s not like that. 

He had nothing to say when you dropped yourself into his lap half an hour later, body warm from skating, face flushed and eyes a little too wide and bright. 

He ignored the whistles from his friends, the knowing glances, the nudges to ribs. ‘Cause you were wrapping your hands around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and your lips were at his ear. 

“There’s some creep followin’ me around,” you whispered, body tense and Steve’s hands, where they’d dropped to on instinct when you sat on him, tightened on the space above your knee. 

“Who?” Steve asked immediately, voice low and it rumbled through you, you could feel it in his chest and his eyes were scanning the crowds, brows pinched together. 

You didn’t look, didn’t turn away from where you’d pressed your nose to his temple, breathing in his cologne, his shampoo, something minty and like the forest. You caught Candance Peterson’s eye from over Steve’s head and you ignored the way she smirked at you. 

“By the lockers,” you murmured and your breath hitched just a little when Steve wrapped one arm around you, holding you closer to the other hand sliding it’s way between your bare legs, fingers curled around your thigh possessively. “Red shirt, bad hair.”

Steve snickered ‘cause he found him, a guy with an overgrown mullet and beady eyes, hanging by the lockers and benches. He was staring at you, watching the way you draped yourself over your best friend and Steve raised a hand, wiggling his fingers to show that he’d seen him. 

“He didn’t try anythin’, did he?”

You shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against Steve’s cheek ‘cause you refused to move any further away and you knew the boy didn’t mind. His hand was back on your leg, thumb stoking circles on the inside of your thigh and it took everything you had not to squirm in his lap. 

“Nah, just asked too many questions, told me he was wondering why a ‘pretty little girl’ like me wasn’t with her boyfriend,” you scrunched your face as you spoke, lips twisted. “Told him that my boyfriend was right over here.”

It wasn’t the first time you or Steve had used each other to slip away from some unwanted attention. Steve was just tall enough, just broad enough to warrant a second glance, too drunk boys weighing up their options when you snuck under your best friend's arm, wondering if they could take him. 

They usually gave up, watching with a sneer as your pressed your body into Steve’s, his hands taking advantage of your little role play game and he’d let his palm take a slow wander over the curve of your ass, a tight squeeze, a light tap and you’d dig your fingers into the spaces between his ribs for it, his laugh huffing guilty onto your neck. 

You found that you could be just as intimidating, Steve seeking you out at parties when girls from out of town got a little too much, a little too eager and kept trying to touch the hair that he spent too much fucking time styling. The boy would sneak up behind you, arms around your waist as he pulled you back against him and used you as the cutest human shield he’d ever seen. 

The sight of you in Steve’s arms usually stopped his admirers in their tracks, his lips pressed to the top of your head, smile hidden in your hair as you set them with a look that Steve said could make grown men cry. . 

“Oh you did, did you?” Steve drawled, “did you tell him I was the prettiest one out of the bunch?”

You snorted, a sound that always made Steve grin and you loved the way his arms tightened around you. Your position on his knees gave you an inch or two of height on him, a little taller, just for a change. You pulled back enough so you could gaze down at him, lashes lowered and face overly thoughtful. 

“I don’t know, Stevie,” you pondered, all faux heavy sighs, teasing and fluttering lashes. “Danny’s starting to look real cute since joining the team-”

“You shut your damn mouth,” Steve interrupted, voice huffy but he was still smiling despite himself. He took a second to watch the way a refraction of light from the disco ball travelled over your cheek, lighting up the new summer freckles there before it dipped into your Cupid’s bow. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “We both know you think I’m the hottest guy he- oh, shit. Your friend is coming over.”

“What?” You barked out and your voice sounded strangled. You turned to see that Steve was right, the guy in the red shirt was making his way through the gathering crowds, weaving through the busy tables towards you both, his gaze set on you and another question posed on his lips. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Steve was already shifting underneath you, arms hooking under the backs of your knees and you knew he was ready to deposit you on the chair next to him, eyes searching for a fight. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked instead. 

“Shit, what?” The boy’s response was garbled, words tumbling over each other as he stopped his movements and looked at you wide eyed. “Princess-”

You sighed, impatient, a hand clutching at Steve’s chin, tilting his face up to you so you could catch his gaze, the question asked again with just your eyes. A silent exchange, a secret language only you two knew. You watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, eyes heavy, dropping to your mouth and you waited, a second, maybe two and then fuck, he nodded, barely perceptible. 

You crushed your lips to his, swallowed the moan that Steve immediately gifted you, fingers pushing into his jaw and sighing at the way his  hand on your back dropped to the waistband of your shorts, fingertips desperately seeking the warmth of your bare skin. 

It was different to the kisses you had shared before, ‘cause fuck, now you both knew what you were doing and you had almost as much experience under your belt as Steve had. You knew boys liked it when you got a little bossy, hands on their jaw and thumb on their bottom lip, telling them to part their lips for you. You knew they liked it when you sighed all sweet and pretty, hips squirming in their hands, fingers pulling at their hair. They told you that you tasted like cherries, something sweet and tart and like dirty secrets. 

Steve seemed to like it too, ‘cause his tongue was sweeping past your lips, kissing you dirtier than he should’ve for such a public setting and you could hear your friends rippling in excitement around you. 

You pushed your thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he obeyed like you thought he would, parting his lips between yours and groaning into you. It was all teeth and tongue, hot hands on bare skin, hair between fingers, threading and pulling and you wondered how you could still taste vanilla, hidden in his lips underneath blue raspberry slush. 

You liked the way he held you to him, a little too tight, a little more possessive than he’d ever been with you before. Because growing up with Steve Harrington was all protective hands, glares sent to boys who deemed not good enough, rides home from work and gentle hands taking that one drink too many from you at parties that went on too late. 

This was different, this was personal, this was a touch that screamed mine mine mine and it kinda hated the way you knew you’d think about it later, back flat in your bed, sheets kicked to your ankles and your hand pushed down the front of your shorts. 

Maybe Steve would do the same you thought, maybe he already had, you wondered. And images of Steve with his hand flat to the shower tiles flashed through your head, body wet, hair soaked, lips parted and his other palm fisting himself to the thought of you. 

It was suddenly too much and you needed air more than you needed Steve. Your lips left his and the sounds of the rink came rushing back, like you’d pushed your head out from underwater. There was suddenly music, the score of wheels on wood, the siren of a pinball machine, ice clattering into cups from behind the bar. 

Someone amongst the group let out one, long whistle and people tittered and god, it should’ve made you blush. 

It should’ve. 

It didn’t. 

You simply stood from Steve’s lap, his hands still on your waist and guiding you to your feet until you could push your hair back from your warm cheeks, feeling only slightly scandalised when your friends all started but you kept your eyes on the boy. 

You licked the taste of him from your lips, raspberry and sugar and something that you were now beginning to learn was just Steve. His cheeks were tinted pink, lips glossy from yours and his brown eyes were considerably darker, his finger trailing away from yours in a way that made you think he didn’t wanna let go. 

But you cleared your throat the same time he did, only a little wobbly on the eight wheels that held you up and he grinned when you coughed out a laugh. 

“That worked,” you told him, watching as the guy with the bad hair swung the door open, leaving without looking back. 

“Huh,” Steve murmured, “how ‘bout that.”

—————

He didn’t say anything when the lights started turning back on, when the disco ball stopped spinning and people handed back their skates. Steve just found you on the benches, pressed shoulder to shoulder with your friends and he caught your eye from the door, another secret conversation that started with a quirk of a brow and ended with a tilt of a chin. 

You said your goodbyes and followed the boy out the building, watching as Steve placed his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the empty parking lot, fingers twisting and playing together until you hit the main road and it was normal, it was familiar, it was Steve. 

He decided he was staying with you that night, mumbling an excuse about not facing his dad in the morning, how your bed was comfier and your mom made the best waffles but you didn’t need any convincing. 

So you snuck into your house, unnecessarily quiet ‘cause your dad was still up watching TV and your mom was in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book and they barely looked at the boy who was following you up to your bedroom, nothing more than a “night, kids,” called out into the hallway. 

You lay side by side with the boy, half dressed and with too much bare skin on show, Steve’s shirt on the floor, your shorts almost indecent around your thighs. 

It was the first time you thought that something else might happen, legs brushing against legs and hips bumping together as you tried to get comfortable, the burn of the others lips still on your own. 

But nothing did and you were starting to wonder if anything ever would. 

1985. And it’s new, the shape of your body.

It didn’t matter that it had been a Wednesday, it was the first day in weeks that you and Steve had managed to get the day off together and you were both planning on making the most of it. 

It’s why the boy woke you up early, a rucksack already in his hand as he walked through your patio door, left open for that very reason, the rest of the house empty as your parents went to work. 

You’d been surprised at how softly he’d woken you up, fingers prodding gently at the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your pillow, eyes hidden with sleep mussed hair and one leg bare and kicked out from beneath the sheets. He grinned when you grumbled and he took your sleep warmed spot when you finally dragged yourself out of bed and into a shower. 

Steve barely looked away when you reappeared in just a towel, almost too short to be decent and when you turned to your dresser to pull out a swimsuit and clothes, his eyes dipped to the backs of your legs, thighs on show, tanned from the August sun, a small freckle there he’d never seen before. 

“You said you were gonna set an alarm, princess,” Steve teased, head pushed back into your favourite pillow and if he realised it smelled like your shampoo and peach scented body wash, he didn’t say. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Jesus, give me peace, Harrington,” you grumbled, voice still thick with sleep and the summer air was slipping through your open window and it made you move slower than you wanted to. “Turn around.”

Steve did as he was told, face crushed into your sheets and a grin on his lips ‘cause he heard the soft thump of your towel hitting the floor, the shuffle of clothes sliding across your skin. He knew you were winding him up, taking that little game you both blamed to a new level, another limit, because there was no fucking way a girl that looked the way you did, didn’t know what she was doing.

Steve heard the snap of a bikini strap, the rasp of denim shorts over long legs and when you told him he could look once more, he turned around in time to see a flash of cherry red, a swimsuit that hid little, covered by the way you pulled a white shirt over your head. 

You pushed a pair of Ray Bans onto your nose, a little too big and stolen from Steve a few summers before. You grinned, knowing, and held out a hand. 

“C’mon pretty boy, let’s go.”

Steve took the car, drove it to the outskirts of town with the windows cracked, the summer air blowing in sticky and sweet. You had your feet on the dash, a new bracelet around your ankle, woven with blue and orange thread, a matching one around Steve’s wrist that he tried to protest at but his words were weak and his smile was bright. 

He let you pick the song, cassettes spilling out of the glove compartment as you tried to find the perfect mix for a day like this. There wasn’t a cloud above Hawkins and when you drove past the Burick’s farm, the sunflowers were in full bloom, making the world that flashed past your window bright yellow and the strawberry paddocks made everything smell sweet. 

The roads were quiet and the air still, and you couldn’t see another soul as Steve parked up on the roadside, a dirt corner off of the road leading out of town. You both walked into the wheat fields, long grass towering to your waists as you headed for the tree line. The crops brushed your bare legs, scratched softly against your skin and you could feel Steve behind you the whole time, eyes on you, anticipation growing, warming you like the sun. 

When he ran, you did too, feet a little clumsy and neither of you could see where you were stepping but the peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer air on your face made it better.  You chased after the boy, bag slamming on his back, eyes glancing back at you, looking like the twelve year old with the wild hair you once knew.

Steve didn’t stop running until he hit the patch of trees, legs slowing as the branches became thicker and you slammed into his back with a soft ‘oof,’ cheeks sore from grinning and neither of you thought much of it when the boy took your hand and led you through the thickets.

The trees cleared just before the cliff dropped off, the quarry vast and a pretty green-blue underneath you. The spot was secluded, familiar to you both and a well guarded secret that was kept over the years. You came every summer, secret visits that were just for you and Steve.

You’d been waiting for a day like this for what felt like months. The height of summer, blue skies, the distant buzz of cicadas and your best friend, all to yourself. 

Something told you that Steve felt the same, ‘cause when you chanced a sideways look at him, he was already gazing back, soft smile on his face.c eyes all fond and it made the day seem even warmer. 

It didn’t take long for you both to be stripped to your swimsuits, Steve’s eyes blatantly staring as you slipped the denim shorts down your hips and pulled them down your legs. He didn’t say anything when you stretched yourself out on the blanket beside him, pebbles and grass underneath, the sun beating down from above. 

You liked the way he didn’t shy from you, not like the other boys, like he knew he was yours and you were his, like there wasn’t anyone else to worry about. So neither of you flinched when you pressed yourself to his side, warm bare skin on more warm bare skin, shoulder to shoulder and your feet just reaching where his shins were. 

You tapped a toe to them, snuck a peek at the boy beside you, grinning when you saw him smile despite his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered from behind his sunglasses, waiting for the inevitable. 

“Hey, Stevie?” 

Something in his tummy clenched at the old nickname, usually said with mirth and drag of sarcasm, but your lips were at the shell of his ear and you sounded so soft. 

“Princess.” His voice didn’t hitch at the end like a question, it stayed low, a little hoarse, like a warning. 

‘Cause you were propped onto a elbow now, body leaning into him, your hardly concealed chest pressed into his bicep and he could feel the tickle of your hair on his arm, against his cheek and you were still so close that he could feel the way you smirked against his ear. 

You pushed the button on your nose to his temple, a head butt that was more affectionate than anything else and you moved suddenly, leaning over him to grab the rucksack.  

When Steve opened his eyes he saw red, that almost orange colour that reminded him of summers and pool days, the freckle below your collarbone that not many people got to see. 

He couldn’t not look at your chest, pushed out towards his face as you stretched an arm, grasping for the strap of the bag, making a little grunting noise as you reached for it. 

Red and tiny straps, sun warmed skin that was a little darker than last month, the summer making you glow. A stretch of stomach, taught as you leaned, close enough to his own that he could feel the warmth radiate from you. Long legs pushed up onto your knees, holding you over him like a treat, like a taunt. 

But then you were pushing yourself backwards to sit, gleeful with the bag in your hands and you were already unzipping it , hand delving into its contents as you muttered to him. 

“Perv.”

It was soft and fond, no heat, no accusation but it still made the boy flush ‘cause that meant you caught him looking but Christ, you were both nineteen and full of hormones - what else was new?

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” he coughed out, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His eyes stayed hooded behind his glasses, wishing the tint of them made him harder for you to read but you knew him better than yourself. Steve knew that too. “You’ll go up a cup size one day.” 

His words hurt no more than your comment had, all light, no sharpness but you smacked at his shoulder all the same, making him grin wide at you. Steve wondered if you knew he thought of you as nothing short of perfect, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to tell you.

But you’d found what you’d been looking for, a little plastic bag filled with a few buds and some papers, a new grinder ‘cause Steve had lost the last one at a party. You wiggled it at him, Eddie’s special weed making the air grow a little more heady, a little more sweet. 

“Wanna get high with me, Harrington?“

And god, wasn’t that a question?

Steve knew you, knew you inside out and back to front, better than anyone else did. He knew how you got after a few hits, a little needy, all touchy and full of affection. The boy had been to enough parties with you to know. You’d find him, a few hours in, coming out of seemingly nowhere, face flushed and eyes glassy. 

It didn’t matter who he was talking to, who he was with, what he was doing, you’d me on him in seconds, a ball of heat that smelled like his favourite perfume and the inside of Eddie Munson’s trailer, arms around his neck and face pressed to his chest. 

You’d drop yourself into his lap, press messy kisses to his cheeks and giggle all soft when he tried to question you on your whereabouts, if you felt okay, if you’d drank enough water. 

By now, it wasn’t really a surprise to know the entire town still thought you were dating. But he stopped refuting it as much, almost preferring the way that boys kept their distance from you when he was around. He didn’t mind the way you curled into him, lips glossy and sticky and whispering into his ear. 

He liked the way you hummed happy and whispered a ‘yes’ when you’d had enough - and Steve could always tell - and he told you it was time to go home. It didn’t matter who’s house he took you to, his or yours, both were home. 

So god, wasn’t that a question?

“I’m driving princess,” Steve murmured instead of everything he wanted to say. 

‘Will you hold onto me, if I do? Will you crawl into my lap and look at me in that way that you do? Will you put your hands in my hair and tell me I smell good? Will you touch me like I’m yours? Will you touch me like you’re mine?’

But he didn’t. 

“Not until later, Steve, we’ve got all day,” you told him, all smiles and bright eyes.

And you were right ‘cause the morning was still early, the afternoon barely beginning and there were snacks in the bag, water for when it got too hot, a walkman and some mixtapes for when the day got too quiet. 

Steve just smiled and you shook the baggie at him still, a pour on your lips that he could never really learn how to say no to. 

“Roll for me anyway?” You asked because you hated it and you weren't very good, and maybe there was something about the way Steve’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, maybe it was the way you liked to watch the tip of his tongue slide slick along the edges of the papers. 

Maybe. 

So Steve because he couldn’t say fucking no to you and that’s how you found yourself back on the blanket, legs stretched out under the heat of the sun, smoke in the air and everything a little more hazy than it was before. 

It could’ve been the weed that made you do it, maybe you could’ve even blamed it on the sun, messing with your head and your heart but Steve would never have believed your excuses, ‘cause when you suddenly sat up and swung a leg over his lap, he didn’t look surprised at all. 

His hands fell to your thighs instinctively, more than ready to press his palms onto your bare thighs, the high cut of that damn bikini showing more skin than was necessary and Steve swallowed hard from where he lay under you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“Princess.”

There it was again, that tone, the low way he said your name, rough like a warning, soft like he was asking for something. 

It almost sounded like please, you realised. 

You placed the joint between your lips instead of answering, the end of it burning amber and you inhaled softly, hating the way the smoke burned your lungs but loving the way it made you feel. But that could’ve been Steve’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as you tilted your head back, neck exposed, blowing smoke to the sky that was still cloudless. 

When you gazed back down at your best friend, his jaw was slack, eyes glassy behind his Ray Bans and you smiled, way too shyly for the stunt you’d just pulled. You took the glasses off his face, wanting to see him, all of him and you held the joint between you, brows raised. 

“Want a hit?” 

The boy nodded. 

He expected you to hold the roll up to his lips, let him take a drag from between your fingers as you sat happily on his lap. 

Steve didn’t expect you to take another draw from it, smoke held between your lips, eyes hooded as you leaned down and into him. Your hands found purchase on the blanket on either side of his head but you were still chest to chest. You didn’t talk, couldn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. You just nudged your nose on Steve’s and he tilted his chin towards you, hands tight on your sides like he was holding on for dear life - and oh my god, he felt like he was - before he parted his lips for you and you let go. 

Smoke blew gently from your lips to his, top lips just grazing, the movement accidental but neither of you apologised, neither complained. And when Steve held the hit there, in his chest, seconds ticked by like a countdown to something dangerous, to something explosive and on his wrecked sounding exhale, he pushed both of you up, a little frantic as your hips settled into the dip of his more. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You asked it softly, like you were telling a secret, like you didn’t wanna admit it, like you were scared Steve was gonna say no, but the boy didn’t answer you at all, not with words anyway.

His mouth was on yours before you could finish talking and you both groaned at the contact. Blindly, you stubbed out the roach on the ground beside you, ashes rubbing into gravel and sand before your hands found purchase on Steve’s face. 

It was a kiss you hadn’t shared before, a kiss that was messier than the others, a kiss that lacked the control the others had. 

It was a kiss that usually led to something more, hands wandering in someone’s back seat, mouths on necks, voices whispering dirty things in the last row of the cinema. 

It was something you hadn’t felt with your best friend before. 

It was hot and dirty and fast, his hands on your neck, your jaw, fingers splayed into your hair and his thumb tugging greedy at the corner of your bottom lip, desperate for you to open for him, so he could lick into you. 

It didn’t help that you were both lacking so much clothing, too much bare skin pressed against each other, chest to chest and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

It was too easy to roll your hips, to whine into Steve’s mouth at the way he let out the dirtiest, prettiest noise for you. It made you want to do it again, it made you wanna thread your fingers into his hair and tug. 

“Steve.”

He thinks that’s what broke him, the way you said his name like that, soft and whimpered, like you fucking wanted him, like you needed him. The boy was sure he’d never been that hard in his life, your ass pressed into his lap, his hands wandering over the slope of your lower back, sliding over your bikini pants, fingers toying with the tiny sides of them. 

Steve thought about all the things he wished he was brave enough to say to you. ‘Are you mine? Do you know I’m yours? Do you know I always have been?’

But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the courage, couldn’t find the willpower 

 to drag his lips from yours, not unless it was to press his mouth to your neck instead, to suck and bite a little bruise there that said what he couldn’t with words. 

Mine. 

You don’t know how it ended, you barely remembered how it had started but as the night leaked in and made the quarry glitter, Steve was smoothing a hand over your hair, messy from his tugging, as you pulled your shorts back on. 

He’d packed up the bag, shrugged his T-shirt back over his chest, lips as kiss bitten as yours, skin warm from the sun and you. It felt like there was so much to be said, it felt like nothing at all. A natural occurrence, an almost yearly event, something cosmic, something magic, like a meteor strike, like a new planet being discovered. 

You got to kiss your best friend and Steve got to kiss his and it simply felt like you were both one step closer to where you were both going to end up. You were so sure it was with him, but maybe that was just the whispers of your moms, voices hardly quiet as they gushed by the Harrington’s pool summers ago, talking about how their kids were something special together, how sometimes soulmates did exist. 

So it didn’t feel awkward when Steve swiped a stand of hair from your cheek, took your hand in his and pressed one more kiss to the top of it before letting go, stepping back for another summer, until one of you - or both of you - were finally ready to say what needed to be said. 

It wasn’t going to happen that day, but it felt closer than ever. 

And when he drove you both home, Steve didn’t tut at you for putting your feet on the dash, in fact, he smiled all soft the whole drive back into Hawkins, past the same wheat fields, the water tower, the sunflowers and fruit fields that made the night smell sweet. 

It was dark when you both snuck in through the back garden gate, Steve’s patio light still on and there was smoke coming from the little fire pit by the pool, gentle chatter and laughter from where both of your parents sat with glasses of wine. Leftover dinner dishes and empty plates sat on the wooden table and neither couple were surprised to see you both. 

You didn’t know that your parents watched the way Steve stood tall behind you, always in reach, an open hand just hovering by your side as if he was always ready to catch you. You didn’t know that his mom would smile at you, watching the way you watched her son, cheeks sore with a grin she’d never tire of seeing. 

Even Steve’s dad would shake his head, fond, making everyone titter and the pair of you blush as he asked accusingly, “and what have you two been up to all day?”

You wondered if they could see the way you flushed in the dark, if they saw the swell to Steve’s bottom lip from the way you’d been greedy with it, if they noticed the pretty lilac bruise that should’ve hopefully been hidden by your shirt. 

But it was okay. ‘Cause you felt Steve warm and solid at your back, his chest pressed against you and the leftover taste of him and smoke on your lips. The air smelled like honeysuckle and chlorine, fresh lavender and basil from a dinner you’d missed and the back garden gate was still swinging on its hinges. 

1986. And I scream, “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Steve fucking hated Chris Maxwell. He’d disliked the guy in high school, always running his mouth and exaggerating his lacrosse wins, the girls he got with, the drugs he managed to score. He had the same car as Steve, the same BMW in a shitty puke green colour and he drove it like an idiot.

He hated him even more when you started dating him.

 You’d dated guys before, shit, Steve had had his fair share of girls over the years too. Nothing ever serious, nothing that meant all that much ‘cause the girls he brought to parties and basement hang outs took one look at you and tried to make him choose. 

Steve always chose you.

You’d dated less, Steve had always noticed, shying away from unfamiliar attention, choosing to kiss and run after the party was over, no numbers exchanged, no dates to be had. You’d always scrunched your nose at him and evaded the question when Steve asked, murmuring something about how it wasn’t worth the hassle.

It’s why Steve had been so surprised when you were dropped off one day by Maxwell, in his snot green car with his stupid smarmy smirk. Once became twice, twice became three times and before you both knew it, you were lounging at the bottom of Steve’s bed one day as he sat at his desk and you were shrugging.

“Uh, yeah, I guess? Maybe he is my boyfriend?”

Steve remembered coughing out a laugh, because, how could you not know?

But you were being picked up and dropped off by the boy on numerous occasions and Steve quickly grew tired of watching him try and eat your face in his front seat. But only two months had passed before things seemingly grew tired and sour, your face twisting in a veil of annoyance when you heard his car horn blast from the street.

He never got out of the car to knock on your door, Steve had noted, never walking you up the path at night to see you safely inside. Steve was sure the last straw came on the day he was already in your living room, hands clutching the casserole dish that his mom had sent him to borrow. You’d rolled up, the stupid vomit coloured car catching the curb as it squealed to a stop, music blasting from the inside and your dad mirrored Steve’s expression as the two men stood at the window.

Noses scrunched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like that little punk,” your dad had grumbled.

“Same,” Steve had answered and the two of them were oblivious to the way your mother grinned behind their backs. 

But Steve had watched you storm out, car door slamming as Chris leaned over to the open window, yelling something about coming back and let’s talk about this honey!

You’d ignored him and Steve had walked home feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.

He still didn’t expect Chris to come sneaking into his back yard one evening, when the town was quietening down, when the fireflies came out and the sun made the sky streaky with pink and peach and lilac.

Steve had been propped against the wall of his house, just beside the back garden gate, hidden in that little lane that no one seemed to use. The space that smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the place that grew a little wild and reminded him of you. There was more ivy on the wall that year, growing more untamed than it ever had and it made Steve smile to see that it was crawling up the side of your house too, almost to your bedroom window. 

A cigarette hung from his lips, a bad habit he hadn’t picked up since he was seventeen and easily persuaded but work was shit, his dad was nagging at him about reapplying for colleges and he hated that he’d hardly seen you in a week. 

And the reason why was creeping through the gate, shoulders hunched and eyes alert. Chris had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve, a scowl on his face as he snarled at him accusingly. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve rolled his eyes, cigarette still wet between his lips and it moved as he replied, his words an annoyed mumble. 

“This is my fuckin’ garden, dickwad. You went through the wrong gate.”

It took the boy a moment to realise his mistake and instead of apologising, or admitting to it, he turned and continued to glare at Steve. 

“S’your goddamn fault I’m sneaking around anyway, Harrington,” Chris hissed, his eyes already seeking out your bedroom window across from them. 

It was ever so slightly cracked, curtains shut and blowing in the breeze but Steve knew you kept it open so you could smell the honeysuckle you loved so much, so that you could hear Steve if he opened his window across from you, to whisper into the night. 

It had been a long time since you shared secrets and stories across the garden gates, but old habits die hard and Steve kept his open for the very same reason. 

“My fault?” Steve snorted, an offended and somewhat dramatic hand pressed to his chest. He kicked off of the wall, cigarette throwing smoke into the air and he exhaled, smirking when some of it blew into Chris’ face. “And what the fuck did I do, Maxwell?”

“Everything’s always about you!” The other boy burst out, without much preamble, “whole fuckin’ relationship revolved around you, you’re all she talked about and then she tell has the nerve to tell me that she’s breaking up with me.”

Steve looked at Chris with raised brows, cigarette held lightly between a finger and his thumb, the top of it still burning in the dim light. 

“Is that so?” Steve took a drag, tried to keep his heartbeat steady, tried not to smile. “Had nothin’ to do with the way you spoke to her like shit and was always demanding stuff, no?”

The boy levelled Steve with a stare, nostrils flared and hands shoved in his pockets. “Of course she tells you fucking everything.”

“Of course she tells me fucking everything,” Steve repeated, emphasis on every word as he glowered at your ex, brows furrowed and fist clenched by his side. “And what’s it to you if she does-”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The two boys looked up, one grinning, the other desperate at the sight of you, hanging out your open window. 

Steve held up a hand in a way, features perfectly amicable as he beamed.

“What are you doing here, Chris? There’s a reason I’ve not taken your calls,” you sounded bored, tired and the boy had barely begun to answer before you’d already moved onto Steve. 

“Honey, please, I’m begging you can we just ta-”

“Steve, are you smoking? Again? Really?” You tutted, elbow on the window frame as you looked down at him with a soft pout. 

“My bad, princess,” but the boy was grinning, not looking very sorry at all ‘cause Chris was silently fuming beside him. “Stressful times, y’know?”

He took another long drag, blew the smoke out above the other boy's head and continued smiling that bright grin. Steve looked up at you again, head tilted as he gestured to your ex and squinted against the sun that was starting to set behind your roof. 

“Want me to take out the trash for you?”

His words earned him a shove, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he barely stumbled against the other boy's hands. But before Steve could retaliate, you were calling down in a voice Steve knew you reserved for telling him off when he got too drunk, when he pushed your buttons a little too much. 

“Hey! Chris! Jesus, quit it!” You were leaning out of the window more, sleep shirt hanging off of one shoulder and a pucker between your brows. “Just go, okay? We’ve already spoken about this, I’m not interested.”

“See, this is what I was fuckin’ talking about,” Chris hissed, low enough so only Steve could hear and Steve didn’t know how to reply. 

Quiet wrapped around all three of you, the distant trickle of the pool, the muted buzz of Steve’s television from his living room and eventually, a strangled curse from your ex boyfriend's lips as he shouldered past Steve and swung the garden gate open, the wood hitting the brick. 

Steve tried not to grin as he looked back up at you, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his brown eyes glittering. The sunset made you both rosy, a sunbeam stretching across the side of your house, lighting up the bricks and you. 

“He seems touchy.”

“Shut up, Harrington,” you knew Steve heard the smile in your voice, the affection in the roll of your eyes. “You coming up?”

And then you disappeared, ducking back into your room and sliding the window closed with a click. 

Steve didn’t realise your parents were out until he walked over the empty driveway, the sun lowering itself into the line of trees across the street, the sky turning lavender, the moon making an appearance. He didn’t knock, just walked in through your front door, shoes toed off by the porch before he jogged up the stairs. 

Your door was already open and he found you lazing on your bed, sheets ruffled and the lights off, just the leftover sun trickling in through the open curtains and the crystals you hung at the windows sent rainbows scattering across your walls. 

Some of them fell across your bare thighs where you lay, stomach down, legs in the air in a pair of shorts that were hardly seen from underneath the huge shirt that you wore. Another streak of colour landed on your face, fluttering as the crystal spun on their chains, dancing in the last of the light. 

Steve wanted to kiss it, to see if the pretty shades on your cheek made you taste any sweeter than he already knew.

“You didn’t tell me you broke up,” Steve said and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, just genuine curiosity, soft and gentle. 

He fell onto the bed beside you, made the mattress dip as he shelled into your pile of pillows at the opposite end from where you lay. He pushed a socked foot into your side, digging in at the spaces between your ribs and making you squirm. Steve caught a smile, spread on your lips just for him and you twisted to bat him away, not surprised when his hands found yours and tugged. 

You let him pull you beside him, into the mess of sheets and too many cushions, lying so you were facing him, noses a breadth apart, eyes lowered as you spoke, suddenly nervous. 

You shrugged, fingers playing with the edges of a pillow, “just sort of happened, wasn’t a big deal.”

A beat of silence, the boy wondering if that was the truth, if there was something more behind your words, if you were hiding something in the way you refused to meet his gaze. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart pounding against the mattress, if it was echoing loud through your pillow the way he was sure it was his. 

It felt like something was building, like something was coming. Something big, something new, something wild. Like a tropical storm, a bolt of lightning across the town, a flash flood, a hurricane, something to announce that summer was over. 

That time was up. 

“You don’t seem too heartbroken ‘bout it,” Steve hedged, his gaze trained on your hands, the way your fingers picked and played with the cotton between you both. He wanted to take your hand in his, run a thumb across your palm and soothe you. 

“Cant get my heart broken by a guy that never had it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stevie,” you chided gently, teasing, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Always thought he wasn’t good enough for you,” the boy responded, keeping what he really wanted to say hidden behind his tongue. 

“You said that about all the guys I got with.”

A gentle nudge, your hand on his chest, a shuffle closer, breathing the same air, the rainbow on your cheekbone flitting to Steve’s lips as the sun moved down. He watched you chase it with your eyes, gaze soft, looking a little longingly, or maybe he was just hopeful. 

“It’s true.”

A soft hum, a pleased noise, a smile that finally reached your eyes and a hand that fell to Steve’s arm, running down the length of it until your fingers found the cuff of his sweater and played with that instead. 

It was the closet Steve had been to holding your hand for a while and it felt like the beginning of summer again, back to bike rides to the arcade, sticky fingers tips and slurpees that were almost too big to hold. 

“Why’d you break up with him?”

You stopped, fingertips brushing over Steve’s wrist, a pause on his pulse point that told you that maybe he was as nervous as you felt. Your knees bumped his, rough denim on soft skin, the day leaking out of your room as the sun fell behind the treetops and suddenly everything was blue. 

Navy tinted shadows, inky skin, indigo lines of barely there light that turned Steve’s skin lilac and you breathed in, held it, let the burn in your chest for a second or two before letting it back out. 

Summer was leaking away, slipping behind the moon and the night, and you suddenly felt too tired to lie anymore, to pretend. 

“He wasn’t all that happy that I was in love with someone else.”

God, you felt brave. 

Bold. 

Blue. 

Steve didn’t look all that surprised, a flicker of soft realisation over his eyes, no shock, just a gentle breath of ‘it’s time?’

“I can’t say I blame the guy,” Steve murmured, chin ducking to meet yours, foreheads pressed together on the same pillow and his hand found yours, fingers twisted together. “Don’t think I’d be very pleased either.”

“I know,” you told him, gaze trained on the way his lips moved when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know when it happened.”

“No?”

You shook your head, feeling heavier than you had, like you were pulled into the boy and something magic was keeping you there. You could smell lavender and cedar and smoke and Steve. 

“Might’ve been at this party, in someone’s basement. Might’ve been the time I was pushed into a closet and my best friend kissed me.”

“That sounds awful,” Steve mused and the beginnings of a grin were pulling at his lips, “a whole five years, huh?”

“Right? Isn’t that just the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He liked the way you said those words, like it was the opposite, your voice all sunshine and warmth and leftover summer. You were blue skies and honeysuckle, wildflowers and long drives, sleepovers on your bedroom carpet and sneaking out through the back gate. 

“Y’know, I think I’ve got you beat,” said the boy, all faux seriousness as he brought his hand to your waist, palm wide and warm as he pushed at your shirt, bunching it up over your ribs until he could touch bare skin.

“You do?” You felt a little breathless at his touch, a feeling you’d craved since last summer at the quarry, a feeling you’d missed despite knowing you’d get it again soon, eventually. Now. 

“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed, voice teasing, gaze staring at you from between dark lashes. “I once knocked on this girl’s front door, asked her if she wanted to go to the arcade with me and I didn’t even mind when she hogged all the slurpee. I was a goner.”

“I did not!” You laughed, the sound pressed to Steve’s neck ‘cause he was pulling you into him, beaming bright and more carefree than you’d seen him in a while. “Liar.”

“Fell in love with the first girl I ever kissed,” he whispered, cheek pressed against yours as he whispered into your hair, like a secret he was sure you already knew. “How sad is that?”

You shook your head, hands clutched the material of Steve’s shirt, fists to his chest as if he was going to leave. 

“S’not sad at all,” you told him and god your voice was a hush, your lips against the shell of his ear and you felt the breath that he sucked in and held. “Long time to wait though, huh?”

Steve nodded, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he pulled back, seeking you out in the dark of your room, noses bumping. 

“Feels worth it, don’t you think?” 

And god, it did. 

It happened the way summer did. Slow and inevitable, like the gradual pick up of warmth through the year, the way you expected the sun in the morning, blue skies through your window, ice cream for lunch. 

It happened like it was supposed to, like it was meant to, like you’d waited all that time just to greet it with a warm shyness, a coy, “oh, I’ve been expecting you.”

It rolled in like a present, like a gift, like a reward. Like something that the world wanted you both to have, like the universe knew you were supposed to be together. So you shared first kisses between the wildflowers, let the seeds of something more bloom between your ribs, the spaces between your chests and your hearts. You let it simmer in the warm afternoons, burn a little stronger on cliff tops over quarry’s, picnic blankets rough under bare knees and hands in hair. 

“It does,” you breathed, closer to the boy than you had been, noses pressed into cheeks and for the last time, your best friend asked you your favourite question, one that tasted like fresh lemonade and smoke, cherry slurpees and fresh flowers in the air. 

“Hey princess?”

You hummed a response, eyes already closed, lashes brushing at the corners, a small smile playing on the curve of your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You were on Steve before he could finish asking, hands on his jaw, tugging him into you, the hand that he had on your waist tightening its grip as your lips met. 

It felt different than last summer. Slower, deeper, lazier, like you both knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, like you both knew you didn’t have to wait until next year, or the year after. 

Like you both knew that this time was it. 

You moved in the dark of your room together, Steve pushing you back into the plush of your bed, moving over you to hold himself there, chest just brushing yours as one hand found purchase in your sheets, careful not to crush you. 

He caught the leg that you brought up to his side on instinct, desperate to feel more of him, wanting to press into him. Steve’s finger curled under the space behind your knee, hooked there so he could hold your thigh against his hip, so he could move into the space you created for him, body rolling into yours. 

He swallowed the gasp you gave him, kissed away the sigh and the blue of the room seemed a little brighter with his lips on yours. You whined against him until the boy caught on, moving back onto his knees only for you to follow, chest pressed against his and only breaking the kiss for him to lift his arms for you. His shirt hit the floor, yours following suit, all bare skin underneath with some new freckles to find, a trail of summer; water fights, sneaking out and greeting the morning together on the hood of Steve’s car. 

Steve ducked down to meet you, to let you kiss him a little deeper, a little dirtier, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, groaning when you opened for him, hand spanning the width of your back, hips pressed together with intent. 

“I’m fucking desperate for you, y’know that right?” Steve groaned, words sinking into your mouth with every push of his lips against yours and you swore you’d never heard anything prettier. “Always have been, totally gone on you, princess.”

“Steve,” you felt hot with the prick of emotion, tears brimming at your lashes ‘cause it was all too much and not enough, want and longing and need building up, years of looking, of touching and just tasting, searching kisses, useless excuses, never talking about it after. 

And then his hands were back on your legs, palms hooked around the backs of your knees and you were falling together, bouncing off of the mattress, pillows falling to the floor and god, you were crashing into each other. 

It was mixtapes on birthdays, fresh strawberries after swimming, a hand held in the dark after a scary movie, sitting in the yard after dark when the night was still warm and you don’t know how to tell your best friend that you thought they were perfect. 

Your shorts slid off too easily, hips raised from the bed and Steve’s fingers curled into the waistband. He kicked off his jeans with the help of your feet, toes pushed into the denim as he shucked them to the floor. 

Suddenly, there was more skin to touch, to taste, to look at, and Steve took note of every curve he hadn’t seen, every little mole and scar, tan lines in places he always tried not to stare at. 

But he kissed them instead, lips trailing hot over your chest, kisses pressed to the dip of your clavicle, the patch of sunburn on your shoulder and you felt like you had caught the entire months of summer in your chest. 

It all felt a little golden.

But night had crawled in and the shadows were darker, making every touch more intense, every kiss feeling like a confession. Your underwear joined his, piled at the foot of your bed with spilled sheets and pushed pillows and the world fell into silence for you both. 

No buzz or insects, no sprinklers in the yard, no screech of brakes from the street, no yelling from a tv. 

Everything was hushed as Steve spread his fingers over you, a choked gasp at the way he made you feel, a kiss to soothe. He kissed you through it, fingers feeling thick as he slid one and then two inside of you, curling up and searching, face pulled back from your own so he could watch you fall apart beneath him. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, so pretty,” Steve told you and you felt it, you believed him, forehead pressed to his as you gasped out his name, hands wrapped around his biceps as he coaxed you over the edge. “Can you come for me princess? Please?”

You did as he asked, as if you had any say in the matter, crashing and tumbling and falling into him, body tight, eyes clenched shut and lips falling apart in the prettiest moan Steve had ever heard. 

“Oh shit, babe, that’s it, ‘atta girl, princess.”

He pulled your hands from his length when you made an eager grasp for him, not cruel, just desperate. Steve shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, jaw slack and eyes heavy. 

“Babe, if you touch me s’all gonna be over in a second,” he admitted hoarsely and his voice held no shame. 

So you covered him in kisses, flipped your positions from where you lay on the bed and pushed the boy into the pillows instead. You caught his lips on yours, messier now that you’d had a taste of what was to come, mouth leaving gloss over his jaw, down his throat and you felt the vibrations over your tongue when Steve moaned. 

You moved over him, slick and warm, hips pushing into his as you straddled him, making a mess of his boxers and short circuiting his brain as Steve gripped your thighs, touch almost cruel as he held on for dear life. 

You pressed your palms to his chest, dropped yourself down a little so your lips could graze his own, a new kind of kiss, teasing, a whisper that was barely there. 

It promised more to come, it kept him waiting and wanting, made Steve groan out at the realisation that he was entirely yours and god, maybe, just maybe, you were his too. 

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, and his voice was shot, “princess, please, s’not nice to tease a man like that.”

You grinned, filled with a confidence you only ever gained from being near Steve, bolstered by the way he looked at you - all heavy lidded and slack jade, chest and cheeks flushed underneath you. 

“You’ve never complained before,” you murmured back, mouth parted over his, Cupid’s bows touching but never really pressing your lips to his. 

It made you both think back to all the looks, the gazes, the stares filled with longing and wanting and yearning. That same question, asked with uncertainty, with a tumble of nerves, a burst of wonder, over the years until you knew what each other would taste like, until you knew how their lips felt between your own. 

“Vixen,” Steve mumbled and it should’ve been said like an insult, like a curse but his voice was molten honey, sweet caramel and the start of a summer morning. 

“Can I kiss you, Harrington?” The question wasn’t needed, and you were starting to think it never had been, but you loved the way his lips lifted into a soft smile under yours, noses brushing as he nodded, waiting patiently with his hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs. 

Steve made a pretty noise at the back of his throat, a gasp and a moan, a wrecked, “please,” falling onto your lips. 

You kissed him without any worries, without any thoughts of what does this mean for tomorrow? You kissed him like you were greeting summer, like he was the month of June and blue skies, like you could taste peaches and fresh lemonade on his lips, like he held all your secrets behind his teeth. 

He did.

Your harsh pants and soft moans mixed as you moved together, the boy shuffling underneath you as he rid himself of his underwear, boxers kicked to the end of your bed where they’d eventually be lost. 

He took himself in his hand, hard and long, his breath shaky as you slid down, gasping into his mouth as you got yourself seated, tightening around him for the first time. 

Steve whispered your name, soft, sinful, like a prayer, like a praise. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he clasped your face in his hands, fingers splayed across the line of your jaw, over the apples of your cheeks. “M’sorry, it’s just- you’re too much, princess-”

You cut him off with a kiss - a silent ‘it’s okay’ -  hips shifting, rolling over him as you moved, whimpering into his mouth. Steve swallowed your noises, gave you back his own and it wasn’t long before he was rolling you both over. 

His hands found the insides of your thighs first, spreading them so he could fit between, length still inside of you, pressing into all the right places. Palms smoothed up your sides, over the ripples of your ribs, calluses catching soft skin and the feel of it all made you sigh, head tilted back. 

Your hands found his, fingers intertwined as he pressed them back into the pillow below you, chest brushing up against your own as he moved, your legs curled around his waist and it was bliss, it was bright white behind your eyes, it was glitter in the dark, it was a electricity in your bones. 

“Steve,” your voice was a whimper, an almost cry, your hands grappling at his shoulders for purchase as he pushed you into the mattress with thrust after thrust. 

It all felt a little wild, gasping into open mouths, lips barely managing to find the other for a kiss, sliding messy over each other as hands pulled hair and fingers squeezed at arms, at thighs, at waists. 

“I know,” the boy said, sounding just as wrecked as you did, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands under the small of your back, fingers splayed wide so he could lift your hips into his own. “I know, fuck, you close? Please tell me you’re close.”

You answered with a moan, a pitched keen, your fingers tugging the lengths of hair at the nape of the boys neck and he groaned, a deep dirty sound in response and then you were falling apart, a vice around him, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting down on the muscle in his shoulder. 

Your name tumbled from his lips, a holy sound and Steve moved a little messier, his hips stuttering before he pulled out, both of you sighing at the loss, before he spilled onto your stomach with the help of your hand. 

The air smelled like summer and sex and Steve. 

Your pants filled the air, mixing with the boys and the trickle of the pool in the backyard. You lay together, breathless and skin slick, flyaway hairs sticking to your forehead, eyes a little glassy and lips rosy from greedy kisses. 

Steve pressed another to you then, and you were almost dizzy with it. He didn’t ask, neither did you. You didn’t have to. Not anymore. So he kissed you a little harder, tempting pretty sounds from your chest that he chased with his mouth, body still pressed against yours in a way you were sure you’d never grow tired of. 

No one spoke until you were both cleaned and half dressed, bodies lazy across your sheets, the night still too warm to wear anything more than your underwear, chests bare in the dark and pressed greedily to each other. A slow hand brushed across the small of your back as you lay on your stomach, head on the boy’s chest and your fingers carding through his hair. 

Every now and then you’d press a kiss to wherever you could reach: his palm when it smoothed over your cheek, his sternum where you lay, the sharp line of his jaw when you found the energy to tilt your head up. 

Steve responded in kind, his lips on your forehead, the top of your crown, the end of your nose. 

The silence was filled with the wonder of each touch, both of you bursting at the seams as you pressed your mouths to each other without worrying, without asking. 

But then Steve shifted against the pillows, moved until you were over him, chest to chest and your legs in the space between his. You propped your chin on his chest, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him and you hummed in delight when he smoothed hand over your hair, tucking it behind your ear. 

“You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

Heavy words were said so simply, so easily, and you did. You knew. But it still sucked the breath from you, it still made you ache to hear it out loud. 

“Yeah, I do,” you answered, because you did. You knew it from the way Steve looked at you, the way he liked to be near you, to sit a fraction too close. You knew it from the way he shared his slurpees, his car, his bed, his thoughts, his secrets. You felt it in his gaze, his touch, in the way he’d grown with you. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah, princess, I know.”

And it was as easy as that. Simple like summer, inevitable, like the way the month of June rolls in after May. It was expected, like the warmth and the heat, like the sun in the morning and the clear starry skies at night. 

It was an eventuality, a slow burn, a want, a need, a necessity.