it's not funny, it's so funny

It’s dark, but from the window behind you, you can just make out the silhouettes of dusty beach chairs, that old deflated basketball, and right where the board usually sits…there’s nothing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe.

This is bad. Really bad. Someone must have come in and stolen it! Had you left the shed door unlocked? No, you are very careful!

You fly outside like a woman possessed. The sun spears your eyes, and you shade them with your hand as you cast a panicked look around the property.

Everything looks to be in order. The light blue house looms over you, and past the gated deck, a sandy trail leads down to the beach. Even from here, you can hear the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Where could it be? You always put it back. Always.

Replacing that board would cost you half of what you make all summer, and you can’t afford that.

Suddenly, something odd catches your eye. The slatted wooden gate around the back deck is slightly ajar.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re running to investigate. The concrete burns the pads of your feet as you slip through, and turn the corner fast. Too fast.

You freeze as your vision fills with tan skin, broad shoulders, and a hell of a happy trail.

There's a guy in the outdoor shower on the deck.

Naked.

The water smacks the concrete as he tips his head back, letting the streaming droplets fall over the bridge of his nose, over his jaw, catching in his chest hair—

Suddenly, his eyes snap to yours.

Your body turns to stone, even as your heart slams against your ribs.

What the fuck are you doing? Why are you still looking? Stop—

Instead of jerking back in surprise, he just...smirks. His shoulders shift slightly, but instead of away, they turn towards you. Which gives you an incredible front row seat to the muscles flexing in his forearm, and his large hand drifting down his abdomen...

Fuck. He’s hot.

“Hi.”

His voice slams you back into the present.

“Ohmygodi’msosorry—” the words rush out of you like a torrential wave, and you promptly spin on your heel, face burning.

He just chuckles behind you, and you can tell from the direction of his voice, he’s still facing you.

“Lookin’ for something?”

Something about the casual tone of his voice makes your stomach dip.

“What?” Oh I’m—“ You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, wiling your thoughts into words and not just images of that flash of something long and thick and…"I work here. I mean—I work for the Harringtons. During summer break.”

Just saying it out loud reminds you of what you're supposed to be doing, and a rush of dread spreads through your gut at the thought of the missing board.

“So, me,” he says.

You blink. “W-what?”

“So, you work for me.”

His voice is low and even, maybe slightly amused, despite him being fully naked behind you. Why the fuck does that do things to you?

“Wait.” Your eyes widen, staring unseeing at the beach far below. “You’re their son? Steve?”

“Last I checked.”

God, no one thought to tell you that the boy next door was hot as hell, did they?

“I’m just paid to keep an eye on things when I’m not at college,” you explain hastily, tamping down the lust settling low in your gut. “Y’know, make sure stuff stays in working order when you aren’t here.”

Steve hums. “So, what kind of stuff?”

“What?” You squeak. “Y’know…stuff!”

“Stuff like surf boards?”

Shit. You wince. Listening to the uneven slap of the water on the concrete behind you is a kind of torture. Your fingers twitch around the towel.

“I’m s-so s-orry," you stammer after a moment. "Your parents didn’t tell me they were coming home—”

“No, it’s…” Steve clears his throat. “It’s just me.”

“Aren't you supposed to be at college?"

He chuckles, and the warm, throaty sound goes straight to your core.

“It’s summer break. Remember?"

Embarrassment sears through you again, as sharp and hot as the afternoon sun. There's a plastic clicking sound behind you, and then a pleasant smell hits your nose. Like coconut, and sandalwood, and something vaguely familiar. A small soap bubble drifts past your line of sight, caught in the breeze.

It seems he’s still continuing his shower despite you being here. Speaking of which, why exactly are you still here?

You clear your throat, resisting the urge to look back at him. To watch the soap buds crawl down his body, watch his long fingers glide over his thick length...

Yeah, your job is officially over, isn’t it? 

Here you are, losing your boss's expensive property, while entertaining sinful thoughts about their son, Steve Harrington, taking you right here on their back porch.

Oh, God, get a grip!

“Alright," you say with a sharp exhale, "Well, I’ll just—”

“Can I ask you something?” Steve interrupts.

“Um. Yes?”

“You always wear a swim suit to work?”

Your pulse leaps. “What?”

“Didn’t know that was the standard maid uniform these days,” Steve says, smugly.

Irritation flares in you, and you cross your arms, trying to ignore the uncomfortably hot ground under your feet, and the ache building in your core.

“I’m not a maid,” you snap. “And who cares what I wear, you’re the one showering naked in broad daylight!”

Steve laughs. “It’s my house. Besides, I had sand in my swim trunks. Surfing will do that to you.”

Oh. Well, mystery solved. Thank God.

You huff. “Well, good luck with that. I'm going—”

“Will you do me a favor?” He interrupts. Again. “I forgot a towel.”

The nerve of this man.

“Fine,” you groan. “I’ll just go and grab—”

“The one you’re holding would be good."

Right.

When you reach back blindly, holding the towel out to him, you expect the squeak of the water turning off, or the slap of his feet against the wet ground. But none of that happens.

Instead, your outstretched fingers brush Steve's skin.

Your arm wobbles, a gasp caught in your throat as his hand finds your forearm. His fingers are wet, but warm, as he gently turns your wrist until your palm faces down. You stare down at the ground, watching the towel’s shadow shrink as he gently pulls it from your hand. It falls in a heap onto the concrete.

Your heart slams against your ribs. And then—there’s a feather light touch against your knuckles.

Finally, you let yourself peek over your shoulder.

Steve's watching you from under wet lashes, his damp hair falling slightly into his eyes, as he leans down and brushes his lips across the back of your hand.

A gentlemanly kiss. So out of place like this, but...sort of sweet nonetheless.

A shaky exhale leaves your chest, and you stare back at him. The water continues to pour down, droplets glistening in the sunlight like glass beads, running over the moles decorating his broad shoulders.

Steve raises his head, then gives your hand the gentlest of tugs towards him. Just enough to let you know what he wants, but slow and careful enough to give you every chance to pull back.

You recognize it for what it is.

An invitation.

You shouldn't. It doesn't matter that he's stupidly hot. You work for his parents, so you should do the responsible thing and leave right now.

But, you don’t.

Instead, your thighs press together instinctively, and your nipples harden against your swimsuit as you follow his lead.

One step. Then another. Suddenly, you’re right in front of him. Warm mist coats the side of your face as you look up into his eyes.

You’re not sure who moves first, but not two seconds later, his mouth is on yours. Your body reacts on instinct, stumbling into him and gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back. The shower spray pours down your body, making you shiver even as the sun overhead spears through your closed lids.

Steve pulls back a fraction, his hair dripping water over your collarbones.

“You want this, too, right?” he says, breathless already.

God, yes. You answer him by closing the distance again, threading your fingers through his wet hair.

He groans into your mouth, but promptly holds you back again, his large hands settling on your hips.

“Need to hear you say it, sweetheart."

Your breasts heave against his chest hair with every inhale as you try to find your voice.

Why shouldn't you have a little fun with him? You're both obviously into each other, and you’re secluded enough back here. No one around to catch you in the act.

The thrill of it grips you by the spine. Slowly, your eyes drift down his body as he waits for your reply. Steve’s cock stands proud and at attention, thick and long beneath that happy trail that makes your mouth water.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, I-I want this.”

All it takes is one more flash of his brown eyes in the sun before your mouths collide again. Hungrily.

Your knees go weak, but his hands are there, sliding up the curve of your waist. He pushes you gently until the wooden deck wall meets your back and you lean on it, thankful for the grounding presence as all the blood in your body rushes to your clit.

“Little rule breaker,” Steve murmurs. “Running around in this tiny bikini. Stealing my board.”

“I wasn’t stealing it!" you protest, "I was—mmmm.”

Your lashes flutter shut as his tongue glides across your lower lip, your mouth parting on instinct.

God, he tastes good. Like saltwater taffy that’s been left out in the sun.

The steady stream of water coats your hands as you explore his body. He whimpers a desperate sound of approval at your touch, and you dig your nails into the warm muscles of his back when his teeth find your lip.

Your bikini is soaked now, plastered to your curves, and your wet cunt. He pinches your nipple through the fabric, and you immediately whimper, arching into him as his erection brushes your lower stomach.

His cock is silky and hot against you, and the water just adds to the slick grind of your bodies against each other.

“Look at you,” Steve mutters, pulling back to run his thumb across your jaw. “Lips all swollen from just from my kisses…”

Turning your head, you take his finger in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the pad until his eyes darken.

Then, without warning, Steve drops to his knees.

The shower spray pelts his hair, dancing across the freckles on his nose, and you shift to shield him from the droplets just as he reaches up and pulls your bikini bottoms to the side.

His tongue darts over his lips as he looks up at you from between your thighs. “...and I’m not even close to done.”

a/n: did ya'll even recognize my writing without heavy mutual pining & excessive backstory? crazy, I know.