welcome 2 the biting club

but if you’re fine when you’re by yourself then it’s not like it’s something you’re completely unfamiliar with! it’s just like a disconnect between enjoying it by yourself vs. enjoying it with others

honestly i’m sooooo wound tight that sometimes it can be easy to disconnect and not be In My Body to enjoy it- which is why it sometimes feels like same thing as a finger poking your arm in my opinion! like i have to put extra concentration into Relaxing and Feeling it and even then, it doesn’t necessarily help

it is really fucking helpful for me that this man is Very Attentive to me and therefore he’s just constantly trying to figure out how to make it better, with zero pressure to finish or anything (also don’t worry babe, i’ve also not had a partner make me finish, not even this guy!)

i love this blog, i love having the horny outlet, and i love love love getting to talk with you guys :')

this blog seriously took on so much more of a life than i ever thought when i made it back with alice way back when :D

i wrote far more than i ever expected (so much time on the clock lmao), learned a lot, got better writing shorter pieces, caring less about polishing them up, and i received such such lovely interaction with you all in return!! far more than i ever expected!!! seriously this blog got like 150k original notes over the last couple years which is a bananas number!!!!

but :( unfortunately, obligation has overtaken passion :(

i don't think i want to keep letting my anxiety build when i don't post - nor do i want to struggle to grind out only a handful of fics a year. the energy is elsewhere i'm afraid and i would like to release myself from feeling obliged to do something that is, ultimately, supposed to be for fun :)

i will not be deleting or anything ! i intend to keep the blog up as a nice archive :') i may even come back, horny post a bit, and maybe drop a fic if i have the inkling! (no promises tho :D) i'm sorry if you sent me something and i hoarded it in my askbox, never to see the light of day again. i truly did mean to answer all most of them tehe <3

if you ever sent me an ask, ever responded to a question i asked, ever liked, reblogged, replied, or engaged with me through this blog -- THANK YOU!! you are my heart and soul & genuinely what made this blog so good :")))

In a mature response, you stick out your tongue. Then step into the spray, eager to get rid of the sand stuck to you.

Steve joins you quickly and for once, you're not both battling to be the ultimate shower hog because Steve's fancy-schmancy outdoor beach-house deluxe shower is a waterfall shower.

It's tucked away at the back of the house, meant to let your rinse of all the sand, so you don't track it all inside. Rich people stuff, you guess. But well, you're pretty thankful for it now.

It's spacious, but not exposing. The water is warm. You rub down your arms to free them of salt and sand.

"Honey, you're missing some—" Steve says behind you and you turn for a second, before his hands stop you. "It's on your back, lemme get it."

Then there's his hand, large, fingers spread, tracing along your spine. Warmth follows his touch, his hand washing the water back and forth, agitating the sand free.

"There," He says after a moment, his hand stilled. "All done."

You turn with a smile, "Here I am thinking you just wanted a reason to put your hands on me."

Steve's in the midst of letting the water soak into his hair, rivulets running down his face, dripping from his nose. He pushes his hair back and leans out of the stream, shaking some of the water from his face.

"Wow," He says, lips still collecting stray droplets. "Am I that transparent?"

You laugh at his sardonic tone, which makes Steve smile. He spins around, looking over his shoulder. "Get my back too, will ya?"

You oblige, because he did yours and quite frankly, you also would like to get your hands on him.

The shower does most of it, but you can see what he meant — there's patches of stubborn sand, clinging to him.

You reach out and touch his back, fingers gentle, and Steve gives a little jolt in response. It takes a bit of back and forth, your fingertips passing over his skin, to wash the sand off. You trail down to reach the bit still clinging to his waist.

Then, Steve shivers.

You pause — only for a moment — then continue on smoothly.

You're just stroking along the small of his back now, all the sand already swirling down the drain, but just watching keenly. The shower drums against your shoulder, growing ever so slightly cooler, but you don't notice it.

"Think you got it all, honey?" Steve asks, not bothering to turn his head this time.

You grin at the opening, letting your other hand come up to grip his hip gently. "Uhhh, maybe, let me just..."

The touch of your hand drags forward, curling around his midriff to rest at his navel.

Steve jolts again and you see his head tilt down, can hear the twist of confusion in his voice before he catches on.

"Baby, I got all the... oh."

Your hands have slipped a little lower, settling on the edge of swimshorts. The drawstring toys between your fingers.

"Now who's wanting an excuse to puts hands on—put your hands on- put— shit, you know what I mean."

His fumble makes you laugh, your breath fanning across his back. Either way, you know what a greenlight looks like from Steve.

He's not hard in his shorts, but you know it won't take long to get him there. One hand dips down the front of his shorts, feeling the shape of him in small, delicate motions. The other works open his drawstring deftly.

The strings ping apart with a tug. You can feel his cock beginning to thicken up in response to your touches.

Steve sighs, a big sound, his chest rising and falling. You kiss his shoulder blade.

It's a practiced motion; your thumb dips into his waistband, manoeuvring it to free his cock, and Steve makes a small noise in the back of his throat when your fingers curl around it gently.

Then, you begin to stroke.

It's slow, nearly torturous, all the up and all the way down. There's a bit of friction to it, but with the way Steve hisses, his tummy flexing against your forearm, you can tell it's riding the line between pain and pleasure.

You kiss his back again and silently bemoan that you're missing the show.

"Fuck," Steve mutters, shifting in your hold.

He’s not quite leaning back against you completely, but some of his weight is taken by you. Your other hand holds his hip, keeping him steady. His arms reach out to curl his hands over the edge of the shower wall.

When you stroke him again and receive a hiss in response, you know it’s too much friction. Shushing him dotingly, you pull your hand off his cock and then hold it up, flat, midway up his chest.

Steve makes a little sweet noise when he realises what you want. His hand shifts from the wall, reaching up to cradle it from beneath.

Then, holding your hand still with his, he lets a fat glob of spit pool into your palm.

“Thank you, baby,” You praise him, pairing it with another kiss on his shoulder blade. Steve shivers again — though that might be the slick grip of your fingers around his cock.

You use a press of your hips to angle you both away from the spray of the shower. It’s hitting mainly your lower back now, Steve getting none of it.

Somehow, you’re sure he doesn’t mind.

“Fuck,” he moans, head dropped forward, eyes closing in pleasure. His knuckles grow white with how tightly he grips the wall.

You’re still keeping your motions slow, letting your thumb drag over his slit just to feel Steve’s thighs tremble against you.

“Baby—” He gasps, cutting himself off with a swallowed-back whine.

You can’t tell if it’s a plea for more or just pure, desperate affection falling from his mouth.

“Yeah?” You say, unable to deny yourself another kiss on his shoulder.

He’s taut, tense and shivering more frequently now. His cock throbs in your grasp, his hips making aborted rutting motions forward.

You don’t need to see him to know the head of his cock is probably the prettiest pink, drippy and weepy for you. He’s always so wet for you.

“What, baby?” You coo at him.

It’s fun to make Steve talk when he’s like this. He can’t seem to string words together when you take charge, like thoughts are too hard when you’re toying with his cock.

“I— ngh- c-can you,” He gets out, before he grunts as you switch your focus.

No longer long, languid strokes, you focus on small, sweet little jerks at the head of cock. It drives Steve crazy. You smile against his back, using your spare hand on his side to keep him steady when his knees falter momentarily.

“Can I what?” You ask innocently. As if you can’t guess. It’s more fun to make Steve say it.

And it’s worth it, because Steve swears under his breath, opens his mouth to respond and—

He whines. High and soft.

A fire zip up your spine at the noise, at the pure desperation in it. You grin, half delirious at how wound up you’ve got him, half tempted to tease him for it.

He’s stopped trying to hold back his hips, now opening grinding into your hand.

“You didn’t finish your sentence, Stevie,” you say with a pout.

You’re letting him take what he needs from your hand, fucking into it with these adorable breathy, gaspy moans. You’re not keeping your grip too tight purposely — you don’t want him cumming just yet.

“I-” He starts, but it comes out reedy and thin. A whimper clambers out his throat. “I don’t remember, I don’t— please, it’s not enough, it’s- please,”

You hum, “Please what?”

You’d feel mean if you didn’t know Steve liked it so much. The twitch of his cock in your hand is evidence enough, but the soft whimper in his mouth helps.

“You’re gonna have to say it, baby.”

Steve swears again, his head up and eyes open now, even as his white-knuckled grip doesn’t let up. “You’re such a fucking tease,” He groans, still grinding into your hand that’s providing not quite enough stimulation.

You tsk, kissing his shoulder again to soften the teasing. “Those definitely aren’t the right words.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later,” you say amusedly. God, he’s such a brat sometimes.

Steve growls beneath his breath, chest heaving, and you know he’s reaching his breaking point. His head hangs back down, thighs still trembling, and it’s as you begin to slow down your motions, does it burst out of him.

“Make me cum!” He says breathlessly. Like he’s almost worried you’ll leave him here, on the edge. “Please. Please, please make me cum.”

You release his cock. Steve whines, too wound up and disappointed to understand, but you’re only bringing it back to spit it in.

“There,” you say, even though Steve’s brain is probably entirely in his dick right now. “Was that so hard?”

If he could think at all, he’d probably bitch at you right now.

Instead, slicker than before, your fingers tighten around his cock this time and Steve moans, loud and unashamed.

Your soft, wet hand suddenly makes a perfectly snug hole to fuck and Steve mewls at the change. His hips speed up, sloppy noises getting louder, and his own sounds in turn.

It never does take long after a bit of teasing — another twenty seconds and you can hear the tell-tale sounds of approaching the edge.

Hips chasing it desperately, Steve chokes out a whimper, one that makes your thighs clench together, then he’s shuddering. You feel the pulse of his cock in your hand as he paints the shower wall with ropes of cum.

It’s a long one. You keep your hand where it is, letting him wring out all the pleasure he can, while the other pets his hip adoringly.

“There we go, that’s it,” you murmur, another dozen kisses between his shoulders blade. “Good boy, you did so good. That was a big one, huh? Did so good for me.”

The pleasure drags into overstimulation and at the first unpleasant noise from Steve, you’re springing your fingers apart. You reach it back, letting the still going shower rinse it clean so you can get both hands on him as soon as possible.

Both hands stroking soothingly down his back, it takes another minute before Steve releases the shower wall and turns to you. He’s still so pink, down his neck, his chest, and there’s a hazy look to his face. Oh yeah, you fucked him good.

He halfheartedly tucks himself away, then hefts a sigh and turns to you completely. You already know what he wants — meeting him midway to a hug already, arms up around his neck.

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles into your neck. You can feel his still rabbiting pulse. His arms around you are loose, like he’s turned to jelly on the inside.

“No, just me,” you tease, then turn to press a kiss to his head. You run a loving hand down the back of his neck, teasing at the hair. “Okay?”

Steve hums to answer your question. Then, voice raspy, says, “Yeah. Just— yeah, Jesus Christ. I think I need a nap after that.”

“C’mon then,” you say, pulling back but staying close. You reach over to shut off the shower and lead Steve to the towels, letting him follow you in a drowsy haze.

Still damp from the shower, barely towelled off, you both collapse into the king-sized bed. Steve doesn’t even make it beneath the covers before his eyes are shut. He doesn’t need it. He runs hotter than the sun.

You smile at him, peppering a dozen kisses to his forehead, and then get bundled up yourself.