Jesus Hotwheel Christ ● Reposts

When the three of you played together for the first time the other day, Gator kept catching Keys giving him these…looks that he couldn't quite read. And Gator was surprised to discover that he enjoyed the way Keys was looking at him.

None of it makes any sense though, because these interactions almost feel romantic but Gator's not gay. It's probably just some weird connection they have after sharing you. That's what Gator told himself when he tracked Keys walking off stage, feeling a strange flutter low in his gut.

So yeah, it was music to Gator's ears when Keys came up to him and asked that he escort you to the car. He can't wait to get home, take this monkey suit off, and crash into bed after a fucking weird but pretty great week.

Gator keeps a hand at the small of your back as you two make your way to the valet. You're being awfully quiet, clearly drained from the evening.

"You doin' okay?" Gator rubs his thumb on your back, once again feeling the desire to do more than just guard you. Another feeling he's trying not to put too much stock in.

"Yeah." You stare straight ahead with a faraway look in your eyes. "Just wanna get home."

"Me too." Gator offers you a smile, but you don't look up at him. "I'll get you there soon." You only nod in response and Gator notices your steps falter a bit. "Your feet hurtin' ya?"

You guys enter the front lobby of the hotel and the entrance finally comes into view. "A little. But we're almost—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Tillman?"

Gator tenses when an unfamiliar man dressed in what appears to be a hotel uniform approaches and instinctively wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

"Yes?" Gator narrows his eyes and clocks his name tag that says Brent.

"We've been asked to escort Mr. McKey's group to the side entrance." He eyes you and looks back at Gator. "There's been a security threat. Valet already pulled your car around."

Every alarm in Gator's head goes off. It's not protocol to take you to a more secluded exit in the event of a threat. He does remember seeing a Brent in the list of employees he studied today, but he's not one hundred percent sure this guy matches the photo.

"I'm not authorized to bring her anywhere without explicit permission from Mr. McKey." Gator stares at him, searching his face for any possible tell that might give away his true intention. "And he told me to escort his girlfriend to the front."

The man isn't thrown by Gator at all. "He hasn't been made aware of this yet. We can contact him now if you want."

"Gator," you groan. "Can we just go with him? I'm sure it's fine."

"Not until I talk to Keys or Amelia." Gator continues to stare at the guy. "We'll be right back," he tells Brent.

He smiles in a way that makes Gator's skin crawl. "Of course."

You roll your eyes but don't argue as Gator starts to pull you off to the side, then pauses, his eyes not leaving Brent. The man is completely at ease. Like Gator is feeding directly into his plan already. Which makes sense because if these guys had half a brain they'd know your bodyguard wouldn't just willingly change plans without word from Keys.

What Gator doesn't understand yet is what the end game is. Obviously, they're expecting him to refuse going with them, maybe even making a scene and trying to wrangle the rest of security. But why?

"Gator?" Irritation still pinches your pretty face. "Aren't you going to call—"

"Hang on. I need to think."

His clipped words makes your mouth snap shut and you follow his gaze as it scans the room. Four or five more faces that he doesn't recognize from the briefing have suddenly appeared at the edges of the room, standing by nearly every exit. Gator curses under his breath, planning on ripping the hotel and charity a new one when this is all said and done. But first, he needs to get you out of here.

Gator feels you tense under his palm and lean into him more. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. But try to act normal." Gator pulls out his phone and tries calling Keys, but there's no answer. He taps on his earpiece. "Donnelly, you there?"

"Ten four," Amelia's voice crackles into Gator's ear.

"We have a hotel employee trying to get us to the side exit due to a supposed threat plus unaccounted for attendees compromising the other exits." Gator's mind races as he tries to relay the issue while also making sure no one else approaches you and keeping you calm, as you've been shaking since he started talking to Amelia. "What's your status?"

"Keys is surrounded by donors, it'll take me at least ten minutes to get him to the front." She lets out a frustrated sigh. "They probably planned on that. Can you get her to a vehicle?"

"Yes." Gator technically has no way of confirming that yet, but he knows in his bones that he's not letting you leave this building unless it's in a car he's driving.

"Then do it. Fast. I'll send the rest of the team to the lobby to round up anyone suspicious. Let me know when she's secure."

Gator drops his hand from his ear and hugs you closer to him, but keeps his eyes on your surroundings while he speaks to you, his voice low. "Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me carefully, okay?"

"Okay," you squeak.

With one final sweep of the room, Gator realizes what he needs to do. "We're gonna go with that guy to the side entrance." You suck in a breath and he squeezes your waist. "I know, baby. But they probably have a car waitin' and I need one to get you out of here. There's too much commotion at the front."

"But you don't know how many of them there are."

"That's why we need to go with them, so I can find out." Gator rubs small circles on your back. "If I insist on takin' you to the front, they'll probably ambush us and we'll be at a bigger disadvantage with the crowd."

"What about Keys? He—"

"My priority right now is you." You freeze at the intensity of his tone, one that implies that his urgency isn't just coming from a need to do his job. You both know you're way past that. "He'll be okay. He's got more security with him and he's not the one they're after."

You choke back a sob, trying your best to muffle it and keep your face neutral. "They're probably armed."

"So am I. They'll be bleedin' out before they even get a chance to raise a gun at you." Gator brings his hand to the back of your neck and tilts your head back to look up at him. "Do you trust me?"

You don't hesitate to answer him. "Yes."

Gator nods once. "Stay close to me." He walks you back over to Brent, who's still waiting patiently. "We're clear to go to this side exit."

It's subtle, but there's a flash of surprise in Brent's eyes. "Great. This way."

While they're still in the noisy lobby, Gator reaches behind him and turns the safety of his handgun off. He slips into the quiet, immoral place of his mind that he hasn't retreated back to in years. Not since those final days in North Dakota. He hasn't needed to.

His previous bodyguard gigs have had their fair share of danger, but the stakes have never been as high as the day he decided to turn his back on everything he knew. Not until you. Gator needs to be in this dangerous, hyper focused headspace because he needs you alive more than he needs to push away the darkness that threatens his own humanity. He needs to see you giggling and playing your stupid farming games on the TV. He needs to be able to lay down on your chest and feel your precious heart beating beneath his ears. He needs you.

If Gator weren't so desperate to get you out of here in one piece, he might've stopped to wonder why he's thinking silly thoughts like that. Right now though, he can't be bothered to unpack the hole he's foolishly dug himself into.

The chatter of the party fades away as Brent leads you two down a quiet hallway of guest rooms. A brief glance over Gator's shoulder reveals that no one is following you. Whoever's waiting for you guys on the other side of this, they've decided they don't need backup. Either because Gator has no chance of beating them, or they're arrogant. Gator says his first prayer in seven years in the hopes that it's the latter.

"What was this supposed threat anyway?" Gator asks. He squeezes your waist once, trying to signal to you that you need to steady your breathing more. "And why are we just hearing about it now?"

They're nearing the end of the hallway where Gator can see the exit that leads to the stairwell to the outside. He remembers from the map that they're coming up on an alcove where this floor's ice machine sits.

"The hotel's security just said they received an email similar to the ones Mr. McKey received." Brent shrugs. "Might be nothing, but given the graphic nature of them, they thought it be best to err on the side of caution."

Gator sees the ice machine come into view on his left and scoffs. "Interestin'."

"Hm?" Brent looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. You give Gator a confused look too. "What's that, sir?"

Gator removes his arm from your waist and gently pushes you into the ice machine's alcove. You understand immediately and retreat into the space. "We didn't tell the hotel anythin' about the emails Mr. McKey received."

Brent stops walking and realizes his fuck-up a second too late. Before he has the chance to reach into his pocket, Gator wraps his arm around his neck from behind and squeezes as he drags Brent backwards by the ice machine.

You stand at the other end of the small room, pressed against the corner as much as possible while watching Gator subdue Brent. Or rather, Gator's trying to subdue Brent but the fucker is surprisingly resilient and not passing out. Gator hears something vibrate in Brent's pocket. Whoever he's working with, they're getting impatient and Gator doesn't have anything to restrain him.

It's the last thing he wants to do, not because he gives a shit about Brent's life but because he really doesn't want you to witness what Gator's capable of. He's running out of time though, so he grabs Brent's head with his free hand and snaps his neck.

You watch Gator let the body fall against the linoleum with an unreadable expression. Gator decides that's probably better than immediate disgust and reaches into Brent's pocket to pull out his phone and finds a gun clipped to him as well. He holds the phone in front of Brent's face until it unlocks and quickly changes the security settings to not lock the screen before stepping over to the other side of the machine where you are.

"Hey, sweetheart." He cradles your face in his hands, a little unnerved by how vacant your eyes are but he knows it's likely shock. "Talk to me. You okay?"

A single tear slips from the corner of your eye. "'m fine," you mumble.

"You're doin' so good for me. We're almost out." Gator wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest. "I need you to take deep breaths for me. Focus on my heartbeat, okay?"

You nod against him and clutch onto the lapels of his jacket. Gator waits until he hears one good deep breath then pulls Brent's phone back out. An unsaved number had just texted him.

What's taking so long?

Gator types out a reply with one hand while the other rubs your back. Bodyguard got spooked and jumped me. They ran back towards the lobby. Our guys haven't seen them yet?

Three dots appear while the other person typed. Had to clear out. His security team got him out of the ballroom faster than expected. Meet us in the contingency spot while the others sweep.

It's not a lot to go off of, but Gator wasn't expecting them to be dumb enough to reveal their backup plan over text. Now that you feel much calmer against him, Gator reluctantly lets go of you and leans down to meet your eyes.

"Still with me, baby?" You nod, still clutching onto his jacket. Gator covers your hands with his. "We're gonna wait here a couple of minutes to see if anyone comes, then we're gonna run for the exit. Can you do that for me?"

"I—I don't…" You exhale and close your eyes. "I don't think I'm fast enough for that."

"Then I'm going to carry you."

Your eyes snap open. "But that's just gonna slow—"

The door at the end of the hallway opens and Gator covers your mouth with his hand when deep voices fill the space. He pulls out Brent's gun and presses you against the wall facing the hallway, as concealed as possible.

"Hallway appears to be clear," one man speaks into what sounds like a radio by the beeping noise rattling in the air. "We'll wait at the other end in case they come back this way."

Gator removes his hand from your mouth and holds his pointer finger to his lips. He slides in front of you to shield you from the archway that leads back out into the hallway, waiting for these guys to walk by so he can see how many there are.

When he sees two figures come into view, their backs to you guys, Gator lets them walk a little farther to see if any more footsteps trail behind them. Satisfied that it's just these two, Gator steps into the hallway and raises his gun.

After putting a bullet in one guy's head, his partner whips around but Gator's too fast for him and shoots him right between the eyes. Gator doesn't blink at the blood now seeping through the ugly carpet and bends down to wrap his arms around your legs to lift you over his shoulder.

Then he runs.

Luckily it's a short distance to the exit and Gator clears the rest of the hallway faster than any touchdown he made in high school. The frantic breaths coming from you are what keeps him going until you reach outside. By some miracle, the two of you are alone but he knows it's only a matter of time before more guys come to investigate those gun shots.

So he books it straight to the line of cars and sets you down by the trunk of the first one he sees. "Get to the passenger side now and get in as soon as I unlock it."

You do as you're told and trample over surprisingly fast in your heels while Gator smashes in the driver's side window with the butt of his gun and manually unlocks the car.

Both of you climb in quickly and you pant beside Gator as he reaches under the steering wheel to yank out the bundle of wires beneath it and cuts them with his pocket knife. The procedure is like muscle memory at this point and he's able to have the engine revving in seconds.

By the time a herd of goons burst out the door behind you guys, Gator's already burning rubber and halfway out of the parking lot. He stays silent while he watches in the rearview mirror carefully, expecting to see cars following him, but there are none. Whoever these guys are, they don't want to risk drawing attention to themselves.

You and Gator don't say a word while he drives to the nearest police station. Once he whips into the lot and parks in front the building, he gives you one sweeping glance to assess that you're okay before tapping his earpiece to talk to Amelia.

"Angel is secure. We're at the Kennebunk Police Station on Summer Street."

Amelia's voice booms into his ear. "We have police here too searching the property and questioning us. They said they'll have an officer escort you guys back now so that we can get her back in the apartment safely."

"Ten four."

Gator gets out of the car and runs to your door. When he opens it, you're still frozen and visibly shaken. He's seen people in this state a million times before and doesn't bother trying to convince you it's all fine, because it's not.

You don't say a word as he scoops you into his arms and brings you inside. Or the entire drive back to the apartment in Boston.

It's not until you sit down on the living room couch, and stare at Gator kneeling down to take off your shoes, that your face finally crumples and you let out a sob. Gator's heart aches at the sight of you so upset and promptly sits next to you to pull you onto his lap. Selfishly though, he's ecstatic that you're still breathing in his arms.

It's a delicate process getting you out of your fancy evening wear once your cries soften to a sniffle here and there. Gator carries you upstairs and brings you straight into the master bathroom, setting you down gently on your feet.

Gator palms the zipper on the side of your dress. "Can I take this off so you can shower?"

"I don't want to shower right now." You step out of his arms and walk back into the bedroom.

"I think it'd help you feel better." Gator follows you to the walk in closet and leans against the doorway.

"You're probably right." You unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor before undoing the clasp on your bra. "But I'm honestly way too exhausted and just want to sleep."

You pull one of Keys' t-shirts over your head and walk back over to Gator. He examines the mess of hair on your head from all the commotion, pins flying loose and curls sticking up every which way. Your makeup has seen better days too, smudged and streaking down your face from all the tears. What didn't make it onto Gator's shirt at least.

"Well, I'm afraid to touch that contraption you call a hairdo…" Despite everything, you crack a smile and it's the most beautiful thing Gator's seen all night. "But can I help you clean your makeup off?"

You nod and step over to your vanity, sitting on the stool as you rifle through one of the drawers and grab a package of makeup wipes. Gator takes it and pulls out one, tilting your head back to the ceiling so he can wipe your face clean. It takes about five goddamn wipes, but eventually Gator gets everything off your face and you look more like yourself again, save the crazy hair.

Just as you start trying to free your hair from its bobby pin prison, the noise of people entering the apartment downstairs travels up to the room along with Keys yelling your name. He appears in the doorway just as you stand up, his suit jacket gone along with the bowtie, and falls apart at the sight of you physically unharmed.

"Oh my god, baby." He closes the distance between you two in just a few long strides and throws his arms around you. "Thank god you're safe."

You wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle into his chest. "Thank Gator. Compared to him I have the survival skills of a cockroach."

Gator snorts but doesn't have time to offer a retort before Keys pulls him into a bear hug and whispers, "I'm so glad you were there. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Keys probably doesn't realize how much the words pull on Gator's heart strings, because for a second Gator pretends like he's speaking generally. Like the two of you need him as a permanent fixture in your lives. Gator tries to ignore the way his stomach flips in the embrace and pats Keys on the back.

"Just doin' my job, man."

"Gator." Keys laughs and pulls away, squeezing Gator's bicep once. "Can you ever just take a compliment?"

Gator's cheeks heat, not just as the teasing, but also at the way Keys' eyes stare so…lovingly at Gator. That's probably not the right word to use but Gator can't think of any others, too lost in the way the warm lamp lights of the room make the hazel color of his irises almost look like honey.

"Is Amelia still here?" Gator shuffles his feet, suddenly needing a reason to get out of this room.

"Yeah, downstairs." Keys turns to you when you sit back down at the vanity, resuming your attempts to untangle your hair. "Let me, angel."

"Okay." You sigh and let your arms fall away while Keys carefully searches for pins to take out.

"I'm gonna go talk to her. I'll be right back."

Keys hums in approval while Gator exits the room, stomping downstairs where Amelia is standing in the kitchen with Millie, hovering over an iPad. Both of them look almost as disheveled as you did.

"The hell happened back there?" Gator snaps and puts his hands on his hips.

Amelia presses her mouth into a tight line. "We don't know."

"You don't know." Gator pinches the bridge of his nose. "We had that place surrounded with security and got there two hours early to watch every person trickle in. Yet somehow these guys still got in and no one knows how?"

"Correct." Amelia swipes at the iPad. "The event registrations all check out and security footage didn't catch anything."

Gator practically vibrates with the kind of anger that could make him kill three more people. "What the hot fu—"

"Gator." Millie waves in front of him. "Listen to what we're saying. These guys managed to get in and out of that venue without a trace after all the security measures we put in place."

It takes a second for that to sink in before Gator's hands fall. "There's a rat."

Millie nods. "It's not much, but it's the best lead we've had so far. We're going to be combing through employee data starting tomorrow."

"Alright." Gator rubs the back of his neck. "So what happens here?"

"I have more security guards stationed at this building for a twenty four seven watch." Amelia flips the case shut on her iPad. "And I've told Keys that none of you should leave the apartment for a few days until we get a better handle on this."

"Done." Gator has no issue keeping you in this apartment for a bit. It's the only security he fully trusts.

"We're going to go." Millie grabs her clutch off the island. "Early start tomorrow. But Keys is under strict orders to not log on until Monday."

Amelia smiles at him. "Take care of them, Gator."

"Yeah. Will do." Gator watches them disappear down the front hallway and waits until he hears the elevator doors close before climbing up the stairs again.

In the bedroom, Keys has managed to completely free your hair and is almost done combing all the knots out. Gator shoves his hands in his pockets and approaches you guys at the vanity.

"Well, look at you." Gator locks eyes with you in the mirror. "Right as rain now."

"Sure." You offer a soft smile and grab a clip to secure your hair back.

"Ready for bed, angel?" Keys leans against the vanity and massages your neck with one hand.

"Yeah. Been ready." You stand and pause when you look at the bed, slowly turning your head to Gator. "Will you stay with us?"

It's a terrible idea. One that crosses a million lines Gator promised himself he wouldn't. But how was he ever supposed to deny you when you were standing in front of him with those sweet eyes of yours? Gator looks up at Keys to make sure he's okay with it too. He's got a different sort of look in his eyes that Gator can't quite place, but he does understand the slow nod Keys gives him.

Gator reaches out for you and cups your cheek. "'Course I will, sweet girl."

Keys and Gator both take off the rest of their suits until they're just in t-shirts and boxers then climb into bed on either side of you. You lay on your side, your back to Keys while he spoons you from behind, and reach out to rest a hand on Gator's chest while he lays on his back on your other side.

Gator tells himself to pay no mind to how natural it feels, because it's just for one night.

The rest of the weekend goes by in a daze. The three of you barely leave the room, the exhaustion of Friday night keeping you all rotting in bed for two days aside from meals and showers.

Gator keeps sleeping in the bed with you and Keys. Not necessarily on purpose, as idiotic as that may sound. He lays down beside you each night, telling himself it's just until you fall asleep. But something about the warmth of both your bodies and your natural combined scent soaking the sheets has Gator drifting off before he even realizes it.

Somehow, it's the best he's slept in years too, maybe even his whole life. Come Monday morning, he wakes up feeling actually refreshed.

It's six a.m., the time his body always wakes him up, and you're of course still sleeping soundly on your stomach in between him and Keys, your head facing Gator. You took the week off work to recover from the shock of everything so Keys probably won't try to rouse you for a a few more hours.

Gator yawns and sees that Keys is already awake too, idly tracing patterns on your back. When they lock eyes, Keys smiles and Gator's skin tingles again. This bed sharing arrangement has only made those strange feelings for Keys more prominent. In those first few moments after waking up, when Gator still feels like he could be dreaming, a soft voice inside him puts a name to what he's starting to feel. He wonders how long he can keep ignoring it.

"You sleep okay?" Keys asks, his voice low and thick with sleep.

"In this fancy, overpriced mattress?" Gator smirks. "Yeah, Keys. Slept great. Just like the other two nights."

"Alright, easy." Keys chuckles.

You stir between them and your eyes start to flutter open. Keys splays his hand on your back and you groan as you turn onto your side, your back facing Keys in the usual position you two find yourselves in.

"Morning," you grumble as you reach behind you to wrap Keys' arm around your chest and hold your hand out to Gator, who threads his fingers through yours and kisses your knuckles.

"Good morning, angel." Keys nuzzles your neck and presses one light kiss there. "Sorry, did we wake you?"

"'S fine." You yawn and blink at Gator. "Slept plenty all weekend."

"It's okay if you need to sleep more," Gator offers. "You went through a lot."

"I'm fine." Your voice is sharper suddenly, cutting through the hazy sleepiness of the morning. You turn to look up at Keys. "Can you just keep kissing me?"

Gator can see the hesitancy in Keys' eyes, but he leans down anyway and peppers your neck with more kisses. Gator knows it's not exactly the kind of kissing you're looking for with the way you wriggle against Keys and squeeze Gator's hand. He shifts closer to you and kisses you on your forehead, matching the light pressure Keys has set.

"Guys." You huff and tug on each of their shirts with both of your hands. "Stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

Keys sighs. "That's not what we're doing."

It takes all of Gator's self-control not to grimace. He knows exactly how this is about to go, but there's no point in trying to step in. At the end of the day, you and Keys belong to each other and he's just a guest.

You slap the mattress in between you and Gator and sit up. "You've barely touched me since Friday aside from all these delicate little pets." You cross your arms. "Tell me it's because you're too shaken up still and I'll drop it."

Gator holds his breath, knowing Keys can't tell you that because it's not the truth. He's being careful with you because he's doing that well-meaning but infuriating thing where he assumes it's what's best for you right now.

Keys sits up and reaches on the nightstand for his glasses. "Baby, you were almost kidnapped two days ago."

"Right, the operative word being almost." You push your hair back. "Thanks to Gator, they didn't even lay a hand on me. No shit it was terrifying, but I'm fine. I'm sitting here telling you I'm fine and you refuse to believe me!"

"I believe you," Keys snaps. "But I don't think it's a good idea to do our usual…stuff after everything."

Gator winces. "Keys, kinks got nothing to do with the trauma someone goes through."

Keys glares at Gator. "I know that."

"Do you?" You scoff and climb out of bed. "Because I feel like ever since this whole kidnapping threat came up I keep having the same conversation with you that I need you to trust that I know my own limits."

Keys jumps up. "Because I can't unsee the fucking pictures!"

Gator closes his eyes and exhales when he sees you freeze.

"What pictures?" you ask and turn to look at Gator, noting his equally guilty expression. "You knew about these too?"

All Gator can do is nod and flinches at the anger burning in your eyes.

"Whoever's doing this sent some pretty graphic images of what they'd do to you." Keys runs a hand through his hair. "Lately, it's all I can think about."

"And you didn't think to talk to me about it?" You throw your hands up and let them fall to your side. "Jesus, Keys. You've just been holding on to all this stress and letting me wonder why the dynamic shifted."

"I didn't want to scare you," Keys mumbles, knowing full well it's not helping his case.

"We're supposed to be a team!" You shake as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. "I don't let you be my dom because I want you to control everything and make assumptions on what's too much for me."

Keys clenches his jaw. "I wasn't trying to do that when I kept certain details from you."

"You can't even admit that?" You slide your gaze to Gator. "Did he or did he not tell you to keep the details of these threats from me?"

Gator bites the inside of his cheek, realizing now how they may have made a bad call. "We didn't want to worry you."

You give him a hard stare for a moment and then march to the closet, pulling on some shorts and a sweatshirt before stomping to the door. Keys watches helplessly as you stop in the threshold and look at him over your shoulder.

"Keys, I'm not mad because you made a mistake when you were scared." Your bottom lip quivers. "But you're supposed to know better than anyone what I'm capable of handling."

With the three of you still on lockdown, you decided that you needed as much space from Keys as possible. So you locked yourself in the other guestroom upstairs, where you slept the next couple of nights. Keys didn't object and gave you what you needed, knowing full well he messed up but didn't quite know how to fix it.

He still brings you coffee in the morning and wakes you up, but Gator can tell by the way Keys walks out of the room with his head low that he's still getting shut down. The forced proximity certainly doesn't help and the lack of developments regarding the kidnapping attempt only seem to weigh on all three of you even more. By Wednesday, it's clear to Gator that you're losing your mind.

So when you come down the stairs very clearly on a mission, he braces himself for another argument between you and Keys that he's about to get stuck in the middle of.

You walk up to Gator at the kitchen island and don't even glance at Keys where he's standing by the sink. "I want to go to the bistro on the corner for a drink. Are you ready to go now?"

Gator opens his mouth but Keys cuts in first. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Keys, I cannot sit in this apartment for another minute." You turn to look at him. "I need a distraction."

"I understand that, but you know it's not safe to leave yet."

You cross your arms. "Actually, I just talked to Amelia and she said as long as I stay on this block it's fine."

Keys blinks. "You talked to Amelia?"

"That's what I just said. I've been calling her directly for updates on the case."

There's a bite to your words that clearly affects Keys by the way he grips the counter behind him. "Well, I'm not comfortable with it. It's not happening, angel."

You stare at him, defiance written all over your face. "Strawberry."

Keys' mouth opens and closes as the realization dawns on him that he now has no choice but to let you go. Otherwise, he'll be doing something you guys really can't come back from.

Gator considers adding marriage counselor to his resume after this gig ends while he escorts to to the restaurant and sits with you at the bar. The bartender recognizes you and asks if you want your usual whiskey sour. You nod and thank him.

He looks at Gator. "What can I get you?"

"Just a diet coke, thanks."

You and Gator sit in silence for the first round, then you order another drink. The bartender drops it off in front of you promptly and it's when you take a big gulp that you finally look at Gator.

"You're not going to tell me to eat something?"

"You said the safe word." Gator scratches at the beard he's let grow out since all the chaos of Friday, needing to simplify his routine as much as possible. "I know you and Keys are the ones in a relationship but for the time being I'm involved too. So I'm not gonna be dominant with you again either until you tell me to."

"You don't have to be my dom to know that alcohol is a poor coping mechanism." You take another sip of your drink.

"No, but it sure as shit can be an effective one." Gator smirks at the the smile you try to bite back. "You deal with this however you need to. I'm just here to keep you safe from external threats."

"Well, you certainly do that well." You sigh and prop your chin on your hand.

Gator stares at you for a moment. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry about everythin'." He licks his lips and drums his fingers on the bar. "You deserved to know all the details and it was wrong to keep them from you. It's not an excuse, but I honestly thought I could prevent things from escalating." He lets out an unamused laugh. "I can be a little arrogant sometimes.

A quiet moment passes between you two. "I appreciate that, Gator." You lean on the back of your chair as you study him. "How are you so self-aware? Especially for such a macho guy."

Gator sucks his teeth but doesn't look away from you. "Four years of therapy to work through all the abuse I suffered from as I kid."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Oh. I didn't know."

"How could you?" Gator shrugs. "There's not much of a story. Well, at least not one worth getting into tonight. My dad was an asshole, I spent my life trying to please him until I realized I was wasting my energy."

You furrow your brow and look down at the frothy liquid in your glass. "He's the kinda guy where nothing's ever good enough?"

"Exactly. But still took me twenty seven years to figure that out." Gator reaches out and places a hand on your knee. "The most important lesson I learned is that life's too short to not try to fix things with the people worth caring about."

"Believe me, I know that." You tear up and take a deep breath. "Keys is amazing. It's just so overwhelming sometimes with how much he cares, and then I just hate myself for feeling that way. It's such a dumb problem."

"No it's not." Gator squeezes your leg. "People like us…it's hard to let others in. To hear that they're stressed over our well-being."

You frown. "People like us?"

Gator removes his hand and leans back in his chair. "People who didn't get much love growing up."

Your lips part and your cheeks flush. "But I never said—"

"You didn't need to, sweetheart."

Gator pieced it together fairly easily, especially with the way you two connected so quickly. How you understood him and didn't seem fazed at all by his "quirks" as Dot would say.

"I love Keys so much and I know he's stressed. I really don't want to minimize that." You rub your temple. "But it drives me crazy when he holds back and lets this stuff affect our sex life. He makes me feel like I don't know myself or the right way to respond to all this shit."

Gator shrugs and watches you bring your glass to your lips. "You might be right there."

You hold the drink up for a moment while you look at him and slowly set it down. "You know what I can handle though."

Gator swallows. "Course I do. You're the toughest girl I know."

Your eyes twinkle and Gator's stomach flips. "I know you guys have this…connection. You push Keys in ways I didn't think was possible. I mean what we did last week, I've never seen him like that." You smile, mostly to yourself. "It was incredible. And dealing with something scary doesn't mean I want it to stop."

"Yeah?" Gator feels his heart pound in his ears as your eyelids grow heavy.

"It's like you said…" You lift a hand to his chin and lightly scratch his beard. "Life's short. Might as well enjoy it when you can."

By Friday, Gator still feels like he can cut the tension in the apartment with a knife. Things between you and him have defrosted, but you still spend most of the day in the guest room again, continuing to give Keys the cold shoulder while he stares up at the second level of the apartment with those puppy dog eyes of his before retreating to the office.

Eventually, Gator manages to convince you to come down for dinner, which is takeout because Keys hasn't surfaced from the office in hours. Gator realizes that he hasn't seen him since lunch and it's odd he hasn't made an appearance yet since Amelia told Gator that he signed off work about an hour ago. You don't seem bothered by it though, just sitting in your usual stool at the kitchen island and digging through the paper bag in front of you for your food.

Gator comes up beside you and leans on the counter while he rubs your back. "Can I get you anything else, sweetheart?"

You shake your head, so Gator kisses the side of your head and leaves to check on Keys. When Gator stops outside of the office, where he hears cursing and something banging. He pushes open the door and finds Keys in the center of the floor surrounded by various building pieces as he assembles some sort of shelving unit. Gator notices that his forehead is drenched in sweat, likely due to the fact he was working in a thick hoodie with what looks like a collared undershirt underneath.

"The fuck you doin'?" Gator closes the door behind him.

"Building a new craft cabinet for her." Keys doesn't look up from his tools. "Figured she might—"

"Keys. She doesn't want a fucking craft cabinet." Gator crouches down to be eye level with him. "You know that."

Keys stares at the piece he's holding in his hand for a moment before chucking it across the room and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. I know."

"Jesus, man. Will you take that sweatshirt off?" Gator sits on the floor and brings his knees to his chest. "You're givin' me heat stroke just lookin' at ya."

"Yeah, I know I didn't dress for the occasion." Keys yanks the sweatshirt over his head, revealing a very sweat soaked gray shirt underneath that's only partially buttoned. Gator can't help but stare at the hair on his torso and the stubble growing on Keys' jaw. The scruffy look works well for him, though Gator doesn't know why he notices this.

Gator looks up at the ceiling and lets out a breath. "What're you doin' Keys?"

Keys pinches his eyebrows together. "I told you…building this cabinet."

"No. I mean why are you up here instead of down there tryin' to fix things with her?"

It's more forward than Gator's ever been, and Keys technically has every right to tell him to fuck off.

But he doesn't. He looks down in his lap, the damp ends of his sweaty hair hanging low in his eyes. "I know what she wants. And I want to give it to her. So badly."

Gator tilts his head to the side. "Then what's the problem?"

Keys squints and rubs his eyes. "I'm worried about losing control." He looks at Gator. "I've been having trouble focusing and going about scenes in that headspace makes me so anxious. I know that's what safewords are for but shit can still happen."

"That makes sense." Gator leans in closer. "But the fact that you care so much, that you know exactly how important approaching this stuff with a clear head, tells me she's in good hands with you."

"I guess." Keys pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "I know it's small, a slip up that makes her use the safeword, but with all this other shit going on…it'd be hard to handle the guilt."

Gator scratches his beard and twists his mouth. "Well, it's not like you'd be running the scene alone."

Keys lifts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. "That's true."

"We made a pretty good team last time." Gator grins. "I got your back, man. If things look like they're getting too intense, I'll be there to help you reel it in."

Keys considers this for a moment, his eyes darkening at the thought of finally giving in. Gator can tell he needs this as much as you do.

"Go get her and meet me in the bedroom."

Gator's already half hard when he walks downstairs. You've stepped away from your dinner and are pouring a diet coke over ice. You don't look up as Gator approaches you.

"Your guys' food is getting cold."

"Hm." Gator steps right up behind you and presses you against the counter, making you gasp and slam the soda can on the granite. "Well, how's your dinner, sweetheart?"

"Um…" You suck in a breath when Gator reaches around you to knead your tits. "It's good."

"Yeah?" Gator leans in and kisses your neck, slowly dragging his face up your skin to let you feel the course hair of his beard scratch you. "Think we might be hungry for something else now."

You let out a strangled noise when he pinches your nipples through your shirt. "Like what?"

Gator rubs his prickly jaw against your cheek, enjoying the way you whimper and squirm but can't go anywhere. "Think you know."

"Fuck," you mewl as he nuzzles his beard into your skin even harder. "Gator…"

He slaps your left tit. "Wanna come play with us?"

You nod emphatically. "Please."

Gator steps back and spins you around, immediately throwing you over his shoulder to carry you upstairs where Keys is already waiting in the bedroom by the foot of the bed. He sets you down just inside the door and you frown when you take in the sight of Keys.

"Why the hell are you so sweaty?"

"Doesn't matter." Keys beckons you forward with two fingers. "Come here."

Gator nudges you forward from behind and follows close behind as you step over to Keys. Gator positions you in front of him and Keys smiles at him over your head, nodding once before each of them start tugging your clothes off haphazardly, each of them groping you as they do it.

Once you're fully naked, Keys turns you around to face Gator and pushes on your shoulders. "Kneel."

You sink to your knees as Gator undoes his jeans and pulls out his cock. He loves the way you're practically drooling for it already while Keys pulls your hair back into a makeshift ponytail and shoves your head forward without warning.

"Open up, sweet girl." Gator holds the tip to the seam of your lips and groans as you put your mouth around him.

"That's right, angel," Keys growls. "Take it all in."

You moan around Gator and close your eyes, swirling your tongue around his throbbing dick. He looks up at Keys, meaning to ask permission to take the wheel but his brain empties when he sees Keys still staring at Gator's dick, licking his lips while he guides your head up and down his shaft.

Keys pauses and holds you still. "Go ahead and fuck her mouth, Gator. I know she wants to choke on you."

You hum and hollow your cheeks in response, sucking on him. Gator places a hand on the top of your head and does one brief, shallow thrust forward.

"Tap my leg if it's too much, baby."

You don't get a chance to respond before he thrust into your mouth again, this time hitting the back of your throat. You gag a bit and grab onto Gator's thighs for balance but don't give any indication of wanting to stop.

Keys groans as he watches Gator pump in and out of your mouth. "Fuck, she loves that. Look at her eyes rolling back into her head."

"Yeah?" Gator chuckles when you dig your nails into his thighs. "You like it when I use your mouth like this?"

"Mmph…mmph," is all you can manage. Tears stream down your cheeks and Gator wants to tell you how amazing you are, but this isn't that kind of scene. He'll have to save it for later.

Keys tightens his grip on your hair. "Jesus, I bet she's soaked already just from you shoving your cock down her throat."

"Why don't we find out?" Gator pants. "I won't last much longer with the way she's sucking on me."

"Fair enough." Keys yanks you off of Gator by your hair, a string of spit keeping you connected to his cock.

He drags you onto the bed and shoves your face into the mattress, your ass in the air and part of your glistening pussy visible to them. Keys brings his hand down on your left ass cheek and slaps it hard enough to make you lurch forward.

"If you want us to fuck you like a little whore so bad, you gotta show me how tough you are first." Keys slaps your right cheek. "Count for me."

He spanks you again, your ass already getting red. "One," you moan.

Another spank. "Two."

Keys keeps going, new beads of sweat forming on his forehead and dripping onto your skin until you hit ten and your ass is bright red, fresh tears spilling from your gleaming eyes. Gator got so lost in the sight of you like this that he started absentmindedly jerking himself off.

"Get her ready for me." Keys nods to Gator and steps over to the nightstand while he starts peeling his sweaty shirt off along with his pants.

Gator takes of his shirt before he drops to his knees immediately and dives into your wet folds, moaning obscenely at the discovery of how absolutely drenched you are just from getting your mouth fucked and spanked. Gator spreads your ass cheeks and drags your arousal up to your tight little hole and swirls his tongue around, noticing Keys' sweat mixed with the more familiar taste of you and nearly comes at how incredible it all feels on his tongue.

You cry out in surprise at the vigor of which he laps up your and Keys' combined body fluids and Gator squeezes your flesh, now focusing on rimming your smaller hole. He lavishes you there and loves how he can feel your cunt flutter around nothing when he drags his tongue back down to gather more of your arousal.

The sound of a bottle cap opening pulls Gator out of the trance he's in. He looks up to see Keys holding a bottle of lube over you and letting it pour down your slit.

"Fuck," you shudder at the new sensation. "Gator, Keys…please."

Gator stands and starts dragging the pad of his finger over the smaller hole, eventually pushing it in and being pleased to discover you open beautifully for him.

"God, she's sucking me right in." Gator looks up at Keys. "You fucked her here yet?"

"Just fingers and this." He holds up a metal butt plug. He reaches out to palm your raw ass and spits on Gators finger as they move in and out of you. "Maybe you could be her first."

You moan in agreement, rendered speechless as you fist the comforter by your head when Gator slides another finger into your asshole.

"Shit, you want that, baby?" Gator keeps dragging his fingers in and out, making you a drooling mess on the bed.

"Yes, god…please." You push up onto your hands, your elbows wobbling a bit. "Need you there, Gator."

"Later, angel." Keys drenches the plug with more lube. "We have other plans for you tonight."

Gator withdraws his fingers and uses both hands to spread you open for Keys while he pushes the plug against your hole. "Deep breath for me, honey."

You inhale slowly and as you exhale, Keys pushes the plug all the way into you.

"Fuck, that's gorgeous." Gator rubs your ass and lines himself at your entrance. "Ready to fill her everywhere else now?"

"Shit, yeah." Keys grabs your chin and traces your bottom lip with his thumb. "She's really gonna be cock drunk now."

You whimper and lick Keys' thumb. Gator watches him study you with admiration glowing behind his hard, dark eyes as he grips the base of his cock and pushes it against your lips.

As you're taking Keys in your mouth, Gator slips his cock into you, throwing his head back in the blissful haze of how incredible you feel. With Gator holding your hips and Keys holding your hair behind your head, they both set a rhythm that's in sync with each other's thrusts, stuffing you completely full all at once. Muffled sounds of pleasure gurgle around Keys' cock, already having his hips stutter.

"Fuck, angel. You're such a dirty slut aren't you?" Keys surges forward and makes you gag once before resuming his faster, shallow thrusts. "Needing us to both to fill you like this."

Gator smacks your ass. "You just love bein' our little toy, don't ya?"

"Mmmm." Your eyelashes flutter as you hollow your cheeks, making Keys cry out.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come." He pulls out of your mouth and starts jerking himself off. "Gonna come on this pretty face, yeah?"

"Please," you beg, your voice raspy and stuttering a bit while Gator keeps slamming into you from behind. "Give it to me, baby."

Hearing your desperation is enough to push Keys over the edge, white ropes of come spurting out into your mouth and on your face. Gator shocks himself by practically whining at the sight of it. Keys' eyes snap to him immediately, something wild flashing in his eyes before returning his focus to you.

Keys pushes you up flush against Gator's slick chest, the new angle making you babble a string of curses and their names. Gator places a hand over your throat to steady you while he continues his merciless pace and rubs his beard into your neck again. Keys pinches your nipple with one hand while his other presses against your lower abdomen where Gator is rearranging you guts.

"Oh god…" You reach out and grab onto Keys' neck. "Baby, please."

"Please what?" Keys snaps.

"Please—oh!…make me come."

"Fine." Keys drags his hand down further and begins circling your swollen clit with his fingers.

Your walls clamp down on Gator's cock and it feels heavenly like it always does. But what really starts winding up that coil in his stomach is the feeling of Keys' fingers accidentally brushing Gator's dick as he splits you open. He's pretty sure he only has seconds left at this point.

"Come on, baby." Gator speeds up his thrusting. "Prove to me you're our dirty girl and come on this cock."

Like always, you do exactly as you're told. You vibrate in between Gator and Keys as your orgasm rips through you with Gator following close behind, pumping you full of his come while your pussy clenches around him. Only when Gator slows his thrusts down do a complete stop does Keys stop working you.

Keys presses his forehead to yours and laughs as Gator caresses your hips while slowly pulling out of you. "Christ, angel. You're incredible."

You drag your hands over his glistening chest hair, blinking sleepily. "Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah," Gator agrees and presses a kiss in between your shoulder blades. He grips the base of the butt plug. "I'm gonna take this out, okay beautiful?"

You nod and hold onto Keys, biting your lip as Gator gently pulls the plug out. Keys stares at you longingly, pushing back your hair as he cradles your face.

"I love you, angel. So much." He kisses you softly on the lips. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again, nothing but adoration in your bright eyes. "I love you."

Yeah, Gator's definitely putting 'marriage counseling' on his resume.

Gator wakes up the next morning to the smell of coffee. He blinks as he stirs awake and checks his phone, shocked to discover it's already eight in the morning. He's pretty sure he hasn't slept that late since he was a teenager.

But of course, you're still dead asleep beside him. Keys' side of the bed is empty, so Gator deduces that's the source of the coffee. He presses his lips to your forehead and slips out of bed to head downstairs.

In the living room, Keys sits on the couch with a video game controller in hand. His shaggy hair is more unkempt than usual, mussed with sleep, and his eyes are still droopy behind his glasses.

He looks up at Gator when he approaches the couch and smiles. "Hey. You slept late today."

"Guess last night's activities knocked me out good." Gator chuckles and shoves Keys' shoulder.

Keys snorts and holds up his controller. "You wanna play with me while we wait for sleeping beauty to wake up?"

Gator looks at the screen and sees a large field of grass. He scowls. "This ain't that boring root pulling game she likes so much is it?"

"What…oh!" Keys throws his head back laughing. "Are you talking about Animal Crossing? Yeah it can be slow sometimes. But no, this is Legend of Zelda."

"Hm. Never heard of it."

"It's pretty fun." Keys raises his eyebrows. "I could teach you if you want."

Gator yawns. "Maybe later. After coffee."

"Sure." Keys leans forward and tosses the controller on the coffee table. He stares ahead, thinking for a moment before turning towards Gator. "Hey…thank you, by the way."

"Er, for what?" Gator scratches his beard.

Keys lets out a nervous laugh. "Shit, everything I guess." He looks at Gator, his features relaxed and soft. "I know you came for a job, but I really like having you here."

Gator stares at Keys' mouth, like he has plenty of times already in the month he's known the man. Times where he couldn't understand the feelings stirring inside him, but now Gator does. In the softness of the morning, when things always feel less complicated, he's sitting close enough to Keys to smell the faint traces of his leftover cologne, the coffee on his breath, and that natural musk he can now recognize after a week of sharing a bed.

It's clear as day to Gator in this quiet moment where he feels like he can really let go: He wants to kiss Keys.

When he looks back up into Keys' eyes, which sparkle with flecks of green as the sun illuminates the side of his face, Gator recognizes that hungry look of his that's usually reserved for you.

"Gator," Keys whispers. He licks his lips and shifts a little closer.

The small movement is enough of an invitation for Gator to close the distance between them and press his lips to Keys'. Embarrassment floods him immediately when he remembers that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing, and he's just about to pull away when Keys moans into his mouth. The sound goes straight to Gator's cock and the anxiety leaves his body as quickly as it came. He deepens the kiss and is about to push his tongue into Keys mouth, but Keys beats him to it and slips his in first.

Gator's surprised to discover he doesn't feel any need to fight for dominance and encourages Keys by grabbing kiss face to keep him close, groaning at the way the man's large tongue massages his own. With the slow and gentle way that Keys is kissing him, it melts away that usual desire to take charge of someone's pleasure because Keys apparently already knows how to get it. And Gator's surprisingly willing to let him take it.

Keys puts his hands on Gator's waist and squeezes his flesh there, the stark difference in strength between you and him catching Gator off guard enough to make him gasp.

"You okay?" Keys murmurs against Gator's lips and pulls away just enough to look into his eyes, rubbing small circles on Gator's chest. "You're shaking."

Gator swallows and nods. "It's just different."

Keys gives him a lopsided smile. "I know. You feel good though." He trails his hand to the soft pouch of Gator's stomach and gives another gentle squeeze. "We can stop if you need to."

"I don't wanna stop," Gator breathes. "But I got no clue on how to…you know."

That elicits a chuckle from Keys and he leans in to plant light kisses on Gator's burning cheeks. "It's okay. We can just keep kissing and see what happens." He drags his palm down further along Gator's thigh and squeezes it. "If it's too much, just say the safeword."

Gator doesn't understand how Keys has seemingly never been with a guy either yet is totally at ease right now, feeling up Gator's body like it's second nature.

"Thought you said you never done this before," Gator mumbles, staring at Keys' hand work it's way back up his body.

Keys kisses Gator's jaw and nuzzles into his neck. "I've imagined it a couple of times." He smiles against Gator's skin and presses another kiss on his temple. "I can show you what I've been thinking about if you want."

Gator's heart slams against his chest. He's obviously thought about Keys too, he's man enough to admit that now, but never really had a clear picture of it. Something about Keys' confidence though, along with how tenderly he's comforting Gator, makes him feel safe enough to let this guy drive.

"Okay," Gator says. "Show me."

Keys sighs and kisses down Gator's neck, the pressure of the suction from his mouth sending electricity down Gator's spine. Keys tugs on the hemline of Gator's shirt. "Can I take this off?"

Gator nods and sits up to let Keys pull it off of him. Keys takes off his own shirt while Gator instinctively leans back against the cushions. Keys drinks in the sight of Gator's half naked body and climbs over him.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous, Gator." Keys leans down and presses kisses along his chest. "I used to catch myself staring a lot, thinking I just wanted to know your gym routine or something."

Gator huffs out a laugh. "Is this how a woman feels when she's objectified?"

Keys snorts and kisses back up Gator's neck, pecking his lips once before laying down on his side to wedge himself between Gator and the back of the couch. He looks down at Gator as he trails his long fingers through Gator's chest hair before splaying his hand on his torso. "Still feeling good?"

Gator nods quickly, surprising himself with his own enthusiasm as he grabs the back of Keys' neck and pulls him back down for another kiss. Keys melts into it immediately and slots his thigh in between Gator's legs while he licks into Gator's mouth.

They fall into an easy rhythm, slow and wet smacking sounds filling the air as they explore each other's mouths. Gator keeps holding onto Keys' neck for support, feeling so dizzy he's worried he'll float away otherwise. Keys runs his fingers through Gator's hair with one hand while the other continues to roam up and down his bare torso. He holds Gator in that careful, methodical way he always tends to you, like Keys wants to treasure him. It feels amazing, unlike anything Gator could have imagined, but he wants more.

"Keys," Gator whimpers in between kisses, not even recognizing his own voice. "I—can you…"

"You want me to touch you?"

Gator's nose brushes against Keys' while he nods. "Please. I'm sorry, I just—"

"Hey," Keys interrupts, planting a soft kiss on Gator's lips. "Don't apologize. I'm dying to make you come."

Gator sucks in a breath. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The corner of Keys' mouth lifts as he brings his hand up to cup Gator's cheek, rubbing his thumb along the stubble. "Kept thinking about it last night while watching you fuck our girl's mouth. How badly I wanted to make you fall apart."

"Fuck." Gator's brain short circuits. "I'll let ya."

Keys hums and licks along his jawline before sucking his earlobe into his mouth. "You gonna be a good boy for me?"

Gator's cock strains against his sweatpants. "Whatever you want. Just please don't stop."

This submissive side to Gator is completely new, but it felt damn good letting Keys take the wheel.

The other man's fingers trace Gator's bottom lip. "Open. I wanna feel how that dirty mouth of yours has been sucking my girlfriend's clit."

Gator lips part in shock at his filthy words and Keys uses the opportunity to shove two fingers into his mouth. His other hand tugs on Gator's hair a bit, which feels so good that Gator moans around Keys' fingers and grabs his wrist, swirling his tongue around them and lapping at the salty taste of his skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good." Keys rolls his hips against Gator's thigh, letting Gator feel his hardness.

He pulls his fingers out of Gator's mouth and replaces them with his tongue, immediately giving Gator kisses that grow increasingly sloppy and desperate. Gator feels like his entire body is on fire and reaches down to tug his sweats off.

Keys laughs against Gator's lips. "Someone's impatient. You need me that bad?"

"Shit." Gator's stomach muscles contract as Keys' wet fingers drag down his happy trail. "Yeah I do. Please."

"Okay, okay." Keys presses a kiss to Gator's cheek. "I got you."

Gator watches carefully as Keys finishes pushing down his sweats and boxers just enough to let his cock spring free. Gator feels shy suddenly as Keys just watches his dick flop against his stomach. It's not like Keys hasn't seen it before. Hell, technically he's already touched it a bit too, but that was in the context of them teaming up to fuck you. It feels completely different in this moment with just the two of them, Keys giving Gator his full focus.

Keys brings his hand up to his mouth and spits into his palm, then locks eyes with Gator as he reaches down to grab his shaft. Gator moans and immediately bucks up into Keys touch, pre cum leaking out of his tip already like he's back in middle school getting his first handjob.

"God, I love how responsive you are for me." Keys swipes his thumb over Gator's slit, smearing the mixture of saliva and cum over his cock as he slowly starts pumping Gator's cock with his hand.

"Jesus," Gator pants. "Don't fucking stop, Keys. Please."

"Yeah? That feel good?" Keys kisses the corner of Gator's mouth.

"Holy fuck, yeah." Gator stares at where Keys is gripping him, completely mesmerized by how his massive hand looks while it works him.

"I can't tell you how badly I wanted to do this last night." Keys gives Gator another wet, open mouthed kiss and hovers right above his lips. "Especially when you pulled out of her and this thick cock was glistening with both of your guys' cum. I wanted to see what you tasted like after getting soaked by that pretty pussy."

Gator's head spins at the downright obscene dirty talk coming out of Keys' mouth. He's fucked girls stupid plenty of times, but his own brain has never felt quite so scrambled as it does right now.

He wonders what else Keys' mouth can do. "Mmph…you can taste it now if you want."

Keys lets out a strangled noise and tightens his grip on Gator's cock briefly. "Shit, you sure? I didn't mean to pressure you."

Gator rolls his eyes, now understanding why Keys' gentle reassurance grinds your gears in the heat of the moment like this. "You ain't. Wanna see why that mouth of yours makes her go so crazy."

"Oh, that so?" Keys presses one last frantic kiss to Gator's lips and drags his mouth down Gator's body, licking and sucking on his skin as he goes. "So fucking sexy," he murmurs against Gator, the vibrations making his skin tingle.

Gators mouth falls open as Keys kisses along his hip bone and then drags his tongue up the underside of his cock before taking it all at once.

"Fuck, Keys." Gator throws his head back, completely consumed by how hot and wet this guy's mouth feels.

Keys reaches up and squeezes Gator's pec, releasing his dick with a wet pop. "Eyes on me."

Gator looks down just as Keys takes him back in his mouth and covers the hand resting on his chest with his own while running the other through Keys' messy, brown hair.

Keys wraps his free hand around Gator's thigh, effectively pinning him down with that sneaky strength of his while his head bobs up and down. Gator's heart races as the bottom of his spine tingles, the pleasure already building to its peak. With that came an intense feeling of being overwhelmed.

Gator's not sure if it was the newness of having a guy being the one sucking him off or if the intimacy of this entire moment with Keys was just too much, all he knew was that he wanted him close again.

"Keys," he grunts. "Shit…come back up here, please."

Keys releases Gator from his mouth and climbs back over him, moving to hold his length in one hand and cradling Gator's jaw with the other. "You still good?"

"Yeah, don't stop." Gator grabs onto Keys shoulders. "I just…" He trails off, a brief flicker of shame realizing how pathetic he sounds right now.

Keys resumes jerking him off and rubs his thumb along his jaw. "What is it, baby? You can tell me."

Gator blinks, not fully wrapping his head around why the pet name that you've called him plenty of times feels just as good coming from Keys. Gator presses his mouth into a tight line and reminds himself that he's already had his dick in this guys' mouth. He's past the point of trying to hold on to the straight, tough guy persona.

"I just wanted t'kiss ya some more," he finally mumbles.

Gator braces himself for a smirk or smug smile, but instead Keys' face just softens into a look that could only be described as admiration. He dips his head down and slots his lips against Gator's. It's probably the softest kiss of the morning and makes Gator feel warm all over.

Keys breaks the kiss briefly to whisper. "I'll kiss you as much as you want, Gator." He pumps Gator's cock faster, who in turn moans into Keys' mouth. Keys swallows it with another kiss. "I wanna make you come. Tell me how I can get you there."

"Just keep doing that." Gator brings his hands to the back of Keys' head and pulls his mouth down to his own. Their lips move in sync with Keys' movements on Gator's cock, swirling their tongues around each other while Gator's stomach flips as he climbs towards his peak again.

He shivers despite the warmth of Keys' broad chest covering him and the wet, smacking noises of Keys' hand pumping up and down his shaft fills the air. Gator bucks into Keys' hand again when his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, collecting another bead of precum.

"You getting close?" Keys asks in between kisses. "Shit, your cock feels so warm and heavy in my hand."

Gator's balls tighten and he pulls on Keys' hair. "Oh fuck…yeah I'm close." He presses his forehead to Keys'. "Christ, how're you so good at this on the first try?"

"Are you forgetting I got one of these too?" Keys laughs and grinds his own erection against Gator's thigh as a reminder. "Plus, I also paid attention to how she gets you off…dreaming of possibly getting my hands on you some day."

The realization that Keys doesn't just watch you closely, but also Gator and is aroused at the idea of curating a pleasurable experience for him too, makes the pressure build again, hurtling Gator towards his release.

"Shit, I'm gonna come."

"Do it. Let me feel you." Keys kisses Gator again, tugging a little on his bottom lip. "I'm right here, baby. You're doing so good for me."

They're words Keys has said to you, and ones Gator has also said to both you and his partners before you. Never once did Gator ever think he'd want to be on the receiving end of them until now while he's in Keys' arms. They seem to activate a part of Gator's brain he didn't even know had been dormant, waiting for the right person to wake it up and give him a little bit of the praise he's been craving his whole life.

"Keys," Gator begs, though he's not sure for what.

"I know." Keys presses his lips to Gators and murmurs against them as he jerks his cock faster, "Come for me, Gator."

The band snaps and Gator cries out into Keys' mouth, hot ropes of his release spurting onto his stomach and chest. Keys slows his movements but keeps his hand on Gator's shaft until the latter whines from the overstimulation.

Keys pulls away to look at Gator's cum covered chest and splays his hand on it, spreading it around. He leans down and laps some of it up with his thick tongue before coming back up to kiss Gator, who's still in a daze coming down from his high.

When his mind clears a bit, Gator places a hand on Keys' chest and pushes him gently away to look at him when he realizes that he's still rock hard against Gator's thigh.

"Should I…I mean do you want me to, erm—" Gator clears his throat. "Y'know…do you now?"

"No. I want you to relax." Keys smiles and presses another soft kiss to his lips. "I should probably get some coffee up to our girl anyway and wake her up."

Gator snorts. "You really think she slept through all that?"

"She's a heavy sleeper." Keys brushes some of Gator's hair back, his eyes twinkling. "Trust me, if she was up, she would've come down to join in by now."

"Guess that's true." Gator's eyes drop to Keys' mouth, still thinking about how much he likes kissing this guy.

Keys apparently reads his mind and leans in for one more deep, tender kiss, nuzzling their noses together when he comes back up for air. "Why don't you go take a shower? I'll make us all breakfast."

All Gator can do is nod and climb off the couch with Keys, tucking himself back into his pants. As he pads into his room, he thinks about how caught off guard he is and not necessarily by the fact that he just let a dude jerk him off.

What's rattled Gator so much is how natural it felt being with Keys specifically. How he made Gator feel so cared for and that Gator is already thinking about all the things the three of you can now do together.

He's in deeper than he should be, but Gator's not so sure he's capable of untangling himself from you two anymore.

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Series Masterlist

"You're here," you say, voice still raspy with sleep. "I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

"Changed my flight." He pulls you onto his lap and his eyes rake over your body, which is currently dressed in one of Gator's t-shirts and boxers. "My last day of meetings were canceled. Missed you too much."

"I missed you, too." You smile and run your hands through his hair, which you're now realizing is messier than usual from the flight. You look around the room. "Where's Gator?"

"Making a fresh pot of coffee. He was already up when I got home a an hour ago." Keys smirks. "Did you two have fun?"

Your cheeks heat as you think about how to answer. The obvious answer is yes…of course you've been having fun letting Gator bend you like a pretzel and fuck you every which way.

But, even though you know this was partially Keys' idea and that he's not jealous at all (of Gator at least, for whatever reason), there's a part of you that still feels like it's a betrayal to your sweet boyfriend. Keys is absolutely perfect for you and the relationship has never felt incomplete, so you haven't really wrapped your head around this sudden burning need for Gator. There's a voice in your head telling you that you're being greedy.

Keys pinches your thigh, bringing you back to the moment with him. "Stop overthinking." He tightens his grip on you and pulls you closer. "It's a yes or no question, baby."

"Yes," you breathe out. "We did."

"See? That wasn't so hard." Keys kisses you and caresses the patch of skin he'd just pinched. "Maybe you just need a reminder that this is fun for all three of us."

He kisses down your neck with that intensity that makes you shudder and signals to you exactly what's on his mind. "Keys, I have to get ready for work."

"You got time," Gator says from behind you.

You jump at the sound of his voice and crane your neck to look at him over your shoulder. He's leaning against the wall by the bathroom door with his arms crossed, his hair still wet from his shower earlier and falling into his face. He gives you one of those hard looks that you've now learned means he's not interested in negotiating.

Still, the idea of being with both Keys and Gator at once has your brain short circuiting and asking dumb questions. "What time is it?"

"Don't worry about it." Keys chuckles and nips at your ear. "Have I ever let you be late for work?"

You shake your head and Keys kisses your temple one last time before laying you back on the bed. He gets up and walks away from you while Gator steps closer.

"Where are you going?" you ask as you follow Keys' movements.

"I'm just gonna watch for a bit, beautiful." Keys pulls up the chair to the position at the foot of the bed and sits down, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

Your heart pounds in your ears as Gator steps to stand next to where Keys is sitting, tugging you by your ankles towards the edge of the bed. He sinks to his knees and gazes up at you, playing with the hem of his t-shirt that you're wearing.

"Hi." You giggle, feeling shy suddenly with both of their attentions fixed on you.

Gator bites back a smile, trying to stay in his stern scene mode. "Hey, sweet girl." He tugs at the shirt you're wearing. "Is it okay if I play with you for a bit?"

You can't think of a better way to spend a Thursday morning. "Yes."

"What's your safeword?" Gator pulls the shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to both of them.

"Strawberry." Your eyes slide to Keys, who's studying you intently, like he's watching a fascinating documentary.

"Lay down for me, sweetheart." Gator hooks his fingers under the boxers you have on and pulls them off so you're completely naked in front of him and Keys.

You squirm a bit as Gator pushes your thighs apart, revealing your already soaked cunt to him and Keys. You've gotten a little used to Gator's need to just…look at you down there, but it's still a new feeling being examined so closely. Keys worships every inch of your body, but it's normally not long before he's putting his mouth on you. There's an intensity and focus to Gator that never fails to make your pulse quicken.

"Stay still, angel," Keys says. "Let Gator admire you."

Your boyfriend's voice soothes you, but your breathing is still uneven. Gator sucks his teeth and stands, walking behind you over to his nightstand to pull something out of one of the drawers. You prop yourself on your elbows and Gator returns to the foot of the bed holding a blindfold.

"Think we need to just block out some of the noise, yeah?"

"Okay," you agree, your voice cracking a bit.

Gator ties the satin fabric around your eyes and the world goes dark, your other senses heightened. You're suddenly aware of every little movement or sound Gator makes as he hovers over you, his fingers grazing your naked body, leaving fires in their wake.

"Relax, honey," Keys coos from his seat. "Just feel it. We're both here for you."

Your boyfriend's words, plus the trust that uttering one simple word would end this if you needed it to, allows your body to sink into the mattress and submit to Gator fully. He leans down and kisses you as he grabs your hands and pushes them to rest on either side of your head. He slips his tongue into your mouth and deepens the kiss, which is much slower and sensual than usual but you're not complaining. You hear Keys suck in a breath from his seat, the reminder of his presence only turning you on more, leaving your core aching for more friction. But you stay still and don't rush Gator.

"Good girl," he murmurs against your lips and kisses down your jaw, to your collarbone where he suckled and nipped at your skin.

Gators groans when his mouth reaches you sternum and his hands leave yours to cup your breasts. Keys lets out a strangled noise and sits back in his chair. You hear fabric rumpling and imagine him palming his cock through his jeans. You wish you could see for yourself but you're also loving being at their mercy like this. Gator's mouth continues kissing down your torso, pausing to lick into your belly button before resuming his original position at the foot of the bed.

You feel his hot breath on your cunt as he wraps his arms around your thighs and drags you to the very edge of the bed. He lays his right arm over your stomach and parts your lips with his left hand. Both him and Keys curse under their breaths, and you let go of any embarrassment, just focusing on them rather than how you think you might look.

"Fuck…" You hear Keys lick his lips. "She's already dripping for us."

"Mm. Think I might have to grab a taste of your sweet girl here."

Gator presses the flat of his tongue against your slit and licks one broad stripe up the length of you, making you buck against his hold. He laps up your juices with a moan that vibrates deep within you, probing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. He buries his face into you, his nose swiping your clit. It all feels incredible, but it's not quite enough to give you the release you need.

"Damn, look at her trembling under you." You've never heard Keys sound so…hungry before. You want him badly in that moment, even with Gator's face buried in your pussy.

"She's perfect," Gator pants right before closing his lips around your clit and sucking on it.

"Oh god!" You tilt your head back as he reaches up with both hands to knead your tits.

"That's it," Keys says. "She loves that, look at her."

To your dismay, Gator actually does pull away to examine what the mess he's made in between your thighs, dragging his hands down your torso and rubbing your thighs still hooked over his shoulders.

"She's gorgeous like this, isn't she?" Gator removes one hand from your thigh and slides his middle finger into you. "So responsive…this pretty pussy is crying for a release."

"Yeah, maybe put another finger in if you want." Keys voice has only gotten even more gravelly with desire. "She's being such a good girl for you."

Your head spins at the conversation they've purposefully excluded you from, your walls clenching around Gator when he pushes his ring finger into you too. He kisses the inside of your thigh as he pumps in and out of you, slowly. Once again giving you just enough to get close to the edge but not to push you off.

You notice that the room has gotten unusually quiet outside of the slick sounds of your cunt. Without warning, Gator withdraws his fingers and stands up. You whimper at the loss of contact but try stay still in the hope he'll let you come soon if you're good. He rummages in his night stand and walks back over to you. There are other sounds you can't quite place, too disoriented from pleasure to focus fully.

Gator kneels in front of you again and resumes eating you out, diving back in and lavishing your soaked cunt, drinking up every bit of arousal you give him.

Except…you realize in the haze of lust that it feels a little different from Gator. This person's lips are softer and their tongue less hurried, their movements more methodical. Like they've done this to you a million times before.

"Keys?" you gasp.

He hums into your wet heat. "Yeah, baby. It's me."

You moan in relief, not fully aware of just how much you missed his touch until you finally had his mouth on you. You grip the sheets on either side of your hips and Keys reaches up to thread his fingers through yours while he swirls his tongue around your clit. Your orgasm builds quickly and you cry out as you inch closer to that sweet release.

The mattress dips beside you and you feel Gator's calloused hand press down on your stomach. "Don't you dare let her come already, Keys."

"Alright, geez." Keys laughs and gives you one final lick and massaging your quaking thighs.

"Wait, wha—"

Gator grabs your jaw before you can finish that complaint. "No whining. You come when I say you do."

You can't stop the huff that falls from your lips. "Well what about what Keys says?"

Keys spanks the side of your thigh. "This is Gator's scene, honey. Don't talk back."

The revelation that they planned this and actually worked through who was fully in charge leaves you too aroused to care about how mercilessly they've been edging you. The brattiness in you dissipates and you decide to let these guys proceed however they want, even if it's borderline tortuous for you.

Both of them stand up and you hear the mistakable sounds of fabric sliding off skin along with zippers being undone. Your heart races as Gator scoops you in his arms bridal style and lays you on his chest, in between his legs when he sits against the headboard.

He nuzzles the side of your head as he reaches around you to fondle your breasts, his hardening cock pressing against your back. "Nothing smart to say now, sweet girl?"

"Okay, maybe you were right, Gator." Keys grabs under your knees and spreads your legs open over Gator's. "Looks like she's enjoying us being a little harder with her."

"That so?" Gator sucks on your pulse point under your jaw and slides a hand down, dipping his fingers into your folds and hissing when he feels how much more wet you've gotten. "Shit, you're our dirty girl, aren't ya?"

"Oh fuck…" You arch into Gator's hands, one still groping your tits while the other starts circling your clit. "Yes, I am."

"Then stay still and take it." Gator pinches your nipple.

The smell of Keys' cologne hits your nose and you feel his lip press against yours, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip to request entry into your mouth. You open up for him immediately, groaning as his tongue slides in and grab onto his face, desperate to keep him there. You're so consumed by the kiss that you barely notice him teasing your entrance with his fingers until he sinks two fingers into you while Gator keeps working your clit.

Your head spins from the feeling of having so many hands on you and you arch off of Gator trying to chase your orgasm.

Keys splays his free hand on your belly, right above where his fingers are curling into you, and pushes you back against Gator. "Down."

You gasp at your boyfriend's uncharacteristically harsh tone. Gator smirks against your neck and licks the spot he's been sucking on. The sounds of them panting, you mewling under their hands, and the obscene, squelching noises from your pussy fill the room. It's the greatest pleasure you've ever known, but it's also incredibly overwhelming. You're not even close to needing your safe word, but a tear still falls from your eye and onto Gator's tongue while he kisses your jaw.

He scoffs. "Don't be a cry baby. You can handle it." He sucks on your earlobe. "I know you're a strong girl."

Keys rubs your stomach, which is a stark contrast to the way his fingers fuck you. "Yeah, it's a lot, beautiful. But we got you."

Gator's grip on you tightens. "Think we should let her come?"

"Fuck…she's really squeezing my fingers. So if you don't want her to yet, I should stop."

You hold your breath while Gator thinks it over. He presses his lips to your ear. "Come right now. Give it to us."

Your orgasm explodes through you, hitting every nerve ending in your body as it thrashes under Keys and Gator's hold. You shout out an incoherent string of curses and pleas while they keep the pace.

"Think she's ready for you, Keys."

Keys removes his fingers from you and works on putting on a condom but Gator doesn't stop rubbing your swollen nub. It borders on painful, having not had a break yet, but also feels to good to ask him to stop. While Gator keeps at it, you feel Keys line himself up at your entrance and push into you.

He groans once he's fully buried in you and gives you a sloppy kiss as he slowly starts to drag in and out of you. "Shit, I missed you so much, angel."

"Oh, Keys," you pant. "Don't stop."

Gator presses down on your clit. "Feel good, sweetheart? Me having your boyfriend fuck you against me?"

Keys grunts over you. "My girl looks so good with you, Gator. Wanna see how you fuck her."

The vulgar words have your walls clamping down on Key's cock. You can't believe what you're hearing but you love it.

Gator removes his hand from your cunt and uses both hands to knead your tits, rolling your nipples in between your fingers. "Make her come again and I'll show you."

Keys accepts the challenge and starts pounding into you, kissing you sweetly while Gator licks and sucks on your neck some more. It's not long before the band snaps and you're coming again on Keys' cock, milking him until he spills into the condom.

They don't give you anytime to recover after Keys pulls out. Gator grabs your hips while Keys helps lift you up and maneuvers you onto your knees. Gator grabs a condom and rolls it on while Keys holds you flush against his chest, the spattering of coarse hair there tickling your breasts.

Gator holds your hips again and guides you onto his cock. Keys' hot breath hits your face in bursts as he inches away from you and curses, you presume at the sight of Gator impaling you.

"You doing okay, honey?" He cups your cheek and kisses you lightly.

"Uh huh," you rasp as you sink further onto Gator. "So good."

"Fuck, you look gorgeous like this." Keys guides your hands to his shoulders for support.

Once you're fully seated on Gator, his big hands massage your ass while he lets you adjust to him. "You ready, sweetheart?"

You dig your fingernails into Keys' shoulders. "Yes, please."

Gator brings his hand down hard and spanks you before he starts fucking up into you. Keys helps him by holding you up by your waist while Gator's hips snap up.

"God, I wish you could see how beautiful you look like this, angel." Keys traces circles on your ribs with his thumbs. "You're taking Gator so well."

"Fuck, you're so tight, sweet girl." Gator squeezes both your ass cheeks while he keeps his brutal pace steady, making you see stars behind the blindfold. "Feel like heaven."

"Why do you think I call her 'angel'?" Keys chuckles and kisses the column of your throat. "Think you can give us one more, baby?"

"She can and she will." Gator spanks you again, drawing out a guttural moan from you as that coil in you tightens. "Rub her clit for me."

Keys obliges and keeps holding you steady with his other hand while frantically kissing you. "That's it. Focus on us and come."

You shatter for the third time that morning around Gator, who's rhythm finally falters. He shouts your name as he thrusts up into one last time before hitting his own peak.

Keys and Gator's energy shifts drastically while you come down. Gator especially as he carefully pulls out of you and climbs off the bed to sit you against the headboard where he was before padding out of the room. Keys sits beside you and unties the blindfold, light stinging your eyes as you come back to your senses.

"Easy, baby. It's okay." He covers your eyes with his hands, helping you adjust to the brightness of the room.

When he drops them, you blink a few times and look up as Gator returns holding a glass of water. "Drink this whole thing before you get up, sweetheart."

He passes it to you and sits on the edge of the bed. Both of them watch you while you chug the water. You keep your eyes on the glass, your cheeks heating as the post-coital clarity hits you. You don't feel quite as emotional as you did that first time with Gator, but there's definitely an emptiness growing heavy in your chest that you're not sure how to deal with.

Keys tenses a bit beside you and kisses your temple. "Why don't you take a shower with Gator and I'll go get breakfast started?"

You finish off the water and steal a glance at Gator, who just stares back at you with heavy-lidded, adoring eyes. You turn your head to look up at Keys and nod. He kisses you once more before slipping away and pulling on his boxers, heading out of the room with your empty glass.

Gator rubs your arm. "Think you can walk?"

"Yeah." You sit up and let him help you off the bed to guide you into his bathroom. Gator turns on the water and holds your hand as you step into the shower. A lot of your toiletries are already in here after you brought some in following the second night you slept in his room.

He quietly gets to work on lathering your body with soap and carefully scrubbing your skin with a loofah. You reach for the shampoo to start washing your hair but he grabs the bottle first.

"I got it. Just relax."

You bite the inside of your cheek and look up at him, letting him tilt your head back to keep the soap out of your eyes. Up close like this, you notice he has a lot of moles on his creamy skin like Keys. Gator's wet hair falls into his face as he looks down at you, still concentrating on shampooing you and totally oblivious to you gawking at him.

"Gator?"

He removes his hands from your hair and cradles your face. "What is it, sweets?"

You think he's so beautiful in moments like these. Soft, unguarded, and peaceful. "Why did you want to do this?"

Gator smirks. "Why did I want to have sex with a stunning woman like you?"

You giggle. "No, I mean…have you done this with another couple before? You seem so at ease."

"No I haven't." He kisses your forehead. "But I don't know, I like you guys. I find it easy doing all this." He sinks to his knees and holds your hips steady while he kisses your belly. "Not to mention, you're incredible. I'll keep telling you that you deserve to be worshiped like this until you believe it."

You rake your hands through his hair, scratching the fade right above his ears. You want to tell him that he deserves the same, but something tells you he's not ready to hear it yet.

The following twenty fours pass by in a blur. You somehow drag yourself to work and force yourself to act normal in Gator's presence while he escorts you there and stands in your office completely stoic like he didn't just rock your world first thing in the morning.

That evening is quiet, as having to work after that taxing threesome leaves you with little energy to do more than eat dinner and rot on the couch. Keys fusses over you, constantly asking if you're still sore and clearly worried they pushed you too far, so you let him drag you to bed early. It's the first night sleeping in your own room all week and it's not necessarily good or bad, just different. Gator's absence is notable, even with Keys' arms wrapped around you while you fall asleep.

You took Friday off of work because of a charity gala that Keys is speaking at that evening up in Maine, so you get to sleep in a little bit.

Keys wakes you up with coffee around ten and kisses you as your eyes flutter open. "Good morning, angel. How are you feeling?"

"Morning." Now that you've recharged, you have more energy to be annoyed. "Keys, baby, I'm fine. You gotta stop acting like you broke me."

Keys presses his mouth into a hard line. "You just seemed out of it after. I haven't seen you like that before."

"Yeah I was fucked out of my mind." You laugh and sit up to grab his face, kissing him deeply to try and reassure him. "But I loved every minute of it. You're supposed to trust that I'll use my safeword if I need it, remember?"

Keys face falls, and it's so sweet that you almost feel bad for calling him out on his shit. "You're right. I'm sorry, honey. I do trust you." He wraps his arms around you and kisses you while he rubs your back. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You kiss him some more, pecking his lips a few more times and push his hair out of his eyes. "What time are we leaving for this thing tonight?"

He sighs, dreading this event as much as you are. The charity is important to him, but public speaking has never been more than a necessary evil to Keys. "Probably 2:30 or 3." His hands slip under your sleep shirt and splay on your back, not to start anything but just for more skin to skin contact. "It's a two hour drive and I want to give the security team some time to check everything before it gets crowded."

"Okay." You eye his outfit, which includes his usual office attire of slacks and a short sleeve button down left open, revealing his under shirt that's tucked in. "Are you going to the office?"

"Just for a little. I'll be back later to help you finish getting ready."

You smile at how he still always wants to be the one to put the finishing touches on your outfit, making the process of getting dressed up a little more bearable for you. "I'll see you later."

He gives you one last kiss goodbye and walks out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You lay back on your pillows and sip your coffee, reflecting on the events of yesterday. In quiet moments like this, you can't stop the shame from creeping in. Logically, you know you're not doing anything wrong. People have threesomes all the time.

But that voice in your head reminds you that falling for the third is less common.

Not only that, but pointless. Gator's just having fun with you guys and he works for Keys. You wonder what will happen once this threat against your life is resolved. It's not like Gator's just going to keep living in your guest room.

You finish off your coffee and pad to the bathroom, pushing down the growing desire you're feeling for Gator outside of scenes. You don't think Keys would be mad about it if you told him. In your conversations about opening the relationship before, he's never been firm on if he'd prefer things stay physical or turn into something more. He's always just shrug and say you'd cross thag bridge when you get to it. Now that you appear to be standing in front of said bridge though, you're stomach is in knots.

After showering, you go downstairs with your empty mug and stop on the stairs, looking down into the living room where Gator is getting fitted for a tux.

He tilts is head up in your direction and narrows his eyes when he sees you holding back a laugh. "Not one word."

You hold your hands up and continue down the stairs. Meanwhile he jumps down from the platform so the tailor can pack up. His hair shines in the late morning light, the ends curling into his forehead. You immediately think of how soft you know it is from the nights where he let you run your hands through it. You set down the mug on the table and walk over to him.

"You look very handsome, but I get it." You grab the lapels of his jacket, desperate to touch him but needing to keep things friendly. "Keys and I hate these things too."

"Well then why are you doin' it and therefore draggin' me along for the ride?"

You shove Gator and laugh. His scowl is probably meant to be intimidating but it the week you've known him you just find it cute. "It's for a good cause, asshole."

"What's it for again?" He stands in front of the mirror by the front entryway and adjusts his collar. "Orphans or something?"

You snort. "Close. Foster kids."

Gator pauses and turns back around towards you. You'd thought you'd kept your tone fairly casual, but the look on his face tells you he picked up on something you keep buried. The way he's already so attuned to everything you do or say scares you a bit. You've only ever felt this seen by Keys.

He steps forward and stares at you for a moment with a tender look that makes you want to kiss him. Thus far, you two have never acted romantic outside of a scene or aftercare, but after yesterday the need to hold him only grew stronger.

You think Gator might actually kiss you as his lips part, but he clears his throat. "Alright, go sit down and eat while I get this monkey suit off."

Disappointment pulls at your heart, followed by shame for being so desperate for contact in the couple of hours your boyfriend isn't home. But then again, you're not craving Gator because he's here and Keys isn't. You're craving Gator because you want him. He eventually joins you after seeing the tailor out, back in his standard jeans and black t-shirt combo.

It occurs to you that you have no idea how to act around this man. For anyone else you've slept with, you wouldn't hesitate to touch them and flirt with them. But you aren't sure what the rules are here. Gator's technically on the clock right now, so would it be unprofessional to touch his arm or lean in to kiss his cheek? Does he think you're being aloof and weird for not doing those things?

"I can see those wheels turnin'" Gator taps your plate with the knife he's been using to butter his toast. "What's goin' on in that head of yours?"

Eventually, you'll talk to Gator and set more ground rules, make expectations clear. But right now, you don't feel like opening those floodgates with this long night ahead of you.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." You stab a sausage link with your fork and bite into it.

"I'd love to see you try." His hazel eyes twinkle. "You know what I do for a living, right?"

You prop your elbows on the table and lean forward. "Protect people, not take them out."

He leans in too, smirking. "I'm trained to do both, sweetheart."

You gasp in faux offense. "Gator Tillman. You wouldn't hurt me."

"No, I wouldn't," he agrees, his playful tone gone and replaced by something raw and intimate. Like he can't leave this table until you believe him. "I promise."

You have a lot of questions what got him so solemn all of a sudden. But god, more than anything you want to kiss him. You feel like you'll burst if you don't. Until you talk to him and Keys about what's okay though, you tell yourself you have to keep this platonic distance for now.

So you give him an easy smile and pat his forearm. "I know that, Gator."

Gator turns away and glances at the briefings for the event he has open on the table. "So, um I see Keys' family on the list. Yours isn't coming?"

You shake your head and bite into your toast. "I don't talk to mine anymore."

It rolls off your tongue easily, since it's just been the way things are even before Keys came into your life. Gator freezes though and you wince, realizing he probably was trying to keep the conversation light and you ruined the mood.

"Sorry, I know it sounds sad but I'm fine, I promise. It's been years since all that drama."

Gator shakes his head. "No, don't apologize…I just—" He seems distraught. "You're just not what I expected at all when I said yes to this job."

You shift in your seat. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Gator leans back in, this time reaching out a but to graze your arm with his. "I'm still deciding, trouble." You inch forward too, your heart racing as he pulls you right back in.

You're so lost in each other that you don't hear the elevator open. It's not until Millie walks in with the glam squad she insisted on hiring that you two are aware of other people in the place, officially breaking the spell.

"Hey! Hair and makeup's here. Oh—" You and Gator jump apart and she laughs, walking over to Gator with her hand held out. "Sorry. You must be Gator."

He sighs and shakes it. "Guilty." He looks at you, softening a bit. "Go on and get pretty. I'll clean up."

A few hours later, you're sitting at your vanity in your dressing robe a few hours later, waiting for Keys and barely recognizing this glammed up version of yourself with a heavy layer of makeup painted on and your hair swept up into a carefully styled up do. Nausea rolls around in your gut as you mentally brace yourself for tonight. You know this is part of the deal with Keys, and it's not like he eve goes to these things very often because he hates them too. But your anxiety is a whole different beast than his.

Keys at least has years more experience at schmoozing investors and socializing with rich people after having gone to MIT. You on the other hand feel like a complete fraud in these crowds and can never get more than a few words out at a time. Something about tonight makes you even more nervous than usual though, maybe because Gator will be there too. On top of being some low brow arm candy, you wonder if people are going to see how you are with Gator and connect the dots, eventually thinking you're a heathen too.

You know it's all bullshit and you wish you didn't care. But you do, no matter how much you try to hide it from the world.

Keys walks into the room and whistles. "You're a vision, angel."

You laugh and swing your legs over the vanity bench to face him, admiring Keys' slightly more disheveled appearance from this morning in the warm lighting. "I always feel ridiculous like this."

He tuts and kneels in front of you. "You're perfect. Every version of you."

He leans in and pushes aside the fabric of your robe to kiss your bare shoulder, not wanting to mess up your makeup. The gesture is so gentle and fills you with this sense of completeness, it doesn't make sense why you still want the same sort of dynamic with Gator. Having such strong feelings for both of them makes your head spin.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling on to him. "I love you so much, Keys."

He grabs your waist and pulls away, frowning when he sees you sniffling. "Hey, what's gotten into you, baby?"

"I don't know…" You sigh and bite your lip.

Keys reaches up and pulls it free from your teeth. "Don't ruin your make up, beautiful. Talk to me."

You play with his hair, scratching the back of his head. "I know you told me you're completely fine with this…whatever it is with Gator, but I still just want you know that there's no doubt or anything about us."

"Of course I know that." Keys scoffs, but he smiles up at you. "Your heart is so big, angel. I've never once questioned my place in it." He grabs your neck. "I know why you're worried. Why you feel guilty. But you know that voice telling you this is wrong isn't yours."

You breathe out, needing to hear that. It's something you've known for awhile, but sometimes your brain doesn't catch up until Keys reminds you. "You're right."

Keys pulls you forward and carefully kisses the side of your head carefully. "I'm going to shower real quick and then we'll get you dressed, okay?"

"Sounds good." You kiss his cheek and laugh as you try to rub your lipstick off, but he swats your hand away to wear it with pride for a few minutes.

He pulls out his phone and types as he walks to the bathroom. You get up and walk inside the closet to find your dress. When you step back out with it, Gator's sitting on the bed. It's the first time you've seen him in yours and Keys' bedroom and catches you off guard.

"Gator. Hi."

He scans you, your robe having fallen open and baring your half naked body to him. "Hey. You look beautiful."

You shuffle awkwardly on the rug, padding to the bed. "That's what I keep hearing."

He tilts his head. "Do you not wanna hear that?"

"It's not that." You lay down the dress and put your hands on your hips. "I'm just in a weird headspace tonight."

Gator nods. "Can I help you relax, sweetheart?"

"Oh, well…yeah but I can't—"

"I'm not gonna mess up that pretty head of hair." He marks an X over his chest. "Cross my heart."

You smirk. "You're not usually gentle enough for that."

Gator rolls his eyes and reaches out for you. "I have my moments. Come here."

You let him pull you in between his legs and seat you on his thigh so you're facing him slightly. One arm is wrapped around your waist and he holds your gaze while his other hand grazes your nipples through the lace of you're bra.

"Fuck, you're so soft." His hand travels down to run the back of his hand down your belly. "Can't get enough of you, baby."

It feels incredibly intimate. You look at the bathroom door where the shower is running. "Shouldn't we…? I mean how is this supposed to work—"

"Who do you think told me to come up here?" Gator hooks your leg over his other thigh and cups your mound through your underwear. He doesn't take his eyes off of you. "Listen, me and him aren't ever going to initiate anything that we're not both comfortable with. You get final say, obviously…" You gasp as pushes his fingers against your clothed clit. "…but I don't want you to keep worrying about us. Okay?"

You squirm against him, place both of your hands on his arms for support. "Okay."

He doesn't tease you tonight and dips his hands into the waistband your panties. "We're right where we wanna be, I promise." The gentleness in his voice makes you melt against him while he starts rubbing your clit. "That's it. Relax, sweet girl. I'm gonna make you feel good." He kisses your shoulder.

"Gator." You reach up to cup his cheek. "That feels amazing."

He turns his head to kiss your palm. "Need more?"

"Yes. Please."

He slides a finger into you. "God, you're such a good girl for me." He looks up. "For us."

You follow Gator's gaze and see Keys walking out of the bathroom, a towel hanging low on his hips. He watches with dark eyes as Gator slips another finger into you. "Is Gator taking care of you, angel?"

You moan at the increased pressure in your core. "Oh…yes."

Gator kisses your neck while he pumps his fingers in and out of you. "What do you say to Keys for texting me to come see you?"

You tighten your grip on Gator's arm and reach further back to hold onto his neck. "Fuck…thank you, Keys."

Keys smiles at you. "Anything for you, honey." His eyes flick to Gator. "Is she close? It looks like she is."

Gator nuzzles into your neck. "Yeah she's almost there." He quickens his pace, his thumb pressing harder on your clit. "Fucking perfect."

"Mmhmm." Keys stares at your center, completely transfixed on Gator's fingers disappearing in you.

Gator kisses your cheek. "Let me feel you come, baby."

That band of pleasure snaps in you and you cry out, your walls pulsing around Gator's fingers. You buck into his hand while keeps working you through every wave of pleasure before finally slowing down, leaving you totally spent in his arms.

Gator removes his fingers from you and sucks them clean, but he doesn't look at you while he does it. He's looking at Keys. Keys watches carefully, his pupils blown wide and his jaw tight.

You look between them carefully, starting to understand why they love watching each other with you so much. You lick your lips at the undeniable charge between them. Perhaps Keys inviting Gator into your relationship wasn't just from a vouyerism kink. You've never known him to be interested in men before, but the way his looking at Gator right now is unmistakable.

It's not unlike the way he looks at you.

Author's note: *says she's going to draw out the tension between Keys and Gator*….*proceeds to have them eye fucking each other by the end of chapter 3* sorry y'all slow burns are clearly not my specialty lmfao

Taglist: @bearwithegg @thoroughlymimi @louisbelongstome28 @nicherthanu @lacywithdrawal @puertoricanmami87 @entercarolina @decidessrun @oliviaharrington @tellcherhesgone @kristywidget97 @exooojongdaeee @treebabe @matildaharrysversion @digitalxcandle @tiredpurpleee

Comment below if you’d like to be added/removed! 🩵

Series Masterlist

Steve laughs, ducking his head like your compliment had made him shy.

He takes his place in the lounger next to you letting the sun dry him off.

His body glistens and you just can’t resist getting up and straddling him right there in the back yard.

His hands are on your hips instantly. His wet palms a little cold on the hot sweat of your skin.

You sit your core down on the pudge of his tummy, his trail tickles around the edges of the gusset of your bikini bottoms. It feels electric.

You grind down on him slightly, feeling heat spread from within along with the heat of the sun that beats down on your skin.

Steve gives your hips a squeeze and it makes you grind down harder and more desperately.

“Fuck sweetheart, you must really like me, huh?” He teases. It sounds so ridiculous when you’re literally married.

“Shut up,” you say, biting down on your lip.

Steve encourages your movements, helping to move your hips in wider circles to cover more of the expanse of his tummy.

It feels so good but it’s not enough.

As if he can read your mind, Steve’s fingers pull at the ties of your bottoms that cling to your hips. He undoes them with ease the wet fabric falls to stomach. He tugs the fabric out from between your cunt and his tummy, leaving you bare against him.

“C’mon honey, give me all you got.”

And you just start riding his tummy like crazy. You don’t even need Steve’s help to move your pussy in broad strokes over his happy trail so he locks his fingers together behind his head and watches.

He can see your nipples poking at the flimsy fabric of your bikini top.

“Touch your tits for me sweetheart.”

You do as he instructs, one hand massages at your breast, thumbing at your nipple through the fabric, the other supports you, firmly planted on Steve’s chest.

“Ugh…..steve…..”

“Feel good getting off on me like this?”

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

You feel his hard cock press up against your ass as you move on his lower belly, the realisation of just hard you’re making him pushes you to the brink.

You grind harder…..faster……..

“That’s it baby, feel how wet you are, getting me all messy…… make a mess on me sweet girl.”

Your hand falls from your breast, needing two hands on Steve’s chest to keep yourself going, your thighs tired but you’re so close you can almost taste it.

With just a little encouragement in Steve’s sweet voice, “look at you, so perfect, cum all over me sweetheart, please”, your movements stutter. Steve feels you pulse against the his flesh and it makes him moan along with you. He’s now painfully aware of the ache in his shorts.

You collapse on top of him, Steve presses kisses to your forehead and rubs your back to bring you back to earth.

“Let’s take a shower honey,” Steve suggests after a moment.

You nod against the crook of his neck. “Maybe I can take care of this for you…” you reach down to grope his erection and he sucks in a breath before letting out a chuckle.

Your older brother just laughed from the passenger seat, already half-reclined with his boots on the dash like the years hadn’t changed a damn thing. The three of you had done this dance since you were kids—your parents driving the family car, Eddie’s van trailing behind loaded with tents and coolers and that ridiculous boombox he refused to retire. Your brother and Eddie had moved out to Chicago last year and missed the trip. This year the parents had finally waved the white flag. We’re too old for this, they’d said. You three can keep the tradition if you want.

So here you were.

Four hours of highway, two gas-station pit stops, and one argument about whether Dio or Iron Maiden was the superior soundtrack later, the van rattled off the paved road onto the familiar dirt track that led into the state park. The trees closed in overhead, filtering the late-afternoon light into green-gold shafts. You felt the same low thrum in your chest you’d always felt when the campground came into view—half nostalgia, half something sharper that had only started humming under your skin three years ago.

Eddie killed the engine. Silence rushed in, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant cry of a hawk.

He twisted in the driver’s seat to look at you in the back. His hair was longer than last summer, curls escaping the bandana he’d tied around his head. A thin silver chain glinted at his throat. He still looked like trouble. He still looked like the boy who’d once dared you to eat a raw cricket and then laughed until he cried when you actually did it.

“Home sweet temporary home,” he said, voice low. “You gonna help set up or are you gonna stand there looking at me like I owe you money?”

You shoved the side door open harder than necessary. “You do owe me money, idiot.”

“Oh don't worry. I'll pay you back— with interest.”

Your brother was already out and stretching, cracking his back with a groan. “You two are exhausting. I’m grabbing the cooler before one of you starts the inevitable screaming match.”

Eddie hopped out after him, landing lightly despite the height. He caught your eye across the open doors as you both reached for the same folded tarp. His fingers brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately.

The air between you felt charged the way it always did now—like static before a storm, like the second before someone said something they couldn’t take back. You’d spent years pretending the dislike was pure. It was easier that way. Easier than admitting that every time he smirked at you or called you by that stupid nickname he’d invented when you were fourteen, something low and hot twisted in your stomach.

Eddie tilted his head, studying you the way he studied guitar tabs—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing something he already knew by heart.

“You're quieter,” he said.

“You're louder.”

“Fair.” He tugged the tarp free and slung it over one shoulder. “C’mon. Sun’s gonna drop soon. Last thing I need is you bitching at me in the dark because we can’t find the tent poles.”

You followed him into the clearing you’d claimed for years, boots crunching over pine needles. Your brother was already staking out the flatter ground near the fire ring, whistling off-key. Eddie dropped the tarp and started unfolding the bigger tent with the easy efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times. You worked opposite him, feeding poles through sleeves, the familiar rhythm settling between you even as the unfamiliar tension hummed underneath.

Every so often your hands would meet again—passing a stake, smoothing a corner of fabric—and you’d both pause for half a second too long before pretending it hadn’t happened.

The sky was turning the color of bruised peaches by the time the tents were up and the cooler was cracked open. Your brother claimed the smaller tent without argument, already disappearing inside with a book and a beer. That left the bigger one for you and Eddie. Funny how life works out.

Eddie stood at the open flap, looking in at the two sleeping bags rolled side by side, then glanced over his shoulder at you. The fading light caught on the rings stacked on his fingers.

“You still snore?” he asked.

“You still talk in your sleep?”

A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He ducked inside without waiting for an answer, and the undercurrent between you pulsed once—hot, quiet, and very much awake.

The tent was dark and warm, the kind of close heat that only came from two bodies breathing the same recycled air. You’d fallen asleep facing the wall, sleeping bag zipped to your chin, determined to ignore the fact that Eddie was only a few feet away on the other side of the nylon floor.

Sometime past midnight you woke to the soft, rough sound of his voice.

Low. Thick with sleep. Your name. Almost a whisper.

“…not supposed to look at you like that… fuck… you're… goddamn…”

Your eyes snapped open. The words dissolved into an unintelligible mumble, then silence. You held perfectly still, heart thudding against your ribs, waiting to see if he’d say anything else. He didn’t. Just a quiet shift of fabric as he rolled over.

You stared at the dark ceiling for a long time after that, pulse still elevated, before forcing your eyes shut again and pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.

Morning came too bright and too early.

Your brother was already up and making noise outside, clattering the little propane stove. Eddie emerged from the tent looking like he’d lost a fight with his own hair, bandana shoved in his back pocket, last night’s black T-shirt wrinkled and riding up just enough to flash a strip of pale stomach when he stretched. He caught you looking and immediately smirked.

“Morning, princess. Sleep okay or did the spooky forest keep you up?”

You shoved past him toward the cooler. “Your talking kept me up.”

“I— I was talking last night?” Eddie looked like he'd seen a ghost— the color draining from his already pale face.

"Mhm. Big talk last night Munson."

"Unconscious me is not the same person as conscious me."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Your brother popped out of his tent looking just as rough as Eddie. "What'd he say this time?"

"This time?"

"Nothing. Fuck you guys— let's go do something."

The day unfolded the way these days always did with the three of you—sunlight, river, the easy rhythm of people who’d known each other too long. Kayaking came first. The three of you dragged the rented boats down to the water, your brother claiming the single and leaving you and Eddie to share the double. Of course.

Eddie took the back seat without asking, which meant he controlled the rudder and got the better view of everything in front of him. Including you.

“Try not to tip us,” he called as you pushed off. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Your reputation is already trash.”

“Rude. Chicago doesn't know my Hawkins reputation so… I'm like recycled trash now.”

"They should be warned."

The river was slow and glassy, edged with overhanging branches that scraped soft green fingers across the surface. You paddled in sync more out of muscle memory than cooperation, the kayak cutting clean lines through the current. Every so often Eddie would dig his paddle in harder on one side just to make the boat rock, laughing under his breath when you twisted around to glare at him. Water droplets clung to the dark curls escaping his bandana. His arms flexed with every stroke, veins standing out along the insides of his forearms. You hated that you noticed.

At one point he leaned forward, voice dropping so your brother—paddling ahead—couldn’t hear.

“You still do that thing where you bite your lip when you’re concentrating?”

You didn’t answer. Just paddled harder.

His quiet chuckle followed you down the river.

Softball happened in the open field near the campground after lunch. Your brother and Eddie claimed folding chairs and a cooler full of cheap beer like it was their sacred duty, while you ended up on a pickup team with a bunch of other campers. Eddie watched the entire time with the lazy intensity of a cat watching a bird. Every time you connected with the ball he’d holler something deliberately embarrassing—“That’s my girl!” or “Show ‘em how it’s done!”—loud enough that half the field turned to look. Your brother just shook his head and kept drinking.

By the time the game wrapped, the sun was sliding toward the treeline and the air had that golden, late-summer weight to it. People were already drifting toward the rec center at the far end of the campground. Strings of lights were being tested. A DJ was doing sound check.

You wiped sweat from your forehead with the hem of your shirt and found Eddie watching you again, beer bottle dangling from loose fingers.

“You gonna clean up for the dance or just show up looking like you lost a fight with a river?” he asked.

“You planning on actually dancing or just leaning against a post looking pretentious all night?”

He tipped the bottle toward you in a mock toast. “Depends. You planning on asking me?”

The words landed heavier than the teasing tone suggested. For a second neither of you looked away. The undercurrent that had been humming all day—ever since you’d woken up to the sound of your name in his sleeping mouth—tightened into something almost tangible.

Your brother clapped Eddie on the shoulder hard enough to make him sway. “If you two are done with the foreplay, I’m starving. Rec center’s got those shitty hot dogs and I want at least four before the music starts.”

Eddie finally broke the stare, flashing that crooked, dangerous grin.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still half on you. “Wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”

The three of you headed back toward the tents to change as the first real notes of music drifted through the trees. The night was just getting started.

You changed in the tent with the flap zipped tight, the skimpy little dress clinging to your skin the second you pulled it over the bathing suit. The material was thin and soft, the kind that moved when you did, neckline low enough to make the heat feel intentional. Practical, you told yourself. If the night went the way these nights sometimes did—too many drinks, someone daring someone else—you could strip the dress and hit the water without a second thought. You’d done it before.

When you stepped out, the campground lights were already glowing through the trees.

Eddie was leaning against the side of the van with a fresh beer, one boot kicked up behind him. He took a long drink, eyes tracking you from the moment the tent flap opened. He didn’t even try to hide it. The look dragged slow—over the bare stretch of your thighs, the way the dress sat on your hips, the line of your collarbones—before he finally dragged his gaze up to your face and smirked like he’d caught you doing something illegal.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, voice low. “You trying to start a riot or just ruin my night?”

Your brother snorted from where he was tying his shoes on the picnic table. “She always looks like that. You’re just dramatic.”

Eddie didn’t look away from you. “I’m observant. There’s a difference.” He pushed off the van and circled you once, slow, like he was inspecting merchandise. "You’re gonna make the soccer moms clutch their pearls.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, adjusting the thin strap on your shoulder. “You look like you got dressed in a thrift store during a blackout.”

He grinned, all teeth. “And yet here you are, still looking.”

Your brother stood, clapping his hands together like the world’s most oblivious referee. “Alright, children. Rec center. Hot dogs. Bad music. Try not to kill each other before we get there.” He was already walking, completely missing the way Eddie’s eyes kept dropping to your mouth, your legs, the place where the dress ended.

The three of you cut through the trees toward the glow of the gazebo. Strings of bulb lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in warm gold. A DJ booth had been set up under the roof, speakers already thumping something upbeat and slightly too loud. Picnic tables had been pushed aside to make a dance floor, and the bar was stocked with drinks. The smell of grilled hotdogs and firewood permeated the air.

Eddie kept pace beside you, still talking.

“I’m just saying, if you trip in those shoes I’m not carrying you. I’ll point and laugh. Publicly.”

“You’ve carried me before.”

“That was different. You were twelve and had a scraped knee. Now you’re—” He gestured vaguely at all of you, words failing him for half a second. “Anyway. Don’t expect chivalry.”

Your brother laughed, already peeling off toward the bar. “He’s so full of shit. He once carried a drunk girl two miles because she lost a shoe. Remember that, Eds?”

“I remember you never shutting up about it,” Eddie muttered, but his eyes were still on you.

You reached the bar first. Ordered something with a fancy fruity name, and took a long swallow. The burn settled low in your stomach. Perfect.

Eddie opened his mouth—probably to say something else annoying, something that would sound like an insult and land like a touch—but you were already turning away.

“I’m dancing,” you said over your shoulder. “Try not to miss me too hard.”

You didn’t wait for an answer. Just slipped into the growing crowd under the lights, drink in hand, the skimpy dress brushing against your thighs with every step. Behind you, you could feel the weight of his stare like a hand on the back of your neck.

Your brother was already laughing about something. Eddie wasn’t saying a word.

You danced alone at first, letting the music pull you under the string lights. The beat was heavy enough to feel in your ribs, the kind of song that made hips move without permission. Your drink was already half gone. The skimpy dress clung and shifted with every turn, the bathing suit underneath a thin secret against your skin. People watched. You didn’t care.

Then a pair of hands settled lightly at your waist.

You glanced back. Tall. Broad shoulders. Easy smile. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Attractive in that clean, summer-camp way—nothing like the chaos you were used to. He didn’t ask. Just matched your rhythm, body slotting in behind yours like he’d been waiting for the invitation.

You let him.

It started casual. Then it wasn’t.

His hands slid lower, fingers spreading over your hips, guiding you back against him. You rolled with it, spine arching, the thin fabric of the dress the only thing between his chest and your back. The music thumped louder. Someone whooped nearby. His breath brushed the shell of your ear when he leaned in, and you tipped your head just enough to give him more space. Your bodies moved together—slow, dirty, deliberate. Thighs brushing. Ass grinding back against the hard line of him. Every shift of your hips made the hem of the dress ride a little higher.

Across the open floor, past the shifting bodies and the glow of the lights, Eddie stood frozen near the bar.

Your brother was already three drinks past functional, leaning heavily against the table and laughing at nothing, plastic cup waving in the air as he tried to tell a story to some poor stranger who kept nodding politely. He hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Eddie had.

His jaw was locked so tight the muscle jumped under the skin. One hand crushed the neck of his beer bottle; the other was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans like he needed to keep it contained. He watched the stranger’s hands on your waist, watched the way you moved against him, watched the flush climbing your throat. His eyes were dark, almost black under the string lights, and the easy, mocking expression he usually wore had been scraped clean off his face.

He looked like he wanted to put his fist through something. Or someone.

You caught the stare over the random guy’s shoulder and held it for a second too long—just long enough to see the pure, boiling jealousy flash across Eddie’s features before you turned back into the dance. The stranger’s hand slid higher under the side of your dress, fingertips grazing the edge of your bathing suit bottoms, and you didn’t stop him.

Eddie’s bottle hit the bar top hard enough that your brother finally glanced over, still grinning drunk and clueless.

“Dude, you good?”

Eddie didn’t answer. He just kept staring at you like he was two seconds from crossing the floor and starting a fight.

Your brother swayed hard enough that he had to plant a hand on the nearest picnic table to stay upright.

“I’m done,” he announced, voice thick and cheerful. “Gonna pass out before I embarrass myself more. You two… don’t kill each other.” He pointed vaguely between you and Eddie, already turning toward the path that led back to the tents. “Love you, mean it, goodnight.”

Eddie moved before you could answer.

His hand locked around your upper arm—hard, fingers digging in just shy of bruising—and he yanked you away from the stranger mid-song. The guy made a confused noise, but Eddie didn’t even glance at him. He was already hauling you across the grass after your brother, jaw tight, boots loud against the packed dirt.

“Let go—”

“Shut up and walk,” he bit out.

You twisted in his grip. “Eddie—”

“Your brother’s hammered. We’re making sure he doesn’t face-plant in a ditch. Move.”

The walk back was silent except for your brother’s off-key humming and the occasional stumble that made Eddie’s grip on you tighten even more. By the time the tents came into view, your arm was throbbing under his fingers. Your brother crawled into the smaller tent without protest, mumbled something about breakfast, and was snoring within minutes.

The second the zipper closed, Eddie’s hand slid from your arm to your wrist. He didn’t let go. Instead he turned and started walking—fast, purposeful—toward the river path instead of the tent you were supposed to share.

“Where the hell are you—”

“Quiet.”

You dug your heels in. “Eddie, what the fuck is your problem?”

He spun on you so fast you nearly collided with his chest. Up close his eyes were wild, the jealousy still burning hot behind them. “My problem? My problem is watching some random asshole put his hands all over you like he had the right. My problem is you letting him.”

“I can dance with whoever I want—”

“Get in the kayak.”

You blinked. He’d already dragged one of the rental doubles halfway into the water, the plastic hull scraping against the pebbles. The river stretched black and quiet under the moonlight, the current lapping against the bank.

“Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night—”

“Get. In.”

You should have said no. You should have turned around, walked back to the tent, zipped yourself in and pretended none of this was happening. But the anger rolling off him was magnetic, thick enough to taste, and the curiosity that had been coiling low in your stomach all day flared hot. You’d never been good at smart decisions where Eddie Munson was concerned.

You stepped into the kayak.

He pushed off hard, climbing in behind you in one smooth motion, paddle already in his hands. The boat rocked once, then settled as the current caught it. Trees closed in on either side, blocking out the last of the campground lights. The only sound left was the soft dip of the paddle and Eddie’s heavy breathing at your back.

He didn’t speak again until the music and the lights were far behind you.

When he finally did, his voice was low and rough and right against your ear.

“You and me are gonna have a conversation. And you’re not getting out of this boat until I say so.”

The paddle cut through the black water in hard, angry strokes. You could feel every one of them in the way the kayak jerked forward.

“You’re being a fucking child,” you snapped over your shoulder, arms crossed tight under your chest. The dress stuck to your skin in the humid night air. “Dragging me out here like some jealous boyfriend when you’re not even—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Eddie’s voice was low and sharp. “You don’t get to decide what I am right now.”

“Oh my God.” You twisted further, nearly tipping the boat. “You don’t get to manhandle me in front of half the campground because some guy danced with me. I can do whatever I want.”

“You were grinding on him.”

“So?”

“So I wanted to break his fucking hands.”

The words hung there, raw and honest. You faced forward again, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction even as something hot twisted low in your stomach. The river narrowed. Trees leaned in closer on both sides, their branches forming a dark tunnel overhead. The current slowed. Up ahead the water opened into a small, secluded pool half-hidden by a curve of rock and thick underbrush—a private little grotto the three of you had found years ago and somehow never told anyone else about.

Eddie drove the kayak onto the muddy bank hard enough that the hull scraped loud in the quiet. He was out first, boots splashing, then turning to offer a hand you deliberately ignored. You climbed out on your own, nearly slipping, and stalked over to the old fallen log that had served as a bench for years. The wood was cool and damp under your thighs when you sat, arms still crossed, staring hard at the dark water instead of him.

Eddie dragged the kayak further up so it wouldn’t float away, then planted himself directly in front of you. Close. Blocking the moonlight.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t.

“I said look at me.”

You tipped your head back just enough to give him the most unimpressed stare you could manage. “What, Eddie? You dragged me all the way out here to lecture me about dancing? Congratulations. Message received. Can we go back now?”

His hands flexed at his sides. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“And you’re being a controlling asshole. We’re even.”

He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that had zero humor in it. “You let him put his hands under your dress.”

“Barely.”

“I watched him.”

“Then maybe you should’ve danced with me instead of standing there looking at me like you had some moronic invisible claim over me.”

That landed. His eyes flashed. He took one step closer so his boots nearly touched yours, looming over where you sat on the log. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the second before lightning.

“You want me to dance with you?” he asked, voice dropping into something quieter and more dangerous. “That what this is about?”

You rolled your eyes and looked away again, pure brat, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “I want you to stop acting like you own me when you don’t. That’s what this is about.”

Eddie exhaled hard through his nose. He didn’t move back. If anything he leaned in another inch, the scent of beer and sweat and the metal of his jewelry filling the small space between you.

“Keep pushing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “See what happens.”

You stood up from the log like he hadn’t just threatened you, like the air between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on.

“I’m swimming back,” you said flatly, already reaching for the hem of the dress. “You can sit here and be pissed by yourself.”

The thin fabric peeled up and over your head in one motion. You balled it up and tossed it into the kayak without looking, left standing in nothing but the little bikini you’d worn underneath. The night air kissed every newly bare inch of skin. You took one step toward the water.

Eddie moved faster.

“No the fuck you’re not.”

His hand shot out and caught you by the upper arm again—harder this time, fingers digging in as he yanked you back against him. The motion was rough, careless with anger, and his studded bracelet snagged the loose string at the back of your neck. The bow came undone with a soft, final slip. The triangle cups of the top fell forward instantly, baring your tits to the cool air and to him.

Everything stopped.

Eddie’s breath left him in a punched-out sound. His eyes dropped and stayed there, locked on the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks of your nipples already tightening under the sudden exposure and the heat of his stare. For one suspended second he just looked—hungry, furious, wrecked—before the last of his restraint snapped clean in half.

He hauled you fully against him and crushed his mouth to yours.

The kiss was all teeth and heat and years of denial. His tongue shoved past your lips like he was trying to punish you with it, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head exactly where he wanted while the other arm banded tight around your waist, pinning your bare chest to the front of his shirt. You could feel the metal of his rings cold against your spine, the hard line of his cock already pressing against your stomach through his jeans. He kissed like he hated how much he wanted it—deep, messy, wet—nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled against your lips between kisses, voice wrecked. “Knew you’d taste like this. Knew you’d be this soft. Goddamn tease—”

His hand left your hair only long enough to shove the ruined bikini top the rest of the way off your arms, then he was back, palm dragging up your side to cup one bare breast, thumb scraping roughly over the nipple. The sound he made when you arched into the touch was pure filth, low and broken.

He walked you backward until your calves hit the log again, never breaking the kiss, never letting more than an inch of space exist between your bodies. When he finally tore his mouth away it was only to drag it down your jaw, teeth scraping the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he spoke right against it.

“You let that asshole put his hands on what’s been driving me crazy for three fucking years. You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the bar right there.” His fingers pinched your nipple, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Still might bend you over. Keep being a brat and find out.”

You shoved at his chest even as your back hit the log again, still trying to keep the upper hand.

“Get off me—”

Eddie only laughed, low and mean, and used the grip he already had on you to force you down. One hard push at your shoulders and your knees hit the damp earth with a soft thud. He stepped in close, boots bracketing your thighs, and the sound of his belt buckle coming undone was obscenely loud in the quiet grotto. Zipper next. Then he shoved his jeans and boxers just low enough to free his cock.

It was already hard, thick, the head flushed dark and shining at the tip. He wrapped one hand around the base and tapped the heavy weight of it against your cheek, smearing a streak of precum across your skin.

“Open.”

You tipped your chin up and gave him the most venomous look you could manage from your knees. “I swear to God if you shove that in my mouth I’m biting it off.”

Eddie’s eyes flashed. His free hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make your scalp sting. “Do it. See what happens when you try.”

He didn’t wait for another threat. The blunt head of his cock dragged across your lips once, twice, then he pushed forward. You opened on a sharp inhale—half protest, half something hungier—and he slid over your tongue in one long, relentless stroke until the head bumped the back of your throat.

“Fuck—there it is,” he groaned, both hands now fisted in your hair. “Knew that smart mouth would feel perfect wrapped around me.”

He didn’t ease in. He fucked your throat like he’d been thinking about it for years—short, punishing thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. Spit slicked down your chin. Your eyes watered. Every time you tried to pull back even an inch he held you tighter and pushed deeper, hips rolling with zero patience.

“Look at you,” he panted, staring down with dark, glassy eyes. “On your knees in the dirt for me after all that attitude. Letting some random fucker put his hands on you and now you’re choking on my cock like a good little slut. That what you needed? Someone to shut you up properly?”

You glared up at him through wet lashes, still trying to be defiant even with your lips stretched wide around him. The threat of your teeth was still there; he felt it, and it only made him groan louder and thrust harder.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, voice rough. “You bite me and I’ll bend you over that log and spank your ass red before I fuck you. Try me. Please. I’ve been dying to.”

His hips snapped forward again, burying every inch. The wet heat of your mouth, the way your throat fluttered around him, the bratty fire still burning in your eyes—it all pulled a broken, filthy stream of words out of him as he used your mouth without mercy.

“God, you’re soaking the front of those little bottoms already, aren’t you? I can smell how wet you are from here. Fucking hate how bad I want you. Hate that I’ve jerked off thinking about this exact view for three goddamn years. Take it. Take every inch like the mouthy little bitch you are.”

Eddie’s rhythm turned short and brutal, hips snapping forward with no more pretense of control. His fingers tightened hard in your hair as the first pulse of his orgasm hit, thick and hot, flooding your tongue and the back of your throat.

“Fuck—swallow it—take it—”

You didn’t.

The second he started to pull back you dragged your teeth along the sensitive underside of his cock—not hard enough to break skin, but sharp enough to make him hiss and jerk. Then you shoved him the rest of the way out with your tongue and spit.

Everything he’d just pumped into your mouth landed wet and messy across the front of his jeans and the base of his still-twitching cock. A long, shiny strand connected your bottom lip to him for a second before it broke. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked up at him, eyes pure challenge.

“Oops.”

The sound Eddie made was almost a snarl.

He hauled you up by the hair and the arm so fast your knees left the ground. In two strides he was sitting on the log and you were face-down across his lap, the rough denim of his jeans scraping your bare stomach and the soft insides of your thighs. One of his hands pinned both of your wrists at the small of your back; the other yanked the soaking bikini bottoms down to mid-thigh, baring your ass completely to the night air.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice was low, shaking with leftover pleasure and fresh fury. “Had to push. Had to spit my come all over me like a spoiled little brat who wants to get punished.”

The first slap cracked across your right cheek hard enough to make the sound echo off the water. The sting bloomed hot and immediate. You jerked, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Count.”

You stayed silent on pure principle.

The second slap landed harder, lower, catching the sensitive crease where ass met thigh. Your breath punched out of you.

“I said count, sweetheart.”

“One,” you forced out through gritted teeth, still trying to sound defiant even as heat flooded between your legs.

“Good girl.” Another sharp crack. “That’s two. You’re gonna feel every single one of these when I finally fuck you. Going to remind you what happens when you act like you don’t belong to me.”

His palm came down again and again—steady, deliberate, spreading the burn across both cheeks until the skin felt swollen and throbbing. Between strikes he dragged his fingers through the mess of slick already coating your inner thighs, collecting it and smearing it higher, teasing your entrance without giving you anything.

“Look at this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Dripping down my leg already. You did this on purpose. Wanted me to lose it. Wanted me to bend you over and make it hurt.”

Another slap, harder than the ones before. You couldn’t stop the broken sound that left your throat.

Eddie leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear while his hand soothed roughly over the hot, stinging skin he’d just punished.

“We’re not even close to done. You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. And you’re going to say thank you when I’m finished. You're mine now. Thought I didn't notice your little crush on me? Made it fuckin' obvious you brat.”

You twisted against the iron grip he still had on your wrists, cheek pressed to the rough bark of the log, ass burning. The words came out sharp and breathless.

“I don’t belong to you.”

Eddie’s hand stilled for half a second on the hot skin of your cheek.

“You’re just my brother’s annoying best friend. That’s all you’ve ever been. Some loud, chaotic asshole who made fun of me for years. Why the fuck do you think you get to act like you have some claim?”

He didn’t answer with words at first.

Two fingers slid between your thighs from behind, parting the slick folds of your pussy with zero warning. You were soaked—embarrassingly, shamelessly wet—and the sound his fingers made dragging through it was filthy in the quiet. He stroked slow, deliberate, gathering your wetness and spreading it up to circle your clit without ever giving you real pressure.

“You want to know why?” His voice was low, almost conversational, even as his fingers kept teasing—gliding, pressing, never quite pushing inside. “Because I’ve watched you grow up into the exact kind of trouble I can’t stay away from. Because every time I saw you, you got louder and meaner and hotter and I had to sit there pretending I didn’t want to bend you over the nearest flat surface.”

He finally pushed one finger into you, just to the first knuckle, then pulled it back out to smear more slick over your clit. Your hips jerked despite yourself.

“Because three years ago you turned eighteen and started looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you, and I started jerking off to the idea of it every single night. Because I hate how bad I want you. Hate that some random guy got to put his hands on you tonight while I stood there hard and furious. Hate that you’re still trying to pretend this—” he pushed two fingers into you in one smooth stroke, curling them just right, “—isn’t already mine.”

He fucked the fingers into you slow and deep while he talked, the wet sounds loud between every sentence. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles that made your thighs shake.

“You’re my best friend’s little sister. You’re a fucking brat. You’re the last person I should want. And I still can’t stop. So yeah—I think I get to claim you. Because the second you opened that smart mouth for my cock you stopped being just his sister. You became mine to punish. Mine to tease. Mine to fuck until you stop lying about how much you want it.”

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching, then curled them hard against that spot that made your whole body jolt.

“Keep telling yourself I’m just the annoying best friend. I’ll keep proving you wrong with every dripping inch of this pussy.”

“Fuck you.”

The words came out rough and breathless, half muffled against the bark.

Eddie laughed—low, dark, delighted.

“Already planning on it, sweetheart. Thanks for the invitation.”

He hauled you up off his lap like you weighed nothing. One second you were face-down across his thighs; the next he had you bent over the log proper, chest and cheek pressed to the cool wood, ass in the air, bikini bottoms still tangled around one thigh. He kicked your feet wider with his boot, shoved his jeans lower, and notched the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

No more teasing.

He slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

The stretch burned—perfect, overwhelming—and the sound that tore out of you was pure punched-out need. Eddie groaned like he’d been stabbed, hands clamping hard on your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Jesus—fuck— so goddamn tight.” He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in harder. “This what you needed? My cock splitting you open after you spent all night acting like you didn’t want it?”

He set a relentless pace immediately, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps that echoed off the water. Every thrust shoved you further up the log; every retreat left you clenching around nothing for half a second before he filled you again. His rings dug into the soft flesh of your hips. The metal of his belt buckle slapped against the back of your thigh with every stroke.

“Look at you taking it,” he snarled, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and yank your head back. “Bent over a log in the middle of nowhere, dripping down your thighs for your brother’s best friend. You hate me so fucking much, don’t you? Hate that I’m the one who gets to wreck this pussy.”

He changed the angle, folding over your back so his mouth was right at your ear, breath hot and ragged while he kept pounding into you.

“Feel how deep I am? That’s three years of wanting to shut you up just like this. Three years of watching you strut around in those little outfits, mouthing off, pretending the tension wasn’t eating us both alive. Now you’re stuffed full of me and still trying to act tough. Doesn’t work when you’re this wet, baby. Doesn’t work when your cunt keeps sucking me back in like it never wants me to leave.”

His free hand snaked around your hip and found your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made your knees buckle; only the log and his grip kept you upright.

“That’s it—take it. Take every fucking inch. Gonna fill this bratty little pussy up so full you feel me dripping out of you the whole ride back. Gonna make sure every time you sit down tomorrow you remember exactly who you belong to when you stop lying.”

He fucked you harder, faster, the wet sounds of your body taking him almost obscene. His voice never stopped—filthy, continuous, pouring into your ear while he used you like he’d been dying to for years.

“Fucking perfect. Fucking mine. Say it or don’t, I don’t care—your cunt already did.”

“I’m not—fuck—I’m not yours,” you managed between broken breaths, the words barely coherent with every brutal thrust still punching them out of you.

Eddie snarled and brought his open palm down hard across your already stinging ass.

“Say it.”

Another sharp slap. Then another. The wet sound of his hand meeting your skin mixed with the filthy slap of his hips.

“Say you’re mine.”

“No—”

He spanked you again, harder, the burn blooming white-hot just as he drove particularly deep. Your whole body clenched around him and he felt it—felt how close you were, how your cunt was starting to flutter and seize.

He pulled out completely.

The sudden emptiness made you cry out in pure frustrated rage, hips pushing back chasing him, empty and throbbing.

“What the fuck—”

“You don’t get to come yet.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked but steady, almost cruel with control. He stepped back just far enough to sit on the log, jeans still shoved down his thighs, cock slick and shining with your wetness, standing hard against his stomach. He looked at you like he had all the time in the world. “Not until I say. Not until I’m looking at your face while you fall apart on me.”

He patted his thigh once.

“Get over here and sit on it.”

You stayed where you were for a defiant second, chest heaving, ass burning, pussy aching and neglected. The refusal was still on your tongue.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the brat act now.

“I wasn’t asking. Climb on my cock and ride it until you come. I want to watch every second of it. Want to see exactly what you look like when you finally stop pretending you hate this.”

He wrapped a hand around the base of himself and stroked once, slow, showing you how wet you’d left him.

“Now, sweetheart. Before I change my mind and leave you empty for the rest of the night.”

You glared at him for one more stubborn second, then gave in.

Climbing into his lap felt like surrender and you hated how much your body wanted it. You straddled his thighs, one hand on his shoulder for balance, and reached between you to line him up. The second the thick head of his cock nudged your entrance you sank down in one long, shaky slide until he was buried to the hilt again.

Eddie’s head tipped back on a deep, satisfied groan.

“There she is,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist like they’d always belonged there. “Knew you’d give in. Look at you—sitting on my cock like you were made for it after all that ‘I’m not yours’ bullshit.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust or to sass him. His boots dug into the dirt for leverage and he thrust up hard, burying himself even deeper from this new angle. The shift dragged the head of his cock directly across that perfect spot inside you and white sparks exploded behind your eyes. A broken, helpless sound tore out of your throat.

Eddie grinned like the devil.

“Ohhh. There it is.” He did it again—short, powerful upward snaps of his hips that punched the air out of your lungs every time. “Found the spot that makes the brat shut up, huh? Look at your face. You’re fucking melting.”

He kept the pace merciless, hands gripping your hips to pull you down to meet every thrust so you took him to the base again and again. The new angle was devastating. Every upward drive rubbed relentlessly against the place that made your thighs shake and your thoughts scatter. You tried to stay upright, tried to keep some scrap of defiance, but he could feel every flutter and clench of your cunt and he used it against you without mercy.

“That’s it—ride it. Use me. You’re soaking my jeans, dripping down my balls, and still trying to look pissed. Adorable.” His voice was pure smug heat. “You’re putty. Completely fucking ruined for anyone else after this. Gonna feel empty every time something that isn’t my cock tries to fill you.”

One hand slid up your spine and fisted in your hair, forcing your back to arch so he could watch your tits bounce with every hard thrust. His eyes were dark and triumphant, locked on your face, drinking in every broken expression he dragged out of you.

“Go on. Keep glaring at me while your cunt milks my cock like it never wants me to stop. I can do this all night. Can keep you right here, full and shaking, until you finally admit what we both already know.”

He thrust up particularly deep and ground against that spot until your vision went white at the edges.

“You’re mine when you’re on my cock, sweetheart. And right now you’re exactly where you belong.”

Eddie never slowed.

He kept driving up into you with that same punishing rhythm, the thick drag of his cock hitting that devastating spot over and over until your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. One hand left your waist and shoved between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit immediately. He rubbed tight, relentless circles—no teasing, no mercy—while the other hand slid up your chest and wrapped around your throat.

Not gentle.

His fingers flexed, cutting off just enough air to make every thrust feel sharper, deeper, more overwhelming. The pressure at your neck, the relentless friction on your clit, the heavy stretch of him filling you again and again—it all crashed together into something white-hot and unbearable.

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes locked on your face as your mouth fell open. “Take it princess."

Your body seized.

The orgasm ripped through you so hard your vision blanked. You clenched around him like a fist and then you were squirting—hot, uncontrollable pulses of wetness that soaked his cock, his jeans, his thighs. The sound was filthy, wet, unmistakable. You shook through it, choking on the air he allowed you, cunt spasming wildly around every deep thrust he kept forcing into you.

Eddie laughed, low and utterly wrecked with triumph.

“Holy shit—look at you. Fucking squirting all over me. Knew this bratty little cunt would make a mess the second I choked you properly.” He fucked you straight through it, never letting up, dragging the climax out until you were sobbing for breath and still clenching around him in helpless aftershocks. “So pretty when you come. So fucking loud. Everyone downriver probably heard what I do to you.”

His hand stayed on your throat, the other still working your oversensitive clit in mean little circles that made you jerk and whimper. He was close—you could feel it in the way his thrusts turned short and brutal, in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna pump you so full of me you’ll feel it leaking down your legs the whole way back to camp. Marking what’s mine. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember exactly who owned this pussy tonight.”

He slammed up one final time and came with a broken, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed deep inside you. Hot, thick ropes of come flooded your cunt, overflowing around his cock with every residual throb. He kept you pinned there, hand still loosely around your throat, hips grinding in slow circles like he was trying to push it even deeper.

“Fuck… yes. Take it. Every drop.” His voice was pure satisfied filth. “That’s my come inside you now. No one else’s. Just mine.”

He didn’t pull out. Just stayed buried, breathing hard, thumb stroking almost absently over the side of your neck where his fingers had pressed while he watched your face with dark, cocky satisfaction.

Your legs barely held you when you pushed off his lap.

The second you stood, everything between your thighs felt swollen and oversensitive and wet—his come already starting to slip out of you and trickle down the inside of one leg. Your knees wobbled hard. You took one unsteady step and nearly pitched forward into the dirt.

Eddie caught you by the waist before you could fall, hauling you back against his chest with an arm banded tight around your middle.

“Get off me—”

“You’re gonna face-plant, genius—”

“I said get off.” You shoved at his arm until he let go, then spun on him, still half-naked, hair a mess, lips swollen, the evidence of everything he’d just done to you streaked down your thighs. The anger hit all at once, sharp and shaky and too big for the quiet little grotto.

“If you liked me for that long—three fucking years—why did it have to be like this?” Your voice cracked on the last word and you hated it. “Why couldn’t you just be normal about it? Talk to me like a person instead of acting like a jealous asshole and dragging me out here to—to punish me? You didn’t have to be mean. You didn’t have to be so fucking—”

Eddie stayed seated on the log, jeans still open, watching you with that same dark, unreadable expression. He didn’t look sorry. If anything he looked like he was fighting a smirk.

“You liked it.”

The simple, cocky certainty in his voice made your face burn hotter than the spanking had.

“I—yeah, but—” You stammered, caught between the truth and the residual fury still sparking under your skin. “That’s not the point, you dickhead. You didn’t have to do it like that. You could’ve just… said something. Instead of losing your shit and treating me like some toy you finally got to break.”

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still looking up at you with that infuriating half-smile. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple. His voice came out quieter, but no less certain.

“You’re right. I could’ve been normal. Could’ve asked you out like a gentleman and taken you to dinner and held your hand.” He tilted his head. “But that’s not what either of us wanted, is it? You didn’t melt for polite. You melted when I was mean. When I made you take it. When I refused to let you keep pretending there was nothing here.”

He stood slowly, towering over you again, and reached out to tuck a tangled strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“I was jealous. I was angry. And you came so hard you soaked me to the skin. So maybe stop yelling at me for giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for with every look and every smart-ass comment for three years.”

“Just take me back to camp.”

Eddie looked at you for a long second, then simply nodded.

You both dressed in silence—your dress pulled back on over the still-damp bikini, his jeans tugged up and zipped with a wince. The kayak rocked as you climbed in first, settling on the front seat without looking at him. He pushed off the bank and started paddling, the only sounds the soft drip of water from the blade and the distant chorus of frogs.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Halfway back the river widened again, the current slow and glassy under a sky packed with stars. The campground lights were still a distant glow around the next bend. Eddie lifted the paddle out of the water and let the kayak drift. The sudden quiet felt heavier than the arguing had.

You glanced over your shoulder. He was staring up at the sky, profile silvered by moonlight, curls messy from your hands. When he finally spoke his voice was quieter than you’d heard it all night.

“Were you really mad at me?”

The question sat between you, stripped of the earlier swagger and heat.

You turned back around, watching the dark water slide past. “Kinda.”

Eddie exhaled. The paddle rested across his thighs. For a while the only movement was the gentle rock of the boat.

“I tried being nice,” he said eventually. “More than once. You never looked at me twice.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“First time was the summer you turned eighteen. I asked if you wanted to come with me to the record store in town. You said you already had plans and walked off. Called me a jackass. Next year I tried again—offered you the aux cord on the drive up, told you to put on whatever you wanted. You handed it straight to your brother and put your headphones in.” His laugh was soft and self-deprecating. “Every summer I found some stupid little way to be less of an asshole around you. And every summer you treated me exactly the same. Annoying. Loud. Your brother’s best friend. Background noise.”

He dipped the paddle once to keep the boat from spinning, then let it rest again.

“So yeah. I stopped trying to be normal. Being mean at least made you look at me. Made you fight back. Made you feel something. Even if it was just wanting to punch me in the face.” The water lapped quietly against the hull. “Guess I figured if I couldn’t get you to like me the regular way, I’d take whatever version of your attention I could get.”

The stars above the treeline were absurdly bright. The night air smelled like wet earth and pine. Somewhere far behind you the rec center music still thumped faintly, a whole different world.

Eddie waited, paddle still, giving you the space to answer or not.

You stared at the dark water for a long time before the words finally came out.

“I’ve liked you forever.”

The admission felt huge in the quiet. Behind you, Eddie went completely still.

“I just… always thought you were only being nice because of my brother. Like it was some obligation. Keep the little sister from feeling left out so everything was easy. You were always around, always loud, always there, and every time you did something decent I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just stuck with me.” You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “So I kept you at arm’s length on purpose. Acted like I couldn’t stand you so it wouldn’t hurt when I was right.”

The kayak drifted another few feet. A soft breeze moved through the trees on the bank.

Eddie set the paddle down across the hull with a quiet clatter.

“Jesus Christ.”

You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was staring at you like you’d just rewritten the last several years of his life in one sentence. The cocky mask was gone. What was left looked almost young.

“You’ve liked me,” he repeated, slow, testing the words. “This whole time.”

“Yeah.”

“And I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“I wanted to not stand you.”

Eddie dragged both hands down his face and let out a laugh that was half groan. “We’re idiots.”

“Complete idiots,” you agreed.

“I spent years being an asshole on purpose because I thought it was the only way you’d notice me, and you spent the same years freezing me out because you thought I was only nice out of pity.” He shook his head, curls bouncing. “Do you understand how stupid that is? We could’ve been doing this—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, at the kayak, the river, the lingering ache between your legs, “—years ago.”

You turned fully on the seat so you could face him. The boat rocked. Moonlight caught the silver of his rings and the still-flushed look on his face.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We really could’ve.”

Eddie held your gaze for a long moment. The anger and the heat from earlier were still there under the surface, but something softer sat on top of them now—wonder, maybe. Relief. A little bit of awe.

He picked the paddle back up, but he didn’t start rowing yet.

“For the record,” he said, voice low, “it was never because of your brother. Not once.”

The night felt different after that. Quieter. Fuller. The stars overhead seemed closer somehow, and the water carried you both forward without either of you needing to fill the silence right away.

The kayak scraped onto the shore near the campground docks. Eddie hopped out first and offered a hand; this time you took it. Your legs still felt a little unsteady, and the evidence of everything that had happened at the grotto was a secret, sticky reminder with every step.

The walk back through the trees started quiet, then cracked open into something lighter.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “You’re still an asshole, for the record.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now. Big promotion.”

You snorted. “Don’t push it.”

Eddie grinned sideways at you, the same crooked, troublemaking smile he’d worn for years, only now it landed differently. “I’m just saying. For someone who spent the whole night insisting she didn’t belong to me, you came awfully hard when I treated you like you did.”

“Shut up.”

“Made a mess all over me and everything. Very convincing ‘I hate you’ performance.”

You shoved him lightly in the ribs. He caught your wrist and didn’t let go, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His rings were cool against your skin.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice dropping into that lower register again as the tents came into view. The smaller one was still zipped tight; your brother was clearly dead to the world. “We’re doing that again. Maybe not the dragging-you-into-the-woods part… or maybe exactly that part. Haven’t decided yet.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull your hand away. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it.” He lifted your joined hands and pressed a quick, smug kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

The campground was quiet except for the distant leftover music from the rec center and the soft rush of the river behind you. Somewhere in the big tent your sleeping bags still waited on opposite sides of the floor.

Eddie glanced at them, then back at you, eyes warm and wicked under the string lights.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging you forward. “We’ve got a whole tradition to keep ruining.”

You followed him into the dark, still holding his hand, the night air cool against your flushed skin and the future suddenly looking a lot less like an argument and a lot more like trouble you actually wanted.

“I don’t even know," you reply, picking up a nearby cloth and dragging it across the counter in an attempt to keep your hands busy. "The passage of time down slows here. Like, a black hole."

There’s literally nothing left to do. All the returns have been shelved, the store is tidy and organized, but actually, you haven't cleaned under the register...

You’re shoving at the hunk of metal, attempting to push your rag underneath it when something catches your eye.

There, at the edge of the counter, sits the complimentary candy jar.

You and Steve have been steadily cleaning the thing out during shifts like these all summer. (And then guiltily re-filling it so you'd have something to give the kids who come in every now and then.) However, since you hadn't had a chance to buy more after your recent attack on the thing, you thought it was empty.

But there, at the very bottom, sits one lonely lollipop.

You risk a glance back at Steve, but his eyes are already pinned to the candy. You look at each other, then the jar, then each other again. 

And you both lunge in unison. 

His shoulder bumps yours, but your elbow digs into his ribs, forcing a grunt from him. His fingers are longer, so he reaches it first, but you pin his wrist against the cool glass with your own and pry it out of his hand. 

“Goddamn it,” he mutters when your fingers close around the candy. “It’s a mystery flavor one, too!”

You grin triumphantly and pull out your prize. “Nice try. Sucker.”

“You’re not funny.” He settles back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning as you unwrap the lollipop. “Technically, I touched it first.”

“Well, technically...that doesn’t matter.” You brandish the stick, then pop the candy in your mouth. “ ‘Cause look whose mouth it’s in.” 

And he does. Look at your mouth, that is. You try to ignore the swoop in your stomach as the afternoon light catches in his mussed hair, making it look as soft as warm caramel.

“You know,” he says slowly, “we could call it even and just…share.”

You snort. “Share? You can’t share a lollipop, are you insane?”

“Why not? 

“It's juss—” You take the sucker out of your mouth to speak clearly. “Like…purposely swapping spit?”

He shrugs. “What’s wrong with swapping spit? You drink out of my water bottle all the time.” Steve’s eyes flick to yours. “It’s not any different than making out.”

Oh. 

How can he just…say shit like that?

As if kissing your coworker is a perfectly normal thought to have. Of course, it is a frequent thought for you. Okay, more like an all-consuming one, but—whatever. 

“At least tell me what flavor it is," he begs, taking a step towards you.

You hum, squinting up at him and twirling the candy in your mouth teasingly. “Kind of like strawberry, but less sour? Too tart for watermelon. I don't know, but it’s soooo good.”

His gaze drops to your lips. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What? Flaunting my win?” you say, voice full of false innocence. “I would never!”

He huffs a laugh, then his hand finds the counter behind you with a smack. Your vision fills with broad chest, and he presses you back against the ledge, so close that you have to tip your head up to look at him. 

“Careful,” he says. “I might have to revoke your water bottle privileges.”

You roll your eyes, then pull the lollipop out again. “Fine, Harrington. You want a taste that bad?”

His eyes drop to your lips. “So bad.”

You hold the candy up between you, but when he reaches for it, you snatch it back at the last second. 

He swallows hard as you slip it back into your mouth, twirling your tongue around the hard sugar and blinking up at him from under your lashes. 

When it clicks against your teeth, his eyes darken.

Suddenly, Steve grabs the sucker’s stick and pulls it from your mouth, and you’re not really sure who moves first, but a second later…his lips are on yours. 

Your breath hitches as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, then dips inside, tasting the sweetness there, and—God, it’s everything you dreamed of.

Steve groans softly, his exhale hot against your cheek as his fingers spread over your lower back to pull you closer, making your vest whisper against his. Your hands fly to his shirt, gripping the fabric for support as the carpet beneath your feet seems to tilt. 

You could kiss him like this forever, actually. It’s syrupy sweet, the sugar on your tongue melting with the taste of him and creating this intoxicating, addictive—

Just then, the bell over the door chimes. 

You break apart instantly, chests heaving. Steve chuckles as your hands fly to your flaming cheeks, and you whip around, putting on your best customer service face for whoever just walked in.

The sucker lies forgotten on the countertop. Something for you to clean up later.

 “Oh, and by the way,” he whispers over your shoulder before turning back to the register. “it’s cherry.”

He’s chosen a great episode to watch tonight, though, because Princess Alice is about to have to choose between Prince Lincoln —who she’s supposed to marry for the sake of the kingdom— and the court Jester, Quinn, who has secretly stolen her heart.

But right now, you’re missing important dialogue because as you watch Keys’ lips part in shock at something happening on the screen, a warm feeling settles in your chest. 

“Keys.” You pat the couch cushion next to you. “Sit down.”

He doesn’t even look at you. 

“No, that’s okay,” he murmurs, distracted. “I’ll just…I’ll just head to my room. Got work to do. So....”

Music swells through your dark apartment, and you turn back to the show, afraid you’ll miss something.

Ten more seconds later, Keys is reaching a greedy hand into your popcorn bowl and kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table.

You smirk into your soda. The carbonation fizzes against your lips, and you will yourself not to get distracted by the way the couch dips as he sits next to you. 

Seriously, your ab routine at the gym might need some work, because keeping yourself from falling into his side like he’s the new center of gravity feels a lot harder than it should…

“I’ve heard about this show,” Keys says.

You bend over to set your drink down. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s up for some awards because of the fight scene choreography. And the historical features are supposedly really accurate, because they did the filming at—” He cuts himself off, glancing over at you sheepishly, but you just shoot him a knowing look. 

His cheeks flush but he smiles, dragging the popcorn bowl into his lap

“…I’m just saying I’ve heard about it, okay?”

You settle back into the couch with a smirk. “Nerd.”

On the screen, Alice races down a castle corridor, her voluptuous dress bunched in her hands, red hair streaming behind her as she checks over her shoulder. Then, you and Keys gasp in unison as she yanks a sword from the wall with a metal clang and brandishes it against her own guards.

An intense action scene ensues, and you’re both so engrossed in the suspense that neither of you notice how close you’ve shifted towards the other. And when you reach for another handful of popcorn, Keys follows suit without thinking.

The soft brush of his hand against yours sends heat streaking through your skin. A gasp catches in your throat and you spring back from him in surprise, while he almost loses the entire bowl of popcorn in his haste to get away.

“Shit—sorry, sorry!” Keys apologizes instantly. “That one was my bad. Sushi?”

You think for a second. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you turn back to the show in unison, ignoring the quickening of your heartbeats, and the fresh awareness of exactly where the other person’s limbs are in proximity to your own.

Listen, every good roommate arrangement has rules.

Like, for example; whoever dirties a dish has to clean it. That’s a good rule. Or, having a schedule for taking out the trash, labels on fridge items, and sending a courtesy text when you have someone over.

But you and Keys only have one.

You can’t touch each other.

If you do—even accidentally—you have to pay for takeout the next day.

Simple. Easy. And very, very necessary. 

It’s not so much the money that keeps the rule intact, but rather the reminder of why it’s there in the first place.

Because Keys isn’t just your roommate. He’s also your co-worker.

The two of you work from home for Soonami Studios, thanks to their not-so-recent office resizing. You were promised this would be a temporary thing, but Antwon—your egotistical, asshole of a boss—has never been one to stick to his promises.

Little does he know, it really is temporarily, because you and Keys have already started job hunting. 

Oh—and the cherry on the fucking cake? There is a zero tolerance company policy at Soonami studios, outlawing romantic employee relationships. It’s an ancient rule, but Antwon certainly doesn’t care to revise it. He’s happy as a clam to sit in his throne room, filing his nails and making crude jokes about the secretary, or—whatever it is he does up there.

Which means that sharing an apartment and an office 24/7 with your absurdly cute co-worker makes upholding this policy…difficult, to say the least.

Especially after what happened last March—

“Look at me, Your Highness.” The Jester rasps, drawing your attention back to the show. His dark curls spill down around his shoulders as he gently takes the Princess’ face in his hands. You and Keys both hold your breath, watching as the camera pans to show the castle guards scattered across the candlelit castle floor, their bodies bloody and still.

Slowly, as Alice lifts her eyes to her forbidden lover’s, yours turn to Keys.

He sits forward on the couch, hair falling over his glasses as his fingers steeple under his chin. Watching the scene with a rapt attention you can’t help but find extremely endearing.

“You’ve never looked at me like one,” the Jester rasps, his lips inches from hers. “But I’d gladly be your fool. Forever. Just tell me what to do.”

“I don’t know what to do, Quinn,” Alice says, breathless. “All I know is that I’d tear this castle apart again and again to be yours. If you’ll have me.” 

The orchestra track crescendoes as he dips his head at the same time she rises to meet him, and the sound of kissing fills the room.

Keys clears his throat. “Wow. That was—”

Then the music shifts. It turns into something deep and thready, spinning a tendril of heat up your spine. 

You feel your eyes go wide as her back hits the wall on beat as the kiss deepens.

Tongue and teeth flash in the candlelight as Quinn captures Alice’s wrists in one hand and pins them to the stone above her head. 

Keys shifts on the couch, causing the cushions to dip again and nearly dragging you into his orbit. Your abs flex with the effort to stay upright. 

The camera pans down….down to his hands climbing up her gown, long fingers slipping up past the fabric and wrenching a desperate gasp from her.

“They’re gonna cut away,” you say, voice wavering with false confidence. “They always—”

The sound of ripping fabric covers your words, and your jaw drops as the Jester tears open the Princess’s bodice, spilling her tits onto the screen.

“…It’s not cutting away,” Keys mumbles.

“No, they will!” You clear your throat. “Just watch.”

The camera moves again, this time pulling back for a wide angle. It catches the way Quinn’s muscled forearm flexes as he makes a rhythmic motion beneath her skirt, causing her mouth to drop open on a silent scream.

“Oh, I’m watching alright,” Keys supplies unhelpfully.

You drop your eyes to your lap, barely resisting the urge to palm your flaming face. But in your new field of view, you see Keys’ big hand twitch against his crotch. 

Surely, this isn’t getting to him. Maybe it’s just that…universal groin discomfort men seem to always experience at inconvenient times. Because, you know, balls and all that.

But then it happens again.

You hold perfectly still, watching from the corner of your eye as his fingers spread over his thigh and his palm dimples his grey sweatpants ever so slightly. 

Suddenly, his gaze flicks over to you. 

Your stomach flips and you avert your gaze, pretending to be very invested in what’s happening on the screen.

“Not here,” Alice moans, arching against Quinn. 

His lips leave hers reluctantly, and her wrists slip from his grasp. With one cautious, desperate look around, she clutches her dress over her exposed breasts and catches his sleeve, pulling him toward her bedroom. 

The two of you sit silently, chests barely moving with each breath as the lovers stumble through the castle walls. They barely make it through her chamber door before they’re making out again. 

And as you watch them fall into each other’s arms with abandon, your thoughts can’t help but return to that fateful night in March.

You and Keys had found yourselves in the kitchen at the same time a little past midnight. He was standing in the light of the refrigerator when you rounded the corner, muttering something about not being able to sleep, and you came to a shocking halt as Keys pulled out his sacred pint of Häagen-Dazs from the freezer. 

Now, you knew him by this point, so you understood what a monumental, once-in-a-lifetime offer this was. Keys sharing his ice cream? Unheard of. 

Besides, who are you kidding, under no circumstances would you ever turn down some chocolate chocolate chip.  

You perched yourself on the island as he grabbed two spoons before joining you, and the second the chilled sugar hit your tongue, a soft moan escaped you. He blinked over at you, and then his eyes dropped to your mouth where a drop of ice cream had rolled down the spoon and onto your chin. 

You were utterly mortified but Keys just smiled and leaned in to wipe it away with his thumb. Which lead to you leaning in, too, and before you knew it, you were making out against the cold marble countertop at one a.m.

You both broke off abruptly, chests heaving, swearing you didn’t mean it. That you were both just…not thinking.

But then it happened again. In April. 

You were coming home from a boring date, smelling like your perfume and wearing that shade of lipstick that Keys could never quite get out of his head. All it took was one accidental brush of his shoulder against yours in the dark hallway before his glasses were fogging up as your tongues tangled together, his back hitting the wall with a thunk.

It wasn’t long before you were groaning into each other’s mouths in frustration, hands fisted each other’s clothes as you realized you had to stop.

That night, the rule was born.

And, the rule is good. It keeps things orderly, somewhat manageable, and above all—strictly professional.

Even if it makes you want to claw your eyes out every time you see your roommate because he’s too fucking perfect and you can’t have him and—

“Is this turning you on?” 

Keys’ voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you whirl back into the room, suddenly very aware of how damp your panties are just from the memory of his mouth on yours.  

You blink quickly, first at the screen, where Alice and Quinn have finally made it to her bed, then over at him before you realize he asked you a question. 

 “What? N-no?” you stammer. 

“Oh. It’s just your breathing got all—It’s fine, if you are, I mean. You know, I just—” He rakes a hand through his hair and his eyes widen before he looks away. “Sorry.”

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. 

“Why?” you ask. “Is this…doing something for you?”

“What? No.” He shakes his head. Then, shakes it again harder. “No, why would you think that?”

“Well, you’re the one who fuckin’ said it, Keys!”

“I was just checking on you, okay?” he defends. “C’mon, it’s not like—” He gestures towards the TV at the same time Quinn crawls down Alice’s body, dropping kisses down her creamy thighs before disappearing under her dress. “Jesus.”

Alice’s tits are back on display again, the dips and valleys of her breasts painted in the light from the fireplace as she arches off the bed, moaning at the feel of Quinn’s mouth between her legs. 

Keys’ pupils grow wider under his glasses, and his Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow.

You gasp. “Keys, you’re really into it!”

He gestures wildly towards the TV, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay. What am I supposed to do? Not look at the screen?”

Truth is, the need for him to look at you like that is burying itself deep between your hips, sharp and hot, making it hard to breathe. But you can’t say that, so you just…keep watching. 

The two of them have moved further up the bed. Quinn’s spread out across the pillows while Alice brackets his waist with her knees. It cuts to a close-up shot of her locket dangling against her bare chest as she lowers her hips down. Though the camera doesn’t pan any lower, it’s pretty obvious she’s riding his dick from the way her head rolls back in pleasure, sending her red hair cascading down her back. 

This new position reduces them to nothing but a gasping, growling, pawing mess of hungry mouths and limbs, and suddenly, your soft T-shirt and sleep shorts feel swelteringly tight. 

The candle on the window sill felt like a cozy, atmospheric choice an hour ago, but now it feels downright sensual as the flame dances in the dark window overlooking the city far below. 

Looking at it now, you can’t help but remember the first time you saw that candle.

When your previous roommate spontaneously married her boyfriend and moved out days before you were about to renew your lease, you had to find a new place to live and fast. You were talking to your friend Ria about it at work when suddenly, Walter McKeys interrupted with an offer. 

You hardly knew the guy, but apparently, his best friend, “Mouser”, had just moved out thanks to a job change, and Keys needed a roommate to split the rent. 

Now, you’re ashamed of the initial judgements you made on the bachelor pad. Days old takeout containers, a suspiciously stained couch, beds without headboards. The usual.

But, when you entered the spotless high-rise apartment for the first time, and found Keys in the kitchen, lighting a candle with the words teakwood and amber on the side, you realized you had severely misjudged your new roomy. 

He was trying to make a good impression, that much was obvious. And you could tell he was nervous. 

Because when you stepped into the kitchen with your bags, smiling at him softly, he gestured toward the candle and launched into an unprompted dissertation on why soy wax was the best, and that you should definitely buy candles with wood wicks, because they made a crackling sound akin to a real fireplace.

Now, that stuttering crackle is the only thing you can hear besides your own heartbeat whooshing in your ears, and the sounds of sex happening from the TV. 

Suddenly, it all begins to feel like a bit too much.

Your shirt is tight against your hard nipples, and Keys has a pillow over his lap to hide the erection you’re pretending not to notice, and their moans are so fucking loud—

“God, how long is this scene?” Keys murmurs breathlessly. 

Something about that desperation in his voice has you launching out of your seat to grab the remote off the coffee table. Embarrassment sends a flush up your neck, and your fingers tremble as you fumble for the skip button. 

“Yeah, no, I can—” you chuckle breathlessly. “Let’s just...” 

The TV screen goes black. 

Oh. Shit. You didn’t mean to press the power button! You were just tying to fast forward! Should you turn it back on? No. God, no! The silence threatens to suffocate you. Except for the crackling wood wick.

Damn, that candle is loud. 

Keys swallows hard beside you. “Well…goodnight.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Night.”

Neither of you move.

Keys’ knees widen ever so slightly as he goes to take the pillow off his lap, but seems to think better of it at the last second. You itch to tease him for it, but you can’t, because your panties are sticking to your wet cunt, your clit throbbing with a heavy ache you haven’t felt since April. 

And it’s not from the fucking sex scene. 

“Keys—” His name leaves your lips before you can stop it.

In the dim candlelight, his chest rises and falls under his T-shirt, and a stray lock of hair falls into his eyes as he glances over at you.

“Yeah?”

He’s looking at you so earnestly from behind his glasses. Like he’d do literally anything you asked him to right now, but more than anything, he just wants to listen. 

“What if…?” Your eyes drop to your lap. “N-never mind.”

“No, what were you going to say?” he urges, and his voice has this eager, desperate edge to it that you absolutely cannot think about right now.

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. Seriously, just forget I said anything—”

“I mean, what else are we going to do?” Keys interrupts, then huffs a laugh that gets caught in his throat. “Go back to our rooms right now and pretend like we can’t hear each other getting off? Tell me.”

Oh, shit.

So he could hear you, too? God, it’s been torture listening to his uneven breathing though the thin wall. The slick sounds of him stroking his cock late at night. Those quiet groans that escape him when he thinks you’re asleep.

That one time you swore he said your name…

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but you shift to relieve some pressure on your aching clit just as his hand slips under the pillow on his lap, and your elbows bump together. 

The contact forces both of you apart like lightning struck the couch cushions.

Keys rakes a hand through his hair, clutching the pillow to his groin like a fucking shield. 

He clambers backwards into the other side of the couch while you shuffle in the opposite direction until your lower back hits the arm rest. 

Both of you stare at each other, barely breathing. 

All it would take is one of you walking out for all this to come to a screeching halt, but neither of you even glances toward the doorway.

“Okay, wait,” Keys says, “Let’s just…take a second here and think. Because what if…” His eyes catch yours and a shiver rolls through you. “What if we don’t break the rule?”

You watch his lips part, listen to his soft exhale— like he surprised himself by even saying that out loud—while your heart beats out of your chest. You know what he’s suggesting.

You’re just two friends who got horny from a sex scene, right? Right. Two friends who have made out twice in the past and swore they wouldn’t again, but, you know. 

Semantics. 

“We probably shouldn’t…” you breathe. But even as the words leave your lips, your finger twitches against the waistband of your sleep shorts. 

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, eyes dropping to your clothed cunt. “Yeah, you’re right….we shouldn’t…” 

Your knees fall open slowly—one resting against the couch, while your other leg dangles comfortably off the cushions. Then, under his watchful gaze, your hand hesitantly pushes past your waistband. 

“Holy shit,” Keys curses. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

You hesitate. “Well, you said—”

“No, no, keep going. I mean—only if you want to, of course. But it’s hot. It’s really hot.” He swallows. “You’re really hot.”

A warm feeling settles in your gut at his words, and suddenly, you want nothing more than to see what you do to him. Your finger isn’t even to your clit yet, but just his eyes on you has it pulsing with your heartbeat. 

He lets out a shaky exhale, and his fingers close around the orange throw pillow. God, you’ve never noticed how big his hands are before.

Have they always been that—? Oh, shit.

He pulls the pillow off his lap, giving you a stunning view of his erection pressing against his grey sweatpants. 

Nevermind about the hands, now that is big. 

Even from across the couch, you can see his waistband gaping from stomach, the thick tip pushing it away from his happy trail.

“Take it out,” you say.

Your cheeks burn from embarrassment at your eagerness, but you hardly feel the sting of shame anymore. Not when he’s right here, so close to you, looking like he’s been just as consumed by you as you’ve been with him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you pant, eyes locked on where his hand inches closer to his cock. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, right? We’re not touching.”

“Yeah,” he lets out a stuttering breath as he squeezes his length through his pants. “Yeah, okay.”

As you watch him from under heavy lids, he pushes his sweatpants down, taking his underwear with them, and his flushed cock lands against his stomach with a soft plop. It sits heavy against the course trail of hair leading down, and your tongue twirls against your teeth, aching to run over it. Your fingers finally circle your clit, and the rush of pleasure makes you lightheaded.

“You lied to me, you know,” he rasps. 

 You watch as his big hand wraps around his dick…and half of it still sticks out above his fingers. He gives it one long stroke that has your back arching instinctually against the couch’s arm rest. 

You blink up over him, mind hazy. “W-wait, what?” 

There’s a teasing look in his eye, even as he strokes himself in front of you. “It was turning you on, you just couldn’t admit it.”

Oh. The show. You’d almost forgotten about it. 

“I mean, sure, it was hot…I guess,” you stutter, face burning. “But Keys, you were sitting so close, and I—”

“Yeah, I know,” he groans, eyes dropping to your hard nipples pushing at your shirt. “Trust me. I know.”

A part of you has wondered what it would look like—all this tension between you finally hitting a breaking point and boiling over. 

Apparently, it looks like this. 

Watching each other masturbate on opposite ends of the couch. 

Your panties stick to your folds, hot and wet against your knuckles and Keys watches your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you press tight, hard circles against your clit under the fabric.

“God, this isn’t fair, though,” he grunts. “You still have your shorts on, and I’m—” His hips grind up into his hand and he pushes his glasses higher on his nose in agitation. “Fuck—let me see you. Please?”

You’re powerless when he starts begging.

With trembling fingers, you dig your thumbs under your waistband and slide both your shorts and your panties down your thighs, exposing your glistening cunt to his gaze.

He groans, like this sight is actually hurting him. “Look at you, you’re so wet. I really…fuck, I really want to touch you. I mean, I really…” He swallows hard, and his eyes snag on the pink panties still dangling from your fingers. “Toss those over.”

You blink. “What?”

Keys can barely form words, too busy looking at that damp spot where your arousal soaked through the fabric.

“Please?” he begs. “I know I can’t touch you, but…fuck, I can taste you, right? That’s allowed?” 

Your mouth parts in surprise, a shaky inhale caught in your throat. You never suspected Keys to be like this. Desperate, and eager, and…downright needy.

You’re not exactly sure what makes you decide to toss them over, the pink lace landing in a small heap over his knee. Maybe you just want to see how far you can take this rule of yours. How much you can get away with. 

His big palm envelops the fabric instantly, and he drags it up to his face. A shaky inhale catches in your throat as he breathes you in, his lashes fluttering shut with a moan. Then his mouth parts, his tongue flicks over the damp spot. And all of a sudden, all you can picture is his tongue doing the same thing to your cunt. 

That silky, wet heat exploring you in that curious, but earnest way of his. Searching for those spots that make your thighs clench around his head, inevitably turning you into a writhing, moaning mess underneath him.

“God, you taste so good.” His head falls back on a groan as pre-cum beads at his slit. “I’ve thought about you so much. Thought about what it would be like to—” His jaw ticks, and he hesitates. 

“Talking isn’t against the rule,” you remind him breathlessly. 

“Okay, okay, fine,” he groans, stomach muscles clenching under his shirt. “Every time we pass each other in the hall, I want to kiss you. I really want to kiss you again. And I want you to curl your hands in my hair like you did that one night while you…” he swallows hard. “While you ride me in my bed.”

“I want that too,” you gasp, and the ache between your hips turns ravenous, sharp claws of need digging into you, leaving you red-faced and moaning.

Your breath shudders as you watch his thighs fall open a little more. His cock twitches in his hand and your lashes threaten to slip shut just thinking about how badly you want to choke on it for him. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking pretty, oh my god.”

“Keys,” you whine. Your hips buck up into your hand shamelessly, wishing it was his fingers circling your clit instead. They look so strong in the candlelight, the veins around his knuckles shifting with every stroke of his cock. 

His Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow, and his eyes search your face. “I know, I know. You want me to help?”

You nod frantically, not even sure what you’re agreeing to, but Keys lets go of his dick to take off his sweatpants fully. 

“What are you—” you start, but the sight of him shuffling forward and kneeling on the couch in front of you whisks all thoughts from your mind.

“Can I…” He swallows, brown eyes catching yours. “Can I help? I won’t touch you, I promise.”

“Yes” you whisper. “Please.”

Curious, your hand slows on your clit as he leans forward, elbows digging into the fabric couch, and oh—fuck. Now, his mouth is so close to you! He may have promised not to touch you, but suddenly, you want nothing more than to arch your back and close the distance, 

Gently, and with a precision you would expect from your neat and tidy roommate, Keys purses his lips, and warm spit falls from his mouth—right onto your clit.

His breath ghosts over your throbbing cunt and you’re trembling with the effort it takes to hold yourself back from bucking up into his face, from making his plush lips hit your mound and slide all over your folds.

“Rub that in for me,” he commands, and you do what he says. Your heart thrashes in your chest as he remains there, panting. A stuttering exhale escapes him, his brown orbs pinned to your fingers. “Yeah—fuck, just like that. Does that feel good?” 

Your thoughts collide and dissipate over and over again, too strung out on the idea of his mouth on you to even form a real thought.

“Mmhhmm.”

His chin tilts towards you, like his neck can’t support the weight of how desperately he wants to lick your pussy. 

You whimper, eyes connecting with his. “N-nobody would know, right?”

He curses under his breath, hand twitching on the couch cushion, an inch from your thigh. 

“If you got fired because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, and ruin your chances at getting that job at Pixel? I’d never forgive myself.” 

His words should serve as an icy reminder, dumping ice water all over your arousal, and putting some sense into you both. But, for some reason, the fact that he remembers the name of the studio you interviewed at recently, and cares so deeply about your future, just makes you burn even brighter for him.

You open your mouth, seconds away from begging him to touch you, but cold air rushes between your thighs as he retreats back into his side of the couch, taking his hard cock in his hand again. He murmurs something encouraging, but you barely hear it, too consumed by the deep ache in your core. 

Something about this feels like crossing another line. Not one that breaks your rule, but one that shatters every wall you’ve put up between him and your heart. 

The dirty, raw truth of it is that Walter McKeys is it for you.

He is.

You haven’t gone on a date in months, and you haven’t wanted to.

You’ve ‘accidentally’ let your fingers brush his more times than you can count, just so you’d have an excuse to eat dinner together.

Every pass of your thumb over your wet clit has tight tremors coursing through your hips, and when you dip your fingers inside your slick channel, your stomach jerks with a preemptive wave of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck, are you gonna come?” Keys pants. His hand speeds up on his dick, and his lids grow heavy as he watches you chase your climax. “Fuck yeah, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. Just like that. You’re doing so good—”

The praise sends you over the edge. 

You cry out as the hot band finally snaps. Your walls pulse heavily around your fingers as your orgasm tears through you. Keys curses again, groaning as he watches you slowly stroke yourself through the aftershocks. 

When your lashes finally lift and your gazes connect, he looks positively wrecked. 

His hair is mussed, his glasses askew on his nose. His shirt is rumpled, stretched over his pecs and biceps, and his thighs are spread wide in front of him, his cock angry and red in his hand. 

Suddenly, you start to feel a little sympathetic. He helped you, so he deserves a little help too. It’s only fair. 

Slowly, you rise to your knees and strip off your shirt. He makes a choked sound as it falls beside the couch in a rumpled heap, leaving your breasts on full display in the candlelight. Your nipples are hard, aching for his touch.

Keys looks up at you, his hand slowing on his dick. But as you crawl towards him, his lip disappears between his teeth.

“Are you going to be good?” you whisper, rising onto your knees. Saliva pools in your mouth as you brace yourself over him, careful not to touch his skin. 

“Shit—yeah, I’ll be good,” he pants. “I swear. I swear I won’t move, just—” 

He cuts himself off with a stuttering grunt as you lean forward and let the spit fall from your lips, right onto the swollen head of his cock. Your saliva slides down his aching tip, gleaming in the dim light, and his hand starts up again instantly, smearing it up and down shaft. 

“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts. “Oh, yeah, that’s—fuck, that’s so—you’re so—” 

His head tips back at the warm, slick feeling of your spit, and the sound of him stroking himself sends another mind-numbing jolt of arousal through your spine. 

“God, can I come on you?” His eyes drop to your chest. “On those pretty tits? Please?”

You nod eagerly and shuffle back against the couch, looking up at him. 

 “Lie back for me, okay?” he says. “Yeah, just like that. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you.”

Oh, but you wish he would. 

Fuck the rule. It was so stupid to begin with.  

His arm shoots out to hold himself up against the couch as he kneels over you and starts jerking off again, each pass of his palm making a shlick sound that has you throbbing again already. 

God, how are you ever going to be able to sit on this couch again without thinking of him like this? The way his glasses fog up with every whimpering exhale, how his hips buck up into his hand when his eyes catch yours? 

His lips part as his thighs lock up, his dick pulsing in his hand. You arch your back, an invitation in the candlelight. A canvas, just for him. His core flexes rhythmically under his shirt and he groans as his climax rolls through him. Hot ropes of come paint your stomach and tits, and before you know it, you’re face-to-face, panting into each other’s mouths.

Still not touching. 

But when Keys lowers his head, his breath ghosting along your cheek, your lashes flutter shut, and—

A loud ding suddenly sounds through your apartment. You both startle, and his arm brushes yours in the process. 

“Shit,” you mutter, scrambling for your phone on the coffee table and squinting at the screen. “It’s an email from Pixel.”

Keys ducks closer, eyes roving the screen in your hand. “What does it say?”

“‘We’re delighted to offer you a position at…’” you trail off. “Oh my God!”

“You got the job?”

You nod slowly, heart hammering in your throat. “I got the job!”

Both of you turn to each other, eyes wide and searching for all of two seconds before Keys reaches for you, and you reach for him, and before you know it, you’re kissing. 

His lips are soft and warm against yours, and he’s smiling into your mouth, his nose brushing your cheek, glasses knocking into your closed lids. It’s a messy, breathless kiss, full of laughter and hands wandering everywhere. 

“You know this means I can take you on a date, right?” He murmurs, not pulling back from you. “Tomorrow. No takeout this time. A real dinner, you and me.”

“Yeah,” your heart swells, and you smirk against his lips. “And remember, you’re buying.”

note from gray: here’s the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it! The inspiration for Quinn is from this mood board of jester!Eddie, thank you anon for participating in my 3k special event! you can also check out more headcannons for him here by @basicallydjo if you want! 🩶 (also, yes Quinn as in Joseph Quinn, and did you catch the song lyrics from Djo’s song ‘Fool’ in his dialogue? i know you did)

keys masterlist | cutie divider by @porcelaincatx

keys taglist: @mysticfluffyness , @joekeerysbicep69 , @oliviaharrington , @subtlesposts , @drifting-daydream

@emotionallyaslut , @xoxocelestial , @calelundaa , @keer-y , @unabashedlyinlovewithyou

His hair is mussed, and he’s still in that blue T-shirt and patterned short sleeve button down that makes his brown eyes pop. You glare up at him, hating that you even notice that shit.

Eight weeks ago, Antwan thought it would be a great idea to pair you two up for character design. On paper, you make a great team. You with the artwork, and Keys with the code. 

And it really would be fine except for the tiny, itty-bitty detail of Walter being a literal perfectionist. 

We’re not talking about getting ‘pretty damn near’, here. No, we’re talking: per-fect. 

The man standing in front of you is personally responsible for not only your chronic lack of sleep, but also why you haven’t been on a date, made it to a single party, or gotten laid in two months. 

Keys gives you a wide berth when you step into the elevator with him, like he can’t wait to get as much distance between you as possible. 

“Floor?” he asks.

You sigh. “I’m going where everyone else is going.”

He presses the L for lobby. It glows blue under his finger, a twin for the next one over, G for garage. So, you guess he’s not staying for the launch, then. 

The doors close with a thud, and the blue overhead lights in the elevator flicker as you start your descent.

“Not much of a party guy, Walter?” you ask with a petty smirk. He hates it when you use his real name, as he insists the entire office call him ‘Keys’ instead. 

His glasses sit perfectly straight on his nose, but he makes a show of shoving them up higher with his middle finger as he looks over at you. 

“I can watch the launch just fine from my apartment.”

You squint down at your heels next to his black Adidas shoes, deciding whether or not you should argue with him.

The video game, High Table, is unlike any other on the market right now. It’s a choose-your-own-adventure with breathtaking characters and world building—a true designer’s wet dream. But it’s also an action game with intense battles and strategic war planning, bringing in two audiences at once.

You’re excited to see the public’s reaction to the release, and you know Keys is too. He shouldn’t have to experience that…alone.

“Plus,” he continues, “there’s one last thing in the code I want to clean up real quick—”

“Keys!” You let out an unbelieving, clipped laugh. “I swear, if I opened the dictionary to the word, ‘workaholic’, the definition would just be your name.” He scoffs, but you keep going. “I’m serious! Your gravestone is going to read: ‘Here lies Walter McKey. Cause of death: carpal tunnel.’”

Keys holds up a finger. “Ohhkay, first of all? Gravestones don’t actually display your cause of death. That’s, only a thing in High Table. Well, and, technically maybe in ancient history. Rome, or Egypt, or—whatever, that’s beside the point because carpal tunnel is not fatal.”

“How do you know?”

“You think I’m going to die from inflammation of the wrist?”

“Hmm.” You flick your eyes down to his wrist pointedly, sniffing once before turning back to the elevator door. “Well, it sure was nice knowing you.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the elevator wall, facing you. You try not to look at his reflection in the mirrored wall. The straight slope of his nose. That crook of his lip. The way his messy brown hair falls over his forehead, brushing his glasses. 

You fail.

 “Thirty seconds in an elevator and you’re already writing my obituary.” He scoffs. “God, this is so typical of you—is this because I woke you up with my phone call?”

You pause for a moment, pretending to consider. “Which day are we referring to? Last Saturday? The day before yesterday? Or this morning?”

He sighs heavily and shoves away from the wall as the elevator grows closer to his stop. 

“You know how Antwan likes to cut corners,” he says. “I’m just trying to work extra hard. Not let that ruin the game.”

It’s not that you don’t also want the video game to perfect. You absolutely do. But Keys has no boundaries for work and personal life. Which is why he’s going home to slip in some last lines of code—which probably isn’t even legal—instead of celebrating with his team. 

The air hangs thick between you, full of things unsaid and the faint hint of his cologne. 

“Well,” you say, voice tight. “I’m about to lose my launch party virginity here. Any rules I should know?”

Keys curses under his breath. 

“What?” You scoff, incredulous. 

“Nothing. Just—just one.” He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Don’t drink Jodi’s punch.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you gesture impatiently. 

“Jodi…the receptionist? The one whose favorite day of the year is bring your grandchild to work day? That Jodi?”

“Yeah.” Keys chuckles, shoving his glasses higher. “That Jodi. She makes this specialty brew every launch party, and it’s…it’s something.”

Your eyes widen. “What’s in it?” 

The floor vibrates below your feet as you near his floor.

“Nobody knows. Honestly, I don’t think Jodi even knows.”

You shudder. “That...sounds like an HR violation waiting to happen.”

“Nah, everybody loves it. But...you know.” He shrugs. “It’s not exactly…rookie friendly.”

He shifts again, and his shoe almost brushes yours. Maybe it’s just the fall making your stomach drop like that. 

“Got it,” you say. “Staying clear of any and all strange punch.”

The elevator dings and the doors roll open, revealing the dim parking garage. Cool autumn air rushes into the space, raising goosebumps on your arms, and bringing the smell of dead leaves. You scoot away from the door to give him space to brush past you.

But he hesitates.

“The code is fine, Keys,” you find yourself saying. Your voice has gone soft, and you’re not really sure why. “Everyone has worked their asses off to make the game good despite Antwan, and now that High Table is ready for the world, we all deserve to celebrate.”

“Oh? Even me?”

A lock of his hair falls over his forehead, framed against the florescent lights above. He thinks he’s bating you, daring you to agree with him, but all you want to say in response is—especially you.

No one has worked harder than him. You’ve seen him stay late without additional compensation, come in early holding a tray of coffee for the team, and do it all without proper thanks or acknowledgement. 

It’s clear that underneath that overbearing work ethic, he cares about the game, the people making it, and especially the people playing it. 

“I’m serious about that punch,” he murmurs softly. 

Then, he’s gone. 

And when the elevator doors slide shut, leaving you with a weird hole in your chest, you’re staring down at your lonely heels.

Okay, you get the hype about the launch parties, now.

This shit is crazy. 

There are balloons, and streamers, and…okay, maybe it kind of looks more like a kid’s birthday party than a professional studio’s launch celebration, but hey—this is your boss, Antwan you’re talking about here. 

Nothing about the man is professional. 

Hence the makeshift stage, the DJ who is wearing two hats at once, and—is that a fog machine? Either that, or there’s an actual fire in here somewhere.

It wouldn’t surprise you at this point.

The party has just started and already the drinks are flowing, people are crowding the dance floor, and a photographer is going around snapping everyone’s photos for social media. 

You’re still relatively new to this group, having only joined Soonami a few months ago, but you catch sight of a few familiar faces. You’re just making your way towards them when a snippet of conversation catches your attention.

“…not many single guys. I mean, Keys isn’t even here…”

Your heart stops. 

Scanning the room, your gaze rests on a cluster of girls gathered around the drink table. There’s Tiffany, the head music producer for the games. Next to her is a blonde, then there’s another girl wearing a mini skirt. You don’t know their names, but they look somewhat familiar. 

You can’t help but drift in their direction, curiosity twisting your stomach. 

“Oh, I heard he’s not going to be single for long,” Mini Skirt says. 

The blonde looks at her, confused. “Wait, who?” 

“Walter McKey.”

Wait, what? Keys isn’t single anymore? Your Keys? 

Your Keys—ha! As if working closely with the man for a few weeks on character art somehow makes him yours. 

Pathetic. 

Turning your attention to the drinks, you try not to listen. Maybe you can prove to yourself that you’re not shamelessly eavesdropping on one rumor about your annoying co-worker. 

But despite yourself, you inch closer. And closer. Until your hip bumps the edge of the table, jostling it. You wince, but the girls don’t seem to notice. 

In an effort to go unnoticed, you grab a nearby Solo cup and place it beneath the spout of a drink dispenser. 

“Yeah, apparently he’s into this girl,” Mini Skirt continues. You wince as the sound of the drink pouring covers up her words for a second. “—and this is coming from Mouser, but he says she works here.”

Eyes widening, you raise the cup to your lips. Icy, fruity slush glides over your tongue. Sweet and tangy, with just a hint of something richer underneath. It’s delicious.

The blonde frowns. “Wait, I thought he and Millie were a thing.”

“No, they broke up ages ago,” Tiffany says, nearly yelling over the music as it grows louder. “Something about being better off as friends, I think.”

You take another sip of your drink, mulling over this new information. You’ve been at his desk every hour of the day for weeks, and he’s never mentioned anyone. 

But if Keys has a crush, surely you would know about it. Right? 

“Do you know who it is?” Blondie asks. 

You freeze, swallowing another sip to look busy, your ears straining for a reply. You don’t dare look over there again, just in case they catch sight of you and stop talking. But you can’t ignore the way your heart starts to race at Mini Skirt’s reply.

“No, all I know is she’s a new hire. In the art department, if I’m not mistaken…”

Keys sighs heavily.

His computer screen is split in half, one side taken up with neon lines of code, while the other holds your character art for High Table—the court Jester you designed spinning around and around on its digital platform.

Guess which side Keys has been staring at for the better part of an hour. 

Sitting forward, he tears his eyes away, focusing on the code for hundredth time, to make sure Quinn’s shaggy, shoulder-length black hair translates perfectly into the cut scenes. 

It does. Of course it does. 

He presses a button on his keyboard and the character switches to the Princess instead. You spent the longest amount of time creating this one, so it’s imperative he gets her right. 

He couldn’t even count how many hours he spent re-working Antwan’s shitty servers just to make sure every ruffle and fold of her dress, every painstaking line of her heart shaped locket, was preserved within the pixels from the player’s POV. 

But she’s already perfect.

Keys’ chair creaks as he leans back in it, scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes beneath his glasses. 

You were right. The game is done. So, why is he here when entire team is back at the office? He should just—

Suddenly, techno music blares through his apartment. He curses and reaches for his phone, already knowing who it is before he even reads the screen.  

The second he answers the call, loud music vibrates through the speakers and he winces, pulling the phone from his ear. 

“Hey, Mouser,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Bro!” Mouser shouts, his voice barely audible over the bass. “Just thought you should know your girlfriend is acting weird.”

Keys shifts forward in his chair, suddenly alert. “Wait, what? I already told you, she’s not my girlfriend. And what do you mean, ‘weird?”

“Look, man, I don’t know. She—here, just listen.”

His voice goes quiet, and the music grows louder, like maybe he’s holding his phone out.  

Then Keys hears your voice. It sounds abnormally loud and slurred, and…are you singing? If you could even call it that. It’s a horrible karaoke rendition of something that’s supposed to be Usher, but really resembles more of a screeching, slurring parrot. 

Keys groans. “What the hell happened, Mouser? I asked you to look after her.”

“Yeah, exactly, I said I’d look out for her, but I’m not babysitting this chick. It’s a party!” Mouser laughs. “Man, Jodi’s drink should be illegal. It probably is, actually. Oh, wait, I think she’s about to take off her shirt, holy—”

“I’m on my way.”

The five minute drive to the office feels like it takes five years. Keys drives through the dark city, white-knuckling the steering wheel and cursing himself the whole way. Why can’t he just be normal and go to the launch partylike everyone else? He had tried to warn you about the punch, but really, he just should’ve been there. 

When he barges through the glass doors and into the lobby, the flashing strobe lights threaten to give him a seizure. But then he spots you on the edge of the dance floor—still in your clothes—and his shoulders slump in relief.

Mouser must’ve actually come through for him, even if he likes to bitch about it. 

You must sense his gaze, because you spin around on the spot. Your heel wobbles a little, but you catch yourself, and he braces himself for that familiar glare.

Instead, your eyes light up, and something in his chest snags at the excitement there.

“Keyssss!” you exclaim. “What are you doing heeeere?” A second later, you swoop into his chest, holding a red solo cup up to his lips. “Here. Try this! It’s so good.”

Keys curses, jerking back and giving you a stern glance from behind his glasses. “Okay, this is the drink I warned you about. In the elevator, remember?”

“What?” You look up at him, eyes wide. “No, this was not from a punch bowl. It was from some…jar…I think.”

Your fingers brush his as he swipes the cup from your hand, then takes the tiniest of sips.

It’s fruity and familiar. Too familiar.

“Yeah, that’s Jodi’s,” he confirms with a shudder. “Okay. We’re done with that. I’m taking you home.”

He readies himself for a fight, but to his surprise, you don’t argue. You actually seem to sway into his touch as he leads you out of the lobby, leaving the music and strobe lights behind, and when you glance up at him from under his arm, Keys’ heart kicks in his chest like a trapped hare. 

He navigates you through the glass entryway with only a couple of stumbles, and you’re almost to the door when you mumble, “Grey sweatpants.”

Keys’ eyes narrow. “What?”

“You’re wearing grey sweatpants, Keys.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Oh, nothing.” You sigh. “Except—are you trying to kill me?”

He does a double take at you and nearly runs into a glass wall. Stupid fucking—glass—mirrored—shiny—hell of an office.

You fall into his chest with the movement and he tightens his arm around your waist. Only to hold you steady, of course. Definitely not because, at this angle, your hair brushes his face, and if he tilts his chin, he can smell your rose scented shampoo.

He exhales sharply as soft fingers slip underneath the hem of his T-shirt, running over his stomach and coursing through his chest hair. 

“Jesus,” he hisses, dragging your hands from his shirt with a quick nip of regret as he practically carries you to the exit. “Hold it together, okay? We’re almost there.”

Seriously, what is in that stuff? He’s got to have a talk with Jodi, because this cannot be legal…

A fit of drunken giggles overtakes you as he finally shoves you out the glass doors and into the cold night. Your breath fogs up instantly under the street lights, and your eyes sparkle with laughter as they meet his. 

He could get used to you like this. So agreeable. So cute. 

But when he drags you over to street and gestures towards his parked car, you are anything but agreeable. Still kinda cute, though, he can’t lie.

“This is your car,” you say, standing there staring at it. 

Keys sighs and opens the door for you. “Very observant.”

“What about my car?”

“You parked in the employee parking garage. It will be fine until Monday. 

Your brows furrow, and that has no right being so cute.

“But—”

“I promise,” he assures you, gesturing towards the open car door. “Now, would you get in please? It’s fucking freezing.”

You start to argue again, which results in Keys practically shoving you into the seat. 

 “Don’t touch anything,” he warns, “I’m going around to the driver’s side, and when I get back in here, there better not be anything broken.”

You huff, crossing your arms as you wait for him to round the car.

“Buckle up,” he says the second he slides into his seat. 

Your lip curls. “Bossy.”

Instead of securing your seatbelt, you get distracted by something in front of you, and reach out to touch the blue controls on his dash.

“Hey, what did I say about touching shit,” Keys says, shooting you a look.

“Ooookay, but what is that glowing?”

“What? That’s just a fuckin’…I don’t know. A car thing!” He bats your hand away, then leans across you to click your buckle firmly into place. 

You sigh, slumping back into the seat. “Keys, next time, don’t letttt me drink Jodi’s punch.”

He scoffs. “Okay.”

“I’m serious! There must be tequila in that, because tequila is, like, my worst enemyyyy.”

He hums, not paying attention to you as he shoves the key into the ignition and the car rattles to life beneath your feet. 

“God, it just makes me need a dick so bad!” You whine, and he mutters a curse under his breath at that. “Need a long, hard one filling me up. Keys!” You scramble up, knees knocking into the console as you fist his shirt and pull his face down an inch from yours. You stare at him, lips parted, pupils blown wide. “Do you even know what that feels like?”

He blinks hard, then clears his throat. “I uh…can’t say that I do….”

You release him, falling back against the leather. “Ugh! It’s soooo annoyingggg!”

“Mkay.” He shakes his head and pulls out onto the road. “Where do you live again?” 

A sudden whistle of air pulls his gaze back to find you rolling down the window and sticking your head out. The wind blows through your hair as you tilt back in a way that has his chest seizing up in fear. 

He reaches across and grabs your arm. “Hey—would you stop—?”

“I’m hot, Keys!” you say, batting his hand away. “I need the cold!” 

“Roll up the window. Roll it up right now.”

“Make me.”

A car horn blares, pulling his eyes back to the road. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. With one hand on the wheel, he yanks you inside with the other, then promptly rolls up the window, and locks it. 

You pout at him from the passenger seat. “This is all your fault you know.”

“My fault?” He scoffs. “How is it my fault, I tried to warn—”

“Because if I’d been able to leave the office at all, then maybe I’d have a boyfriend I could call in times like this.” You frown, turning back to the window. “Or a fuck buddy at leastttt.”

Keys’s hands tighten on the wheel and he blows out a breath. “Listen, what you’re feeling right now? It’s going to pass.”

You look over at him, pupils flashing at him in the dark. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve…I’ve seen what Jodi’s punch does to people, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs heavily. “My first launch party, nobody warned me. I knew nothing about the stuff, and that shit was good—”

“—it’s so good!” you interrupt, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, so I had a couple glasses. I woke up the next morning, still on the dance floor buried in confetti with a sticky note on my forehead that said NERD.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth with your hand, but a giggle escapes you anyway. “That’s terrible.”

Keys shrugs, putting on the blinker. “I’m a lightweight to begin with, so it was extra bad. Listen, I wasn’t trying to keep you from having fun or anything. I was just…”

“Looking out for me.”

Keys pauses for a moment, glancing over at you before shaking his head. “Now, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Walter,” you drawl, a smirk curling your lip. “Do you secretly ca-care about me?” 

He scoffs, but it’s a breathless sound, like it got caught in his throat. Your words sit heavy between you, but looking at the way you glow under the passing street lights? He doesn’t have it in him to deny it. 

So, he turns back to the road.

“Anyway,” he says over the hum of the tires. “Ifyou think this is bad already, you’re gonna hate what comes next.”

“What comes next?”

He doesn’t answer. 

“Keyyyys,” you whine, staring a hole in the side of his head. “What. Comes. Next?”

“…and con-considerate, and thoughtful, and the way you always bring the whole office coffee is so hot, Keys, you’re so hot. Did you know that? Of course you don’t, that’s part of what makes you so—”

“And then comes the talking…” Keys mutters, shoving open his apartment door and hauling you in.

Your heel catches on the door frame, but his arm is so warm against your waist you almost forget how to breathe. Regardless of the state of your lungs, you keep babbling away, unprompted. 

You can’t stop. The words just spill out of you, your brain too warm and fuzzy to even process everything you’re saying. 

“—if you only knew the things I think about you, Keys,. Like, all my thoughts about you are so fucking dirty. Seriously! Except for all those times that I think about how sweet you are, because you are sweeeet, Keys. Even when you’re being annoying. God, you’re really fucking annoying, have I ever told you that? I should tell you more. Oh, and I have I ever told you that I love your glasses? They’re really working for you, like you’ve probably got a fantastic credit score and all your passwords are, like, really strong—”

Suddenly, your back hits the wall.

Your breath hitches as Keys presses you gently into it, telling you with his body for you to stay before he drops to his knees in front of you. His hands look so big wrapped around your ankle as he undoes the buckled strap of your heel, working it loose with a practiced ease that has your mind slipping again into dirtier thoughts— and damn that Jodi, because now you’re fucking talking again.

“You probably have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this, about how much I’ve wanted you to—” His eyes snap to yours, as if he hasn’t heard a single word you said except for the phrase ‘wanted you.’  “—just shove me up against the wall and kiss me, Or fuck me. Whichever you prefer, honestly, because at this point, I’m—”

He stands and his thumb lands on your parted lips, gentle, but firm. 

“Hey,” he whispers. 

“—and ohmygod,” you continue, voice muffled under his fingers. “You wouldn’t belief what I heard ovvheard tonight. I mean, if you hadda crush omme this whole time, why didn’t you jussayso?”

Keys squints and his touch disappears. “What?” 

You swallow hard and your eyes drop to the ground, but his hand is there, cupping your chin and forcing your gaze back up. It’s annoying how handsome he is. It’s even more annoying that you notice it constantly. 

His gaze dips to your throat, watching the way it moves against his knuckles.

“It has to be me they were talking about, right?” you say softly. “I mean, a new hire within the art department? God, please say it’s me, or else I’ll probably just die. Like, right now.”

He’s looking down at you with such a soft, puzzled expression that your chest swells so much it threatens to crack right open. 

“And that would be very inconvenient for you,” you continue. 

“What would be inconvenient for me?”  he whispers.

“I mean, a dead body in your entryway? How would you even explain that—”

He snorts. “What is it with you planning our funerals today, huh?”

“—but you’d probably be fine, because you’re friends with the police force here. You know, after your stripper cop character from Free Guy went viral and everything, and they invited you to be a part of their yearly calendar? Remember that?”

Keys chuckles. “Yes, I remember.”

The wood floor is cold against your bare feet, and you try to look around his apartment, but your head swims. All you get is a glimpse of navy walls, cream carpet, and one sacred moment of silence before your tongue loosens again. 

“I bought one, you know.”

Keys lips part in surprise, then he bursts out laughing. “No. No way. You did?”

His touch drops from you, and he takes a step back, smiling into his hand. 

“Yes,” you say. “It’s hanging on my fridge. I wish I could stop fucking talking because I never—ever— intended to tell you that.”

Keys chuckles again. Like he can’t help it.

“Stop laughing at me,” you grumble, eyes dropping to the ground. 

“Hey,” he says again, still smiling. And when he reaches for your hand…you let him. “I’m going to get you a snack, and then you’re going to sleep this off in my bed. Come on.”

“What kind of bed is this, anyway?” you mumble into Keys’ soft, navy sheets. They smell so good, like fresh laundry detergent, and him. 

“Comfortable, huh?” Keys smirks, opening a drawer in his bedroom and pulling out a clean T-shirt and and sweatpants. He sets them on top of the dresser for you, then leans back on his computer desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s some kind of therapeutic foam. My mom recommended it to me. It’s supposed to help with back pain from—”

“—from leaning over your desk all day?” you interrupt with a winning smirk. “I like this woman. She sounds smart.”

He shakes his head, but you catch the small smile playing on his lips before he shoves off from the desk to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Should’ve known that was coming,” he says. “Even plastered, you’re still lecturing me.”

You yawn, burrowing deeper under the covers. “I wouldn’t unless you deserved it. Which you do, because you—”

His hand lands heavily on your leg through the blankets, and you go utterly still, blinking up at the silhouette of his mussed hair in the lamplight. 

“Just try to be quiet for a minute. Okay?” he gestures to the glass on the nightstand. “Drink some water for me.”

“But I’m not thirsty—”

Keys levels you with a look over his glasses. It’s one you’ve become familiar with over the last few weeks. It’s stern, firm, and needless to say, it shuts you right the fuck up every time. Whether you want it to or not.

You sit up a little, your leg sliding higher on the bed, but he doesn’t move his hand, so he’s holding your ankle now, pinning you to the mattress until you take three gulps of water. 

Once satisfied, he nods. “Good. Now, go to sleep.”

“But what about the launch?” You ask.

He checks his wrist watch, then looks back at you, his eyes searching your face, categorizing what you need. “Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in on everything tomorrow.”

You nod, even as a sliver of disappointment sticks you under your ribs. 

“Keys?”

“Yeah?” he rasps. 

“What’s going on?” Your voice is so quiet in his bedroom, barely audible as the heat kicks on. “I mean…why are you being nice to me?” 

He rakes a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. There it is again. That weight on his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes—all the reasons you’ve been bitching at him about his bad work habits for the last eight weeks.

“Because…” he says, “There’s something you don’t know.”

Your stomach flips, but when you nod slowly in encouragement, he continues. 

“High Table was originally my idea.”

A breath leaves your lips in surprise. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t…that. 

He crosses his arms, looking into the corner of the room, eyes drifting over his board of video game controllers on the wall without really seeing them. 

“I made the mistake of talking about the idea around Antwan when I first got here.”

Slowly, you sit up against the headboard. “It’s a phenomenal idea, Keys. That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry .”

He shrugs. “I guess it’s why I’ve cared about it so much. Too much. I didn’t want it to be watered down into whatever crappy money grab Antwan thought he could turn it into, you know?”

You nod, and when your gazes lock, your bottom lip disappears between your teeth. “There’s…things you don’t know on my side, too.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to—”

“Do you remember…that night?” you ask.

Keys shakes his head, eyes crinkled in confusion.

Panic threads through your veins, and your palms turn sweaty in the sheets as you suddenly realize maybe this was a one-sided thing. Deciding to be brave, you forge ahead anyway. 

“It was the second week we were working together. I was showing you that new rendition of Alice’s locket you were supposed to code, remember?” He nods slowly, and your eyes search his face. “It was late, after everyone had gone home. You looked up at me, and I just thought maybe you would… ”

When you trail off, his eyes stay on yours. 

“I would what?”

“…kiss me,” you whisper. “But you didn’t. You actually jerked back when I leaned in, like I’d…like I’d burned you or something.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and then his eyes drop to your lips. He leans forward on the bed, planting one hand on either side of you, his face closed enough to touch. 

“God, you have no idea how much I wanted to kiss you that night,” he says. “How much I still…”

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment, his face close enough to touch. 

“Then do it,” you breathe. 

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not when you’re drunk.”

“‘M not that drunk…anymore.”

“Look at you,” he teases, the lamplight shifting through his hair as he hovers over you. “Begging for me to kiss you. I thought you hated me?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate you, Keys.”

“Oh yeah?” His eyes flick between yours. “What changed?”

Nothing. Everything.

“Must’ve been that sexy policeman calendar,” you say with a very serious nod. “It just did it for me.”

Keys exhales softly, and a charged moment passes between you, heavy, and ladened with emotion your head isn’t quite clear enough to put into words. 

 “I mean it, you know,” you say, gaze dropping to the sheets. “I know you don’t think I mean it because of Jodi’s stupid drink, but I swear I mean it, Keys—”

He shushes you, and his hand drops back down to slide over your blanketed calf in a soothing motion. It’s the kind of touch that has your eyes slipping shut, your body melting into his mattress. 

“I know you do,” he whispers. After a long moment, his shadow falls over your body as he rises to his feet. “In the morning.”

“What?” you murmur, sleep already threatening to drag you under. 

“If you even remember this tomorrow, and you still want me to kiss you…” The lamp clicks off, plunging you into darkness, and his footsteps recede to the door before he pauses in the sliver of light. “Ask me in the morning.”

“It’s the morning,” you say, startling Keys as he leans against the counter, drinking his coffee.

But as he looks up at you, his mug falters halfway to his lips.

You’re standing in his kitchen, freshly showered, the tips of your hair dripping on the floor, while sunlight pours through the windows behind you, soaking you in golden rays. 

And you’re wearing his clothes. 

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, squinting over his steaming mug. “That is usually what we call this part of the day. Are you feeling—”

“So, are you gonna kiss me, or what?” 

His mouth parts in surprise, and you freeze, thinking maybe you misread this. Your memories are still a little fuzzy from last night….

But a second later, his coffee mug clunks against the countertop and he smiles, cocking his head.

“Get over here.”

You smile and step through the sun rays to stand in front of him, but his arm shoots out, wrapping round your waist and pulling you the rest of the way until your chests sit flush. 

He smells like fresh laundry and vanilla coffee creamer, and can he feel how fast your heart is beating? God, you hope not. When your eyes connect, a silent understanding passes between you and his glasses bump your nose as you both lean in at the same time. 

His lips are light as a feather against yours, and you meet him there in that soft, ethereal sort of kiss that has the world tilting on its axis. 

His hand is perfectly placed against your jaw, like he saw that somewhere and is trying to replicate it. And his lips slot perfectly between yours. Warm, but still way too purposeful. 

It’s good. 

But it’s almost…too good. 

Frowning, you pull back an inch. Keys feels the shift in you immediately, hands twitching around your cheek as he blinks down at you. 

“Why are you kissing me like that?” you ask. 

“Like what?”

“Like you still hate me.”

“Wha—” He scoffs. “Last time I checked, you don’t kiss people you hate. Besides, I never hated you in the first place. So.”

“Okay, then kiss me like you mean it, Keys! Fuck—!”

His eyes narrow with determination, and this time, before he ducks his head, he rips off his glasses, sending them skittering across the counter and his lips land hard on your mouth.

Now this…this is good. Sloppy, and inaccurate, and real.

Your hands land on his shoulders as both of his big hands find the nape of your neck, tilting your head back and nudging your mouth open with his tongue. You sigh, pressing yourself against him as you kiss him back.

He exhales sharply, and the desperate groan from his chest turns your brain all fuzzy, like you’re drunk on Jodi’s punch all over again.

“This how you wanted it, huh?” he murmurs into your mouth, earning a whimper of agreement from you.

The kiss is perfect—a push and pull between you that’s always been there from the start. And as his thumb strokes your cheek, his teeth catching the plush of your bottom lip, you realize you’ve both just been fighting the inevitable for a long, long time. 

Keys pulls back slightly. “You were right, you know.”

“Holy shit, Keys,” you pant, chasing his lips with yours. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

His answering laugh rumbles through your palms, but something in the tone of his voice has you pulling back too, albeit a bit reluctantly. 

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “Right about what?”

He pulls your face close again—so close his face almost turns blurry. But for him, you’re crystal clear. Nearsighted nerd. 

“Everything,” he says. “Work. The launch party. The game went live without a hitch, and it already has raving reviews.” His eyes drop to the ground as his hands fall to your waist. “I think it was easier to work my ass of instead off instead of asking you out and risk getting rejected, because I thought you hated me. And I know that makes me a coward, but—”

You press a finger to his lips and he goes still at your touch. His eyes find yours, the soft brown irises glowing copper in the sunlight. 

“You’re not a coward. You care, Keys, and I—the world needs that. Needs you.”

He breathes a shaky exhale. “Yeah?

“It’s just…you’re so hard on yourself. And sometimes it can consume you a bit.”

“I know, I know, I just—I just find it hard to distract myself sometimes,” he says, shoulders slumping under your hands. 

“Don’t worry.” You smile, a wicked gleam flickering in your eye as you lean up to kiss his throat. “I think I can help with that...”

note from gray: here’s the smutty version of this prompt if you want to read it!! The inspiration for the Jester in High Table is from this mood board of jester!Eddie, thank you anon for participating in my 3k special event! 🩶

keys masterlist | cutie divider by @porcelaincatx

keys taglist: @mysticfluffyness , @joekeerysbicep69 , @oliviaharrington , @subtlesposts , @drifting-daydream

@emotionallyaslut , @xoxocelestial , @calelundaa , @keer-y , @unabashedlyinlovewithyou

and he thinks this time is gonna be different, he's gonna show some fucking self-restraint (cause what is he, some pathetic, pussy-whipped little puke pile?), but then while he's in the break room sipping his coffee from a paper cup, you stride in with your dad's lunch in a container in your hands.

"hey gator," you throw noncommittally over your shoulder, opening the fridge to stick the meal inside.

maybe you realize, maybe you don't, but either way when you bend over to rearrange some of the other lunch kits and food items on the shelves, your skirt rides up and gator gets a full view of the lower half of your ass. he nearly chokes to death on his coffee, spitting and sputtering over the sink.

"aw jeez, you alright?!" you ask, worried. he just waves you off and storms off to the bathroom. you assume it's to clean up.

really he's hunched over in the bathroom stall, hastily working his camo pants and palming his achingly hard cock over his briefs with a shudder.

"fuckin' tease." he grumbles under his breath, eyes squeezing shut as he rhythmically strokes himself and imagines how he would've liked that break room encounter to end...

how he would've liked to have set his coffee cup down on the counter, calmly walk over to the door and twist the small lock; to see the look in your big, pretty eyes when you realized what was going to happen -- hungry, hazy with lust and want.

"fuckin' finally, tillman." you sit up on the countertop, spreading your legs wide in that useless little scrap of fabric you call a skirt and baring yourself to him completely. you start circling your clit with two fingers, licking your lips with a grin. "thought you'd never notice me, i've been trying to get your attention."

gator strides over with a smirk, dropping to his knees in front of you and licks a stripe up your drenched slit with no hesitation. he grips your plush thighs to hold them open while he tongues inside of you, the tip of his nose nuzzling your clit perfectly.

"oh shit, gator -- god, yes. you eat my pussy so good." you croak.

your back arches, one hand tangling in his hair and one palming and pinching your tit through your thin cotton shirt. he can feel you beginning to clench around his tongue, pussy fluttering as you cum all over his face. he laps up every drop before standing and grabbing the hair at the back of your head, pulling you back to kiss you deeply, sloppily, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

"please can i have your cock, gator? i bet it's so fuckin' big, i want you to fuck me stupid with it."

"fuck yeah, baby. i'm gonna split you wide open." gator says to you (and actually whimpers to himself in the real world, where he's desperately jerking himself off and biting his forearm to stifle his grunts).

he spears you with the blunt head of his dick, pushing into you smoothly from how wet and worked up you already are. your nails dig into his shoulder as you cry out, begging for him to fuck you hard and fast. he obliges, eyes rolling back at how tightly you're squeezing him.

"gator, fuck! oh yes, yes!" you squeal in his ear, far too loud to keep this little secret rendezvous between you both. he clamps a thick, rough hand over your mouth, feeling your hot breath and the gentle press of your tongue laving against his palm as every thought other than the heavy drag of his cock against your inner walls leaves your mind; you're seeing stars.

gator feels the coil in his own belly snap just before hot, thick ropes of cum paint your insides the bathroom wall. he whimpers your name, and as his eyes flutter open he sneers at the mess he now has to haphazardly clean up with the one-ply toilet paper in the stall.

he tears open the bathroom door, kicking himself for giving in and annoyed that he feels a little sticky now. his shoulder slams into someone, and just as he turns to bitch them out, he sees it's you and stops.

"oh, hell. sorry gator. i just can't stay out of your way today, can i?" you smile shyly, tucking a stand of hair behind your ear and tilting your head at him in concern. "y'okay tillman? you look flushed."

"nah. m'fine. see ya around."

he brushes by you, rolling his eyes at his stupid response. you bite your lip and watch his tight ass as he storms out of the station. god, if he would just give you one sign that he was interested in you...

But he had changed in the little things. He took better care of his hair now, even spending a little more money than anyone should on a simple shampoo and conditioner, and he rarely talked about sex anymore.

It wasn’t that he’d magically become a prude over the years. He’d simply learned that some things were better — and hotter — left between two people, and no longer felt the need to tell his best friend Steve about whatever fucking position or wild thing had happened in the alley behind the bar.

Except now.

He’d switched to whiskey — double shot, no ice — about five minutes ago after realising the two beers before it weren’t doing much.

Steve, who had begrudgingly left his twenty-five weeks pregnant wife at home to meet Eddie for what had apparently been an emergency drink on a random Wednesday, looked completely and utterly lost as he quietly sipped his Sex on the Beach.

“So,” the younger man started slowly, tilting his glass while absentmindedly playing with the little decorative umbrella. “You gonna tell me what’s been plaguing you?”

“I can’t, Steve.” Eddie groaned, abandoning his nearly empty glass to drag both hands down his face.

“You literally called me because, and I quote,” Steve took a sip before making quotation marks with his fingers. “‘Steve, dude, I need to tell you something or I’m gonna explode.’ So, spill.”

“I know, I know.” Eddie groaned again, tipping back the last of his whiskey and pretending it still burned on the way down. “But I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because…” Another sigh escaped him as he raised his empty glass towards the bartender for a refill. “It’s about sex, okay? Happy?”

Steve blinked at him and leaned back in his chair and silently raised his own glass for another drink.

“You’re acting like you didn’t fuck half the weird chicks behind the Hideout back in the day,” he said, absentmindedly fiddling with his straw. “I honestly don’t get why you’re acting like a fucking virgin. You’re pushing fifty, Edward.”

“I’m forty-two, Stephen,” Eddie deadpanned. “You— Forget it. You don’t understand.”

“Of course I don’t understand. You haven’t said shit fort the last hour.”

“It’s just…” Another defeated sigh escaped Eddie as his tattooed hand disappeared into the dark brown hair now threaded with silver that had, much to his horror, finally started to show.

He was being ridiculous, he knew that. Steve was right — he was acting like a fucking virgin despite being the furthest thing from it.

But this? He wasn’t sure about this.

Hell, he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t imagined the whole fucking thing.

Eddie opened his mouth, only to snap it shut again when two fresh drinks were set down on the table between them.

When the bartender had disappeared just as quickly as she’d arrived, a string of choked words tumbled out of Eddie’s mouth, vowels mashed together with embarrassment as he immediately lifted his glass to his lips, desperate to give himself something — anything — to do besides look at Steve.

“What?” Steve frowned. “Dude, what the fuck. Talk slower, like a normal person.”

“I said…” Eddie repeated, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere on the wall behind Steve. “She asked if I’d ever done anal.”

And there it was — the utter, skin-prickling silence.

Steve simply stared at him.

“…That’s it?” he finally asked after a full minute. “This is what’s had you acting all weird?”

“Dude—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, man.” Steve let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m finishing this drink and going home.”

“What? No.”

“Eddie, you’re being ridiculous.” He licked his lips before taking another sip. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that she’s half my age and she’s asking me something I’d never even stopped to think about.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?”

Steve sighed. The day was catching up with him, and Eddie’s bullshit wasn’t doing much to help. So he pulled his glass a little closer, took another sip through the straw, and counted to ten.

“I don’t see what the problem is.”

“You don’t—” Eddie sighed, exasperated, averting his gaze like he couldn’t quite believe what had just come out of his mouth. “Steve, we grew up in the eighties.”

“I know. I survived it.”

“Other than the occasional dirty joke at a party, we didn’t exactly sit around discussing sex.”

Steve frowned as he thought about it. “Now that you mention it…”

“Girls back then never asked if you’d tried this or that. They asked if you were a virgin, and if you both were, you just figured shit out… and then never spoke about it again.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, resting an elbow on the armrest as he sipped at his ridiculously bright cocktail, nodding along to Eddie’s rambling.

“Meanwhile, this girl looked me dead in the eye at nine in the morning and went, Have you ever tried anal? Like she was asking me if I’d ever seen Jurassic Park.”

A snort escaped Steve at the comparison.

“What did you reply?”

“…‘Can I have some coffee first?’”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, set his drink back down, and rested both hands behind his head like he was sprawled out on the couch watching a football game.

“Jesus, Eddie. You’re unbelievable.” He groaned.

“I’m going to kill myself,” Eddie muttered.

“Without trying anal first?”

“Steve.”

“The joke wrote itself, man.”

The younger man shrugged again, absentmindedly spinning his straw between his fingers.

“Listen, just go home and talk to her,” he said simply. “Tell her… I don’t know, that you weren’t expecting the question or something.”

“I can’t just… talk to her about it.”

“Eddie, my man, you’re acting like a fucking teenager.” Steve shook his head. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Four months, give or take.”

“Four months,” he repeated slowly. “If this is supposed to go anywhere, you need to learn how to communicate. Apparently, that’s something you still haven’t figured out after forty-two years.”

“I hate you,” Eddie muttered over the rim of his glass.

“No.” Steve pointed at him with the end of his straw. “You hate that I’m right. There’s a difference.”

Much to his dismay, Steve had, in fact, been right.

Eddie had spent the entire fifteen-minute drive back to your place mentally turning over every word in the English dictionary, trying to figure out what he was supposed — what he wanted — to say once he got there.

By the time the red lacquered front door came into view, he still hadn’t figured it out.

The doorbell rang before he even really registered pressing it, and it only took a few seconds before he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

And then there you were, standing right in front of him with messy hair and an oversized shirt you’d customised a few years earlier, back when you were still in high school.

“Hey—”

“I can’t stop thinking about your question, and it’s driving me absolutely insane.”

Your head tilted at the rapid stream of words that tumbled out of his mouth.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Somehow, you’d found yourselves locked in a staring contest that neither of you remembered starting.

“Uh… hi to you too, Eds,” you chuckled after a moment, pulling the door open a little wider.

Eddie slipped past you without another word, too busy worrying at his bottom lip to even attempt an explanation.

His dark brown eyes darted around your little living room with a newfound sense of curiosity that was really nothing more than embarrassment hiding behind a mask.

Eddie’s gaze bounced from the far corner overflowing with potted plants to the extensive book collection you’d built over the years.

He was looking at anything that wasn’t you.

Which definitely hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The tip of your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you quietly closed the front door behind you, your eyes fixed on the strange way he stood in the middle of your shoebox-sized apartment.

You leaned back against the door, absentmindedly drumming your fingers against the wood as you studied him.

“Eds—”

“I wasn’t expecting to hear something like that as nine in the morning,” he blurted. “Especially not how casually it slipped out of your mouth.”

“Look…” you sighed, scratching thoughtfully at your chin. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention.”

“What?” Eddie’s attention finally snapped back to you. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure?” you asked quietly, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re acting like a teenager who just found out he’s gonna be a dad at fifteen.”

Suddenly, the little painted squares you’d made at a paint-and-sip workshop with a friend became ten times more interesting than looking you in the eye.

A quiet sigh escaped you as you pushed yourself off the door and walked over to him.

Eddie’s cheeks had turned a soft shade of pink as he stubbornly refused to meet your gaze, even when your warm hand gently cupped his jaw and tried to guide his face back towards yours.

“We can just pretend none of it happened, if you want.”

He still wouldn’t look at you, nervously worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Then, ever so slowly, dark brown eyes finally found yours beneath the warm amber light.

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to… pretend.”

The warmth beneath your hand deepened as his blush spread from his cheeks down his neck, your palm following its path until it rested lightly against his chest.

Your expression softened at the shy tone of his confession.

Letting go of his chest, your fingers curled around his hand instead, gently tugging him towards the couch.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Eddie slumped back against the cushions, full lashes fluttering with the incessant blinking of his eyes.

His hands found your hips, gently pulling you onto his lap.

“It’s just… You asked it so easily.” He let out a humourless laugh as his thumbs absentmindedly traced slow circles over the tops of your thighs. “In my time—”

“God, don’t say that.” You cringed. “That makes you sound old.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie deadpanned, a rogue chuckle escaping him.

“You know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes playfully before settling back against his chest, following his gaze to the silent television across the room. “Sorry. Please continue.”

“It just caught me off guard how easy it is for you to talk about sex,” he admitted quietly. “When I was your age, girls would’ve rather set themselves on fire than ask their boyfriends something like that.”

“…That bad?”

“In Hawkins?” He snorted, looking down at you with one raised eyebrow as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “You have no idea.”

The silence that followed lingered for a few moments as the two of you watched the two brothers hop in their jealousy-inducing car.

Then you licked your lips and shifted, turning to properly straddle his lap.

“I like talking about sex.” You admitted and shrugged at his wide-eyed expression. “Not just because it’s dirty or exciting. I’d just rather ask what you like than guess.”

Eddie’s eyes drifted over your shoulder and back to the television. One of the two brothers had somehow turned into a vampire while the other acted weirder than usual.

“You know…” he started hesitantly, still watching the show play out in silence. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me what I wanted before.”

You frowned at the quiet confession. “Really?”

“We just…” He shrugged, like it wasn’t something worth dwelling on. “Did things as we went.”

You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek and patiently waited for his eyes to find their way back to yours.

“Well,” you smiled softly, “I’m asking now.”

Eddie’s lips curled into a small, sheepish smile.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course you can, Eds.” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I was… kinda hoping you would.”

Before he could make fun of your little confession, you pushed yourself off his lap and darted towards the kitchen.

“I bought your favourite,” you called, pushing the beaded curtain aside. “You want ice with it?”

“How did you–”

“I can smell it on your breath, Eds.” Your chuckle echoed through the tiny kitchen and into the living room.

“…Just one ice cube, please.”

Eddie had stayed over the previous night after one drink had turned into two more, while the two of you laughed about sweet nothings as the television continued playing that weird show about demon hunting brothers in the background.

As it turned out, Eddie didn’t have to think about it.

Not really, anyway.

While he’d been busy panicking at the bar with Steve and then again during the drive back to your place, his subconscious had already made the decision for him — he just hadn’t noticed it.

Not until his eyes slowly fluttered open to the stark white ceiling of your bedroom, his brain immediately replaying the… particularly raunchy dream he’d had during the night.

And then there was the, uh… wooden log between his legs.

His eyes instantly drifted to his left, finding you still sound asleep with your back turned to him. Your frame rose and fell with each steady breath, and Eddie felt like a fucking teenager all over again at the mere sight of you — and at the persistent morning problem he’d woken up with.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled groggily, dragging both hands down his face. “Get it together, man.”

Forcing himself out of the warmth of your bed, Eddie did the only thing he could think of: ignore whatever the hell was happening beneath his boxers and make himself useful by quietly sneaking out to put breakfast together.

Not even ten minutes after he’d finally gotten the situation between his legs under control and managed to coax your second-hand stove into working, careful footsteps padded down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Eddie tried really, really hard not to tense when your arms slipped around his waist and your face nestled against the broad expanse of his tattooed back.

He failed the moment your warmth seeped through his skin and your sleepy voice reached his ears.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

“Morning,” he replied a little too quickly.

A content sigh escaped you as you leaned further into him, tightening your hold around his frame.

“You’re acting weird again.”

“I’m not—”

Eddie cut himself off with a tired sigh, turning the stove down before carefully prying himself loose just enough to face you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands drifting up and down your arms.

“It’s okay—”

“I dreamt about you,” he admitted quietly, his gaze immediately darting towards the small magnetic whiteboard hanging on your fridge.

“Oh?”

“Turns out I don’t need to think about it.”

“Oh.”

You straightened, suddenly feeling far more awake than you did half a second ago, your eyes searching his face as you silently waited for him to continue.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there pretending to be deeply invested in your weekly plans scribbled across the whiteboard.

With a small smile, you reached around him and turned the stove off completely.

“I’m trying really hard not to get…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “…hard.”

“Eddie,” you laughed softly.

“I’m serious.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re standing here in nothing but my shirt and a pair of lacy underwear, and I had the hottest dream of my life, and I—”

He immediately cut himself off, hesitantly lifting his eyes back to yours.

“Tell me about it,” you whispered, resting your eyes hands against his chest.

“About what?”

“The dream, silly.”

It was then and there that Eddie decided you’d come into his life for the sole purpose of turning it completely upside down.

Because there was no way in hell he was going to tell—

“We were watching that stupid show of yours,” he started before his brain had the chance to stop his mouth.

“Supernatural isn’t—”

“And then you stood up and suddenly you were completely fucking naked,” he continued, his hands slowly trailing down your spine until they settled against the soft curve of your ass. “And you started teasing me.”

Your throat suddenly went dry when you felt Eddie’s warm, calloused hands gently kneading the fat of your ass to emphasise his words as he continued recounting the dream.

Not that you were paying all that much attention anymore.

His voice had somehow faded into the background the moment his eyes had flickered down to your lips.

“—and then you were on all fours in the grass,” he continued, pulling you back to reality.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I don’t know either.” Eddie let out a soft chuckle. “But you looked absolutely beautiful, all spread out f’me beneath the warm sunlight.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you whispered, your stomach dropping in that all-too-familiar way whenever he talked to you like that.

“That’s what I said when I woke up,” he replied, a smug grin slowly creeping across his face.

The way Eddie had been acting over the last twenty-four hours was giving you whiplash.

One minute he was behaving like a schoolboy hopelessly fumbling through his first serious crush. The next, he’d slipped right back into his usual self, teasing you like it was his full-time job.

Your eyes widened in surprise when Eddie leaned in, meeting your lips in a soft, delicate press that felt like a total one-eighty from the conversation you just had. For a moment you froze, heart pounding wildly in your chest, but as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, something in you unfurled.

It’s chaste, almost innocent — just the brush of lips, a shared breath. Yet it sent a thrill down your spine. When he finally pulled away, you blinked dazedly up at him, still caught in the spell he’d just put you under.

You couldn’t do much but hold out your hand in a silent offer.

Eddie ushered you out of the kitchen, glass beads clinking together as the two of you hurried down the hall and made your way back to your bedroom.

The bed hit the backs of your knees as you tumbled onto it, pulling him down with you. Eddie’s tattooed hands roam feverishly, mapping the curves of your body beneath his shirt and drinking the low whimpers escaping your mouth as his fingertips brushed against the swell of your breasts.

You arched into him when his hands trailed back down to the hem of the shirt. He yanked it over your head and tossed it aside, immediately diving for the newly exposed skin. His lips trailed a path down your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone, while his tongue left a slick trail down to the tattoo you’d gotten four months ago at his studio.

“F-fuck, Eddie,” you breathed out, bucking your hips against his in a desperate attempt to ease the ache settling between your legs.

Eddie continued trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses towards your breasts, softly closing his lips around one of your nipples before he gave you a hard suck. His free hand roamed in search of the other one, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingertips while he continued sucking sloppily at the other, thick drops of saliva rolling down one side of your chest.

He pulled back slightly, searching your face after you’d given his scalp a particularly hard tug.

His fingers kept rolling and tugging at your hardened nipple while his eyes stayed fixed on your drunken face — eyebrows furrowed, mouth hanging open while you panted so prettily in his ears when he had barely even started.

“Have you… done this before?”

“N-no,” you confessed quietly.

“You sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?”

There was a certain vulnerability in his voice, but lying on top of you now, feeling the heat of your skin, he found that he desperately wanted you to say yes.

He continued playing with your breast as he waited patiently for your answer.

Like the heavy panting that filled the otherwise silent room wasn’t enough answer.

“Y-yeah.” You licked your lips. “I want you to fuck me in the ass, Eddie.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed out. “That fucking mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me someday.”

A shiver of excitement raced down his spine. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed his free hand lower, fingers skimming over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You twitched beneath his touch, bringing a smug curl to the corners of his mouth.

Leaning down again, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasps. His other hand mapped the planes of your chest, tweaking your nipple until you writhed beneath him. Breaking away, his dark brown eyes found yours under the soft sunlight spilling through the window.

Not exactly the same way his dream had been, but similar enough.

“We’ll take it slow, okay?” He assured, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

To punctuate his promise, he slowly rolled his hips against yours, groaning at the delicious friction.

He gently guided you onto your stomach, trailing reverent kisses down the length of your spine. When he reached your ass, he hooked his tattooed fingers into the waistband of your lacy underwear, tugging them torturously slow down your legs. Cool air kissed heated skin as he bared you inch by tantalising inch.

Eddie took a moment to admire the sight of you spread out before him, warm and quivering and absolutely desperate under his gaze.

“Gonna be so gentle with you, I promise,” he panted over your bare back, leaving soft kisses in between words.

He gave both of your ass cheeks a hard slap, watching the soft fat giggle afterwards. His heartbeat quickened and a low groan fell from his lips as his eyes maintained glued to your ass, slowly pulling your cheeks apart until you were completely exposed for him.

He never actually tried anal, or even gave it a second thought as had already been established, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the familiar bottle of lube tucked away in your dresser probably wasn’t the right kind, but it would have to do.

The drawer creaked softly as he pulled it open and reached for the bottle. It felt cool and slick against his fingertips as he gave it a tentative squeeze.

Eddie flicked his wrist, circling your rim teasingly, relishing your trembling exhale when you felt the cold, slick texture of the lube. Then, with careful pressure, he began to ease his pinky finger inside, determined to keep his promise of taking it slow.

“I– mmpff!”

He eased his finger deeper, marvelling at the tight heat enveloping him. He traced delicate circles, massaging gently until the initial tension faded and a breathy moan escaped your lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed softly. Then, lowering his voice like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, he added: “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this, sweetheart.”

He gently worked a second finger in alongside the first, pumping slowly. The wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your tight ass filled the room, obscene and head spinning.

“I-It hurts, Eds.” You whimpered, but immediately shook your head when he asked if you wanted to stop.

Watching you respond to his touch, pretty and swollen pussy fully on display and leaking as it continued being ignored brought a heady rush of pride and possession to him — how could he not, when he was the first person you’d allowed to have you this way?

“A-ah!” You breathed out at the empty feeling as he slowly removed his fingers out of you. “E-Ed— F-fuck.”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He gently tapped your hips twice with his slick digits. “Can you push yourself up your hands and knees for me?”

The request came softly, and you instantly complied by pushing your ass up higher for him. Slicking his fingers once more, he reverently traced your rim in lazy circles before slowly dipping his fingers back inside, testing a third one before pressing forwards just a fraction.

Your cheek rested flush against the mattress, eyelashes fluttering with every slippery, careful thrust he gave your tight hole.

Eddie watched your face intently, sinking in steadily, increments of progress marked by your hitched breaths and broken moans. The tight clutch you had around his digits was maddening, and Eddie had to resist the urge to immediately plunge deeper, harder. Instead, almost against his will, he rocked shallowly, letting you adjust to the stretch of the three, thick fingers he had in your ass as he patiently waited for your cue.

“P-please E-Eds,” you whimpered, desperately pushing your ass against his hand. “M-more.”

Eddie’s heartbeat quickened at your breathless plea. Slowly, he eased a fourth finger inside you, taking care to maintain a steady, slow rhythm. His free hand found the small of your back, gently rubbing circles against your skin when he felt you tense up at the stretch.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured distractedly, eyes completely fixed on the way you greedily sucked his fingers in. “It’s okay, I got you.”

You keened softly, hips canting back greedily for more when the sharp stretched dulled.

The lewd squelch of lube echoed obscenely, mingling with your panting breaths and hitching moans. Eddie felt completely drunk at the sight, fingers pumping faster and deeper, curling and twisting as he chased the perfect angle to send sparks dancing along your nerves. His other hand snaked around to circle your clit, stroking in time with his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Feel good, hm?”

“S-so, so good, Eds,” you moaned out, rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

The obscene wetness between your thighs dripped down to your bedsheets with each wet slide of his fingers making you writhe shamelessly, lost in the pleasure only he could offer you.

Eddie’s cock, desperate and ignored, basically wept as it begged for attention. A wet patch of pre-cum had long since stained his boxers, and it only continued to grow with each passing minute.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of burying his aching cock deep in your ass, feel you clench and flutter apart around him while you screamed his name.

Eddie’s eyes were pulled away from your greedy hole, landing on your curling toes. A smug grin spread across his lips at the sight, and he made it his mission to make you come like this — completely on display and at his mercy.

“You close, sweetheart?”

“Mhmm!”

At your breathless response, Eddie doubled his efforts, fingers plunging relentlessly as his other palm ground against your swollen clit and fingertips dipped shallowly into your cunt. The dual stimulation proved too much and you came undone with a broken cry.

“F-fuck! Ed-Eddie!”

Eddie buried his face in your neck, muffling sweet nothings in your ear as hot pulses painted your inner thighs. After a moment, he peppered your temple with feather-light kisses, basking in your warmth.

“You’re so beautiful when you come for me,” he whispered.

“I…” You trailed off quietly, swiping your tongue across your dry bottom lip. “P-please, Eds.”

“Hm?” He pressed a lingering kiss against your shoulder and carefully coaxed his fingers out of you, stroking the small of your back when a string of broken whimpers fell out of your mouth. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. I got you.”

Still catching your breath, you blinked dazedly up at him. The drunk look in your glimmering eyes raced a thrill down his spine at the thought of claiming you so thoroughly.

“P-please, Eds, need m-more,” you breathed out.

“Yeah? Sweet girl wants me to fuck her ass?” He cooed lowly, tracing soft circles at your hips as he pulled you closer to his still clothed cock.

“Y-yeah,” you nodded dumbly, mouth hanging open and drool dripping down on the bed beneath you. “W-want you to fuck my a-ass.”

With a low groan, Eddie reached for the bottle of lube once again, squeezing a generous amount of the sticky texture on your stretched hole before abandoning it somewhere beside you. He pushed himself off the bed and his boxers were pushed down his legs in a hurry, quickly forgotten as he threw it on the floor.

He pulled you closer by gripping your hips. Eddie slid his aching cock against your ass, spreading some of the lube against his length before he teased your slick opening with his mushroom tip. Heavy, calloused fingers dug into your hips, surging forward and sheathing himself slowly in small strokes.

“F-fuck! I-It burns,” you cried out, reaching a hand to stop him from moving.

Your hand twitched against his hip bone as you looked back at him with glossy eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

“J-Jesus,” he groaned out, accidentally rolling his hips despite your hand still trying to stop him. His eyes fluttered shut and his mouth hang low at the overwhelming feeling of your tight hole engulfing him. “Sorry, baby. I can’t help it, y-you’re so f-fucking tight.”

“Mmpff!”

Gulping down a dry lump, Eddie opened up his eyes and immediately looked down at where the two of you connected. His pink cock bordered on red, aching for more stimulation as only half of it had been pushed in. Slowly, after your hand had fallen away again, he rolled his hips backwards. His dark brown eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head at the sight of your ass gripping him, desperately trying to hold onto his cock, before he pushed back further into your greedy hole.

Eddie set a slow pace, hips moving back and forth in gradual thrusts until his hips are snapping urgently against the globes of your ass. The filthy slaps of his hairy balls against your dripping, neglected pussy and your broken moans spurred him on, driving him closer to the edge than he wanted.

“Y-you— ah, fuck!” You cried out, completely cock-drunk. “Mhmm, s-so g-good, Eds!”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked darkly, chest heaving at his relentless pace. “You like having my big cock in your ass, baby?”

“Y-yes! I l-love it!”

Captivated by your hopeless cries, Eddie redoubled his efforts, pounding into you with abandon. The lewd squelch of lube and your creaking bedframe filled the room, underscoring your desperate, broken moans.

The grip he had on your hips was bruising as he pistoned forwards, chasing his release. Eddie dragged a hand up your sweat-slicked spine, revelling in the goosebumps rising in its wake.

He leaned down, nuzzling in your neck and grazing his teeth against your tender skin.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. “Come for me again.”

Eddie grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back until you had no choice but to push off the mattress. His chest was scalding hot against your back as he laved attention along your throat while his other hand snaked back down to your clit, desperate for your second orgasm to hit you so he could feel your ass clamp down on his cock.

“I-I’m coming, Eddie,” you breathed out hopelessly, tilting your head back against his shoulder and looking up at him with teary eyes and trembling lips. “P-please, d-don’t stop!”

With a hoarse cry, your orgasm crashed over you, muscles seizing as waves of ecstasy radiated outwards. The rhythmic clench of your tight hole nearly pushed Eddie over the edge as he pushed your face back into the mattress, holding you by the back of your head as he desperately chased his own release.

“J-Jesus, f-f-fuck!” he moaned out, orgasm ripping through him like wildfire.

He fell forwards, sinking his teeth into the crook of your neck as he gave you one last, particularly hard thrust. With a strangled groan, he hilted himself deep, pulsing hot spurts of his sticky cum in your ass.

Eddie collapsed on top of you, gasping for air amidst the trembling aftershocks. His teeth finally let go of the sensitive skin of your neck, replacing them with soft, lingering kisses instead.

“Sweetheart?” He called after a few minutes. “You still with me?”

As the haze started to clear, he strained to make out your unintelligible mumble. He held his breath, searching your face for clues.

“What?”

“I said,” you repeated tiredly, eyes fluttering shut as a small, satisfied smile tugged at your lips. “I think you just killed me.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Eddie at your tired declaration.

Pulling you closer against his chest, still buried deep inside your ass, Eddie rolled the two of you to your sides and pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

Closing his eyes, Eddie focused on slowing his breathing, quickly basking in the warmth of your skin against his while his mind continued reeling from the remnants of his dreams and everything that had unfolded since.

A soft groan escaped you as you turned your head back to look at him over your shoulder.

“Did you…” You hesitated for a moment. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Did I enjoy—” An almost disbelieving laugh escaped him as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. “Sweetheart, you just blew my fucking mind.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the wonder lingering in his voice.

“Really?”

Eddie looked at you like you’d asked the stupidest question imaginable.

“I don’t think I can just go back to fucking your pussy.”

The confession made your breath hitch before a comfortable silence settled between you. His dark brown eyes glimmered under the warm morning sunlight as they trailed across your face and down your naked, still intertwined bodies.

Then your stomach let out a loud, unmistakable growl, completely shattering the moment.

Eddie stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Don’t think it’s worth reheating the eggs.”

“Eh, worth it,” you murmured.

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Definitely worth it.”

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You were sitting on the top step of the shallow end, legs stretched out. A red Solo cup rested on your knee. Across from you, Eddie floated on his back on one of those ridiculous floaties, arms spread wide, tattoos catching the light every time he breathed. Robin sat on the wide ledge near the diving board, knees tucked up, sipping whatever concoction Eddie had made her. Steve was right beside you on the edge, feet dangling in the water, a joint between his fingers and that loose, half-drunk smile he only wore when it was just the four of you.

Eddie sat up with a splash, water streaming down his face. “Okay, but hear me out — I’m telling you, if I can just get the timing right on the bridge, this song is gonna slap. It's dark. It's sexy. I had to write a badass song about surviving the apocalypse, right? Like I didn't get these fuckin' scars for nothing.”

Robin made a noise like she was choking on her own laughter. “Munson. You're insane.”

“Insane? Maybe. But,” Eddie said, pointing at her with the joint before passing it to you. “You know you'd do the same shit Buckley. Some of us are just more musically talented than others.”

Steve snorted, reaching over to steal the joint from your fingers after you took a hit. The smoke curled warm in your lungs, making everything feel a little softer around the edges. “Dude, you survived one apocalypse. Try surviving four. Plus Buckley is great with music. Don't shit on her trombone talents.”

You laughed so hard you had to grab Steve’s arm to keep from sliding off the step. “Yeah Munson. That girls got good blowing skills. Don't shit on her.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically. “I would never shit on my dear Buckley. You know I love you. Maybe I could use some of your blowing skills on this song.”

“Blowing skills?” Robin echoed. “Christ Munson. If you want me to blow you, you're gonna be waiting a long ass time.”

Steve was laughing too hard to come up with a coherent thought. Eddie looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Steve just splashed water at Eddie with his foot and said, “You’re all lucky I let you live here. I could’ve had peace and quiet. Instead I get you three idiots bickering and someone— someone — keeps stealing my good towels and leaving them on the bathroom floor.”

Robin raised her hand. “That was me. They’re softer than mine. Sue me.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the water lapping gently at your waist. “Speaking of stealing… Eddie, you owe Steve like six pairs of socks at this point. I saw them in your room.”

Eddie looked down at his feet in the water like he’d been caught. “They’re comfortable. And Stevie already stretched them out so they're perfect.”

“It’s theft,” Steve said, but he was grinning, the kind of grin that crinkled his whole face. “You know what else is theft? The last of the good cereal. I bought that box of Lucky Charms yesterday. It was gone by breakfast. I’m looking at you, Buckley.”

Robin didn’t even try to deny it. “I have no regrets. You can’t leave name-brand cereal in a house with three other people and expect it to survive. That’s on you, Harrington.”

The joint made another slow circle. You took a hit, passed it to Robin, and felt that warm, floaty buzz settle deeper into your chest. Everything felt good — the way the pool lights made Eddie’s wet hair look almost black, the way Steve kept bumping his knee against yours like he didn’t even notice he was doing it, the way Robin’s sarcasm had gone soft around the edges tonight. With the four of you the conversations could change on a dime but everyone kept up. You all loved each other.

Eddie paddled closer, resting his arms on the edge near your legs. “You know what I still can’t believe? That time Steve tried to make lasagna for all of us and used sugar instead of salt in the sauce.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head back. “It was dark! The containers looked the same!”

“It tasted like someone murdered an Italian grandmother,” Robin said solemnly. “I still have trauma. I had to wash it down with three beers just to be polite.”

You grinned at Steve. “And then you tried to fix it by adding more cheese and it just became… cheese soup with noodles.”

Steve pointed at you, mock-offended. “You ate three bowls. Don’t act like you weren’t into it.”

“I was high,” you said. “Everything tastes good when you’re high. That doesn’t make it good.”

Eddie cackled and flicked water at Steve. “She’s got you there, Harrington. Face it — you’re a menace in the kitchen. But we keep you around for the pool and the hair care products. Your shampoo collection is the only thing keeping this house from falling into complete chaos.”

Steve ran a hand through his wet hair on instinct. “It’s a routine you heathens. You wouldn’t understand. Some of us like to look like we didn’t just crawl out of a hedge.”

Robin leaned over and ruffled his hair on purpose, making it stick up in every direction. “There. Now you look like the rest of us. Welcome to the hedge club.”

Steve swatted at her hand but he was laughing again, that easy, bright sound that always made the night feel safer. The four of you drifted like that for a while — splashing each other lazily, trading stories about the ridiculous little disasters of living together, the past year. It's become something you never wanted to let go of. Your safe space in the chaos of the world.

Your skin was starting to prune. The high had turned everything warm around the edges. You felt loose and happy and stupidly fond of all of them.

Robin was the one who finally called it. “Alright, my fingers look like raisins and I’m pretty sure if I don’t eat something solid soon I’m going to start chewing on the pool noodles. Inside. Now.”

You pulled yourself up onto the edge, water streaming down your legs and bathing suit. Robin tossed you a towel. It smelled like Steve’s detergent — clean and expensive and somehow like home now. You wrapped it around yourself, goosebumps rising as the night air hit your wet skin.

Steve stood up, a little wobbly, towel slung around his neck. “Yeah… couch is calling my name. Just for a second. I’m good. I’m great. Not way drunker than I thought I was sitting down.”

Eddie climbed out after him, shaking his head like a dog and sending water flying. “Harrington, if you faceplant I’m not carrying you. You're gonna have to be an outside dog from now on.”

Steve waved him off, already heading for the sliding glass doors. “Yeah, yeah. Is the world spinning for anyone else?”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Steve made it three steps into the living room before the big sectional couch pulled him in like gravity. He dropped onto it with a heavy thump, one arm dangling off the edge, eyes already half-closed.

“Just… resting my eyes,” he mumbled. “You guys keep… having fun. I’ll be right…”

His eyes fluttered once. Twice.

And then he was gone — out cold, soft snores starting almost immediately, completely dead to the world.

Robin stared at him for a beat, then pressed both hands over her mouth to smother her laughter. “Oh my god. He didn’t even finish the sentence.”

Eddie leaned in the doorway in his low-slung towel, grinning wide. "Such a lightweight. Look at him. King Steve, defeated by vodka and like two joints.”

You stood there in your damp towel, water still dripping from your hair onto your shoulders, and felt that same warm, bright feeling from earlier swell in your chest. Steve, safe and passed out. Eddie watching you with that spark in his eyes. Robin already heading toward the kitchen with a mischievous little bounce in her step.

“Well,” Robin called over her shoulder, “since our fearless leader has officially tapped out… who wants to see if there’s any pasta left in the fridge? Or are we going straight for the liquor cabinet?”

Eddie looked at you, one eyebrow raised, smile slow and easy.

The three of you left Steve snoring softly on the couch and drifted into the dining room like it was the most natural thing in the world. The big wooden table still had a couple of chairs pulled out from earlier in the week when you’d all tried to eat a real meal together. Robin grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and dropped into one of the chairs, kicking her feet up on the one next to her. You and Eddie stayed standing for a second, the wet ends of your hair still dripping onto your shoulders and the tops of your towels.

Eddie dug another joint out of the crumpled pack he’d left on the counter earlier and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The flame lit up his face for a second — sharp grin, dark eyes, water still clinging to his collarbones. He took a long pull, then passed it to you without a word. You leaned against the edge of the table and took your own hit, the smoke curling warm and familiar in your lungs. The high from the pool hadn’t fully faded yet— this one just layered on top of it, making the dim overhead light feel softer and the air between the three of you feel closer.

Robin twisted the cap off her beer and took a long drink. “God, work’s been so fucking weird lately. Jimmy's gone so it's just been me and Harrington running the show. Who decided that putting us in charge was a good idea? Dingus over there wouldn't know good music if it weren’t for us. He'd be playing ABBA all day and wonder why we'd get hate mail.”

You laughed, the sound a little looser than usual. “That sounds exactly like him. Just be glad you're not working under Keith anymore. Dude was a total fuckin' creep. Remember that time he tried to hit on Nancy and she brutally destroyed every bit of confidence he had left?”

Eddie chuckled from where he was leaning against the wall, joint between his fingers again. He wasn’t saying much — just chilling, listening, that lazy little smirk on his face like he was happy to let the two of you talk while the smoke curled around him. Every now and then he’d take a hit and pass it back to you, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.

Robin groaned and took another sip. “And don’t even get me started on my mom. She keeps asking when I’m gonna ‘bring a nice boy around’ like I haven’t been gay as fuck my whole life. I told her I’m busy surviving the apocalypse and working, but apparently that’s not a good enough excuse.”

You took the joint from Eddie again, the paper warm against your lips. The high was settling deep now — that sweet, heavy feeling behind your eyes that made everything feel a little more honest. You exhaled slowly and looked at Robin across the table.

“Honestly? You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with any of that shit,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink them. “The last guy I was with was… god, he was bad. Like, aggressively bad. All confidence, zero skill. Kept asking if I was close. I had to fake it just to get him to stop. And then he had the nerve to look proud of himself after.” You shook your head, laughing a little even though it wasn’t really funny. “You’re seriously so lucky you don’t have to deal with that mess, Robin.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling — the kind of smile that said she knew exactly what you meant and was grateful she didn’t. “Yeah, well. That’s one bullet I’ve managed to dodge.”

You took another slow hit from the joint, then passed it back to Eddie. The question came out casual, curious, the kind of thing that only got asked when everyone was a little drunk and a little high and the house was quiet except for Steve’s distant snoring.

“Have you ever actually had sex with a guy?”

Robin made a face but didn’t look offended. She just shook her head. “Nope. Never.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious now. “What about kissing? Have you ever kissed a guy?”

She snorted. “Yeah, duh. Had to pretend to be straight at some point, right? High school was a whole thing. There was this one guy who wouldn’t leave me alone until I let him kiss me at a party. It was… fine. Wet. Weird. I spent the whole time thinking about how I’d rather be anywhere else.” She shrugged, taking another drink. “But it got the job done. People stopped asking questions for a while.”

The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. Eddie was still quiet, but you could feel him listening — that sharp, attentive energy he got when something interesting was happening. He took a hit from the joint and held it, watching the two of you with dark, amused eyes.

You leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, the high making your voice come out softer and more honest than usual.

“Okay, but… if you had to have sex with a guy,” you asked, “who would it be?”

Robin didn’t even hesitate. She looked you dead in the eye, a little smirk tugging at her mouth, cheeks faintly pink from the beer and the conversation.

“Well, I only trust two guys,” she said. “And since Harrington’s passed out cold in the other room, I guess Munson would do.”

The words landed in the quiet dining room like a spark on dry wood.

Eddie let out a low, surprised laugh — not mocking, just genuinely caught off guard. Smoke curled from between his lips as he exhaled. “Wow. High praise, Buckley. I’m flattered. Truly. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

You felt your own pulse pick up a little, the high sharpening everything — the way Robin was looking at you both, the way Eddie’s grin had gone a shade more dangerous, the distant sound of Steve’s soft snoring from the living room like he was still somehow part of this even while he was dead asleep.

Robin just shrugged, but there was something playful and a little charged in the way she held your gaze. “I’m just saying. If the world ended tomorrow and I had to pick… at least I know he might not be a complete disaster about it.”

Eddie took another slow hit from the joint, then held it out toward her like an offering, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Buckley. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Robin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she reached for the joint. “Don’t get cocky, Munson. It’s a hypothetical. And you’re the lesser of two evils right now.”

The air in the dining room had shifted — still light, still a little giggly from the drinks and the weed, but underneath it something warmer was humming. Something that felt like it could tip in any direction depending on what happened next.

Eddie’s eyes flicked to you for a second, like he was checking to see how you were taking all of this. His smile was easy, but there was a spark in it that hadn’t been there before.

The words hung in the air for half a second.

Robin’s answer — casual, a little smirk on her face, eyes flicking between you and Eddie like she was testing the temperature of the room. Steve’s soft snoring drifted in from the living room like background noise.

You looked at Robin.

She looked at you.

And there it was — that look. The one the two of you had perfected over the last year of living in this house together. The we’re about to do something really fucking stupid and we both know it look. Half challenge, half invitation. Your mouth twitched. Hers did too.

Eddie blinked between the two of you, brow furrowing. “Okay… what the hell is happening right now? Seriously. You two are doing that thing again. The creepy telepathic eye contact thing. I don’t like it when you do the creepy telepathic eye contact thing—”

Robin was already sliding out of her chair.

You met her halfway.

The second your mouths crashed together it was heavy. No hesitation. No testing the waters. Just the sudden, hungry press of her lips against yours, the sharp little inhale she took when your hands found her waist and pulled her in. She tasted like beer and the faint cherry of her lip balm and the weed you’d all been passing around. Her hands were in your damp hair immediately, tugging, angling your head so she could kiss you deeper, messier. The high made everything sharper and blurrier at the same time — the slide of her tongue against yours, the way her body pressed flush to you, the little sound she made in the back of her throat when your teeth caught her bottom lip.

You barely registered the dining room table behind you until your ass hit the edge of it. Robin followed, crowding between your legs, one hand braced on the wood beside your hip while the other slid up under the edge of your towel, palm hot against your still-damp skin.

Eddie made a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“What the fuck,” he said, voice cracking in the middle. “What the hell is happening seriously. Is this— are you two— Jesus Christ, I’m right here. I’m standing right here. Harrington’s passed out in the next room and you two are just— okay. Alright. This is fine. This is totally fine. I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out—”

You broke the kiss just long enough to laugh against Robin’s mouth, breathless and giddy and a little wild from the high. She was laughing too, forehead pressed to yours for a second, both of you grinning like idiots who’d just decided to set something on fire for fun.

Then you turned your head, still half-tangled with her, and reached out.

Your fingers curled around Eddie’s wrist.

He looked down at your hand like it was a live wire.

“Come on,” you said, voice low and rough from the kissing and the smoke. You gave his arm a tug, already sliding off the table, Robin’s hand finding yours on the other side. “Bedroom. Now.”

Robin was still giggling as the three of you stumbled out of the dining room — her free hand grabbing the mostly-smoked joint and the lighter on the way past the table. Eddie let himself be dragged, half-protesting, half-laughing in that high-pitched, overwhelmed way he got when his brain was short-circuiting.

“I— you can’t just— what is happening right now,” he kept saying, even as he followed you down the hallway toward his room. “I was minding my own business. I was being chill. And now I’m being kidnapped by two extremely hot, extremely high girls who were just making out on Steve’s dining room table like it was a normal day—”

“Shut up, Munson,” Robin managed between laughs, shoving his bedroom door open with her shoulder. “Consider this your lucky day.”

You were both still giggling as you pulled him inside — the sound bright and stupid and full of that reckless, drunk-high energy that always seemed to hit hardest at three in the morning. Eddie’s room smelled like him— weed, old leather, that cologne he stole from Steve and never gave back. Posters on the walls, clothes on the floor, his guitar propped in the corner like it was watching.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Robin was still pressed against your side, her mouth finding the curve of your neck for a second just because she could. You were still holding Eddie’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were grounding all three of you in the moment.

Eddie stared at the two of you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that wild grin starting to break through the confusion.

“Okay,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Okay. I’m listening. I’m extremely listening. Someone please tell me what the game plan is here before I have a heart attack in my own bedroom.”

You and Robin exchanged another look.

And then you were both laughing again — soft, breathless, already moving toward him like the night had always been headed exactly here.

Robin broke first, a soft, nervous giggle escaping as she looked at you. “Okay. So. We’re really doing this.”

You felt that same reckless, high-drunk spark from the dining room table flare hotter in your chest. You stepped in close to her, one hand sliding around her waist, and spoke low enough that it felt like a secret even though Eddie was right there.

“I’m gonna teach you how to give a blowjob.”

Eddie made a strangled noise from somewhere behind you. “I— what— teach—?”

Robin’s eyes flicked to him, then back to you. She looked a little dazed, a little turned on, a little like she couldn’t believe she was nodding. But she nodded anyway.

You turned to Eddie, who was still standing there looking like his brain had melted. His cock was already straining hard against the front of his swim trunks. You exchanged a silent look of permission with him, stepped right into his space, hooked your fingers into the waistband, and tugged them down in one smooth motion.

His cock sprang free — thick, ruddy tip, already leaking. Bigger than average. Heavy.

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Jesus Christ. Are they all that size?”

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave him one slow stroke, just to watch the way his stomach jumped. Then you glanced at Robin with a crooked little smile.

“Nope. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan the second you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t waste time — you leaned in and took the head of his cock into your mouth, warm and wet, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside while your hand worked what you couldn’t fit yet. The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, the way his hand immediately found the back of your head like he didn’t know what else to do with it — it all hit harder because of the high. Everything felt magnified.

“Fuck— fuck—” Eddie’s voice cracked. He was staring down at you like you’d just personally rewritten the laws of physics. “Okay. Okay, this is happening. This is really— Jesus, your mouth—”

Robin watched, transfixed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her cheeks were flushed. After a minute she cleared her throat, voice a little hoarse.

“Can I… can I just start with a handjob? I don’t think I’m ready for the whole… mouth thing yet.”

You pulled off Eddie’s cock with a wet pop, lips shiny, and looked up at her. “Yeah. Come here.”

Robin knelt down beside you on the floor. She hesitated for only a second before wrapping her hand around him — tentative at first, like she was testing the heat and weight of him. Eddie made another broken sound above you both, hips twitching.

You covered her hand with yours.

“Here,” you murmured, guiding her. “Like this.”

You started slow — long, steady strokes from base to tip, your fingers curled over hers so she could feel exactly how much pressure to use. Eddie’s cock twitched hard in your combined grip, a bead of pre-cum welling at the slit. You used it to slick the way, dragging both your hands up and down in a smooth rhythm.

“See?” you said softly, close to her ear. “He seems to like it when you twist your wrist a little at the top. And you can use your other hand on his balls if you want — gentle, though.”

Eddie was losing his mind above you. One hand braced on the edge of his dresser, the other hovering like he didn’t know where to put it. His voice was wrecked.

“I— I don’t— what the fuck is my life right now— god, that feels— you two are actually going to kill me—”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh, but she didn’t let go. She was watching your hands move together over him, fascinated, biting her lip. The high made everything feel warmer, slower, more electric — the slide of skin on skin, the way Eddie’s cock pulsed between your fingers, the soft sound of his breathing breaking apart above you.

You kept guiding her, slow and patient, showing her how to stroke him just right while Eddie stood there completely at your mercy, confused and painfully, desperately horny, and very clearly not wanting any of it to stop.

The slow, guided strokes had Robin breathing a little harder. You could feel the shift in her — the way her grip got more confident under yours, the way she kept glancing at Eddie’s cock like she was daring herself.

Robin licked her lips.

Then she leaned in.

Her tongue dragged slowly up the underside of Eddie’s cock in one long, tentative stripe from base to tip. She made a soft, surprised sound at the taste and the heat of him, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she did it again, slower this time, like she was getting used to it.

You didn’t hesitate. You dipped your head right beside hers and followed.

The two of you worked him together — tongues sliding up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, getting him messy and wet. Saliva and pre-cum mixed as you licked over the same spots, sometimes your tongues brushing against each other in the process. Robin let out a shaky little laugh against his skin, and you answered it with one of your own before you both went back in, lapping at him like you were sharing something filthy and sweet at the same time.

Eddie made a sound like he’d been shot.

“F-fuck— fuck— you two— Jesus Christ—” His voice was wrecked, high and strained. One hand was white-knuckling the edge of the dresser so hard the wood creaked. The other hovered uselessly in the air like he was afraid to touch either of you in case he lost what little control he had left. His thighs were trembling. “I’m— I’m not gonna last if you keep— god, your tongues—”

You and Robin ignored the warning.

You met in the middle again, tongues curling against each other over the head of his cock before sliding back down together, coating him in shiny wetness. Then you were kissing — really kissing — right there on his dick. Mouths open, tongues sliding hot and slick against each other with the thick length of him caught between you. Every time your lips met you could taste him on her, and she could taste him on you. It was messy. It was obscene. It was so fucking hot you felt dizzy with it.

Eddie’s hips jerked forward without his permission. A broken, desperate noise tore out of his throat.

“I’m serious— I’m— fuck, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop— I’m trying— I’m trying so hard not to—” His voice cracked on a moan as your tongues met again over his slit, lapping up the fresh bead of pre-cum that had leaked out. “Please— Jesus, you’re both gonna kill me—”

Robin pulled back just enough to look up at him, lips shiny and swollen, a wicked little smile on her face even though her cheeks were flushed dark. She gave the head of his cock one more slow lick, then glanced at you like she was checking if you wanted to keep going.

Eddie looked like he was hanging on by a thread — eyes glassy, chest heaving, every muscle in his body locked tight as he fought not to come all over both your faces right then and there.

“Can I… watch you get fucked first?”

You were still on your knees, one hand loosely wrapped around the base of Eddie’s cock. You glanced up at her, a slow, wicked little smile spreading across your face.

“Only if you sit on my face.”

Robin’s eyes went wide for a second. Eddie made a noise like his brain had short-circuited again.

You didn’t wait for more discussion. You stood up, grabbed Eddie’s hand, and tugged him toward the bed with you. Robin followed, still looking a little stunned but not saying no. You crawled onto the mattress and laid back, legs spreading automatically as you looked up at both of them.

Eddie hovered at the side of the bed, swim trunks still around his thighs, cock flushed and shiny from both your mouths. He looked wrecked already — hair wild, eyes dark, chest heaving.

“Are you guys sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Like… we can stop at any point. This is— this is a lot. I don’t want anyone to—”

“Munson,” you cut in, staring straight at him, “if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to be mad at you.” Your tone was light but firm. Then you turned your head toward Robin and patted the space above your face. “And Robin… come sit on my face.”

Robin hesitated. Her cheeks were flushed dark, one hand twisting in the hem of her swimsuit. She looked at Eddie, then at you, then back at Eddie like she was checking one last time that this was really okay. Eddie just gave her a helpless little shrug, like I have no idea what’s happening but I’m not stopping it.

She climbed onto the bed.

You helped guide her — hands on her hips as she swung one leg over your head and slowly lowered herself, pushing the gusset of her swimsuit to the side. The second her cunt brushed your mouth you licked up into her, slow and deliberate, and Robin made a soft, shocked sound above you, thighs trembling on either side of your head.

Eddie was still standing there like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You reached down between your own legs and peeled your bikini bottoms off. Y you looked at Eddie upside-down from between Robin’s thighs.

“Eddie.”

That was all it took.

He climbed onto the bed, shoved his trunks the rest of the way off, and lined himself up. The head of his cock dragged through your folds once, twice, collecting wetness, before he pushed in with one long, smooth thrust.

You moaned into Robin’s cunt.

Eddie groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck— you’re so— god—”

He started fucking you in deep, steady strokes, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. Every time he bottomed out you cried out against Robin, the vibrations making her gasp and rock down harder onto your tongue. She was watching everything — the way Eddie’s cock disappeared into you over and over, the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your mouth worked between her legs.

Robin leaned forward.

Her fingers found your clit and started rubbing in tight, desperate little circles, matching the rhythm of Eddie’s thrusts. The added stimulation made your whole body jerk. You sucked harder on her clit, tongue flicking fast, and Robin’s thighs clamped around your head as she moaned.

Eddie was losing it.

He was trying so hard to hold back, but between the way you felt around him, the wet sounds of you eating Robin out, and the sight of her fingers working your clit right above where he was buried inside you — it was too much.

“Fuck— I’m— I’m close—” he gasped. “I can’t— you feel too good— Robin, if you keep— shit—”

Robin rubbed your clit faster, leaning down so she could watch Eddie’s cock splitting you open while your tongue fucked into her. The angle let her grind down harder on your face.

You came first.

It hit hard — a full-body, shaking orgasm that made your back arch off the bed and your moan get muffled against Robin’s cunt. Your walls clenched tight around Eddie’s cock, pulsing hard, and that was it for him.

Eddie came with a broken, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you. Thick, hot pulses that you felt with every twitch of his cock. He kept fucking through it in short, desperate thrusts, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Robin followed right after — thighs shaking around your head as she came on your tongue with a soft, surprised cry, her fingers still moving on your oversensitive clit until the overstimulation made you whimper.

For a few long seconds the only sounds in the room were heavy breathing, the wet slide of Eddie slowly pulling out of you, and Robin’s shaky little laughs as she carefully climbed off your face.

Eddie collapsed onto the bed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice completely wrecked. “What the fuck just happened.”

Robin was still catching her breath, looking down at both of you with wide, dazed eyes and a stunned little smile.

You just lay there between them, flushed and satisfied and still buzzing from the high.

The three of you were still catching your breath, bodies loose and warm on Eddie’s bed. Robin was the first to move, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Her hair was a mess, lips still shiny from where you’d had your mouth on her. She looked down at Eddie, who was flat on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, his cock soft and half-hard against his stomach, shiny with a mix of your wetness and his own cum.

“So like—” Robin started, voice a little hoarse, “when your dick works again… can I try?”

Eddie dropped his arm and turned his head to stare at her like she’d grown a second head.

“When my— what the hell are you talking about, Buckley?”

Robin sat up a little more, tilting her head as she studied him with open curiosity. “Y’know… like when it gets all hard again like before. I wanna try. For real this time.”

You snorted, still lying between them, one hand resting on your own stomach. “I know a way we can get him hard again.”

Eddie lifted his head, eyes wide. “Hello? I’m— I’m right here, you menaces!”

You and Robin glanced at each other.

“Should we?” you asked, already smiling.

Robin hummed, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. Think we should.”

Before Eddie could get another word out, you rolled toward Robin and kissed her.

It started slow — lazy, post-orgasm kisses, your mouths moving together soft and wet. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Robin made a quiet sound and leaned in harder, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as her tongue slid against yours. The kiss got deeper, messier, the two of you making out right there on the bed like Eddie wasn’t even there.

Eddie made a wounded noise from beside you.

“This isn’t fair,” he complained, voice rough. “I want a kiss. I’m the one who just— I participated! I did labor! I deserve— hey— hey—”

You broke away from Robin with a grin and turned to him instead.

The second your mouth met his, Eddie melted. He kissed you back desperately, one hand sliding into your hair as he licked into your mouth like he’d been starving for it. You could feel him starting to twitch against your thigh already.

Robin watched for a second, then leaned in and nudged you aside so she could kiss him next. Eddie made another broken sound as she kissed him — slower at first, exploratory, then deeper once she got the hang of it. His cock gave a visible twitch against his stomach, starting to fill out properly.

You took your turn again, kissing him slow and filthy while your hand drifted down to wrap loosely around the base of his cock, giving him one lazy stroke. He was getting harder by the second.

“Fuck— you two are evil,” he muttered when you finally let him breathe. His voice was already wrecked again. “I was trying to be good and recover and now I’m— god— I’m hard again. This is your fault. Both of you.”

Robin glanced down at his cock, now fully hard and flushed in your hand, and bit her lip.

She looked back up at you, eyes bright and a little nervous but determined.

“So… can I try now?”

Eddie sat up a little, running a hand through his messy hair. His cock was fully hard again, resting against his stomach as he looked at Robin with that same soft, slightly overwhelmed expression he’d had since the dining room.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle even though he was still catching his breath from the kissing. “I’m serious. You can stop at any point. Like… any point. You say the word and we’re done, no questions asked.”

Robin rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive.

“I know, Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You’ve said it like six times already. I’m not gonna shatter.”

Eddie held his hands up in surrender, but he was still watching her carefully. “Okay. Okay. Just… making sure.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to do it missionary? Or, like… any position you’re comfortable with.”

Robin made a face like he’d suggested they do it in the middle of the grocery store.

“Fuck no,” she said immediately. “I’m too shy to even talk at you right now, let alone look at you while you’re fucking me.”

Eddie blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. “Reverse cowgirl it is, then.”

You helped shift things around on the bed, moving pillows and making space. Robin climbed over Eddie’s lap, facing away from him — toward you instead. Her hands braced on your thighs for balance as she hovered over him. Eddie wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, the other resting lightly on her hip as he lined himself up.

Robin took a shaky breath, then slowly started to sink down.

The second he bottomed out inside her, her eyes went wide. A sharp, punched-out sound left her throat. She froze there for a second, adjusting to the stretch, fingers digging into your legs.

Eddie’s hands tightened on her hips. “You okay?” he asked immediately, voice low and careful. “Robin? You good?”

She didn’t answer right away, just breathed through it.

“Robin?” he tried again, a little more worried. “Hey, talk to me. You okay?”

Robin finally turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson,” she gritted out. “I can feel you in my throat.”

Eddie let out a startled laugh, the sound bright and relieved all at once. “Jesus. Okay. Noted.” He gave her hips a gentle squeeze. “Just checking. You’re calling the shots here.”

Robin took another slow breath, then rolled her hips experimentally. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her when she felt how deep he was. She glanced at you, something between overwhelmed and determined in her expression, like she was still processing the feeling of being this full.

Eddie was still grinning, even as he stayed perfectly still beneath her.

“Guess I’m just a human dildo tonight,” he joked, voice warm and teasing. “At your service.”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh despite herself, still adjusting, still getting used to the stretch of him inside her. She hadn’t started moving properly yet — just sitting there, breathing, getting her bearings while Eddie waited patiently underneath her and you stayed close in front of her.

You could feel the tension in Robin’s body — the way her thighs were trembling slightly where they bracketed Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing was still a little too careful. So you leaned in and kissed her again, slow and grounding, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck. She melted into it almost immediately, some of the rigidness easing out of her shoulders as she kissed you back.

When you pulled away, she turned her head just enough and said, voice a little rough, “Eddie… start moving.”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He started slow, rolling his hips up into her in careful, shallow thrusts. Robin’s breath hitched, her hands tightening on your thighs as she adjusted to the feeling of him moving inside her. You stayed close, one hand sliding down between her legs to rub her clit in slow, steady circles with your thumb — matching the rhythm Eddie was setting.

Robin let out a shaky moan against your mouth when you kissed her again.

You didn’t stay up there long.

You broke the kiss and lowered yourself further, settling between Eddie’s spread thighs. From this angle you had a perfect view of where they were joined — his cock glistening as it slid in and out of her. You leaned in and dragged your tongue slowly over Robin’s clit first, then lower, licking along the base of Eddie’s cock and his balls on the next pass.

Robin clenched hard around him the second your tongue touched her.

“Fuck—” she gasped, hips jerking.

Eddie groaned, his hands gripping her waist tighter. “Jesus Christ, what did you just do to her?”

Robin let out a breathless, slightly unhinged laugh even as she rolled her hips down to meet Eddie’s next thrust. “She’s— fuck— she’s licking both of us. I can feel her tongue on your— god.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh of his own, still fucking up into her in those deep, steady strokes. “You're so fucking tight Buckley. Pretty sure I'm going to fall in love with one of you after this.”

Robin reached down blindly and grabbed a handful of your hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on as you kept licking — slow, deliberate strokes over her clit and the parts of Eddie’s cock that weren’t buried inside her.

“Shut up,” she managed, voice breaking on a moan when you sucked gently on her clit. “You’re— it feels like you're fucking me with your arm. H- How the hell do you walk around all day with— fuck— with that in your pants? Where the hell— Jesus Christ— do- do you put it?”

Eddie grinned, even as his breathing got rougher. “Y'know Buckley. That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

Robin let out another shaky laugh that turned into a moan when you licked a particularly sensitive spot. “I hate you. I hate both of you. This is— fuck— this is your fault.”

“Pretty sure it’s your fault for asking if you could try,” Eddie shot back, voice strained but still teasing as he fucked her a little harder. “I was being a gentleman. You’re the one who decided to use me as a human dildo for kicks.”

Robin’s only response was a broken moan and another tight clench around him as your tongue worked between them.

Eddie groaned, head dropping back against the pillows for a second. “Yeah. Okay. Keep doing that. Both of you. I’m not complaining.”

Robin was breathing hard now, caught between Eddie’s cock and your mouth, her body starting to move more instinctively with every thrust. She was still holding onto your hair like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of sex, Eddie’s low groans, and Robin’s increasingly desperate little noises every time your tongue dragged over her clit or Eddie hit a spot that made her clench.

Robin was getting close — you could feel it in the way her thighs were starting to shake on either side of Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing had gone ragged and uneven. You kept your mouth on her, tongue working her clit in tight, focused strokes.

Eddie was clearly struggling. His grip on Robin’s hips had gone tight, and his thrusts were getting a little less controlled, a little more desperate.

Robin must have felt it too.

She turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder, voice breathless but sharp.

“If you cum anywhere near me, Munson, I’m going to murder you. I’m serious. I will actually kill you.”

Eddie let out a strained, half-laugh, half-groan. “Noted. Loud and clear. No coming near the lesbian. Got it.”

You pulled your mouth off Robin’s clit just long enough to speak, voice low and a little hoarse from how long you’d had your face buried between them.

“I’ll take it,” you said, looking up at both of them. “Cum on me. Face, tits, wherever. I don’t care.”

Eddie made a broken sound at that, hips stuttering for a second before he forced himself back into rhythm.

You went right back to work on Robin — two fingers rubbing tight and fast right where she needed it. Eddie kept fucking her through it, deep and steady, even as he fought to hold himself back.

Robin’s whole body went tight.

“Fuck— fuck— I’m—” Her voice cracked as she came, clenching hard around Eddie’s cock in rhythmic pulses. Her thighs shook on either side of your head and she grabbed at your hair again, holding on as the orgasm rolled through her. A broken, gasping moan tore out of her throat as she rode it out on Eddie’s cock.

The second she started to come down, Eddie carefully lifted her off him with shaking hands. His cock slipped free, shiny and flushed dark, and he barely had time to stroke himself once before he was coming from between her legs.

Thick ropes painted across your face and chest — hot and messy, landing on your lips, your cheek, and streaking down over your tits. Eddie groaned loud and broken as he came, hips jerking with every pulse, one hand braced on Robin’s thigh while the other worked himself through it.

Robin was still catching her breath above you, looking down with wide, slightly dazed eyes as she watched Eddie finish all over you. She let out a soft, breathless little laugh.

“Holy shit.”

Eddie was still breathing hard, staring down at the mess he’d made on your skin like he couldn’t quite believe any of this had actually happened. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he let go, slumping back against the pillows.

Robin carefully climbed off him and flopped down beside you on the bed, still flushed and breathing heavy. She looked at the cum on your face and chest, then at Eddie, then back at you.

“…Okay,” she said, voice a little shaky but amused. “That was… a lot.”

Eddie let out a weak, exhausted laugh from where he was sprawled out, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, it really fucking was.”

The three of you were sprawled across Eddie’s bed in a messy, sweaty pile. Robin was on her back beside you, one arm thrown over her eyes, still breathing hard. Eddie was half-sitting up against the headboard, looking thoroughly fucked-out and a little stunned. You were in the middle, cum cooling on your face and chest, the high still humming pleasantly under your skin.

Robin was the first one to break the silence.

“Wait—” she said, turning her head toward you and Eddie with genuine curiosity. “Is this what Steve’s is like? Has anyone here seen Harrington’s dick? Like… for science?”

Eddie let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, running a hand down his face.

“….Yeah, I don’t think you’re gonna be a lesbian anymore after this.”

Robin snorted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “Nah. Still a lesbian. Have you seen how nice her tits are?” She gestured vaguely at your chest with one hand. “And she doesn’t have a dick that split me in half.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically, even as he was clearly fighting a grin. “Glad to know that I’m just an afterthought?”

You turned your head to look at him, still a little breathless, a lazy smile tugging at your mouth.

“If it makes you feel better… I’d have sex with you again.”

Eddie’s head snapped toward you so fast it was almost comical. His eyes lit up, that familiar cocky little smirk sliding back onto his face despite how wrecked he looked.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “Is that an invitation?”

You let out a soft laugh, reaching over to wipe a bit of cum off your bottom lip with your thumb.

“It’s more of a standing reservation.”

Robin groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with both hands even as her shoulders shook with laughter.

“Oh my god. You two are actually disgusting. I can’t believe I let either of you near me.”

Eddie was still grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’d just been used as a human dildo and then immediately discarded in the rankings. He reached over and lazily dragged two fingers through the mess on your chest, smearing it a little before bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking them clean with zero shame.

“Standing reservation,” he repeated, like he was tasting the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Robin peeked at him through her fingers. “You’re not allowed to do that Munson. It’s rude.”

“Rude is my brand, Buckley,” Eddie shot back, but his voice had gone softer, warmer. He glanced between the two of you, something fond and a little overwhelmed flickering across his face. “You two are gonna be the death of me. I hope you know that.”

You smiled, still loose and satisfied, and reached over to rest your hand on Robin’s thigh while your other hand found Eddie’s.

“Worth it though,” you murmured.

Robin didn’t answer right away. She just let out a long, dramatic sigh and turned her head to look at you, then at Eddie, then back at you again.

“Sure,” the orderly said easily. “Deputy, I know you were supposed to have a private room down here, but unfortunately our hallways are overcrowded and it’s not safe to have so little room to maneuver, particularly with how busy we are tonight.”

“Ok?” Gator asked, already annoyed. You could hear it in his voice.

“We have another patient who will be in your room for a short time—she won’t take up much space. No bed, just a chair.”

There was a pause, during which you found yourself surprised that Gator was actually entertaining it, but then—

“Absolutely fuckin’ not. Hell you think this is?” Gator asked.

“It’s a hospital, sir. She needs to be out of the hallway, and she’ll be in and out.”

“I’ll show ‘er in and out,” Gator quipped, but before either he or you could protest, the orderly exited the room, took hold of the handles of your wheelchair, and pushed you into Gator’s room. The overhead lights were dark, but the light directly above Gator’s bed was on, and you saw him glaring over at you as you entered. “Mind hittin’ that light, Butch?” Gator asked the orderly, and as he left the room he flicked the light switch, bathing you both in cold fluorescent light from above as the door swung shut behind him. “Eh,” Gator intoned.

“Eh?” you repeated, frowning and crossing your arm (well, arm, since the other was basically immobile), squinting a little at the glare of the lights even as your eyes slowly adjusted.

“Ain’t nothin’ too special t’look at,” he said, eyeing you, sling and all. “Coulda left the lights off.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, standing up from the wheelchair and crossing over to turn the lights off again with your good arm. “There, you look a hell of a lot better in the dark too.”

But Gator only chuckled. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he muttered, and then went back to what he’d been doing when the orderly had interrupted him: A book of word search puzzles.

You stared long enough, standing in the middle of the room, that it was noticeable, and Gator looked up at you again, scratching the side of his nose with the pencil he was holding.

“What?”

Caught, you stumbled over your words. “Nothing, I just—I wouldn’t expect to see you doing word puzzles.”

Gator blinked at you, eyes narrowed. “We know each other’r somethin’?”

“Wh—No,” you said. “I just—I know of you.”

His face relaxed into a smirk. “You know of me? Fuck’s that mean?” He sounded amused.

“I mean—The sheriff… Sheriff Tillman. ‘A hard man for hard times.’” You forgot to keep the mocking edge from your voice, so you just spurred on. “You’re his son. Everyone in the county knows you.”

Gator kept his eyes on you, then hummed, noncommittal. “A’right.” He went back to his book.

You sat back down, mostly because you felt awkward standing in the middle of the room, and pushed yourself back and forth a little, rolling the wheelchair to and fro. It went on for a minute or so, probably, until Gator sighed heavily and looked over at you.

“So what happened t’yer arm?” he asked. “Some guy rough y’up?”

You snickered. “Not in the way you think.”

“Hell’s’at mean?”

“We were having a good time, until we weren’t.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he snickered. “So it’s a sex thing?” He laughed. “Damn, how’d you fuck up fuckin’ that bad that ya needed the hospital?”

“I dislocated my shoulder,” you said.

“You did?” Gator asked. “Or he did?”

“Ok, Deputy, relax.” You adjusted your arm a little in the sling. “Everyone was a consenting adult, I just—got the shit end of the stick.”

“So where’s yer guy?” Gator asked. “Bet he’d love knowin’ y’were in here w’me. Since everyone in the county knows me ‘nd all.”

“He—” you said, but cut yourself off. Where was he? Last you’d seen him he was in the drivers’ seat of his pickup, telling you you’d be fine but he had work in the AM so he couldn’t stick around, and if you needed anything, to just let him know. He’d driven away before you realized that he’d never given you his number, so. Where was he indeed. By now, he was probably home, beer drunk and cock jerked, sleeping like a baby before his shift in the morning. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

Gator laughed. “Cold.”

“Well, he left me here and blew me off, so.”

“A’right, that’s worse. ‘Nd after you blew him’n everything too. Damn.”

“Who said I blew him?” you asked, not quite believing you were entertaining this line of conversation.

“Ya look like the type,” Gator said, shrugging.

“Excuse me?” you asked, scowling at him, offended.

“What?” he asked, trying to hide his amusement, but you absolutely heard him snickering. “It’s a compliment.”

“How is that a compliment?”

“Means ya look… givin’. ‘Nd carin’, y’know. Generous and shit.”

“Pig,” you said, turning your wheelchair away from him and facing the door.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. I meant it. Ya seem like a real nice broad.” You turned to glare at him over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be in here with you just as much as you don’t want to be in here with me,” you said.

“So we’re even,” he said, then gestured at your arm. “That shit hurt?”

“Uh, yeah?” you said. “We can try to recreate what I was doing if you want to see for yourself.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Gator said, but he was chuckling to himself. He smiled over at you. “Fun as I’m sure it was.”

“So what happened to you?” you asked.

“Waitin’ on some stitches,” he said, then fell silent.

You waited for him to keep talking, but he didn’t. “What happened?”

“This,” Gator said, and curled his hand into the sheets on top of him, pulling them to the side to reveal his leg, thigh draped in the hospital gown. He tugged up the hem of the gown and you saw a thick pad of gauze, not quite bled through but a red sliver was making itself known.

“Um,” you said, because that didn’t quite answer your question in its entirety.

“Some fucker’ got me with a boxcutter,” he said.

“And it was big enough to need stitches?”

Gator fixed you with a look. “Wanna see it?”

“No, I’m good,” you said, but he started peeling the gauze away. “I said I’m good. Gator! I’m good!” 

He’d barely uncovered an inch of it, but you could see that the gash was larger, a decent slice dug into his thigh. “So yeah, need some stitches. Wasn’t too deep, it ain’t still bleedin’ too much or nothin’, but it’s long enough it needed, ah… medical attention.” He turned to look at you, and before you could react he continued. “Got something else long enough y’d need medical attention. ‘Nd as luck should have it we’re both already in the goddamn hospital.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said. “And just to knock you down another peg, you’re not nearly as attractive in a hospital gown as you think you are.”

“Not even with these on?” Gator asked, reaching to the tray table set off to the side. He grabbed something you couldn’t see, then slid his sunglasses onto his face. It was so unexpected and lighthearted that you laughed—genuinely.

“Sorry, no,” you said, shaking your head a little. Sure, you were both trapped in the same room off of the emergency department at the hospital, but Gator Tillman was fucking flirting with you. Badly, but still. Even if he was just doing it to pass the time, he was still coming on to you.

“So—y’know my name,” Gator said. “You gonna tell me yers or do I gotta bust out the badge and ask fer ID?”

“The badge is worse than the shades,” you said, and he lifted them off his eyes and furrowed his brow at you, like he was trying to gauge if you were serious or not. But before he could question you, you’d given him your name.

Gator marked his page in the puzzle book with the pencil, then held out his right hand toward you to shake, reaching out over his own body. You didn’t make a move to stand or wheel closer to him.

“Dammit woman, don’t leave me hangin’,” he said. “Tryna be, uh, upstandin’ here.”

“My arm’s in a sling,” you said, pointing to your right arm with your working left one. “Sorry.”

“Fuckin’ excuses,” he grumbled.

But he wasn’t such terrible company, really, not for the few short minutes you’d spent with him. At least he was entertaining, and he’d rolled with the punches you’d thrown back at him in response to his sexist BS. You stood up, took the two steps to his bedside, and placed your left hand in his, not quite shaking it but trying to, at least. His hand was cold in yours, the skin rough like you’d expected, but still softer than you’d thought it would be. Just as the thought crossed your mind, you pulled your hand away, because you didn’t want to linger and give him any ideas.

“You got any more puzzle books?” you asked, gesturing at the word search book.

“You can take this one,” Gator said. “Was in here already when they dumped my ass on this bed.” He proffered it to you. You took it.

“How long have you been in here?” you asked, sitting back down and opening the book to where he’d marked it. The word searches on the open pages were complete (left) and half-done (right). 

“Got here after you,” Gator said. “Y’said, what—you been here fer three hours?” 

You nodded, looking down at the word search he’d left unfinished. The theme was “Picnic.” You noticed that he did them the same way you did: alphabetically by the word list. That… surprised you. He’d left off at lemonade so you started searching for it, the pencil clutched in your left hand, the book balanced on your lap.

“Yeah, I got here ‘bout… midnight.”

“Surprised you’re still waiting,” you commented, trying to be flippant, but it definitely came out more bitter than you’d intended.

“Why’s’at?” Gator asked.

You circled lemonade in the word search, a little wobbly since you were balancing it on your legs and handling it with just one hand. Now you were looking for napkins. “The name Tillman carries weight around here. Didn’t you know?”

“‘Parently not enough,” Gator said. “Got my ass sittin’ in here with some chick who thinks she can just say whatever’s on her mind like I ain’t gonna take it personal.”

“That’s a fragile ego, Deputy,” you said. Napkins jumped out at you on the page, but when you went to circle it, you dropped the pencil, and when you leaned over to pick it up, the book fell off your lap. You sighed heavily and picked them up.

“Ain’t nothin’ fragile ‘bout me, sweetheart,” Gator said, derisively, watching you.

“Well, from where I’m sitting,” you said, hoisting yourself back into the wheelchair, book and pencil in hand, the puzzle page you were working on lost, “seems like there is.”

“Why? ‘Cause’a my leg? Fucker got the jump on me, ain’t nothin’ more to it.”

“No. Because you care what a chick you just met and probably never will again thinks about you.”

“Whoa. Now just wait a fuckin’ second, who said that?”

“You did,” you said, absently flipping through the pages of the puzzle book, looking for “Picnic” again.

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“Just now,” you said, looking up at him, tucking the pencil behind your ear so you had one less thing to balance while you were looking through the book. “If you’re taking what I’m saying personally, you’re giving it weight. And if me not being a badge bunny and knowing you throw your last name around like it’s an extra six inches is getting to you, then that ego of yours is made of fine china.”

He watched you, eyes narrowed just a little, as you found the page you’d left off on, then reached to untuck the pencil from your ear. As soon as you’d lifted your hand, the book fell to the floor again and you groaned, tossing your head back, and the pencil clattered to the floor behind you.

“God fucking—damn it,” you groaned, and Gator only chuckled.

“Gimme that fuckin’ book,” Gator said, ignoring—or, at the very least not acknowledging—what you’d said. 

“You said I could have it,” you said, mostly to be petulant.

“And they said you’d be ‘in’n’out’,” Gator said, mimicking the orderly’s voice. “‘Nd yet yer still fuckin’ here. Gimme that book, pick up the pencil, ‘nd get yer ass over here.”

As you watched, he reached his left hand out to lower the railing on the side of the bed, then shimmied a little to the side, like he was making room for you to sit beside him.

You shook your head, but stood up to grab the pencil from where it had fallen anyway, then looked at him again, confusion still etched on your face.

“I said git,” Gator said, palm slapping the mattress beside him.

“For what?”

“Only got three workin’ arms ’tween us,” he said. “You wanna do yer fuckin’ word search, you look for ‘em ‘nd I’ll cross ‘em off.”

It felt like a trap, almost. You weren’t the biggest busybody in Dickinson, but you heard everything that women said about the police in this town, especially the Tillmans. And yet, you were with Gator, getting firsthand, empirical evidence that he could, actually, behave himself. You were still more than an arm’s length away, though, so who knew how long that would last?

You picked up the fallen book, then handed it and the pencil to Gator. He took it, opened it, found “Picnic,” then looked at you expectantly, before angling his head toward the bed beside him, looking at it pointedly. You stepped over and climbed onto it beside him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Napkin,” Gator said, and you pointed with your good arm, because you still remembered where you’d seen it. “Fuckin’ crack shot, huh?”

You laughed, despite yourself. “Something like that.”

And after you’d found park and plates in quick succession, Gator shifted the book a little bit away from you.

“Yer too good at this,” he said. “I ain’t even gettin’ a chance t’look myself.”

You paused. “Is this a race?”

He paused too. “Yeah. Think it is.”

“Well you have to let me see it, then,” you said, unable to lean too close to him, your right arm already stiff and sore from being in the sling.

“You seen it enough,” Gator said. “Plus, yer too good, I should get a lil’ advantage.”

“You mean you should get to cheat,” you replied.

Gator turned to you, grinning all smug, and nodded. “Real glad we see eye t’eye on that. ‘Preciate it.” You watched as he circled the next word, which you could barely read due to the angle at which he was holding the book.

“You’re such a dick,” you said, and you just saw his cheek round up even more, his smile widening as he crossed the word off the bottom of the list.

“My dick is one’a the most notable things about me,” Gator said, and you were so used to his crass comments by now that you just sighed in exasperation and rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you.

“Just let me see the puzzle,” you said, shifting so that you were kneeling beside him on the bed, since you couldn’t lean into him with your arm as tender as it was. You leaned over him, taking extreme care not to actually let any part of your body touch his, and reached over with your left hand to try and grab the book. “We can do it together, just let me hold the book. You can keep the pencil.”

Gator switched the book to his right hand, holding it out of your reach before you even got close. “You wanna do it wi’me? Damn, ‘n I thought you were different. But I like ‘em a little mean sometimes.”

“You are such a—” you started to say, but stopped yourself, trying to think of a name to call him that he wouldn’t be able to turn into something sexual or make suggestive. And as you cycled through your choices, his smirk only grew, until he had bent his good leg at the knee, resting his elbow on it and balancing his chin on his hand, watching you with a bemused expression while your mind whirled through the various insults you knew. “Manchild.”

Gator guffawed at that, and you really had to work to suppress your own smile, moving back to sit beside him normally, no longer wanting to play his stupid games.

“First time I heard that one,” Gator said, moving to hold the puzzle book between the two of you, half on your lap, half on his.

“Color me shocked,” you snapped back, but there was no venom in it. “I would’ve guessed that was, like, your middle name.”

“So then what’s yers?” Gator asked. “Smartass?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” you said, and this time, when he laughed, you did too. You hadn’t ever wanted to cross paths with this guy, but being stuck in this room with him—willingly sharing space with him, so close your injured arm and his injured leg were almost brushing against each other—it wasn’t turning out to be the worst part of your night. That, amazingly, was still your shoulder. It wasn’t like you’d let him know he was making things bearable and the time pass quickly. You could keep your gratitude unspoken. And you would.

“You lookin’ or what?” Gator asked, shaking the book a little, and you looked over at him to find him staring at the side of your face, tapping the book with the pencil’s eraser. “I already fuckin found sandwich but I don’t wanna circle it if yer gonna chew me the fuck out about it.”

“Sandwich,” you said, letting your eyes rove over the puzzle. “There.” You pointed and he drew an elongated oval around the letters.

“Very good,” he said, condescendingly.

But instead of rising to it, you just decided to show him up. There were four words left: spring, tablecloth, wasps, and watermelon. You’d already found them—but sandwich had needed to be circled first—so you simply tapped the page in four spots, in order.

“There you go,” you said, repeating the taps so he knew you weren’t bullshitting and had found the remaining four words. “So, what do I win?”

“Win,” Gator repeated, circling each of the four words, then crossing them off the list. He stuck the pencil in the book and closed it. “Fuck makes you think you won somethin’?”

“You said it was a race,” you said. “I found the words faster than you. That means I get a prize.”

“Fuck kinda prize you think this place got? Hold on, lemme page the nurse ‘nd see if I can score ya some ice chips.”

You laughed, a true, hearty laugh, eyes closed and giggles bubbling bright out of your chest, and when you opened your eyes again and let your gaze fall on Gator, you didn’t miss the way he was looking at you, expression soft for the briefest moment, until he remembered himself, remembered who and what he was supposed to be under observation—a Tillman—and let the scowl creep back onto his features. A little too late; you wondered if he ever showed this part of himself to anyone else. Not that you were special—you knew you weren’t, not to Gator Tillman—but here he wasn’t supposed to be anyone, wasn’t beholden to his father or the department. He was just a guy waiting for stitches, messing around with a puzzle book and the woman they’d dumped on him by chance.

“So,” Gator said, clearing his throat a little as though he’d just realized now how close you were to him. “Ya wanna try ta explain how the hell ya dislocated yer arm mid-fuck?”

You sighed. “We weren’t actually… doing anything yet,” you said. “He was kinda—so he was behind me, and he had my arms behind my back.” You gestured, but Gator watched you, a half-smirk playing at his lips, one eyebrow quirked up. “He was holding them behind me, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m followin’,” Gator said, suppressing a grin.

“And I guess he just—I kinda… Twisted the wrong way from how he was moving, and next thing I knew I couldn’t really move my arm. It didn’t hurt that much when it popped out, but moving it back in front of me was really bad. And then add the emotional damage of him having to put my clothes back on...” You grimaced at Gator. “Maybe I lucked out that he just left me here.”

“Prob’ly,” Gator said, lifting his hand to bite at one of his cuticles, though he lowered his hand when you scrunched up your nose at him. “Nah, I’m just sayin’—guy like that ain’t gonna see shit through after he hurts ya? Scumbag.”

You blinked, shaking your head a little in disbelief. “What?” you asked, probably somewhat dumbly, because you hadn’t thought Gator could feel sympathy for the fairer sex.

“Guy fuckin’ dislocates yer damn arm and can’t even stick witcha at least through triage? That’s some lame ass shit.” He glanced over at you and realized you were looking at him like he had six heads. “What, you think I wouldn’t?”

“I mean—everything I’ve ever heard about you points to no, you wouldn’t.”

Gator cocked his head to the side. “‘Nd why’s that?”

You shrugged your good shoulder, but the movement still made you flinch a little. As though it were his fault, Gator moved away from you, like he’d nudged your arm and that was what made you shudder in pain.

“You’re not a… long haul kind of guy,” you said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Mm,” Gator hummed, then sucked his teeth. “Gotta say, this whole ‘you knowin’ of me’ thing fuckin’ sucks.”

“Sorry,” you said.

“No you ain’t,” Gator said, but he chuckled a little, darkly, unamused. “You came in here thinkin’ you knew all there was t’know about me and yer still just sayin’ it. Well, if your opinion holds so much weight like ya think I think it does, maybe try watchin’ yer mouth.” He looks over at you. “Or I’ll give ya somethin’ better t’do with it.”

You moved yourself a bit away from him to sit on the edge of the mattress, letting your left leg drape off of it, toes to the floor. “Ok, fair point. I don’t even know you, I shouldn’t judge you.” You looked over at him out of the corner of your eyes, assessing. You decided to be honest and press your luck. “You just don’t exactly give off the most… comforting aura.”

Gator turned to look blankly at you, his expression slowly morphing into disgust. “Don’t say shit like that t’me,” he said, then laughed. “I ain’t tryna be no one’s friend out here. I can’t be seen as… comforting. I’m the law.”

“Oh my god, you really say that? You really say that. I didn’t think—”

“I really say what?” he interrupted you.

You dropped your voice to match his. “‘I’m the law.’ You’re a real piece of work, you know that? ‘I’m the law,’ get the hell out of here.” You laughed and reached across your body with your left hand to shove at his left arm, playful and teasing.

“I don’t know why you think yer so cool, Miss Can’t-Even-Fuck-Right,” Gator said. “Promise ya if y’were with me, you wouldn’t’a dislocated nothin’. ‘Cept maybe yer—”

“Let me guess, my jaw?” you asked. “Because your dick’s so big? I get it, you’re packing. Can we move on?” But you were smiling. Despite yourself, despite his demeanor, you were starting to find the moments in between when he dropped the act actually… charming. Something else you’d keep to yourself, because if he found out you were actually enjoying his company, he’d be even more insufferable.

“Nah,” Gator said, stretching out his injured leg, wincing a little as he did. Surreptitiously, he lifted the hospital gown again, checking the gauze taped to his thigh. The little red sliver you’d seen before was just a touch wider, the wound still oozing. He covered it again quickly, but you’d still seen. “Got m’self.”

You almost didn’t register that he’d spoken, because it didn’t sound like he’d actually said words. “What?”

“With the boxcutter.” He cleared his throat. “I got m’self.”

“You—” you started to say, but stopped yourself. “Oh, my god.”

“Was a fuckin’ accident, a’right?” he said, huffy. “Breakin’ down some shit at the station, lost m’grip on the box, next thing ya know I’m bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

“That’s so embarrassing for you,” you said, and Gator lifted his left hand, flipping you off. You laughed, but were pleased to see he was smirking too.

“Ain’t no more embarrassing than twistin’ yer arm out of its socket when yer just tryna get it in.”

You nodded your head to the side, conceding the point. “Fair enough.” You paused. “Why… did you tell me that?” you asked.

Gator shrugged. “You told me ‘bout yours. Figure we’re even now.”

“We needed to be even?” you asked.

“Yeah, why not,” Gator said. “Yer cool.”

If it had been five minutes earlier, you’d have ribbed him for that, given him shit for it. But it had happened at exactly the right moment—you felt decent enough even though your shoulder still hurt, and he seemed to have loosened up enough that he could be real, or at least as real as a Tillman could be in these parts.

“You might be cool too,” you said, pulling your leg back up onto the bed, pushing yourself up closer beside him, your knees pressing into his hip as you tried to face him—and then promptly fell sideways into the upright part of the bed because your right arm was in a sling and you had no way to prop yourself up.

“I take it back,” Gator said, absolutely losing his shit at your awkward faceplant, your dislocated arm held in place by the sling. “Nothin’ fuckin’ cool aboutcha, my god, woman.” He reached back to help you up, wrapping his arm around you and holding you securely to his side. “Y’ok?”

When he asked it, his voice was quieter, lighter, brushing against your cheek like the touch of a lover, of someone who cared about you, even though he couldn’t and he didn’t.

“I’m fine,” you said, your cheek burning not only from the impact on the hospital mattress but also embarrassment. You glanced over at him, and noticed: He was a lot closer than you realized, even as he retracted his arm, which was dumb as hell, because you were practically sitting on his lap, and just might be if not for his cut leg and your immobile arm.

“That’s one word fer it,” Gator said, his hand moving over your knee, up your thigh, just enough for you to feel affected by it.

And you shouldn’t. This was Gator Tillman, fundamentally one of the worst people you could get involved with, and yet aside from some locker room talk and all of the rumors and conjecture you’d gathered from living in his vicinity, he hadn’t done anything to truly turn you off. It was the push and pull of flirting with a guy, the little barbs and pokes that made something new into something fun, something brimming with potential. So when his hand skimmed a little further up your thigh, you leaned in and just barely let your lips brush over his.

He kissed you back. Of course he did. You figured he was going to, because you were there and you were making it easy, but what you didn’t count on was how he would do it. With his fingers pressing just enough into your thigh that you could feel it, with his nose bumping against yours as he tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, with his lips closing around your cupid’s bow, keeping it simple and sweet before he pulled back. It was the perfect kind of kiss for the moment, and you never would have expected Gator to read the mood like that. You were starting to think you’d been wrong about him, or maybe everyone else had.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the door to the room opened and the orderly marched back in, stopping short when he saw you perched on Gator’s bed. You felt his hand move off of your thigh and instead to your lower back, holding you steady as you hurriedly stood up from the bed.

“Careful,” he muttered, as you slid your legs down over the lowered railing.

“Mr. Tillman,” the orderly said.

“Deputy,” Gator corrected him, and you smirked as you took your seat again.

“Deputy,” the orderly continued. “The doctor is about ready to see you, and since you have a… roommate, we’ll be bringing you to one of the exam rooms for the stitches.” You were wheeled over to the side, while the orderly unlocked the wheels of Gator’s bed and pushed him out of the room.

“See ya,” you said, lifting your good arm to wave.

Gator nodded his chin toward you as he passed by. “Ya just might.”

Except when he was brought back to the room to wait for his discharge paperwork, you were gone.

Steve moves towards you, messing with his hair on the way, but when he starts to sit beside you, you stop him with a hand on his arm.

Scooting backwards, you press yourself into the cushions and spread your legs to give him space to sit in front of you.

“Wha—right there?” he asks, blinking down at you, mussed hair haloed by the light of the TV. 

"Yes, right here.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head before turning around and collapsing into the makeshift seat you've provided. 

"This what you wanted?" he grunts, letting all his weight fall back onto you and press you into the couch. “You sure?” 

“Mmhhm,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around his hips, and your arms around his broad shoulders. He's so warm. You bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling the scents of fresh grass and humid summer air. “Where does it hurt today?” 

He sighs, absently watching the sitcom on the TV from under heavy lashes. “Everywhere.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder. The laugh track plays quietly through your house just as the first raindrop hits your window pane.  

Every time a storm rolls in, Steve gets this way. 

His old wounds have long since healed by now, but under intense shifts of barometric pressure, they come back to haunt him, driving a gnawing, clamping ache into his body that whisks away his concentration and make it hard for him to breathe. 

When the weather changes, he’ll say that bone in his nose aches, or that joint in his shoulder is killing him. But his side hurts the most. Those frayed nerve endings and hairline fractures in his ribs never got proper care thanks to his neglectful parents who never noticed their son was in pain.

Through the years, you’ve found a way to help him. Fill his mind with pleasure instead, and make him forget—even just for a minute. 

So, your hands start to roam. Traversing him in that way only lovers do—those who know someone else’s body better than their own. Curling over his forearm, brushing the hair there with your thumb. Caressing the rough knuckles on his hands. Trailing the bulge of his bicep, his capped shoulder, until finally skimming up the side of his head to plunge your fingers into this hair. 

Steve sinks further into you with a groan, but his shoulders tense when he hears you take a stuttering breath. 

His hands fly to hold yours still on his body. “Shit, ‘m not crushing you, am I?"

You shake your head, lips trailing the vein in his neck. “Relax, Steve. Let me make you feel good.”

You hear him swallow hard, hesitating. Then, finally, his hands fall away from yours, giving them permission to drift down to his waistband. He helps you out, undoing the button on his khakis for you. You shift behind him and reach down further until your fingers brush his cock, already straining against his boxers. 

Steve sighs, hips shifting as he chases your touch. “Baby, you know you don’t have to if you don’t wan—”

“I want to,” you say. “Let me fix it.”

His heavy palm comes down on your shin in his lap, warmth bleeding from his fingers. It’s a grounding, touch, not meant to stop you. Something to keep him centered while pleasure and pain war inside, threatening to pull him apart. 

You brush your fingers across his hard length, earning a soft groan of approval. Weighing the velvet steel in your hand, you wrap your fingers around him and squeeze at the base, just how he likes it. 

He curses, his head falling back against your shoulder just as thunder rolls in the distance. His lashes flutter shut, throat bared in the TV light, and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. 

You stroke him slowly. Languidly. The pleasure glides through his veins like silk, stealing the bite from his wounds, relieving the teeth digging into his ribs, before pooling into a different kind of pressure low in his abdomen. One that’s dull, and drugging, and promises relief. 

“Relax,” you whisper again against his ear.

Steve obeys, his body going a little more pliant. His thighs fall further apart, pinning you into the soft cushion. But his weight on you isn’t the only thing that steals the breath from your lungs. It’s the way he finds sanctuary in you. You love him like this. Open, and trusting, and wanting. Needing you, even when he’s in pain. Especially when he’s in pain. 

Your hand falls into the tempo he needs without him having to ask. It’s still slow, but steadily grows harder, grabbing that thread of need from inside his hips and pulling it tight. 

His back rises and falls with uneven breathes against your chest, but he stays still. He knows better than to buck up into your touch. If his hips lock up, your hand disappears. His shoulders tense, and your kisses stop. 

He has to be relaxed, pliant, and totally at your mercy for this pain relief to work.

Outside, the sky darkens further, turning that mottly shade of blue. The one you’ve seen bloom on his body time and time again over the years. The rain starts to fall steadily, tinking and plunking onto the glass pane.

Your knuckles rasp against his pants as you touch him, your forearm catching on his shirt with every stroke, and when your tongue darts out for a taste of his salty skin, and you’re rewarded with a moan that sends heat licking up your spine. 

He must really be hurting today. By this point, he’s usually trying to catch you by the ankle and pull you underneath him, pushing your legs apart and dragging his tongue through your pussy before you're done with him.

You shift underneath him, the heavy, slick weight of your arousal pooling in your panties, but you’ll deal with that later. Right now, you just want him pain free.  

His cock jerks in your hand, precum smearing across your fingers as his hand squeezes your shin, the other grasping uselessly at the couch cushion beside him. 

From this position—his head resting on your shoulder—you can only see the slope of his nose against the storm clouds, but his eyes are screwed shut, his brows furrowed even as little huffs leave his parted lips. 

You drop a sweet, reassuring kiss to one of the moles on his face. 

Steve’s always struggled with accepting care. It’s taken a long time to get him here. 

Hooking your ankle around his knee, you pull your leg towards you and spread his thighs even wider so your other hand can crawl underneath his arm and disappear into his shirt.

He turns his head and trails his lips across your cheek, your jaw, until finally you turn and capture his mouth with yours. His tongue dips into your mouth as your hand travels over his ribs, his scars, with soothing, sure touches that have him groaning into the kiss. 

But when his socks start to whisper against the carpeted floor as he tries to get leverage to shove his hips up into your touch, you break apart and pull your hand from his dick.

You’ve practiced edging Steve many times, so you don’t even have to say anything for him to get the picture. 

“Just feels so good,” Steve groans. “Sorry, I—yeah.” 

Rain pelts the window now, drowning out the distant laugh track on the TV, and Steve's heartbeat kicks up against your palm.

A hiss of pleasure escapes him when your touch resumes, but you tighten your grip, jerking him steadily until he swallows hard and relaxes again. 

You press gentle, openmouthed kisses along the column of his neck, his curls brushing your ear as his sounds grow breathier and louder. And when his cock thickens in your hand, you know he’s close. 

You bite your lip as his hips go stiff. Listening to him pant like this is really working you up. Finally, he groans, and jolts in your hold as hot ropes of come paint your knuckles. 

You slow to a stop, still kissing his neck to bring him down, making sure he's utterly relaxed before slipping your hand free. 

Steve tips his head back onto the couch and looks over at you, his eyes shining with love, but they darken swiftly as he watches your fingers disappear into your mouth, your pink tongue swirling around to catch every salty drop of him.

“You gonna let me take care of you, now?” he rasps, eyes on your mouth. 

You smile softly. “Steve, you’re hurting—”

“Not anymore.” 

His arm wraps around your waist, and then he shifts you lengthwise across the couch, his body following you down.

“You gave me my fix," he says, trailing a hand between your bodies, and your breath hitches as his long fingers disappear into your panties. “Now, let me give you yours.”

a/n: Woke up this morning to a thunderstorm and plans to write something completely different. But, when I put pen to paper, this is what happened instead. It's been a minute since I've written something completely new and not from my drafts, so I'm not complaining. (It’s probably also due to the fact that I'm still thinking about Steve and reader from Truce)

steve masterlist | banner from @cursed-carmine

Keys takes his neatly folded stacks of clothes out of his suitcase and places them in color-coordinated piles in his dresser drawers.

The electronic lock on the dorm room door before it's carelessly swung open, the curved handle clanging against the white brick inside the room.

"Hey, roomie! What's up, I'm Steve. Steve Harrington."

Keys turns and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, smiling politely with pursed lips. He takes Steve's outstretched hand in his and gives it two firm shakes, looking his roommate over with a scrutinizing gaze.

Steve's got on a snug-fitting striped polo tucked into even snugger-fitting light wash denim jeans. He lifts his sunglasses up onto his head, raking his glorious, tousled mane back away from his face. He had kind eyes and a wide smile, although he was smacking his fruity-smelling gum quite loudly which already grated Keys' nerves.

"Hey, cool to meet you. I'm Keys."

"Keys, hm? You were meant to be at MIT with that name, huh?"

"Well, beats Walter. I was captain of the Computer Science Club in high school, last name's McKey, had some clever friends so -- Keys." He holds out his hands demonstratively, fingers spread wide and jazzy. Steve laughs and nods right along.

"I like it, man. Wish I had friends that clever, best I got was like...dingus? Butthead?"

"I can call you Butthead, if that makes you more comfortable."

Steve lets out another bright laugh, and Keys finds himself chucking right along with him. The new roommate chucks his duffel bag onto the blank bed opposite Keys' neatly made one and starts rifling through it, tossing clothes in haphazard piles of shirts, pants, socks, and underwear. Keys cringes at the wrinkled destruction, but says nothing and just continues to put his own crisp wardrobe away.

"So, uh, I know we all kinda start out undeclared, but you know what you're going for, major-wise?" Steve asks over his shoulder, quickly folding his rumpled clothing into semi-thoughtful stacks to put away as well.

"Yeah, actually. Still the computer guy, so I'm going for my BS in AI and Decision Making, then I'll probably apply for my PhD in Computational Science and Engineering. You?"

Keys turns when Steve doesn't respond straight away and finds him slowly blinking, lips slightly parted in awe.

"Holy shit, dude. That's seriously impressive."

Keys feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he waves him off.

"Just sticking with what I already know. What about you? Know what you're going for yet?"

Steve shrugs, turning down his mouth in an exaggerated trout-like frown. "I think so, but I'm open to having my mind changed. Was thinking of either going for their Architecture program, or maybe a Humanities-Engineering major. Minor in Women's Studies either way, probably."

Now Steve finds that Keys is the one staring, slightly dumbstruck.

"Women's Studies? Any particular reason for that one?"

"I...love women." Steve smirks and Keys laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

"Can't argue there, I guess."

🕸️

"What do you mean, I can't switch it? I didn't sign up for it!" You growl at the admissions assistant, even though you're fairly certain they're just a student (like you), and don't get paid nearly enough to deal with this shit.

"Sorry, ma'am. The Wednesday morning class is full, there is only room for the Thursday afternoon."

"But I literally can't have class on Thursdays, do you get what I'm saying? I got an internship that was almost impossible to score, and it's Thursday through Saturday. I worked with the admissions people for weeks to make sure I had all my classes on Monday through Wednesday, I even got a professor to host a virtual Sunday lecture this semester because he owed my dad a favor. If I get put in this Thursday class, I'm completely cooked. Everyone's time is wasted, and I lose my internship."

Judging by the panic-stricken look on their face, you can glean what their answer is going to be; it's like they're scared you'll drag them out of the building by their ears, howling and screaming, when they inevitably say it. You put your elbows on the counter and your face in your hands, feeling the numbness wash over you.

"Ma'am..."

Your internship, ruined. The one you'd busted your ass to score an interview for, and then subsequently nailed. The Cambridge Courier had never taken on a Jr. Reporter in their freshman year, but they were so taken with your writing samples and stellar references that you'd gotten it anyway (with the caveat that you could be there Thursday, Friday, and Saturday each week).

A voice behind you, rich and sweet, like an angel (but moreso the latter because of what he says).

"Oh, hey. I'm in the Wednesday class for that. I can swap you if you need."

You spin around, fighting the urge to pull this wonderful human being into a bear hug and kiss him square on the mouth just for offering. Then, when you actually get a look at him...well, it's even harder to resist that temptation.

He's a total babe. Tall, a great head of carelessly ruffled hair that probably took a lot more time than you'd realize to look that effortless, freckles on his cheeks and neck that get lost in a thick thatch of chest hair peeking out from the deep v-neck t-shirt, and the sweetest, kindest set of hazel-brown eyes you've ever seen.

"Are you serious? Oh my god, you'd be a lifesaver, I'd owe you my life."

He holds his hands up and shakes his head, his smile growing wider and showing off two rows of straight, white teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkle with delight.

"No way! Don't want that, I'm happy to help. I'm Steve."

You tell him your name and give his hand a firm shake, noticing immediately how his engulfs yours almost completely, and that makes your knees weak.

"You'll both need to submit a request to the admissions office for a class swap, but it should be done within 48 hours." The student behind the counter tentatively adds with a shy smile.

You nod at them once in understanding and beam up at Steve.

"C'mon, we can go set up the transfer on my computer. I owe you a coffee, Steve."

🕸️

"So, why are you in an Intro to Women's Studies class anyway, if you don't mind me asking?" You sit across from Steve at a picnic table in the campus commons, sipping on a frothy frappe with a decadent caramel sauce drizzled over the top.

"It's my minor. Still deciding on my major, but I do know I wanted that for sure. I dunno, I guess I'd just like to know what I can do to help people that need it most. Thought it might help me have a little more perspective in whatever I do, other than just my own?"

You nod, impressed. "I can appreciate that, Steve. I'm majoring in Writing, I'm gonna be a journalist some day. I wanted the minor to have a better understanding of the things I want to write about, who I'm writing it for, all that stuff."

"Very respectable." He agrees, holding his coffee up in a cheers to you. You click your plastic cup against his cardboard one, and both of you giggle softly while sipping your drinks. You catch a glimpse of the time on your wristwatch.

"Oh, shit, I have to get to the library. There's a seminar I needed to listen to for next week." You throw your things in your bag and start to stand, Steve getting ready to go too, just at a much more leisurely pace. "Hey, um...we'll probably have lots of the same classes, if we're getting the same minor. Would you, like...I don't know, would you wanna be study partners? I could give you my number, and if you ever needed to chat about lectures, or whatever..."

"Yeah, that sounds great. Awesome, actually, I'll need all the help I can get."

You both laugh brightly and you put your number in Steve's phone. He texts you immediately with this GIF:

So without hesitation, you bite your lower lip and find this one to send back:

He grins even harder, and you give him a little wave over your shoulder.

"Later, Tiger."

🕸️

The seminar was on Artificial Intelligence in the Ever-Evolving World, and lots of MIT professors and students would be presenting their work. The Courier wanted you to attend and cover it for your first piece that would be in the Saturday edition of the paper next week.

Your heart swells with pride when you sign in and they have a press badge for you. A press badge.

You wander around the space taking photos and scratching down notes about various exhibits as graduate students speak about their different thesis projects.

After half an hour or so, they announce that the seminar would be starting in the next few minutes. You make your way inside and take an aisle seat towards the front, not wanting to miss out on any important information for your article. Not thinking, you set your messenger bag down on the empty seat next you.

A few moments later, while you were busy scribbling questions down that you'd like answered, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turn, immediately worried that you may be concussed.

Another tall, dark, and handsome babe talking to me in one day? Did I die?

This guy was equally as handsome as Steve, although he puts off a completely different vibe. Where Steve is carefree and laid-back (even slightly goofy), this guy was straight-laced and buttoned-up. If Steve were Technicolor, this guy was monochrome, but not in a bad way really.

His aura was soothing, confident, and relaxed. He wore glasses, but you could see that his eyes were hazel too, though with a bit more green to them than Steve's. He was in a collared shirt with a sweater over-top and khaki slacks, and the slightest cordial smile on his face.

"Hey, sorry, do you mind if I sit here? It's starting to fill up..."

You glance down and scramble to shove your bag carelessly under your seat, babbling apologies under your breath before glancing up at him with your own warm, inviting smile and patting the now-empty chair.

He settles into it and pulls out his tablet for taking notes. You glance at it enviously, feeling a little silly for bringing pen and paper to a seminar about AI and technological advances. Rookie move.

"My name is Keys, by the way." He leans over and extends a hand to shake yours. You take it and introduce yourself, trying not to seem overly eager.

"I'm a Writing major, and a Jr. Reporter for the Courier. My first big project is on this seminar, so I'm really excited to hear what they have to say."

Keys raises his eyebrows; they disappear briefly behind the hair falling over his forehead.

"That's really cool, I didn't realize this stuff would be of any interest to the press. I'd be happy to like, give you an interview after, if you like."

You scrunch up your face in confusion.

"An interview? Are you --"

"Walter, there you are! C'mon up, we're gonna get started."

He rubs the thighs of his slacks and smiles at you, shuffling by. He glances down one last time, and adds, "I'm the keynote speaker for the freshman AI Engineering Club. If you do wanna chat, come find me after this thing's over. This uh -- this offer's just for you, yeah? Don't bring a whole crowd with you, if you do come."

All you can manage is a slack-jawed nod, and he gives you a wink before walking casually up to the stage, hands in his pockets.

He delivers an incredible seminar, speaking confidently and clearly about what advances in artificial intelligence can do for the world and how it will change the future. By the end, people are standing in applause, camera lights flashing brightly across the room.

You snap a few pictures of Keys standing before the crowd, softly smiling like it was nothing out of the ordinary (maybe for someone as brilliant as him, it wasn't).

You indeed found him after the seminar, and both of you spoke for hours on what him and his teammates have been studying and developing in the AI labs here at MIT (to a degree...a lot of it was pretty confidential, actually).

You spoke your opinions on AI freely, never once feeling judged or undervalued in the conversation. Keys answered your questions thoughtfully and nodded along as you spoke, listening so intently it made you feel flushed at times.

As the evening wound down, he offered to walk you home. Both of you kept talking the entire way, no longer just about the seminar and your arm looped through his bent one.

"Okie doke, this is me." You tell him as you reach the girl's dorm.

You reluctantly slide your arm from his and suddenly, despite how easily the conversation has been flowing all evening, the air suddenly feels awkward now.

"Why does this happen?" He asks. You tilt your head in a silent question, waiting for him to continue. "Why do goodbyes always make things weird?"

It's like he read your mind. You laugh, and he quickly joins you. You hold your hand out, palm-up, and he puts his hand on top of it without a second thought.

"No, your phone, weirdo. I'm gonna give you my number. So we can...chat."

"Ah. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense."

You type your number in, questioning reality because this is the second time you were giving a hot guy your number today, and hand it back. He reads over your name once reverently, then slides the phone in his back pocket.

"Was really great to meet you. Have a great night." He says, body language leaning into you.

"It really was. Thanks, Keys. G'night."

You make it up the stairs to the third floor and walk straight into your room. Since you had a demanding work/school schedule (and a dad that managed to pull a few strings), you had special accommodations to have a single room on the corner of the floor.

You set your bag on the small twin bed in the room and start to pull off your heels, when your text notification chimes. It's from an unsaved number.

Goodnight again, gorgeous

You grin cheesily to yourself, biting down on the tip of your thumb and replying:

I sure hope this is Keys, otherwise I'm changing my number.

Shit yeah this is Keys.

Sorry.

No problem. And goodnight to you too, handsome. 💋

🕸️

When Keys swipes his card to get back into the dorm room, Steve is still wide awake and playing computer games with his feet propped up on the desk. He pulls his headphones off, and they've left a hilariously obvious indention in his voluminous hair. His smile is directed at Keys, though his eyes don't leave the screen and his thumbs keep working the joysticks.

"Hey man! How'd it go?"

"Good... Really good, actually." Keys bites his lower lip, brows furrowed in thought. Steve's eyes flicker to his roommate just standing there frozen in thought, so he pauses his game.

"You good?"

Keys didn't really have a ton of guy friends he could gush about girls and the like with. His buddies from computer club definitely weren't the biggest womanizers (and frankly neither was he), but he figured now was his chance to make one. Steve was nice enough, and they were going to be living together for at least a year, so...screw it.

"Yeah, man. I, uh...I met a girl there, actually. She was really cool. Super smart, we talked for like, hours."

Steve's brows nearly shoot off the crown of his head, and he throws his headphones off completely, leaning forward with intensified interest.

"Yeah?? Was she...y'know...hot?"

"Women's Studies, huh?"

"I have a deep respect for women and other marginalized communities. Now, was this girl hot?"

Keys chuckles and nods, conceding. "Yeah, dude. Really hot."

"Nice. You know, that's so funny...I actually met a super cute girl today too, I switched one of her classes for her to be about to go to her internship. I think we really hit it off actually, got her number."

"I got this girl's number too!"

Steve holds his first up for a friendly knuckle bump, and Keys obliges.

"Bro, how cool is this? What if we both met our dream girls today, and we can all like, hang out and get through this shit together? Two power couples!"

"Alright, getting a little ahead of yourself, Harrington. Maybe let's take our girls on a real date first, then we'll talk about campus domination."

"Deal."

Keys drags his sweater over his head, and though he knows Steve was most likely joking with his outrageous fantasy, he can't deny that he likes the idea of a close knit group of friends.

A girlfriend.

A family -- something he never really had much of before.

Steve really likes Keys, too. He does feel bad, because no matter how close they become as friends, he'll always have one secret he'll have to keep from him. A huge one.

Hell, he'll have to keep it from any friends, girlfriends, too; no matter how close he ends up getting to someone, in this one aspect he will always have to remain distant.

Suddenly the Spiderman costume tucked under his mattress feels glaringly obvious, and when Keys' back is turned to grab his shower bag from the back of the closet, Steve has to take a quick peek to ensure that it's still well hidden and not poking out anywhere.

That would really suck.

You'd seen Keys on video, of course, both of you on camera when you were playing from time to time, but you weren't quite prepared for his actual, physical presence. He was tall, but hunched over, probably from hours being bent in front of a keyboard and monitor. He smelled nice—which, for gamer boys, was not always the norm. And, even better, he actually treated you like a real gamer, even though you self-deprecatingly said with alarming regularity that you only played “cozy games” and those didn't count.

“They absolutely count,” Keys said. “Who tells you they don't? Don't listen to them. Do you feel like a gamer?”

You paused, waiting for him to go on, until you realized he was actually asking. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“Then you're a gamer! Come on, it's so fucking lame to gatekeep shit like that. So, I know you don't love FPS games, but you're a huge Squirrel Girl fan, right?” He talked a lot. But, you were impressed that he remembered you saying you liked Miss Squirrel Girl herself, Doreen Green, in passing once a few months ago. “Have you ever heard of Marvel Rivals?”

&&

You didn't think that counted as your first date, even though Keys really pushed for it to be. You'd been at a table with four other people and yet, for the whole hour and a half you whiled away at the cafe, you two primarily only talked to each other.

Your next excursion—still not something you'd consider your first real date—had you both heading out to Newbury Comics, lamenting how they used to have much cooler shit and now only had t-shirts and Pop Vinyls.

“I bought a plushie TARDIS here once,” you said. “Years ago.”

“Well, now you buy socks that have curse words on them,” Keys said, grabbing a pair from a rack nearby.

“I feel like they should have more comics for a store with 'Comics' in the name.”

“Want to hit a real comic shop?” he asked, and you looked over at him, beaming.

“Yeah!” you enthused, and he took your hand—he took your hand—and led you back onto the street, dragging you uptown to a store that had new releases and back issues upon back issues.

He bought you a trade paperback of The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, despite your protestations, and when you stopped at the subway entrance to head back to your apartment, he took your hand again.

For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you—he didn't, which is why it was not a date—and asked if he could see you again soon.

You agreed, and he grinned, adjusting his glasses on his nose before he pulled out his phone.

“I know you can just message me on Discord,” he said, “but maybe—you could text me when you get home instead?”

You gave Keys your phone number and promised you'd respond to his text the second you were back at your place.

&&

—home

K: Good! Hi.

—what's your real name?

K: That's dangerous to just tell people willy nilly

—lexy won't tell me —what do you think i'm gonna do? —dox you?

K: That, or fae bullshit. K: My government name is a well-guarded secret. K: Not for the faint of heart.

—lexy said keys is short for your last name

K: Dude K: Seriously? K: Traitor

—i've known her a long time. if she trusts me you should too

K: That is just what someone would say if I c a n ' t trust them.

—i gave you my phone number outside of the subway. the least you could do is tell me your first name

K: But Keys is so much better!

—because you write code?

K: Yes!

—i'll tell you one of my secrets

K: … K: You first.

—i think you're really cute —and i wish you hadn't just taken my phone number today and said bye

K: … K: What should I have done instead?

—💋

K: Walter McKey. When were we hanging out again?

—LOL —walter. that's cute.

K: Now you see why I go by Keys.

—i do see why you go by keys but walter isn't that bad —i promise

K: So what should we do next time we hang out, given we now know each other's deepest, darkest secrets?

—game night?

K: Pretty AND smart. I owe Lexy big time.

—i'll bring my switch :)

K: And maybe we can try Rivals. You can play on my pc and I'll play on the Playstation.

—no promises

K: Just think about it.

&&

You did think about it, which is to say you decided on “Not doing that” and didn't mention it again to Keys. You packed up your Switch and caught the subway to the stop nearest him, then walked the couple blocks down to his building. He met you at the door and let you in, leading you to his apartment.

It was cleaner than you expected—like, nothing out of place, vacuum lines over the area rug in the living room, and even a brand new candle burning on the small dining table. It looked as though he'd just lit it before he came downstairs to meet you.

“Cute place,” you said. “I thought for sure it would be way nerdier than this.”

“Oh. No, it is, this is just—I don't really hang out out here that much.” He gestured down the hall, and once you looked, you could see the room he meant. It was dark inside, but you saw the ambient glow of lights rotating through a variety of colors and the very edge of a computer tower, the fans also glowing different colors.

“Ok, that makes more sense,” you said, not bothering to wait to be invited in, but instead kicking off your shoes and heading straight to the game room.

It was small, but still impressive. He had his PC on his desk, the fans pulsing from red to blue and then back, and the LED lights on the wall cycling through the rainbow.

“Do you stream?” you asked, once he was in the room with you, and you turned to your left, where a futon was angled toward the back wall, a TV with a PS5 and a Switch hooked up to it rested.

“Um... sometimes,” he said. “I'll do more like, Let's Plays rather than livestreaming. Or sometimes I'll post a timelapse of something I built in Minecraft.”

“Oh, speaking of—are we playing Animal Crossing? Or Minecraft? I got it on Switch just for today.”

Keys smiled at you as he settled into his desk chair, gesturing for you to take your seat on the futon. You did. “I was thinking we could start with Minecraft, grind a little, then maybe try Rivals...? And then if you hate that, Animal Crossing. I finally got Fuschia to want to leave my island, weren't you looking for her?”

“You'd give Fuschia to me?” you asked, flabbergasted. She was your favorite villager—had been for ages—and now Keys was going to give her to you just like that?

“I'm still holding out hope that I'll find Ketchup someday,” Keys replied.

“Yes. Please. Oh my god. I'll give you Nook Miles tickets so you can try to find her.”

“Not necessary,” Keys said, laughing and turning back to his computer, jostling the mouse to wake it and then opening Steam to fire up Minecraft. “But I won't say no if you just... drop them on my island somewhere random for me to find in a week when I'm digging for fossils...”

“Deal,” you said, pulling your Switch out of its case. “Thank you so much.” He wasn't looking, so you spoke louder, more emphatically. “Keys. Seriously—thank you.”

He glanced back at you, grinning. “Hey, anything for you.”

You were only a little taken aback, but tried not to read too much into the statement—Lexy had told you how sweet he was, so that tracked. You tried not to take it personally, anyway.

Minecraft was incredible but cut a little short when you dug too far down and accidentally fell into a huge cave, groaning aloud once you hit the ground, all of your items scattering around your character's body.

“Did you just die?” Keys asked, smirking a little over his shoulder at you. “Fell from a great height, maybe?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, dropping your Switch to your lap. “Let's try Rivals. I couldn't possibly feel worse than I feel right now.”

“Don't sweat it,” Keys said, closing Minecraft and opening Rivals. “I'll carry you.”

“I hate that you think I'll need to be carried but I also hate that you're right.”

As the game loaded, Keys stood up from his chair and gestured for you to sit there instead of him. “I'll get you set up in the training range while I get the Playstation going. Here.”

You'd already sat down in his chair, but he leaned over you, his hand covering yours on the mouse, as he clicked around the screen, choosing Squirrel Girl for you, but also showing you how to change characters if you wanted to.

“If you don't feel like DPS, you might like Cloak and Dagger or Luna Snow,” he suggested.

“Wow, so girls can only play support characters?” you asked, turning to him, very conscious of his hand still atop yours.

His eyes glinted a little. “Do you want to tank?”

“...No,” you admitted.

“Then stick to Squirrel Girl,” he said, finally pulling away. The back of your hand radiated warmth where he had been touching you.

While you messed around as Squirrel Girl in the training range, shooting explosive acorns and sending out Squirrel Stampedes, Keys puttered around behind you getting himself situated on the futon. After a moment, an invitation to join his group popped up on the screen, and you accepted. He queued you into a match, against real people, and you turned to look at him as the map loaded.

“Shouldn't we try versus the computer first?”

“Nah,” Keys said, his back to you as he selected Magneto. “We'll be fine.”

You sighed, moused over to Squirrel Girl, and selected her, loading into the match.

It went... fine, actually. Keys played eerily well and your other DPS definitely carried you, but the supports on your team were great at keeping you up, and so while you heard Keys behind you getting a little worked up every time he died or you missed a pick, it seemed pretty standard gamer stuff. You also got pissed off whenever Lexy forced you to play Dead by Daylight and you found that you actually could not run killers or hit skill checks despite her telling you it was easy.

By the time you loaded into your second match, two other players had already locked tanks, so Keys chose a DPS (Spider-Man), and you chose a support, one of the ones he mentioned: Luna Snow. She seemed less complicated to learn on the fly, plus her hair was pretty cute, so, you figured why not?

You weren't doing great, and while Keys wouldn't blame you, you could tell he was getting frustrated.

“Fuck,” he'd muttered at one point, but still—that was par for the course.

All was quiet for about a minute. Then—

“Fuck off!” he'd half-shouted, after the enemy Iron Fist managed to corner him and kill him. “Oh my fucking god.”

You looked back over your shoulder at Keys, gripping the controller with each hand like a vice, and—since you were both waiting to respawn, because he'd died, you'd died trying to get to him to heal him, and once you were both down the whole team got rolled—spoke.

“You ok?” you asked, voice high and quiet.

Keys turned to look at you, the smile betraying his previous tone, and just quirked his head to the side. “Yeah, 'course. You good? Wanna stop?”

“Oh,” you said, “no. It's... I kind of like Luna.”

Keys grinned, then turned back to the TV once he saw on your screen that you were both back in the spawn room. “Cool, you're doing really good with her.”

That felt like news to you, but you just twirled his desk chair back around and focused on the game. You always kept one eye on Keys, sometimes to the detriment of your team, but he was your friend—ish—so you felt an obligation to keep him alive if you could.

At one point, he managed to get the jump on the Iron Fist, even going so far as to solo ult him, laughing darkly and following it up with a “Get fucked, you piece of shit,” which felt so out of left field that you just... didn't acknowledge it.

What he was saying wasn't ideal, but... the tone his voice took on, the dark edge, the rough anger—you wouldn't admit it to him but maybe it was doing something for you. Which was new. Because you'd have sworn up and down that Keys wasn't the toxic kind of gamer, and yet there he was, swearing and being sweaty and ok, why was this getting you a little wet in his fucking gaming chair? You had to lock in and not get distracted by this guy who hadn't even kissed you yet.

“Get fucking owned,” Keys yelled, and you noticed in the kill feed that he’d killed Iron Fist again. “Gonna focus this clown until he switches,” he added absently; you weren't sure if he was talking to you, or to himself.

“Good idea,” you said in agreement, voice low, and sure enough, two more shouting matches with himself later, Iron Fist had switched to Scarlet Witch and turned the tide of the game even more. Your team won, and Keys immediately turned over to you.

“Hey, sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I get kinda into the game.”

You just looked back at him, nodding, then shaking your head. “Yeah, no worries.” You gave him a weak smile, because intense was the word Lexy had used to describe him and although it wasn’t that far off, you also weren’t sure that it was the correct word to use. You weren’t sure arousing was right either, but holy shit that was how it felt.

But maybe it was a fluke. You weren’t sure, really.

You loaded into a third match, choosing Luna again, while Keys opted for Magneto once more. This time, he didn’t have to bring out his alternate personality, and you won the match 2-1.

It wasn’t your kind of game, you didn’t think, but it was fun with Keys, especially when his alter ego came out to play (you’d have to think up a nickname for it, a la Darkiplier or Antisepticeye), and when you finally logged off of Rivals for the evening, he turned to you on the futon and grinned, back to his normal demeanor.

“Hungry?”

Almost like you’d timed it, your stomach gave a huge growl, and you laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.”

Keys stood up and motioned for you to follow him, leading you back out to the kitchen and opening the junk drawer. Or—what you assumed would be the junk drawer but was in fact actually just full of takeout menus. Indian; Chinese; at least five different pizza places all marked up with certain items crossed out or circled which you took to mean he’d sampled the menus enough that he knew that Tony’s had shitty garlic knots but fantastic bolognese, while Nonna’s Pizzeria was the only place to get a decent grandma pie but under no circumstances should you even think about the pasta from there.

“What d’ya feel like?” Keys asked, fanning out the menus toward you. There were five, and you chose one at random because you weren’t picky and he’d already narrowed it down to what he wanted.

“Falafel,” Keys said, approvingly. “Hell yeah.” He gave you a smile so sweet that you almost couldn’t conflate it with how he’d acted when you were playing Rivals.

He insisted on paying too—”They have my info on file,” he’d said, “it’s just easier”—and let you choose the movie to put on while you waited for the delivery and while you ate. You picked one of your favorites (The Princess Bride), laughing when Keys screwed up his face and said “But that’s a kissing movie.”

“Well, that’s what I want to watch,” you replied, stepping away from him and going back to the game room to flop yourself down onto the couch.

You heard Keys open his fridge, a little bit of rattling, and then he followed you in, plunked two cans of Cherry Coke onto the little folding table that you figured must be a fixture in this room. One was open, so you grabbed the other one, fiddling with the pop tab because you didn’t want to open it too soon and risk it being flat by the time your dinner arrived. While you rolled the can between your hands, Keys snatched the controller to awaken his Playstation again. 

“You’ll never guess,” he said, and when the homescreen loaded, he navigated over to the disc icon floating there.

“No way,” you said, laughing, because The Princess Bride was already in the disc drive.

“I had it on the other day while I was working,” Keys explained, reaching up to card a hand through his hair. 

“But it’s a kissing movie,” you said, mocking him, and he smirked.

“Yeah, well,” Keys said, leaning over to you, face to face, far too close but somehow, not close enough. “Sometimes kissing isn’t so bad.” His lips brushed yours, and then stayed there, pushing himself closer. Your tongue flitted against his mouth, tasting the cherry soda he’d sipped, and once you’d done that, he parted his lips further, kissing you properly, tongues barely meeting before he pulled away. He looked shy even though he’d initiated the whole thing.

“Sweet,” you said absently, reaching up to touch your lips with cold fingers, then his. Then, mortified, you lowered your hand and looked away.

“I have my moments,” Keys replied, starting the movie and settling back against the cushion of the futon. He made no movement to indicate he wanted you to move closer, seemed perfectly content to just watch the movie, but you weren’t. Not at all. In fact, after the man had just kissed you, you actually felt a little put out that he didn’t want to keep kissing you, and so you leaned forward, reaching across him to put your can of soda down beside his, and once you were basically stretched across him, you turned to him, settled half on his lap, took his face in your hands, and kissed him again, the residual desire from the first, admittedly somewhat chaste kiss, still lingering. And then there was the whole matter of everything you’d felt when he was angry during Rivals, still weighing down your stomach with want, tainted need because of how sick you felt being attracted to the meaner side of him.

Not to say you didn’t like the normal, nice guy too.

But… just something about the other version of him, right?

“Oh, hey,” Keys said against your lips, one arm moving around you, the other settling on your leg to move up your thigh. “We just put the movie on.”

“We’ve both seen it,” you said, taking his lips in another kiss. He let you in, his hands remaining in the respectful places on your body: Thigh, far away from your crotch, and mid-back, not daring to dip too low. 

What had started out as eager, heated kissing on your part slowly mellowed into languid, easy making out, you taking your time and Keys savoring every single liplock until his phone chimed from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter, and his hands finally moved to your hips, but only to move you off of him.

“That’s dinner,” he said, “wait here.” You fell back beside him on the futon as he leaned in one last time, giving you another cherry soda-tinged kiss, and then stood up, his long legs carrying him out of the room in far fewer steps than it would take you. You heard his front door open and close, and then there were a few minutes of silence wherein you opened your own can of soda and took a sip, nursing it as you watched the movie in Keys’ absence.

But your thoughts wandered. You’d always hated toxic gamer guys—it was part of the reason that you didn’t fuck with FPS games or even battle royales, and the entire reason you never went on voice comms. You had to wonder if you hadn’t been on something akin to a date with Keys (was it a date, now that you’d kissed?) would he have also been trash talking your performance in the game? He didn’t seem like the type to lie to get into your pants—he could have done it twice over by now, when he’d first kissed you and then when you were sat on his lap. But he didn’t, which led you to the conclusion (at least for now) that he was just a nice guy with a little bit of a hot head when he was in the thick of a game. Nothing wrong with that. For every F-bomb he’d dropped during Rivals, you’d surely said twice as many and even worse while playing DBD with Lexy.

And ultimately, it turned you on and you weren’t going to forget about it because you deserved to be horny too, ok?

The front door opened again and you heard Keys’ gait as he closed the door behind him, kicked his shoes off, and made a pitstop in the kitchen. The sound of a crinkling paper bag reached you followed by a heavy sigh, the opening of one drawer, a pause, the opening of another drawer, the metallic tinkling of cutlery, and then both drawers being rolled closed before the paper bag crumpled up again.

“They sometimes forget to give me forks or whatever,” he said, re-entering the room. “This is the third time. Had to note the menu.”

You smiled a little as he placed the bag on the folding table, rummaging in it before handing you your order first, then taking his. He proffered a fork in case you wanted one despite ordering yours in a pita; you took it, tucking your knees up against your chest and holding the tin with your food in one hand, poking at the falafel with the fork. You both ate without talking, the silence in the room broken only by the movie, and by the time your bellies were full and your Coke cans were empty, you were back cuddling up to Keys, his hand cradled in both of yours, on your lap as you rubbed your thumbs over his. 

“It’s getting late,” Keys said, and it wasn’t suggestive, it was actually tinged with concern. “You want me to get you an Uber instead of taking the subway?”

“I can get my own Uber,” you replied, smirking. “If you wanted to come see my game room, you could just ask, you know.”

“Can I come see your game room?” Keys asked, leaning in to you, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he kissed you again. You smiled against his lips, parting your own for him to allow him entrance, taking him in as he turned more toward you, but he pulled away, his forehead against yours. “It is actually getting late though. Do—if you need to get home, that’s ok.”

Despite the close proximity, you looked into his eyes, then leaned your forehead a little more against his, angling your head down to look at his lips. They were softer than any man’s lips had any right to be, the freckles on his cheek just barely visible in your periphery, and no. You didn’t need to get home, much less did you even want to.

“No one’s waiting up for me, if that’s what you think,” you said, turning your face just slightly to let your lips brush over his cheek, those little moles dotting his skin, and he exhaled shakily, then squeezed your hand, still in both of yours.

“I don’t—usually…” he said, trailing off. “I just mean—it’s never been really so easy with anyone else.” He made a small noise in his throat, like he didn’t like that statement either, and then tried to kiss you again, ducking his head a little to do so. You let him. “I know this is just—our first, you know, date, if you wanted to call it that”—you smiled to yourself because yes, you did want to call it that—“but what I mean is… You’re… I’m just getting…”

“Good vibes?” you asked, half-joking, but he nodded.

“Yeah, just—” he smirked, like he’d just remembered he could make jokes and references that you would understand. “You’re, um, matching my freak.”

You did laugh at that—it was a phrase Lexy used all the time on the Discord server and purposely never in the right context, just like now. Not that he was wrong—you had a lot in common.

“I also like how things are going,” you said, trying to be as clear as possible, because in your experience, guys were morons on a good day, and guys who gamed a lot were even worse. “I like you. I… would like this to be our first date,” you confirmed, “and if you were inviting me to stay over… I would like that too.”

To his credit, Keys managed to look extremely normal about the prospect. “Ok, cool,” he said (typical guy), but then leaned in to kiss you, tugging his hand out from yours and wrapping it around your waist. He didn’t pull you closer, just held you, until you were kissing him even deeper, your hands on his chest and your tongue in his mouth, and his hands settled on your back, lower than before, but not low enough to trigger thoughts that he was trying to hook up with you on his futon.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the kiss and letting your tongue flit over your upper lip. “Can we, um… maybe—go somewhere else?”

Keys looked up at you, like he didn’t realize he was going to get lucky on your first date that had only recently been christened as such, but nodded, vehemently. “Yeah. Um, yes, yeah, we can—my room,” he said, waiting for you to climb off of him before he got up himself, then stood there alongside you for an awkward moment only to reach down and take your hand again, tugging you along behind him as he left the game room and angled left into a door across the hall, a dimly-lit room that you could now tell was not supposed to be the master bedroom. No, Keys had utilized the larger bedroom for his gaming equipment, leaving just a full-size bed shoved into the smaller space obviously meant to be a child’s room or home office.

The bed was against the far wall, tucked into the corner, and there was a chest of drawers right up against the foot of the matress—rendering the bottom two drawers useless, as they could not be opened—with a television on top of it. Beside the TV was a Switch dock, a PS3, and a GameBoy Color with a little Tupperware container full of old game cartridges. The room, despite the lack of space and furniture shoved into it, was clean, orderly. His bed was even made—he had you beaten in that aspect.

You looked around, squeezing his hand as you spoke to show him you were kidding, “If you tell me you usually sleep on that futon…”

Keys made a small noise, halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Care to… finish that sentence, so I know how deep in I may be about to dig myself?”

You laughed, pulling him forward this time, leading him over to his own bed. “Honestly? I can’t say I’d blame you. I bet it’s nice to fall asleep to the lights changing colors like that,” you said, referring to the rotating LEDs he had in the game room.

“It kind of fucks,” he said, standing over you as you sat down on the edge of his bed, finally letting go of his hand as you reached over to pull the covers down. You expected white sheets—Keys was an adult man, ergo, adult sheets—but even in the dimness of the room you could tell they were blue with—

“Spider-Man?” you asked, biting your lip.

“Ok, first of all—”

“You have Spider-Man sheets?”

“It’s just the topsheet! And it was only because it was all I had clean. I didn’t have the quarters to do laundry so I just—used what I had.”

“And it was Spider-Man?” you looked closer at the sheets. “Miles Morales Spider-Man? Hey, ok. You get points for taste.”

“I’m taking it off,” Keys said, pulling at the sheet even though you were sitting on both it and the comforter (thankfully plain light and dark brown squares patterned together). 

“No, leave it,” you said, laughing as you pushed yourself back onto the bed. “It’s fun and whimsical and proves you’re not self-conscious.”

“How?” Keys asked, still trying to displace you by attempting to roll you side to side as he pulled at the bedding.

“It just does,” you replied, then grabbed at his wrists to stop him from trying to unmake the bed, and ushered him onto it with you instead. He flopped down beside you, and the two of you moved toward each other with no hesitation, atop the rumpled comforter. “I have Powerpuff Girls sheets at home,” you divulged. “I mean—I don’t use them, but I have them.”

“If you’re trying to tilt me in bed,” Keys said, chuckling a little—just edging on the dark tone he’d laughed with earlier during Rivals, “it’s almost working.”

The thought struck you—because you hadn’t been trying to piss him off, but now it almost seemed like the best idea you’d ever heard.

But—your lack of response only had Keys laughing a little lighter, his hand on your side a little softer.

“Kidding,” he said, lifting his mouth to yours and kissing you, nudging your knees with his own to try and get his leg in between yours.

You kissed him back, letting him press his thigh up against your clothed pussy, and you gasped a little, quietly. He used your parted lips as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting you rut down against his thigh until your hands were grasping at the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, half on top of you, your arm trapped beneath him and his weight heavy on top of you in the best way.

“What do you—want?” Keys asked, but didn’t even give you a chance to respond as he kissed you again, and again, gently pushing his thigh into your crotch as you sighed softly against his lips, your legs spread as wide as you could get them. He eased himself half on top of you, the heavy press of his leg against you still giving you a little friction, but you craved more.

“Keys, I—” you said, gasping as he rolled his hips down against your front; even slightly misaligned, it still felt good, still left you wanting and eager for more.

“Tell me,” he said, moving one hand down to your hip, tugging your shirt up and letting his fingertips slip just beneath the waistband of your jeans.

“Touch—me?” you asked, sighing, head rolling back against his pillows, because he could touch you or eat you or fuck you and you’d be happy.

“Touch you,” he repeated, almost like he needed to give himself the assurance, the guidance, the instruction. He rolled half off of you, and together you both removed your jeans, letting them fall to a pile off the side of his bed, his mouth back on yours as he covered your mound through your panties, rubbing you through them with his whole palm, but pressing against your lips with two fingers a little more firmly than the others. 

“Keys,” you sighed, and he swallowed his name as it came from your lips, only to reply himself.

“You’re already so wet,” he mumbled, and you whined a little at the way he pointed it out, but had no time to linger on it because he’d slid his hand up to your stomach, and then back down between your legs, but this time, he was inside your underwear, no thin, soaked cotton between you.

His fingers parted your folds easily, rubbing at you with a deft hand that already had you lifting up into his touch, and you reached for him, one hand grasping at his arm, feeling it flex as he rubbed you, and the other curling around the nape of his neck, guiding his mouth down to yours again to kiss him as he found your clit.

Your chest gave a little kick, your body jumping at the instant gratification, the sudden pleasure of the pad of his finger circling the sensitive bead, and he let you use his mouth as he lowered his hand, bending his wrist and curling just one finger into your slit, easily, slowly, testing that you were ready for it before committing.

“Oh, f—K-Keys,” you half-moaned, holding back a little because it felt silly to call him that but you weren’t sure if you were fully on, well, a first-name basis yet.

And you hadn’t thought it was all that obvious, but he pulled away from you, leaned down to kiss your neck a few times as he fingered you, still working just one in and out of you even as he teased entrance with a second—and then you felt his breath on your cheek, his nose tickling at your temple as he whispered, “You can call me Walter if you like that better.”

It wasn’t what he had said. It wasn’t the permission to use his real name. It was the way his voice had skimmed over you like thick, rich velvet, pleasant for now but rough if you crossed it.

“I,” you stammered, because you didn’t know what you liked better, all you knew was that his practiced hand was working at you in ways that you’d never expected anyone other than yourself to understand. But Keys—Walter?—was reading every subtle cue you gave him, taking in the miniscule shivers of your legs and tremors of your cunt, the way your walls would tighten up on his fingers as he eased two back into you, the way your clit would jump against his thumb if he caught it at just the right angle.

“Wa-Walt—hnn,” you panted, and you felt his cheek round up against yours, his lips curling into a smile that you could only intuit was there but not see from the way his face rested on yours.

“You’re so…” Keys mumbled, pausing to turn just enough to kiss you. You took his mouth with yours desperately, your ass lifting up off the bed into his hand of its own volition, your body wanting more from him, needing more, and Keys—without a damn word from you—understood exactly what your body was asking for. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, curling them upward, making a come-hither gesture deep within your cunt, massaging your walls from the inside even as he doubled down on your clit, his thumb streaking over it side to side, then up and down, circles, ovals, until you were kicking up against him, and he stuck to the pattern you liked, making you mewl out his name again, and again.

“Wa—fuck,” you cried, your body feeling like it might snap in two from the force of your orgasm, your legs curling up, bent at the knee, your body recoiling from itself, your hips jerking up against Keys’ hand as he worked you through it, his thumb on your clit slowing but still rubbing at you, his fingers unmoving inside you as you clamped down on him, your mouth attached to his, sucking his lip, or his tongue, you weren’t sure and didn’t care as your teeth nipped down on him, hearing his sharp intake of breath but your eyes were closed, shut tight.

Your breath stuttered out of your lungs as you felt a soft kiss on your closed eyelid, his lips just barely brushing over your eyebrow too as he pulled away, his hand sliding out of your underwear only once you’d relaxed back down to the bed. You rolled onto your side, your thighs squeezing together as your pussy just kept going, aftershocks rippling through you as you caught your breath, and when you opened your eyes again, Keys was on his side too, and his hand was on your hip, rubbing you through your shirt.

Your lips curled into a smile when you met his eyes, and then you firmly planted your hand on his shoulder, pushing him onto his back and propping yourself up onto your elbow. With your free hand, you started to remove your shirt, with Keys assisting you as best he could until you were finally able to wriggle out of the garment and it joined your jeans on the floor of his bedroom, and even though you’d just positioned him how you wanted him, he sat up to remove his own shirt, lanky body now on view, the slight tummy he had folding over his belt. It was cute, but it disappeared when he laid back down.

Together, you worked his jeans down, his boxers too, his cock flagging down over his thigh even though he was half-chubbed up. 

You didn’t say anything, but your gaze lingered a beat too long, because Keys shifted himself on the bed, and when you looked over at his face, his expression was mixed between smug and embarrassed, like his mouth couldn’t help but curl into a little bit of a smirk—you were staring—while his eyebrows were knitted just a touch together, like maybe you were disappointed or suddenly uninterested since you didn’t actually make any moves closer.

“You, um—” he started to say, but you leaned in, eclipsing his body with yours as you wrapped your fingers gingerly around his prick, making him inhale sharply, and whatever he’d been about to vocalize was gone, your lips on his, scattering all words away.

You kissed him, mouth open, tongue sliding over his, a little more intense, a little dirtier now that you had a hand on him, and stroked up and down over his length, purposely not letting your grip brush the head until he was bucking his hips up into your hand, and then you slid your hand down to the base of his cock, not pushing him but leading him to rest against the bed. Leaning up and over him, you searched his face for any sign that he was going to maybe get a little mean, a little attitude, bossy and annoyed like when you’d been playing Rivals—but no. He just looked up at you.

He just… looked up at you. With soft, wide, desperate eyes, and kiss-bitten lips, and his throat bobbing, and one eyebrow screwed up on one side, like he didn’t know why you were doing this to him but also didn’t know how to get you to do more.

Your lips teased his—he tried to kiss you, you pulled back just enough that he couldn’t—and then you curled your hand over the tip of his dick, rubbing your curved palm over the tip of his cock, marveling in the way he reacted with his entire body. His chest arched up first, and then once his shoulders were back on the bed, his hips lifted up against your hand, and you easily took him back into the circle of your fingers, stroking him off again, eased by the slick you’d collected from his weeping slit.

Keys sighed out your name, one hand lifting up to curl into your hair, moving your mouth back to his as he kissed you, whimpering quietly into your mouth as you jerked his cock, pausing at the head every few passes to tease the slit, letting the pad of your middle finger just play with it, spreading each hot, sticky bead of precome over him until he was pulling away from you, turning his head away to break the kiss, only to turn back to look at you again.

“Please?” he asked—begged. You’d taken his shaft in your hand again, just below the ridge of the head, and you felt a hot dribble of precome as his cock drooled all over your hand. “God, please,” he asked, and you smiled, kissing him again, this time moving your hand in earnest to get him off, the heel of your hand and your wrist smacking into the front of his hip with how quickly you moved now, your intent to watch him come undone just as you had, and it worked—

Keys sucked your tongue as you kept your hand working at his cock, twisting it side to side every now and then just to hear him react to it, the whines heavy and loaded with lust. It didn’t take much longer for him to come—you felt his cock twitch in your hold, and then his whole body stilled with tension for a long moment, poised to snap—and then he did, moaning your name loudly, really fucking loudly actually, as ropes of his come streaked over the pair of you, landing on your arm, his stomach, even one on your hip, staining your underwear just because you’d lowered your hand enough that his cock angled to the side.

You pressed one final kiss to Keys’ lips, and as you pulled away, he covered his face with both hands, rubbing at his cheeks and his eyes before lowering them and looking down his body at you, still above him, your hand on his stomach now, absently rubbing his spunk into his skin, playing a little with the line of hair leading down below his bellybutton.

“Glad I asked you to stay,” he mused, and you laughed, leaning in to kiss him again before you pushed yourself to sit up next to him.

“Oh, is that what you did?” you asked, still playing with some of the short, curly hair at the base of his softening dick.

“Definitely,” he said, lifting a hand to touch yours. Not to stop you, but to gently rest his fingers on the back of your hand, your wrist.

“Then I’m glad you did too,” you said, glancing at the door to the hall. “Um… bathroom?”

“Door next to the game room,” Keys said, and you clambered over him, stopping once he grabbed your wrist. “Wait—do you want something to sleep in? Like—sweats. Or whatever.”

Your cheeks warmed—you hadn’t expected that. You’d figured he’d expect you to sleep naked—if you even slept at all. “Oh, ok. If you have.”

“Yeah,” Keys said standing up, pulling up his boxers and pushing down his jeans, then crossed to his closet doors, pulling them open. On the floor of the closet were the remaining two dresser drawers, and you snorted with laughter as Keys started digging through the one stacked on top of the other, coming up with a pair of black sweatpants, the ends of the legs frayed, with a big hole in the knee. “I know,” he said, poking his finger through one of the other, smaller holes near the waist that you hadn’t noticed upon first glance. “But they’re my most comfortable pair, I promise.”

You bent down to retrieve your shirt, then took the sweatpants from him and made your way to the bathroom, readying yourself for bed. He was right—they were unfairly comfortable. You’d had some pajama pants for years that weren’t nearly as soft as these were. You… might liberate them someday, if things ended up going well.

While you were attempting to brush your teeth with Keys’ toothpaste and your finger, you heard the floor outside the bathroom door creak first one way, and then a few minutes later, the other way, back into the bedroom. 

You emerged to a dark apartment, the only light a bluish glow emanating from Keys’ bedroom, and then as you approached, you heard the telltale menu music of Animal Crossing: New Horizons emanating from Keys’ TV.

You crossed the threshold, your panties and bra balled up in your hand, ready to tuck them away into your jeans, but when you entered the room, Keys only smiled at you, patting the bed beside him where, you noticed, your Switch case was resting.

“I figured we could get you Fuschia before it gets too late and she goes to bed,” Keys said, tapping the button on his Joycons to speed through Isabel’s welcome speech. “I’ll open my airport while you load in.”

You stood there, admittedly a little dumbstruck. Because you’d been worried about Keys not letting you sleep.

Truth was, you were pretty sure there was nothing you wouldn’t do to this man, if he’d let you.

&&

And he did. You’d gotten Fushia to agree to move, sold some of your native fruit at Nook’s Cranny for double the usual price, (thankfully before it closed), then did a few Mystery Tours in search of a tarantula island. Then, you sucked his soul out through his dick and the pair of you fell asleep.

In the morning, Keys insisted on accompanying you back to your apartment, which he claimed was because he wanted to see your game room, but really he just wanted to buy you breakfast on the way. He took you to a deli a few doors down from his apartment building, got you a bacon, egg, and cheese with an iced tea, then promptly told you he didn’t eat breakfast while also snagging a Code Red Mountain Dew.

“You need to eat something,” you insisted. “Most important meal of the day.”

“That’s debatable,” Keys said, but grabbed a plastic-wrapped packaged cinnamon bun, just making you laugh as you bit into your sandwich.

“Whatever,” you said, stepping out of his way at the register because you’d lost the argument about paying yet again.

“I can buy my own food,” you said, “you didn’t have to get me breakfast after you already got me dinner.”

Keys slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “You know what, you’re right. After I let you take Fuschia from my island and everything, wow.”

You chewed angrily toward him. “So let me pay you back for your sugar rush.”

Keys glanced down at the cinnamon bun, then shoved it into his hoodie pocket. “Nah.”

“You’re so annoying!” you half-shouted as you pushed the door open to the street, but you were laughing so it wasn’t exactly convincing. Keys only smiled to himself as he followed you out and down to the subway entrance. The car wasn’t too busy on a lazy Sunday morning, so you were able to sit together—closer than was really necessary, thighs touching, his fingers brushing your lips as he fed you the heart of his cinnamon bun—and by the time you were off the train and heading to your walk-up apartment, your hand was in his, sugar-sticky fingers and all.

“It’s not as… robust as yours,” you said, pushing the heavy front door open and leading Keys inside, bypassing everything else in your place and taking him straight to the game room. Contrary to what he’d done, yours was in the smaller spare room, because you actually liked to have room to do things like get dressed and put your laundry away.

Even though your game room was smaller, and you only had a PC, Switch dock, and your PS2 set up for nostalgia reasons, Keys still walked in like he was in awe. His decor was mostly functional aside from the LED lights, but you had a ton of fanart of various fandoms, all pastels and soft colors; it must have taken forever to curate the pieces that you were displaying, and as you crossed the room to replace your Switch, he stepped closer to a small collection of framed cross stitch pieces.

“Did you make these?” he asked, pointing.

“Um… yeah,” you said, joining him. He was leaning in, inspecting them—they were all Pokemon, your favorites, and even a cross stitch of what was ostensibly your trainer’s avatar from in-game.

“Would you make me one?” he asked.

“I—ok, sure. What’s your favorite Pokemon?”

“Magneton?” he said, sounding unsure even though he couldn’t be. “Or maybe Deoxys.”

“Not Klefki?” you asked, teasing. “I mean…”

He turned to look at your mischievous grin. “You know what, if you wanna be like that, sure, I’ll take Klefki.” He hesitated, then reached out to let his hand brush over your wrist, down to your pinky.

“I’ll surprise you,” you said, taking the half-step needed to close the distance, and lifting your face up to his. You’d barely managed to kiss him before both of your phones vibrated at the same time. You’d both been getting pings and texts here and there all through the previous evening and all morning, but never at the exact same moment.

You grabbed your phone first, and looked up at Keys as he fished his out of his pocket.

“Discord?” you asked.

He glanced down at his phone. “Discord. Lexy wants to play R.E.P.O.” He turned his wrist to show you the notification like you didn’t have the same “@ everyone” ping.

“I’m just glad it’s not Dead by Daylight,” you said, glancing at your computer, and Keys shifted his weight a little, taking the hint.

“You wanna play?” he asked.

“I… mean, yeah, but you can join when you get home!” you said, reaching out with your free hand to tug at one of his hoodie strings. 

“Not a friendslop guy,” he said, grimacing and making you laugh.

“Right, sorry, you only play the most revered, serious games around, like Marvel Rivals and COD—” 

He cut you off with a kiss, making you draw up a little straighter as his hands landed on your hips.

“Speaking of Rivals,” he said, “message me if you want to play again?”

“Is you asking me to be your girlfriend contingent on me playing Rivals?” you asked, and then snapped your jaw shut, because you hadn’t meant to say that out loud. You hadn’t really been planning on saying it ever. It was a half-formed thought that you weren’t anywhere near pathetic enough to ask, and yet, you’d just asked it. “Sorry, I know this is—still new, that wasn’t—you know, it’s, we can just—” You felt like Keys must have felt when he was trying to explain how much he liked spending time with you.

Thankfully, his face only softened, like he remembered how he’d fumbled over his words too. “I mean, if I say yes, then I’m the asshole, right?” he said, laughing. “No, of course not. You don’t have to be a Celestial Rivals player to date me.” He winked and added, “But it helps!” You scoffed out a laugh. “I’m kidding.” You scowled at him. “Kidding,” he said, and then almost like he was worried he’d blown his shot, he pulled you a little closer by your waist, leaning down to kiss you again. “I could see things going… really well. Between us. I would love to take you out sometime. Like—actually out. Maybe to dinner.”

“Can I pay this time?” you asked, a little smirk playing at the corner of your lips, because he’d made you feel a little better about your gaffe.

Keys pursed his lips, then leaned down to kiss you again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Then I’ll think about saying yes,” you joked. Keys kissed you one more time, and then let you walk him to the door of your apartment. “Think about R.E.P.O. too.”

“I just might,” Keys said, stepping out into the hall. He lifted his hand to give you a two-fingered salute, and as you laughed you saw him make a face at himself, clearly wondering why the fuck he’d done that. “Sorry. Bye.”

“Bye,” you said, smiling as you shut the door, your right hand easing it shut while your left hand slid the chain and then moved down to turn the deadbolt. You let your palm rest flat on the door while your left moved down to the knob, just to have something to hold on to, as you placed your forehead against the back of your hand, lips still curved, a secret for just you to know. You’d said much more awkward things to guys before, and Keys still liked you. 

Even fifteen minutes later, when you’d broken the Chunky Vase and had Lexy screaming at you about it (it was entirely your fault and you knew it), you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

&&

Your job didn’t afford the same luxury of working from home that Keys’ and Lexy’s did, so you weren’t able to meet him for dinner for another week, and your commute left you unable to game for longer than an hour and a half max after work, since you had to be awake so early to make your trains (and bus). That left you with the only option you really had to hang out with Keys, even virtually: Animal Crossing. 

Which was fine—you’d check turnip prices and sell fruit, go fishing while he ran around trying to find the last bug he needed for his museum (stick bug. He always missed the thin line of pixels and scared them away before he could catch one), and then end up seated on the hidden beach on the back of your island, camera angled up as high as you could get it to look at the sunset, since you couldn’t very well see it all that well in a city full of high rises. You’d just sit in quiet conversation in a Discord voice call, listening to the sound of the waves from your game, until you’d inevitably say “I have to go,” and Keys would say, “Tomorrow?”

Until Friday night, when “Tomorrow” no longer meant playing Animal Crossing together and actually meant “Dinner date.” Keys had finally relented and agreed to let you pay, so you’d gotten to choose where you wanted to go, which was an outrageously gaudy family-style Italian restaurant that was going to serve you way too much food for just two people, but would also furnish you both with enough leftovers for several days.

And sure enough, after you had dinner, you’d invited Keys back to your place to start a new run of Kingdom Hearts 2. You walked back to your apartment—“Good for digestion,” you’d said—laden down with doggy bags of food that you stuck in your refrigerator before settling in in your game room. 

You chose to try the game on Proud Mode, swapping off with Keys every now and then (you were better, you noticed), and after the fourth time you’d let the controller change hands, Keys stood up and left the room. Figuring he was going to the bathroom, you didn’t think anything of it until he returned in barely a minute, an aluminum tin of pasta in one hand and a fork in the other. You paused the game and looked over at him.

“How can you be hungry?” you asked, and he shrugged.

“Just am,” he said, twirling some of the fettuccine around the fork.

“That’s mine,” you said, indignant. “We agreed that you’d take home the manicotti and I’d get the fettuccine alfredo.”

“Ok, fine,” Keys said, lifting the huge mouthful of pasta he’d just picked up and holding it out to you. “Here.”

“That’s—” you started to say, but before you could finish the thought, he had nudged your lips with the fork.

“Open,” he said, and you were so surprised that you could only do what he’d asked, letting him feed you the bite. “Very good, thank you.”

You blinked, chewing slowly, until you just picked up the controller and unpaused the game. Because what the fuck was what and why was it the hottest thing ever? Thanking you for obeying him?

Swallowing the bite he’d given you, you looked over at him from the corner of your eyes, but Keys was just sitting there happily chowing down on your leftovers, and when he noticed you looking and decidedly not playing, he turned to you and grinned, a little bit of sauce clinging to his upper lip.

He was too fucking cute to ask to be mean, rough, stern with you. At least—not tonight. Tonight could be for other things.

Kingdom Hearts 2 sat on pause again, the fettuccine and fork on the couch, as you pulled Keys to your bedroom, climbing on top of him and letting your hips roll down into his as you kissed him silly.

&&

A couple more dates in a couple more weeks, and finally, you confirmed what the entire server had been speculating and suspecting since you and Keys had changed your profile pictures to matching ones of Professor Layton’s hat and Luke’s hat. Just weird enough to catch attention, just innocuous enough to potentially mean nothing. (It did mean nothing—it was just a joke because you both liked those games. Seriously.)

But you’d had to tell the truth, because a few of your other friends had been trying to plan a D&D oneshot for months. So when Hakeem had announced that they’d found a DM for you, and asked was everyone free tonight even though it was short notice? Well, you had to let them down easy.

cant, i have a date was all you’d said before your post got no less than six different replies, and perpetual thorn in your side (Lexy) was calling you while simultaneously sending you text after text.

“—th WHO?” Lexy shouted, the moment you picked up, already speaking before you’d even answered.

“Lexy,” you said, but she was not to be deterred.

“Is it Keys? It’s Keys, isn’t it? I knew he would never change his profile picture from Ichigo without a good reason. And you’re the best reason, obviously.”

Since she already knew, and you didn’t want to straight up lie, you just told her everything. The date, the hookup, the inside jokes and the game nights, the way he’d given you Fuschia and even bought you a bootleg Amiibo card for her in case you ever wanted to restart your island (you didn’t, but the gesture was so sweet you were almost tempted).

“Oh my god, I just knew he’d be the best fucking boyfriend,” Lexy said, sighing. “And he’s so sweet.”

You hummed in agreement, because he sure was. Not that you’d forgotten that other side of him that you’d yet to draw out since the first night.

“Hey—so, do you think I could play Rivals with you guys again sometime?”

“Wait—really?”