"okay, honey, yeah." steve nods in quick succession, hopping on board immediately. "whatever you want."

you take his cheeks between your palms and squish slightly. "will it still be good for you?"

steve nods again and leans in to brush the tip of his nose against yours. "you're always good for me."

his sweetness makes you sigh. you let him maneuver your hips up so he can slide your shorts down and pull his pulsing cock out. your mouth waters as you watch him tug himself once, twice, tip already flushed and leaking for you. you clench around nothing in anticipation, bracing yourself to feel the sweet stretch that you'll never fully get used to.

steve pulls you down closer and lines himself up at your entrance that's slick with arousal from his earlier ministrations. the head of his dick knocks into your clit, making you both moan.

"ready?" steve breathes out, forehead resting against yours.

you swallow and squeeze at his shoulders. you hope it reads as a reassuring gesture, but it's really more for you to steady yourself. "uh huh," you respond.

steve lets out a shaky breath as he pushes the tip of his dick into your entrance, feeling your velvet walls envelope him immediately. he's a total goner, a choked, wet moan escaping his lips when he feels you clench around the sensitive bulb that threatens to burst as you continue to suck him in.

you squeeze his shoulders again, nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. "steve," you whimper.

"you alright?" steve turns his head to press a sweet kiss to your hairline. "you okay?"

you clench your teeth and nod, hot breath fanning across his face as you attempt to steady yourself. "you're so big. can never get used to you," you admit with another moan.

steve's head falls from yours to rest heavily on the back of the couch, eyes rolling into the back of his head at your praise. "gonna stay right here, okay? god, you make me feel so fucking good."

now it's your turn to react to his praise, clenching around him in a way that makes steve call on every ounce of self control he has so he doesn't buck his hips further up into the warmth of your cunt.

steve doesn't need much to cum when he gets like this, and you know just what he likes. you revel in the way he whines into your mouth when you move one hand underneath his shirt to smooth it over his chest, fingers raking through the patch of hair there. thankfully steve has a good grip on you so you can bring your other hand down to wrap it around his cock, squeezing it around him in time with your pussy that's practically pulsing for him. when you feel him twitch inside you, you dip lower to roll his balls over your palm.

He notices you staring and emerges from the basin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” he huffs, chest still heaving.

“There’s new ones.”

“Hm? New what?”

“Freckles, Stevie.”

The nickname alone turns the tips of his ears pink.

You grin, slowly closing in on him until he’s cornered between your body and the cool marble countertop he insisted on installing himself last year, because trust me, baby, it’ll look classy.

Now, he’s very much trapped.

Pinned against it while you slide between his knees, fingers hooking into the sweat-damp collar of his tank top.

Steve stumbles forward, laughing breathless, both hands landing on your waist to steady himself.

“Baby,” he pants, “I’m so gross right now.”

You shush him softly, fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. His face is hot beneath your touch, flushed with exertion and sunlight.

When you tuck your fingers under his chin, tilting his head toward the late afternoon light spilling across the kitchen, he goes easy for you.

Four new freckles bloom along his jaw.

Tiny, perfect sunspots on golden skin.

“Baby...”

You kiss the first one before he can keep talking.

Just a small press of your lips at the edge of his jaw, his skin hot under your mouth—salt from sweat and the faint sweetness of coconut sunscreen, baked in from the July sun.

Sweat and sun and Steve.

You could drown in it.

The next kiss lands on the second freckle.

Then the third.

By the fourth, he’s laughing, helpless, shoulders shaking under your hands while his whole face turns steadily pinker.

“Okay, okay,” he huffs, ducking his head, grin wide and embarrassed. “Jesus.”

You smile against his jaw. “No, hold still. I’m inspecting.”

You love him like this.

Your confident, smooth-talking boy caught off-guard, flushed and vulnerable. Blushing so hard you can’t tell if it’s the sun baking him pink from hauling lumber all afternoon, or the way your lips won’t stop chasing his freckles, dragging across sweat-slicked skin.

Your nose drifts to the side of his neck, the first deep inhale rushing to your head.

Like the first burn of a shot on an empty stomach. The dizzying high of a drag held too long in your lungs.

Warm and earthy—that sharp tang of sweat and the musk of a body that's been working hard all day so you wouldn't have to lift a single finger—all mixed with that clean citrus of his shampoo in a way that’s entirely, uniquely Steve.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his tank top, pressing into the feverish heat of him. His muscles tense under your palm as your nails drag light, teasing patterns over the sensitive skin around his happy trail.

You feel the steady rise and fall of his ribs, the faint shiver that runs through him when your fingers inch toward the waistband of his jeans.

He tries to pull back.

“Baby, wait—” he laughs weakly, flushed everywhere now. “Let me shower first, I—”

“Nope.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I know.”

“Sweetheart.”

“You smell so good, Stevie.”

He makes this helpless sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan—a slow, burning smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. His forehead drops against your shoulder while you keep trailing kisses down the side of his neck.

You inhale again, deep, practically tasting him, and he shivers right through you.

“Wanna suck you off right here,” you murmur against his throat.

Steve chokes on air.

“Jesus—”

The soft thud of your knees on the tile cuts him off entirely.

His head snaps down toward his chest, one hand flying back against the counter, the other threading into your hair without thought.

“Hah—baby, you…” His laugh is weak, dazed already.

He genuinely doesn’t know what to do with you sometimes.

Whatever thought he had dissolving completely at the sight of you there, on your knees, lashes lowered, hands gliding slowly over his thighs.

His head tips back against the cabinet with a soft thunk, lashes pressing together for a moment as sweat beads at the corners.

You rest your chin against his stomach, watching as his eyes slowly flutter open.

And there’s always a moment—every time you love him like this—when he gets this look on his face.

Soft and open, clearly a little overwhelmed by how fiercely he's adored.

The freckles you find before he even notices.

The faint lines gathering at the corners of his eyes, earned from a lifetime spent laughing.

The way his old shirts fit a little snugger now, molding to his chest and stomach in ways that make your hands itch to explore.

Even the faint silver strand at his temple you discovered last month, one he tried to laugh off until you kissed it so softly he forgot how to make it a joke at all.

You love all of it. Every changing, ordinary, beautiful piece of him.

And what seems to undo him most is the wordless certainty that none of it ever makes you look away. That every freckle and every line is held, treasured.

It's the certainty that you'll still be here years from now, counting the freckles that shift and multiply, tracing smile lines as they deepen, pressing gentle kisses to every new silver strand, learning the changing map of his face the way someone memorizes the way home.

And Steve recognizes something in that.

Because it lives in him, too.

The same instinct to memorize you as time carries you both forward—to notice the smallest changes in your expression, the subtle shifts in your voice, the way your laugh sounds different depending on the day, the hour, or the light spilling through the window.

“Fe-feels too good,” you manage to say, one hand still wrapped around his tie while the other fists the front of his once neat shirt. “I’m gonna—”

The sound of the bathroom door opening reaches your ears, the voices of a few of your colleagues spilling in and Steve was quick to cup his hand over your mouth to stop those pretty whimpers falling from your lips.

But does he stop fucking you with those thick fingers of his? Absolutely not. He wouldn’t dream of it.

His hazel eyes were locked with yours, his palm covering your mouth as he watched the way your brows furrow, the way your face was twisting with pleasure.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, the coil in your lower stomach tightening and tightening with every pump of his fingers, every curl against that spongey soot inside of you that Steve always seemed to find with ease.

“—he’s taking me to that new restaurant that just opened up,” a voice you recognise to be of your co-workers, Lisa, coming from just outside of the stall you and Steve were crammed into. “So I hope this hearing doesn’t drag out so I can rush home and get changed. I’d rather not wear my work clothes out on a date.”

“You look great though,” another voice you don’t quite recognise due to your lust filled haze tells Lisa encouragingly.

“You’re just saying that, Ruth!” Lisa replies with a laugh before the sound of her heels clicking into the stall right next to yours causes Steve to press his palm more firmly over your mouth as he continues the steady, torturous pump of his fingers into your heat.

You shouldn’t be so turned on, you should be pushing him away and remind him you weren’t just in a public bathroom—you were in a bathroom in a damn courthouse. You should tell him it was inappropriate and reckless and stupid. That you both had a hearing to get to in ten minutes. But you don’t, instead you hold onto him tighter and grind yourself against his hand, a silent plea for him not to stop. To keep going as heat like molten lava surged to your core, the coil inside you tightening, threatening to snap.

Steve smiles, biting his wet and swollen bottom lip between his teeth before he leans in to whisper, his breath hot in your ear, “don’t make a sound, baby.”

And then he withdraws his fingers.

You had been so close, so fucking close that you can’t help the small, desperate that escapes you. Thankfully, it was muffled by Steve’s hand that was still covering your mouth.

He tuts quietly, smiling at you in a way that makes your pussy clench around nothing before bringing his fingers coated with your slick to his lips and licking them clean. You watch—utterly transfixed by the way lips wrap around the digits, the way his tongue swirls around them to lick away the wetness he had collected from you.

You felt so turned on that the sound of the toilet flushing from Lisa’s stall did nothing to deter you.

“What’d I say?” He whispers, the sound of your colleagues laughing together at the sinks masking the sound of Steve hastily unbuckling his belt, of you whimpering against his palm at the sight of his cock—thick, heavy, the ruddy tip already glistening with pre cum from fucking you with his fingers. “I said—don’t make a sound.”

But it was hard not to when your pussy was aching for him. Thankfully, Steve doesn’t let you wait long.

Steve tugs your skirt up over your hips, pulls your ruined panties to the side before he pushes himself in deep with one thrust that has your eyes rolling back. The stretch of his cock was delicious as always and you were grateful for the loud noise of the hand dryer to cover up your muffled moans.

“Look at you,” Steve husks in your ear, setting a torturous pace from the offset while still being conscious of the wet sounds coming from his cock bullying its way into your pussy. “Letting me fuck you in the fucking court bathroom. You like this, don’t you? Knowing we could get caught? Fuck, you love it. Don’t you, baby?”

Almost each word was punctuated with a deep thrust that caused the fat head of his cock to kiss your cervix and it took everything in you not to moan out.

The sound of your colleagues leaving the bathroom allows you some reprieve, Steve’s hand remains over your mouth but he no longer cares about the noises your bodies make. In fact, he seems to revel in it—the way your cunt was almost crying for him, the way his cock could slip in and out of you seamlessly, the wet noises of your mixed juices filling the stall. It lewd and obscene and it was enough that even he allowed himself some desperate groans to slip from his lips as he fucked you against the wall of the stall.

“Can’t get enough of this,” he grunts as he lifts one of your thighs over his hip to allow himself to fuck his cock into you deeper, causing you to mewl in response. Heat was surging through you, so intense that you felt tears welling up in your eyes. “Can’t get enough of this pussy. Of you. Shit—you’re squeezing me so tight. Like you don’t want me to leave. Are you going to—”

You had no way to warn him, no way to tell him you were seconds away from tipping over the edge but the slight tug at his tie, the wild look in your eyes was enough for him to take the hint.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock, that’s it.”

And you do—with an orgasm that hits you like a damn tidal wave. It was the sort of orgasm that you felt in every cell throughout your body, the sort of one you felt from head to toe. It was so intense that you may have collapsed from the intensity of it if Steve hadn’t had such a tight hold on you. Your pussy gushes around him, your release completely soaking his cock and it was that—your essence dripping down, right onto his balls—that made him tip over the edge right after you.

Steve came with a groan of your name that he muffled by him sucking at the skin of your neck. You feel his cock twitch inside of you before he paints your walls white with hot spurts of his come, his hips still thrusting as he fucked his release into your spent pussy.

“Take it,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips against your skin sending a jolt through you. “Take it all, baby. Stand in front of the judge while you’re full of my cum. Let the whole damn courtroom know how good of a girl you are for taking every last drop.”

He finally releases his hand from over your mouth so that he could swallow your whimpers with his lips in a searing kiss, his thrusts finally coming to a stop so that he could pull out his softening cock.

You can’t help but whimper at the loss but Steve doesn’t leave you empty for long, two fingers replacing his cock so that he could continue to fuck it into you, the sound so obsence that you were grateful for the empty bathroom.

“Good girl, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, a final pump of his fingers before he withdraws them completely, pulling your panties back in place with a loud snap.

You readjust your skirt back over your hips with hands that shook slightly, smoothed down your blouse and your hair before you looked back at Steve, who was tucking himself back into his boxers.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” You say, still a little breathless as grab your blazer and workbag from the hook on the door of the stall. 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles back at you like he hadn’t just fucked your brains out. “Later.”

You smile back at him before you carefully and quietly leave the stall. You quickly check your reflection in the mirror before leaving the courthouse bathroom, hoping that no one had noticed your absence and praying Steve would be subtle when he left the bathroom. It wasn’t often that you and Steve were so reckless but since your little arrangement began over three months ago, you hadn’t been able to resist each other for more than a few days. And so—when you found out that you both had hearings in court today, you couldn’t resist.

You can still feel Steve’s cum, flooding from your cunt and into your panties as you make your way to courtroom five. The thought of his release remaining there throughout the course of the hearing made heat course through you. There was a part of you that wanted to head right back to that bathroom and beg him to fuck you again and again and again. But the sight of Lisa waiting for you outside the courtroom stopped you.

“Ready?” She asks, seemingly completely unaware of where you had been for the past fifteen minutes.

You nod, leaving any thought of Steve Harrington at the door as you head inside. Because nothing—absolutely nothing—could throw you off doing your job and doing it well.

The courtroom was quiet, the way it always was. You have grown accustomed to it over the years. You were used to being able to hear your client breathing heavily beside you, the scratch of the journalist’s pens, the defence shifting in their seats.

Today, you and Lisa were representing your client to discuss their bail conditions. In theory, it should be straightforward. You expected you’d be out of court within the next hour or so.

You glance towards the district attorney’s table but see it was empty.

“Reckon they’re having a late lunch?” You whisper to Lisa with a small smile.

“Probably,” she whispers back as you approach the defence table, greeting your client before taking a seat.

You pull out your notebook, taking the few minutes you had before the judge arrived to look over the bail conditions you had proposed. The sound of the courtroom door opening doesn’t even really register. Not until someone clears their throat right in front of you.

“Sorry,” you say, smoothing down your shirt before you look up. “I was just—”

But at the sight of the man in front of you—you freeze. For the first time in your professional career. You freeze.

Because the man standing in front of you was the same man whose cum was still inside of you. The same man who had fucked you stupid in the courthouse bathroom. The same man you had been secretly fucking for the past three months.

District attorney—Steve fucking Harrington.

As the bailiffs announced the arrival of the judge, you stood on shaking legs.

And as you felt a dribble of Steve’s cum leak out of you, you realise that you were fucked. You were completely and utterly fucked.

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