Balsamic Vin

The friends from high school– ones you had never seen since, much to your mother’s delight, since heading for different colleges– had shown you how to smoke, had cut class with you to sneak off to the strip mall, had laughed at you when you told them that you’d never been kissed. What would they say now that you were pressed close on a bench with a silver fox, all alone out the side door of a hard-to-navigate wedding venue?

For a little while you both sat there, slowly smoking and enjoying the quiet moment after the utter chaos of the day so far.

“Your mom told me that you were a good girl, you know,” Jack said as he looked you over again, and his eyes definitely rested on the bust of your green sundress that pushed your cleavage up. Before you could even formulate a response to that he shook his head. “Can’t be that good if you’re bumming a smoke from a perfect stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” you protested. “Robby always calls you his brother. Doesn’t that make you my, uh. Uncle?”

He laughed, tipping his head back, and it was almost a cruel sound. Like you’d fucked up, and you started to shrink into yourself, pulling away from where your bare leg brushed against him.

“Hey, no,” he said quickly, as soon as he noticed, and put his hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in a reassuring motion. “Sorry. You’re just gonna kill me, kid.”

Your phone buzzed loudly in the little clutch next to you, but you didn’t move a muscle to grab it. Probably the wedding planner, asking where the hell you’d gotten off to. You ignored it, not wanting to break the spell of Jack next to you and touching you and looking at you with those dark eyes.

But then his phone rang, too, and the spell was broken. He reached into his pocket with his free hand to check his messages and he frowned. 

“Duty calls,” he said, and used his hand on your knee to help himself push up from the bench. Once he’s standing he wasn’t touching you anymore and you frowned, looking down at your leg. “I know, but we can catch up later,” he said, as if he could read your mind, and when you look up he’s got a hand still outstretched like he wanted to put his hand under your chin.

The door to the venue opened and someone yelled looking for you.

“On my way,” you called back.

His hand redirected itself to help you up, his touch lingering for a touch longer than it needed to once you’re on your feet. 

“Come on,” he said, and then you both quickly stubbed out your cigarettes and hustled back inside.

With the chaos, you never had a second alone with him again that night, and even though you didn’t dare look at him for too long, you could feel him watching you. Right in front of your step dad like it was nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t even have his phone number or his email or anything. But with Robby moving into your house, and them being close as brothers, you figured it wouldn’t be too long until you saw him again.

⊹ ⊹

Robby’s note popped into your inbox halfway through fall semester, when reading something from him was actually kind of nice for once, since it was anything else besides studying for midterms.

Jack’s deployed– I think I mentioned that? It would mean alot to him if you’d drop him a line, he put in the email, after a picture of the bathroom that was getting remodeled and a reminder to get some sleep and practice safer sex. God, he emailed like such an old person.

His email address was the first and only direct line you had to Jack: he wasn’t on facebook, and after the wedding you’d seen him once at a seafood place when your mom and Robby invited a few of their friends out for dinner. The group was too small for you to make any move, to try to lean in close and ask for his number or anything of the sort. He smiled at you, but when you didn’t approach him he seemed to accept that and kept his distance.

You drafted the email on your phone without really knowing what to say– hi, hope you’re okay, see any good movies lately? It sounded so awkward and stilted, because you didn’t know this guy: you just had one almost flirty moment together and you’d just sometimes thought about his fingers on your thigh, his eyes tracking you across the room, his deep voice right in your ear while your hand was down your underwear in your dorm room all alone.

A new notification popped up from Kyle that just made you sigh with annoyance. 

I want to see you

please? one picture? maybe 2?

we’re both stressed out, yeah? It’ll help :)

The texts came one after another, all time stamped 2:01, and it was honestly as good as a you up text since you’d been hooking up with him on and off all semester since that Kappa party during syllabus week.

But he was right: you were stressed, and you wouldn’t be opposed to going over to his place later that week. Might as well.

You took two pictures– tasteful, your face but no nudity in one and your bare body but no face in the second. You answered the door for your drunk roommate who forgot her key again, and then refilled her water from the fountain downstairs, and then remembered to finish off your email to Jack and send it, and then cleared away all the books on your desk, and then finally texted the pictures to Kyle.

Midterms could not end soon enough, your brain was fried. You collapse into bed, your alarm set for not enough hours of sleep.

Hot, Kyle texted back with a dick pic. You rolled your eyes and put your phone down for the night, not thinking twice about the email.

How could you know that Jack got back to his bunk after a long shift, pulled out his laptop to check his emails, and saw a letter from you that made him smile before he even opened it.

Hi Uncle Jack, you’d written at the top, and he knew already that he was going to repeat himself in the email, call you kid and say you’re killing me. 

How could you know that the two attachments took their sweet time to download on his shitty internet access? He finished reading what you wrote– boring, mostly, aside from mentioning a party which made him want to ask what was in the punch– and you hadn’t mentioned the two jpegs. Probably pictures from before the party, or of your dorm room since you’d talked about that, too.

How could you know that he’d just taken a sip of water when the first one finally loaded, you in a full length mirror wearing just lace panties and an arm covering your nipples, pressing your boobs up to emphasize your cleavage. He sputtered and coughed, and leaned in to check to make sure it was really your face, smiling in the selfie. Looking a little coy, a little mischievous.

How could you know that he clicked over to the next picture, still just a buffering sign, and waited with his eyes wide to see what the fuck that one could be? He was almost prepared for it when it loaded, your smile at the top corner of the frame and your fully naked body in the mirror. 

How could you know that he thought about deleting them, for one single heartbeat. It would be the right thing to do, since you probably hadn’t meant to send them. But he wanted to hold onto these, and with everything else in his life being kind of shit– who was he to deny himself that?

You didn’t check your personal email again til the next night, too busy before that with a full day of studying as well as a midday trip to Kyle’s dorm that was thoroughly fine but not what you’d been looking for. 

Jack had replied, and you read over it quickly– he answered with info about his own room he was sleeping in (a single with no roommate, unlike you) and what movies he’d seen recently and at the end, a paragraph you didn’t expect.

You’re so gorgeous. The people around you are so fuckin’ lucky, do they know that? Thanks for the photos, I’ll keep them in a safe place.

There’s a photo at the end of the email, a selfie of Jack on the weight bench at the gym in one of those tank tops that’s barely there, and you have to read his note again to try to make sense of it. Photos?

You felt your cheeks flush with heat when you look back at what you’d sent him.

But when you replied, an hour later, you added two more photos– older ones, since you’re too tired to pose in the mirror again, one from when you were tipsy after a party and smiling so wide in the skimpiest dress you’d ever worn and another nude picture you’d sent to Kyle some weeks back.

If you like them, I have more, you wrote at the end of your otherwise boring email.

⊹ ⊹

“Did you ever email Jack?” Robby asked a week into your winter break as you’re cleaning up after breakfast on his day off. 

You were so glad that your back was to him because you knew you made the stupidest expression for a moment, your eyes widening and a little grin before you bit it back and shrugged like it was no big deal. 

“I did,” you answered. “You were right, he is easy to talk to.”

You didn’t mention that the last two months, ever since midterms, you’d been emailing him, calling sometimes when your schedules lined up, and sending pictures and videos that he always replied so nicely to, always along the lines of gorgeous and just what I needed, goddamn.

“Do you know how long he’ll be gone?” You hadn’t wanted to ask, had wanted to keep your messages positive. 

“Spring, probably,” Robby answered, looking up from his newspaper. “Why?”

“Just wondering how long I’ll be emailing for,” you answered, and with a clean kitchen you bounded up to your bedroom.

Unlike your dorm room, this one was private, so you could actually take your time. You’d even looked up some tips on editing, downloaded some software that you hoped hadn’t given your laptop any viruses, so that you could do more than just hurriedly record yourself getting off while your roommate was at a party or in class.

“I got this for myself yesterday,” you said into your camera once it’s propped up against your bookshelf. You held up a dildo, sort of a ridiculous blue color, but you’d been flustered at the sex shop and had wanted to get out quickly so you’d just grabbed something.

You skimmed your hands over your body and moaned and put on a bit of a show for Jack, and cried out his name during your second climax without even planning to. When you were panting and idly playing with your nipple, you looked right into the camera and smiled for him. “Hope you liked that, Jack,” you said before getting up to turn off the camera.

When you came down for lunch, Robby was still in the living room, flipping through some medical journal. He looked up at you and raised his eyebrows.

“Studying?”

“Just a project for myself,” you replied with a smile.

So perfect for me, he wrote back the next day and had a photo of himself, naked in his bed. He was splayed out, his arm holding the phone out to try to get all of him from his strong shoulders and abs all the way down to where he’d taken off his leg for the night. His selfie skills had improved since the time he first asked if you wanted a dick pic, rather than just shirtless ones. You were pretty sure that he was doing his own research, just like you were.

⊹ ⊹

For spring semester you settled into school again, classes that you mentioned in your emails along with the photos and hurried videos. 

Are you having fun at school? I’m not distracting you? Jack asked once, as if he was worried that he was holding you back from some part of college. You got drunk that weekend at a party and got your friend to record you shotgunning a beer, and sent that along with a picture with your glassy-eyed smile to him on Saturday night. 

I’m doing everything I want, you told him. You wondered if he was worried about you sleeping with someone else– you hadn’t talked about it, but you’d quit talking to that guy Kyle after you realized that thinking about Jack, thousands of miles away, made you come way harder than he’d ever been able to do. I just want to be talking with you.

He called you my sweet girl the next time in a recording he sent, the repetitive sounds of jacking himself off quiet as he groaned and said all mine before he came. You saved the track onto your phone and listened to it again as you walked back from class.

Robby emailed again two weeks before spring break, double checking that you would be driving home and hadn’t made some other plans.

I wish you were here, you wrote to Jack the next day. Then I’d just lie and tell him that I was going to see my boyfriend. 

You laughed aloud when he didn’t seem to mind that. The idea of his best friend– your mom’s new husband who sent you amazon gift cards and reminded you to eat vegetables from the cafeteria– finding out about your relationship was so wild that you didn’t clock his exact wording until the second time you read through it. 

I would tell him myself that I’m your boyfriend and that I wanted all your time, no lies needed.

Your boyfriend. It sounded so juvenile, but you hadn’t had one before. You tell your friend after class about your boyfriend with a dreamy lilt in your voice. 

He can not know, you clarified to Jack. If he knew– if your mom knew– you’d be mortified. Your mom had still called you her little girl when she posted about your twenty-first birthday on her facebook wall.

Whatever you say, cutie.

As it was, you didn’t really have spring break plans. You were going to study some, and make another backlog of the louder, better videos for Jack. Maybe go see a baseball game with Robby, since you’d first met him a year ago the last time you'd come home for spring break when he took you and your mom to a Pirates game. It could be the start of a sweet tradition even if your mom was going to be out of town for work. 

Robby’s email the last day before you were supposed to drive back to Pittsburgh left you utterly speechless. Heads up, Saturday afternoon I’m picking Jack up from the airport– did he tell you? If you get in early you can go with but you might still be driving. He’ll be with us for dinner either way.

He had not told you, and you were tempted to email Jack to demand answers. But if he was supposed to be back in Pittsburgh by the afternoon, you couldn’t even begin to guess where he was now or what time zone he was dealing with.

You had planned to sleep in on Saturday, get home whenever, but if seeing Jack is on the line, you set your alarm for five and went to bed early without an email. It was only the second time you’d skipped sending something, even just a line or two or a topless photo, since you’d sent the pictures during midterms. Even if he didn’t answer everyday, busy as he was, you made sure that you were on top of it.

Been thinking about you, Jack’s email read when you woke up, and he still hadn’t mentioned that he was coming back so you just ignored it. 

You made good time on the road, already in your car by the time the sun was rising, because you’d be damned if you missed seeing him the second you were able. Even if it meant being in front of your step dad and having to keep your hands to yourself, giving him just a polite hug reserved for a family friend you had supposedly been emailing only occasionally and barely knew. 

Robby’s head poked out of the main bedroom when you walked in and dropped your duffle bag by the door, just before noon.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” he said with relief in his voice, and you frowned in confusion as he looked at you like you were exactly what he needed. “The attending on shift got injured and they’re calling me in– can you pick Jack up? I was about to text you, if not I’ll be telling him to grab a taxi.”

You smiled wider than you should have before you could contain it. You really were going to have to practice being normal about Jack, and quickly. “Not a problem,” you nodded.

A minute later he came out in his scrubs and with his work backpack over one shoulder, and he pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your hair. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, breathing in for a second like he was getting ready for the work ahead of him. 

⊹ ⊹

The moment you were both in the front seat of your car, you climbed over the console to get on top of Jack. The kiss in bag claim that made someone wolf-whistle at how long the two of you were together hadn’t been nearly enough. Neither was the way his arm had wrapped around your waist on the walk back to the parking garage, pulling him into his side like you might wander off if he let go for a second.

And it’s not like you were willing to wait until you got home to get your hands on this man. That could be half an hour in the traffic.

You settled over him, your hands pushed up under his shirt to feel the muscles you’d only ever seen on your screen so far, and he tipped his head back to look up at you with hunger in his eyes.

“Didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he said softly, again, when you feigned a stern expression again at him not telling you, because it was sort of fun to make him wait even though you were over him, your hips slowly rocking back and forth over his hardening length.

“A heads-up would have been nice,” you pouted. “If Robby had told me in person about you coming back it would have been so obvious.”

“Let ‘im find out,” he nearly growled, and put his hand behind your neck to pull you in for a proper kiss, his tongue against the seam of your lips and pressing in like he had every right to be there. And he did, your boyfriend, finally here, and just thinking about it made you whimper against his touch and sink further into his lap, earning some low possessive sound from him as his other hand gripped your ass.

By the time you were rubbing off against him in earnest, you wondered if you should have made him get a taxi home. You’d parked in the back of the garage, though, and it’s not like anyone would see what was going on, so you didn’t put up more than a feeble protest when he pulled your shirt off you and he kissed his way down your neck to suck hickeys on your chest, right up to your bra line.

“Can’t,” you murmured when one of his hands started making valiant progress at undoing the hooks on the one piece of clothing left between you and your nipples being out in public.

He exhaled loudly in disappointment but didn’t stop, and one of the hooks popped loose.

“Ja-ack,” you whined, and reached around to awkwardly try to swat his hand away. 

He shook his head but did let himself be pulled away from the bra. He leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed and his breath heavy as the moment– however long it had been– starts to fade between you two. The reality of being in a car, almost topless and splayed out on Jack’s lap, crashed into you.

“I should drive us home,” you said softly, and he nodded. He put a hand on your side to help you navigate back to the driver’s side and handed you back your shirt.

You didn’t comment on how he had to adjust himself with a little wince in the passenger seat a few times on the way home, because you were pretty sure that if you looked over for more than a glance, you’d never be able to tear your eyes off him.

“How was your flight?” You asked once you were at least halfway home and mostly in control of yourself again, like you really were just the friendly daughter of his best friend there to pick him up.

His hand reached over to grab your leg, just like it had that first day at the wedding. “Long. Glad to be back.”

You kept up pleasant conversation, small talk to keep your mind off the way his hand was inching its way higher, his thumb rubbing circles against the thin fabric of your leggings. It was your early emails all over again, boring whatever messages with nudes and videos attached that you barely mentioned for the first few weeks.

You parked the car out front of the house and you looked over at him with a serious little tilt of your head. “No kissing me outside, alright? Robby knows the neighbors.”

He winked at you and gave a sideways grin. “If you insist.”

The moment the door closed behind you, Jack dropped his bags on the floor and pushed you against the door, trapping you in a kiss that picked up exactly where you’d left off. 

“Bedroom?” He asked, when he pulled back from you just enough to get the words out with his lips still brushing against yours.

“Upstairs,” you squeaked out.

You led the way, your hand gripping tightly to his as you pulled him with you.

⊹ ⊹

You knew that you’d be telling your roommate about the welcome home dinner once you got back to college– how Robby had met you both at the restaurant after his shift, had hugged Jack and called him brother and then hugged you and thanked you for being so flexible.

The look that Jack gave you, mouthing the word flexible where Robby couldn’t see, made your cheeks heat again as you nodded and called it no big deal. Under the table, Jack’s boot kept bumping against your shoe, and you cautiously returned the touch.

The week was heaven. Jack had the time off before his normal civilian job put him back on the schedule, you had barely any responsibilities, and Robby was at work before you woke up most of the time. In the mornings you’d head over to Jack’s house, or he came to yours, and between getting very acquainted with each other's beds you almost played house– helping him restock his kitchen or cooking together or watching tv with his head in your lap as you idly combed your fingers through his hair. 

You insisted that you not go to any of the closer restaurants, in case someone Robby knew recognized you, so he had you dress up and took you to a nice lunch in the suburbs, and afterwards you thanked him by showing him the vibrator you’d bought a week earlier, planning to film with it when you had the privacy of your own room.

“That good, baby?” he asked, holding the toy against your clit as you squirmed and panted. You’d just come twice, it was nearing in on too much but when he looked at you like that, his other hand intertwined in yours, you wanted to be good for him and keep going as long as he wanted.

“Yes– fuck, please, Jack, please–” you said, not sure what you were even asking for anymore. For it to stop? For him to finally touch you with more than just his fingers? 

He turned the vibrator off and cast it aside, and you thought you were in for a reprieve so you closed your eyes, relaxing as you waited for his next move.

The bed shifted as he laid between your legs, and you looked down just as his breath hit your overstimulated nerves. 

“Is this alright?” He asked, eyebrows raised, and maybe this was exactly what you had been begging for earlier, because as soon as you nodded he set his tongue to work and you saw stars.

Another two orgasms later, when you pushed him off with a whimper, he shimmied up in the bed so you could curl against him, your head resting on his chest as he wrapped his arm around you and held you close. 

“Want me to–” you started to offer, but he kissed your forehead and snorted softly.

“No, you catch your breath. Doing so good for me, you know that?”

His rumbling voice was so soothing, and you were so damn spent from the day, that you fell asleep on him. When you roused from your nap, he did take you up on your offer and you crawled down the bed to return the favor.

⊹ ⊹

On Friday the tv was playing one of his shows, some silly first responder thing where the fire fighters seem to have more deep conversations than emergencies to handle, so you gently turned his head and kissed him to keep yourself entertained.

“I was watchin’ that,” he protested, but his hands were on the elastic waistband of his shorts before he even finished the sentence.

After the week you’d had, it was the most natural thing in the world to take a second and pull your clothes off while he did the same, and pull out a blanket from the basket to sit on top of. You straddled him, your slick folds rubbing over his length, back and forth lazily.

“Am I just your little toy, then?” He asked, voice right in your ear as you kept your head out of his way so he could keep an eye on whatever crap unfolded on screen.

“You don't want me to feel good?” You said, pouting for dramatic effect. The way you were moving had the head of his cock gently rubbing over your clit in a way that made you sigh.

His hands run up and down your bare back, pausing occasionally to grab at your ass or gently graze his blunt fingernails over your skin in a way that makes you jolt with pleasure. “No, I like it. Maybe we oughta set up your camera later, get this pretty sight on tape so when you’re-”

The deadbolt softly clicked, and you turned your head, trying to tell if you heard the door or if it was just part of the show.

And then the front door opened, Robby’s voice ringing out. “Kiddo? It’s just me,” he called, loud enough that you’d hear it from your room, so you wouldn’t wonder who the hell just barged in.

The couch was just out of sight of the front door, the living room a little off center, but you knew that once he took three steps- maybe two- you’d be fucked. There was nowhere to hide, and even if you could, you were naked and Jack was naked and his leg was off and leaning against the couch, so what would his story be?

Jack’s hands came down to your hips, holding you steady since really, that was the only option. “It’ll be fine,” he reassured you, quietly, before raising his voice. “Hey, Robby,” he called.

“Jack? What are you-” your step dad’s voice asked, and without turning you knew exactly when he stepped far enough into the house to see, his question cut off.

For a moment, you were utterly frozen, looking at Jack’s face, who seemed too calm for this whole thing, smiling over at his friend. You turn to take a peek, and that movement jolted Robby out of his own momentary pause from taking in the scene.

“Don’t let me interrupt, sorry,” Robby said with a chuckle, a hand coming up to rub at his beard as he looked over the two of you. “I guess I’ll grab lunch.”

You shoved your face into Jack’s neck, wanting to hide entirely. Your ass was out, and from the view Robby had you don’t know if he can see Jack’s balls, or how wet you’ve made him just rutting over him.

“Sorry,” you called weakly, and you’d bet that Jack can feel the heat of your cheeks against his neck from how much you’re blushing. 

The door opened again. “Is she being good for you?” Robby asked, his sensible shoes squeaking as if he turned back in a oh, one more thing kind of move. 

You couldn’t see, and you didn’t want to, but you felt Jack’s hands tighten on your waist. 

“Oh, the best, brother,” Jack purred, almost directly in your ear, and the whole confusing thing made you shiver and you clenched against Jack in a way you knew he could feel.

Robby made an amused sound back. “Ah, I figured as much. I’ll leave you to it.” After another beat, the door slammed shut and then the deadbolt clicked into place.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Jack murmured, kissing at your exposed neck. Not trying to get to you to peek out, giving you a second to hide away as you processed what the fuck just happened.

“No,” you whispered, and he laughed at how it sounded like a lie, even to you.

⊹ ⊹

A/N: it seems like Jack could? have? still deployed with the military after losing a limb, from my quick googling.

You rest practically on top of him, Jacks strong arms looped around you , letting your head tuck into the crook of his neck, keeping close. Its warm, comfortable, safe as the TV play's some show you'd lost focus on a while ago, too wrapped up in the heat of jacks body beneath yours.

One of his large hands drifts from rubbing over your back when you shift against his chest, a soft whine passing pouty lips half conscious. Mind struggling to drift off all the way despite the overtired exhaustion in your bones.

You dont notice that shift, too preoccupied in between dream and drift off. Not when the pads of his fingertips span your belly beneath your top, thumb soothing carefully, nor do you make a peep when they tuck just beneath the band of your sweats. Infact, if anything, you seem to press into the warmth of him like a kitten it's mother.

Still, he waits until you grumble again, scratchy stubble on his jaw rubbing your hair when you nuzzle in, before he lets them dip any further.

They creep down, slow and gentle, until he's cupping you over the cotton of your panties, pressure light to keep you drifting. You feel hot, even with the fabric barrier keeping your pussy from full contact.

Jacks fingers move back up the gusset, two chubby pads offering just a little more pressure, rubbing lazily. His chin dipping to plant a soft kiss to your temple.

The combination stirs you, makes your hand grip into the center of his shirt just a little tighter, sleepy eyes blinking up oh so blearily.

"Jack? What- mmph- what're you?-"You mumble, hips unconsciously tilting into the fingers that are still working your covered cunt.

Jack just smiles against you, cooing quietly, a freckled arm squeezing you a little tighter to him. "Shhh S'okay, Jus wanna feel my baby f' a bit, s'that alright? Jus' my fingers, Help you get all sleepy"

You must think about it for a single moment, a fleeting millisecond of coherence in that fuzzy little brain, before your head tucks back in and your leg drapes over his middle to allow more access.

Every whine, every whimper, you let bubble out holding a fragility that makes Jack's chest (and cock) ache.

And that, for a while, is how it goes. You, mewling into his neck, while Jack rubs your pussy over your panties. Just enough to keep you calm, to let you doze gently without drifting too far.

That is, until he finally slides the now drenched cotton to the side, his fingers making complete contact with the puffy, sticky lips of your vulva. Your head peaks out to moan, a sound that goes straight to Jack's cock.

"Ohh, s'that feel better? Hm?" he breathes, meeting your lips in a sloppy press that just about resembles a kiss.

Every brush, every lick of pressure to your clit has your hole drooling out arousal, pulsing as it tries to pull the digits that tease the outer edges in.

"Whats the matter, you need somethin inside?" your hips only tilt down, letting the tip of his middle dip just a little into where you need him. "Yeah.. Yeah you do, Alright, Nice n easy.. Big breaths, Jus feel it"

You take that breath against his mouth, shakey and tapering off into a soft cry, the thickness of his middle finger snug as it pushes inside your walls to the knuckle. He relishes in the moment, driving the single digit in and out, letting your wetness libricate the move before he begins to curl it with expert ease.

Jack can feel the heat radiating off of you, feel it pushed against his chest, every puff of your breath fanning hot. Even when you begin to squirm, rocking your hips in time as he presses against that spot that makes you keen, you remain devastatingly close- practically on top of him.

"S' Right there isn't it, thats the spot.." he murmers knowly, drawing out to circle your clit wetly. "Gonna give you another 'kay, big breaths good girl"

And If the first finger felt good, the stretch of two is like heaven, his middle and ring finger slipping in with little resistance. The rough pads curling up and pushing so perfectly against you that its obscene. Especially how, with every full plunge into your weepy cunt, you can feel the cool band of his wedding ring grow warmer- wetter.

And then, palm flush against your core once more, you hear it. The Filthy, muffled squelches that only make the lewdness of the situation worse.

Torn between nuzzling in deep to hide and the need to feel Jacks lips devour yours, You end up somewhere between the two when you mewl next, Cheek dragging open mouthed along the stubble of his jaw. Nimble fingers scrabbling to grip onto his forearm as the warmth in your belly burns hotter. "A-ah m' so- s'close Jack"

"Oh i know, i know.. S'right there isn't it" he shushes, squeezing your arm again, a faux kind of sympathy on his tongue. The heel of his palm plap, plap, plaping against your sticky, puffy clit as he curls his fingers perfectly deep. "cmon, cum it out sweetheart. Haven't gotta do nothin but let go, you can do it"

And truly, it doesn't take much more encouragement than that to make you shatter. His rough voice in your ear, fingers deep inside your rippling pussy as it squeezes him tight. The intensity has you shaking, lips dragging along his neck as you cry out. Each breath wracking your lungs as you heave it in. Heartbeat so loud in your ears you just about catch the gravelly drawl of jacks praise in your hair.

"That's my girl, yeaaahhh, there we go, makin me proud"

And jack, nothing if not totally content in your pleasure, doesn't stop, not until your squirming anyway. Struggling in his hold, hips writhing from the sensitivity, his fingers making sure to draw out the final sparks of heaven from your cunt before he snakes them free from you entirely.

Sticky, soaked and covered in the creamy mess of your release as they slide out of your panties and waistband up to his mouth.

You more so feel the guteral grumble at the taste, what with the way sleep finally seems to flood your system, fuzzy little head just about coherent enough to catch his final hum.

Job hunting was exhausting. You were recently laid off since your temporary contract expired. It was your first job after college, completely unrelated to what you studied, and you took it only to pay the bills. Still, even if you didn't feel particularly inspired by the drab office and the fat man who was your primary supervisor, you did your job well and earned respect as an excellent personal assistant. The only call back you received was from the McLaren car company who needed a new office assistant for a year of someone's maternity leave. You took it, of course. Not that you knew anything about cars. It didn't matter, really, what the job was about. You would just make schedules and run about with coffee. This is how you got put as an emergency personal assistant to the newly contracted James Hunt, whose previous personal assistant left in a fury the week before the race. "And who is this little darling?" James looked down on you with a flirty smile when the manager introduced you. "That's your new personal assistant," his manager said dryly. "If I hear anything about a harassment lawsuit, your ass is mine." James raised his hands in mock surrender and winked at you. You looked helplessly at him, unsure how you were supposed to make this man do anything. "Ah, um, it's nice to meet you," you said softly, looking at him with a small smile. He huffed, muttering something. You tilted your head. "It's nothing," he sighed, "Just, I don't know, be around or something. Tell me what I have coming up in the day, things like that. Just for a week, isn't it? Don't worry about it." You nodded, lowering your eyes a bit. Didn't seem like he needed your help much. Still, you wanted to do your job well and followed him around with a perpetual bottle of water and a scheduling board. "Mr. Hunt, you have a press conference at one today," you said, arriving freshly next morning with a bottle of ice-cold water. "Do you drink coffee? I didn't know, so I brought water." "Sweety, anything out of your hands," he said, smiling at you. It seemed he was in a better mood. You blushed a little. "Okay, Mr. Hunt." For the next few days you were stationed at the McLaren camp, mostly because James was there, going over last details with their mechanics and everything about the care. You tried to keep out of everyone's way by positioning yourself in a tiny corner, flinching every time from a loud burr of the drill or the welding equipment or whatever they were using on those cars. That is, until a heavy arm descended upon your shoulders. "Unused to the noise, are you? Let's get you out of here, darlin'," James said, leading you towards the entrance of the mechanic shop. "We'll just take a walk." You nodded, eager to get away. James is a good person, you thought. No matter his reputation, but he tried to do right by his team, of which you were now part of. You walked for a while, with James mostly talking about some wild story from bar hopping the week prior, when he trailed off and you saw a full, mischievous grin grow on his face. "Oh, darlin', why don't we go say hello to our friends from the Ferrari club over there?" He practically lifted you up with the force of his excitement and you barely nodded before being dragged to the Ferrari camp where James made a direct line towards Niki Lauda.

"Niki!" You watched the curly haired man's head lift from whatever drafts he was looking at. You felt your face heat. Most people considered James the most attractive racer, you knew, but this man in front of you, with such serious eyes and confident air, made your breath stop briefly. James dragged you until you were practically at arms length to Niki, and you could see how long his eyelashes were. Niki's eyes shifted from James, whose large, blond, loud presence drew the eye, and fell upon you, basically smothered under James's arm. "That's my new personal assistant," James boasted, pushing you a bit forward, like he was showing off a shiny car. "Now don't go being all mean like always, this one is as shy as a kitten." Niki's eyes met yours and you lost your thoughts for a short, empty moment. Niki's face turned a bit rosy. Oho, thought James. Niki nodded at you. "Nice to meet you." I nodded back, smiling a little to be polite. He was handsome, but it seemed like he wasn't really interested. "Well, you'll be seeing her more often now," James said with a wide smile, "I'll be bringing her with me everywhere like a good luck charm. To every race," he said meaningfully. Niki turned his head away from him. "You'd need a charm, at this rate," Niki said, prompting James to roll his eyes. Niki stole a glance at you and looked away again. "And you," he said, clearly addressing you without even looking, "I suppose there is no harm to his image left to be done. You're safe." That made you smile. "Thank you, Mr. Lauda." "Niki is fine," he said. That was how your work with James Hunt started. Typically a day involved various engagements for his sponsorships, and you would fetch coffee or water when needed, and book hotels, things which made his life easier. It also meant that wherever James went, you went, and he often went to Niki. Mr. Lauda was a very straightforward person. He was blunt, but you saw that everything he said was true. It was annoying to his mechanics and opponents, but you thought it was a great quality to have. He would never lie maliciously, or cheat, or sabotage anyone. He was a good person, you realized. It was too bad you didn't seem to amount to much in his eyes. He almost never talked to you. James, however, insisted that it was the opposite. "Niki likes you, trust me," James said, "He even let you touch his car!" You looked at James sceptically. "It was because he knew I didn't know anything about cars. Couldn't do any harm to it." James threw his arms in the air. "You don't get it. The car!" You looked at James with scepticism. He rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable."

-

A few days before the race there was a press conference. James was good at this sort of thing, talking to people. You easier with every funny joke he made for the reporters, and your attention drifted to Niki. He made clipped replies, furrowing his brows at times. "Niki, are you confident you will win?"

"Are you nervous for the race, Niki?"

You heard a fire of questions open as soon as he finished answering just one. Soon you can tell Niki has had it, with questions getting progressively more rude by the minute, and you could almost predict the moment he would stop the conference.

He waved his hand at them, signalling that the conference is over, and stepped out from the table. He saw you standing behind James and motioned to follow him. Once you were out of the interview room, Niki turned to you. "There is a party after this, I'm sure. James won't miss the opportunity. Are you going?"

You shook your head. "No, it's all a bit too loud for me. I spend a lot of time in the noise of the paddock either way, so..."

"I see," said Niki, "Then come with me to dinner." His eyes roamed your face. His eyelashes were long, you thought. Pretty.

"You won't go to the party?"

"And do what? Drink, talk to those assholes?"

You smiled. "Okay. Let's skip the party and go somewhere nice. Any suggestions?"

There was a small smile on Niki's face. "I'll drive."

-

The restaurant was a quiet, hidden spot somewhere in the tight brick-laid alleys of the city, illuminated by the lanterns beside it. The waiter led Niki and you into a booth with soft leather seats.

Niki's features grew warm in the light of the muted dimmed room. He looked at the menu and then at you, asking if you've decided on what you'd like. You nodded and he ordered for the both of you.

"What made you want to work with the McLaren?" Niki asked, in his usual blunt way, though his eyes conveyed more curiosity than you've seen before in him, "You don't seem like a car girl."

"I'm not," you said, and hastily added, "Sorry." You looked down for a moment. "I really needed the money, and they were hiring, and I was just applying for everything under the sun back then without a single call back... So it was a real chance for me." You watched his expression for disappointment, but his face barely moved a muscle.

He nodded briefly, in that Austrian curt manner you liked. "The reality of having to make a living. What would you rather do?" He looked at your embarrassed blush and raised his eyebrow.

"I think I might have gone to illustration school," you said quietly, "Not that I have any talent, but, you know. Some school, to build a portfolio, and then something. An illustrator job. Making pictures of cute animals for children's books." Niki's eyes softened.

"You should do that."

"I don't have any skill or talent," you said, laughing it off. "Not like you and racing."

Niki looked at you a moment longer. "I have ability," he said, "But there were many who had it also. I just had the last name banks knew enough of to keep giving me loans to start my career in F1. I didn't do anything else with my time. Just this."

At that moment, the food arrived. Steak course for him, pheasant with vegetables for you, and red wine for the both of you. He looked at you, eyes full of meaning. You let out a breath.

"Niki..."

"What?"

"I will have no money to survive on my own, will have to start from zero skills, and there would be thousands of artists better than me vying for the job." You cut down the pheasant breast right across the grain, dipping it in creamy sauce, chef's specialty.

"So the money is the biggest issue, is it not? You worry you would have no roof over your head and no food." Niki paused, and set his knife and fork on the plate. "Have you tried finding a lover?"

You almost choked on the piece of fowl. "Niki, I could not ask someone just fund my whole life."

He shrugged. "Why not? You are a beautiful woman. All that the men want."

You watched your static vegetables with the interest of a cat. "I don't know. It doesn't happen like that."

There was a longer silence between Niki and you, and you asked him about his hobbies outside of racing to switch to a less depressing topic. You didn't want that to be his impression of you. Niki huffed, but talked about taking flying lessons at the academy nearby, hoping to get a pilot's license so he could fly without an instructor.

"Do you like working for James?" Niki asked when you were digging into the chocolate cake with a tiny silver spoon.

"It's good," you said, "He's very extraverted. I can see he's a good person. Doesn't yell at me or anything. Though maybe it's because I'm a woman - his mechanics get some of the brunt of it sometimes."

Niki nodded, as if he already knew. "Good." He motioned for the waiter and paid the bill for the both of you without asking, making you blush at the gesture. It felt old-fashioned, but inexplicably you felt taken care of.

He drove you to the apartment complex you directed him to, in the nice part of town you picked to be close to the job, but in an old apartment which looked dark and uninviting. Niki slowed in front of it, and frowned. "You live here? Alone?" You nodded and endured the brief concern in his expression. "It was the best choice. At least the neighbourhood is not that bad," you tried to smile. Niki looked at you, and you were struck by the intense feeling in his hawk-like eyes.

Then he sighed as if nothing happened. "It was a nice evening," he said. "I would like to do another."

Your face brightened into a rosy pleasure at that. "Me too," you said, in a near whisper. You took one last look at him, and got out of the car, walking towards the entrance to the building, until you stepped inside the lobby and heard the sound of tires move.

-

The McLaren paddock was abuzz again. You walked in, noticing the workers and James all standing around something. Another piece of equipment, probably, you thought, and moved to your single little desk in the corner. James noticed you and cawed, "Darling, your secret admirer sent you some new stuff!"

Your eyes widened, blush filling your cheeks at a fast rate, making James grin in glee. "What, you won't come to see what it is?"

You moved towards the circle and when you got closer, you saw an open courier box. You chuffed; the boys probably thought it was oil or one of the car parts and opened it. Inside the cardboard box was a rather large, state-of-the-art drawing tablet, "Wacom" running along the edges of the packaging. Your breath stuttered, and you touched the pristine package with your fingertips. You noticed a small envelope sticking to the side of it and fished it out to open. You ripped the paper open at the side and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Thank you for registering for ILLU1001. Please see the class time schedule below for Section 2. Note that the final project deadline...

You looked at the words like they made you dumb. You felt James's lanky frame lean over your shoulder to read it for himself. He whistled.

"Taking classes? Shit, did they check your age when they hired you?"

You batted him away like a fly and he laughed.

"Is the Registrar's Office full of red, perhaps?" He asked, eyes glinting knowingly. You averted your eyes.

"Let's see," He put a finger to his chin, and you knew he was trying to be as annoying about it as possible. "First the flowers, then a bag," he looked meaningfully at the tote you carried everywhere now, "And now this. All anonymous, of course." He winked at you and mouthed 'of course' in an exaggerated whisper. You rolled your eyes. "Nothing to do with anyone in F1, right?"

"I don't think it's what you think it is, James," you sighed, setting down the registration slip. "I told him how much I wanted to do this, and maybe he felt pity or something, I don't know."

James looked at you, affronted. "Honeycakes, you might explain this new box like that, but men don't gift flowers and bags to women they pity. No, no, the feeling is called a bit different. Niki's smitten with you."

You hid your face in your hands. "Don't say that!"

"Why not? It's clear as day. A man like that takes his mind away from racing... sets it on a pretty thing like you..."

You shook your head. "There is Marlene."

"Ah, Marlene," James said, setting his arm around your shoulder and leaning to tell you conspiratorially, "Dear Marlene's ex-boyfriend, that actor what's-his-name, came back begging for a second chance. Lots of roses, from what I hear. Niki is unattached, though he says he is 'focused on the next race'. I can see where he is focused, " James shot a look at the box.

"He hasn't said anything," you said, chewing your lip, "I don't want to misinterpret..."

James rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, for... Fine, fine, don't say I didn't try," he said, and walked off to one of the mechanics working on suspension. You looked at his back and shook your head, but his words made something in you flutter with excitement.

The gifts that started appearing at the McLaren paddock and at your apartment's concierge booth were a surprise after that not-date at the restaurant. What concerned you was that they were going up in value with each gift. You appreciated all of them, loved them really, but you didn't want Niki to think you were a gold digger.

The work day, aside from the box, was uneventful. Just more clanking metal noises, some menacing words with James when he wanted to go bar hopping citing happy hour, some more meetings with sponsors who wanted to see the McLaren superstar for themselves.

You walked towards your apartment building exhausted by the demands of the job. It was the perfect environment for extraverts, you thought. People, noise, speed.

You stopped. There was an expensive car parked in the front, with a fire you knew leaning on it.

"Niki," you breathed out, smiling. He looked up from the book he was occupying himself with to meet your eyes and his features smoothed over into a brief softness. "What are you doing here?'

"I was waiting for you. Get in," he said, eyes focused on your face, and opened the passenger side, waiting. You tilted your head and came closer.

"Really? Where are we going?" This close you noticed that Niki was much taller than you. He wasn't as tall as James, but you nevertheless felt even safer around him. Maybe it was that he was smarter. The scent of sandalwood and motor oil clung to him.

"You'll see." Niki sat behind the wheel and started the car.

You drove through the streets until you started recognizing the more upscale areas where James and Niki lived. All of you rented, of course, races pulling you out of your home cities. F1 is a different league in many aspects, you thought when you saw the gates.

"Are we going to your place?" You asked Niki.

"Something like that," he said, driving in smooth turns through the meandering pavement that ran through the woodsy area dotted with separate lodgings. "You'll see."

He stopped the car in front of the rather large house in a traditional style, not nearly as ostentatious like some of the others you've seen during the drive, but you could still feel the money in it. Old money. It had an entrance door painted warm red and a white porch. Niki got out of the car and opened the door for you to follow.

He pulled out the keys out of his pocket. You waited for him to put them into the keyhole and open the door, but he turned to you with the keys in his clenched hand. He took your hand in his other one and you felt the moisture from it.

"I thought I should just let you see for yourself. I have a free room, and it's just me in the house. You can stop paying whatever you pay for your rent, and come live here for free." Niki was serious when he looked into your eyes. You looked back uncertainly.

"I don't want to leech..." You started, but he held out a palm and you trailed off.

"You are nothing of the sort. In fact, it is more like shoving a pill down a cat's throat and having to massage its throat to make it go down." Niki used the keys and opened the door, guiding you inside with his hand on your lower back. "You realize that most people have someone help them start out, yes? Parents who buy them a beat up car, that kind of thing. Something. It is nothing less than what you should have."

His eyes stayed locked on your face, tracking the confusion and shame fleeting through. You stayed silent for a while, and then whispered, "Why did you do it for me? I'm just James's assistant."

He frowned. "You are James's assistant. But there is nothing 'just' about you." He took your face in one hand, pinching your cheeks together, making your face ridiculous. "You know what to do with your life. Why wouldn't I invest?" He let his thumb rub your heated cheekbone.

"Say you accept."

Your eyelashes fluttered and you leaned into the calloused hand holding your cheeks. "You won't regret it? What if it amounts to nothing?"

"I won't. Even if you decide not to draw another piece of art ever again after the course is finished, I won't regret it."

You thought your heart beat stronger in your chest. You could almost feel the beats of it against your breastbone.

"I accept," you said in a whisper, looking into Niki's eyes.

He smiled.

-

You were living with him for a couple of months already. It was surprisingly easy to get used to each other's presence, to the rhythm of routines orbiting one another's. At first James made a whole spiel about fraternizing with the enemy, but after a while he had acquired the habit of dropping in at all times of day to 'check out the rat kingdom', as he put it.

The racing season was ending. Soon Niki would return to Vienna, you'd be forced to move out and find something else, and all will go back to how it was before. The thought of it often kept you up at night and showed itself in the dark circles under your eyes.

You took to sitting in the living room and watching Niki move around. He was making coffee on his day off, swirling the teaspoon to dissolve the sugar, when he spoke.

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" you said softly.

"You've been more...sad, lately," he said, and stopped the swirling motion. The teaspoon clinked against the rim. "What is it about? And don't lie."

You exhaled.

"I keep thinking of when this ends," you said, your eyes lowering, unable to look at him. Niki was pragmatic, you knew that, and maybe the thought didn't bother him as much. It was a logical conclusion. He has already done more than anyone else ever did to help you.

Niki frowned and came closer. He continued to stand even when you shifted on the sofa.

"When this ends."

You nodded. "When you move to Vienna."

"What will change?" He looked perplexed.

You blinked, now unsure of the direction of the conversation which seemed so clear to you. "You'll go to Vienna. I'll have to move back to my country. This," you gestured over the room in a swoop, "this will stop."

Niki had a small smile on his face now. You frowned at the sight of it.

"You are unbelievable," a breathy chuckle escaped him, "Oblivious."

"What?"

Niki came closer, until he was standing right next to you, and tilted your head up.

"James told me it wasn't enough to move you in for you to get a clue," he said conversationally, but you could see his pupils expand and turn his brown eyes black. "I see now he was right." And then he leaned down until his nose touched yours. "It was obvious to the whole F1 what my feelings towards you were. Tell me, darling, are you going to Vienna with me?"

A small whine escaped you, eyes watering. "With you? Together?"

Niki's eyes turned mirthful. "Yes, sweet thing, together." He kissed you. "Like this," he murmured, looking at your lips, "If you haven't realized yet."

You finally smiled. "I want to."

"Good. James will have to find a new assistant, of course," Niki said, grinning, "And it's unlikely he'll find anyone quite as pretty as you. Another loss for McLaren, but they should be used to it by now."

You laughed. "Is this when you say you won a prize again?"

Early morning light paints the house in a golden hue, spilling through open windows while a gentle breeze wafts through an open window.

There's sizzling on the stovetop, food in the pan cooking slowly. Niki has his back to you as you enter the kitchen.

He turns his head to look at you when he hears you or senses your presence. His face is caught in the direct line of light from the window, highlighting every dip and curve of his face.

His scars are most prominent like this. When he has no hat on. No racing balaclava on. When it’s just him– his skin and flesh exposed to your eyes.

The stovetop has attention again, and his face turns away.

You approach him from behind, feet tiptoeing across the floor tiles. Once in distance, you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him from behind.

Niki seems surprised, his body going mildly taught as he turns to face you. There is a smile on his lips, but the rest of his face is pulled into a bit of a quizzical look.

You smile back at him, eyes tracing the contour of his face with affection. Slowly and tenderly, you lean forward to place a kiss along his shoulder. You don’t say anything. He doesn’t question. Gingerly, you lift your hands up to cup his face when you get that high. Your fingers run along his skin as you follow one of the many scars dappled along his skin. Without a word, you press your lips against his skin, placing more kisses along his face.

At his face, you start at his jaw, placing a few soft and lingering kisses along his jawbone. With dedication and determination you work your way up to the corners of his mouth.

“What are you doing?” He mumbles finally, his eyes watching you as you pepper his face and body with your lips.

Your lips feel like an angels touch against his skin– each gentle press against an individual scar feels like its healing some part of him. Niki is a shattered piece of stained glass, and your golden touches aim to glue the pieces back together.

“Loving you,” you mumble, pausing your motions to reply.

He sighs when you continue, his eyes fluttering closed. He’s giving off the impression he is annoyed with your affection– yet the way he remains where he is without another word of protest tells you otherwise.

For a few minutes you continue the assault before the smell of singed bacon brings the two of you back to the present. He’s apologizing softly to resume cooking, pulling away. But its the promise he makes of ‘later, you have my word’ that has you content to wait, knowing that when he is finished with cooking, you may resume.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

@und3ad-mutt @ribbed-scythe @idkwhatto-namethis @nothers @yourlocaltrasheater

@ang3l-d1nn3r @puppy-monst3r @orisaspirin @bunnyb0yy @blindweb

@worstwolverinesbf @wardenofbanland @weirdest-worlds @king-of-dumbasses

You walked nervously up to Barney’s apartment, clutching your trench coat in the pockets. Your hair was pinned up loosely, holding your day old curls away from your face, framing it perfectly. When he opened the door he looked surprised to see you. But his face soon returned to its downcast expression as he trudged to the couch and slumped in his seat. His grey sweatpants and blue hoodie were a contrast from how you usually saw him, but you knew you only needed a few minutes to get his confident energy back.

“I heard you had the yips,” you said, stepping out of your heels. He glanced over at you without turning his head. You began to unbutton your coat as you strutted toward him slowly.

“I thought I would help you… fix it,” you said with a gentle bite of your lower lip. Barney turned to look at you, eyeing you up and down as you teasingly pulled back your coat, revealing the flimsy red lace that barely covered your body.

Barney raised his eyebrows. “Y/n what are you doing?” His hands instinctively resting on your thighs as you gently climbed into his lap. Lowering your lips to his ear you whispered, “I told you, I’m helping you.”

With that, you brought your lips to his. The kiss started out sweet and gentle, but soon your tongues were wrestling at a steady pace. Barney tugged on your hair, and you moaned as he pulled your head back, placing sloppy kisses down your neck. Your hair spilled from its pinned position and down over your shoulders as Barney kept pulling your hair and sucking hickies on your neck. You felt a growing wetness in your panties as a sudden need for more of Barney washed over you, and you ground your hips against him to satisfy your craving.

Barney groaned under the movement and you felt him growing under you. You unzipped the hoodie he was wearing and threw it across the room. Wrapping your legs around his waist you pushed your dripping core harder against him and dragged your nails down his chest.

Barney had a hand squeezing your ass and the other freeing your boobs from your bra before squeezing one as his tongue moved toward the other one, teasing the nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking desperately.

“Mmm, Barney, more, please,” you begged, and he obeyed.

He looked up at you, eyes on yours as he continued sucking your breasts and slid a finger past your panties, through the wetness of your folds and began circling your clit. Encouraged by your moans of pleasure he went faster before thrusting 2 fingers in. Curling his fingers slowly, he watched lustfully as your face contorted in pleasure by his own doing.

“You like that, baby? Daddy making you feel good?” Barney purred into your ear as he pawed your breast roughly with his free hand.

“Mmm, yes daddy, so good… please, more,” you praised him.

“Tell daddy what you want.”

“I want — oh!— to feel you — mmm— in me, daddy… mmm please! I want to cum around your cock!” You said between moans.

Flipping you onto your back, Barney flung your legs over his shoulders and positioned himself at your entrance.

He hesitated before pushing into you. “You sure you want this?” he asked.

“Yes daddy please!”

Holding onto your hips he thrust into you, allowing you a moment to adjust to his size before starting a steady pace. The room was filled with the sound of your moans, your cries of pleasure and the slapping of skin on skin. The more you said his name the harder he thrust into you, hand around your throat, other rubbing your clit as your nails raked across his back, sure to leave marks.

Over and over again you called his name, and with every praise the yips left him, until he was back to his confident sexual self. Soon he was flipping you backwards and forwards, fucking you hard in a dozen different positions. You had already come twice, but were quickly brought into round three so Barney could finish.

About an hour later he had you pinned against his large window, arms held tightly above your head with one hand while the other held your leg up so he could pound into you from behind. When he was finally on the brink of his high he released your arms to circle your clit as he came hard in you, white liquid filling your pussy as you came with him, reaching your third high, a loud cry coming from each of you, your names spilling from your lips as he rode you through your high.

When you’d both caught your breath Barney turned you around so you were facing him. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he looked at you for a moment, studying your face before placing a kiss on your lips.

“Thank you,” he said as he pulled away. You smiled at him before meeting him in another kiss.

Then Barney said something he’d never said to another girl.

He lifts his heavy head from his tattooed hand and glances at you over his shoulder. The sight of you makes his breath catch — leaning against the doorframe, all pretty in the lamplight, wearing the dress he bought you.

The deep emerald silk drips over your body like summer rain. It dips low at your chest and flows just above your knees, fitting you like a total dream.

Carmy, for a flicker of a moment, forgets to be anxious. 

While his eyes dart over your form, the rest of the world disappears — it could be entirely falling apart for all he knows, but all he can see now is you. Your stormy eyes, your soft skin, and your quiet sensuality. Your ruby lips, your cheeks like wine, and your gentle voice. 

His mouth falls agape to say words he can’t make out. His ocean eyes go wide, glimmering a deeper blue in the low light — which casts dark shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His gaze is like the sea. You feel yourself drowning in it accordingly.

“It can’t wait?” you press gently, lifting yourself from the doorframe and sauntering slowly towards him. Closing the door behind you, you drop your chin to your chest and flash the boy a sheepish smile. “All the restaurants are gonna close soon.” 

Carmy huffs. He knew better than to plan a date. He’s far too busy — or, rather, he doesn’t allow himself to be anything other than busy because there’s a voice inside him that just won’t be still. Working himself to death was an art he did exceptionally well, which hadn’t bothered him so much until he met you.

“I gotta get this done, babe,” he answers sympathetically, tilting his chin to keep his eyes locked with yours as you near him.

Your familiar scent sets the stagnant air aglow. The warmth of your perfume cradles his senses when you loom beside him. Your hand rises to his shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the swathe of curls at the nape of his neck. His wide palm smooths over your hip — softly calloused against the satiny fabric. 

You smile softly down at him. “So I got all pretty for nothin’?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Well, you got all pretty for me, actually,” Carmy corrects.

His pink lips curl in a faint smirk. Your grin widens tenfold. The subtle act of possessiveness, coupled with the strong hand on your waist, makes your chest sparkle. 

“Yeah, I did,” you hum proudly, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. He tastes fleetingly of nicotine and sweet plum wine — a maddening concoction.

You rise to full height again. Carmy pats your hip twice before his fingers fall away. He turns back to his desk, and you feel half-invisible again. It’s hardly his fault, though. There was something deeply intense about his stone-blue eyes. You feel strangely held when he looks at you, left inevitably mourning every time he turns away.

His pen darts across the gridded page in chicken scratch you can’t make out, worsened by his wrist smudging the ink. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck. You bury your nose in his chestnut curls and inhale the familiar scent of grill smoke and cedarwood. 

“You know I don’t care actually about going out, right?” you mumble there.

Carmy hums, half-distracted. “Mhm.”

“Just wanna spend time with you… Don’t care what we’re doing…”

You press a kiss to his temple. He leans instinctively into your touch. “Well, I’ll make you the best damn PB&J Chicago’s ever seen when we get back home, alright?” he muses with a quiet smile. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m holding you to that, Bear,” you say, grinning into his curls.

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy chuckles and lifts his free hand to squeeze your wrist. His touch slips away soon after when he turns back to his work. 

Quiet returns, heavy and deafening, filled only by the distant clanging of pots from stragglers in the kitchen. It makes you strikingly aware of yourself — of the space you’re filling in this tiny office, and the distracting weight of your arms around his neck. Feeling more like a burden, you clear your throat and pull away.

“I’m, uh— I’m gonna see if Richie left yet. Maybe he’ll let me bum a smoke or something.”

Carmy mourns your warmth the second you’re gone. He spins in his swivel chair to face you, laughing to cover up his ache. “What happened to us spending time together?”

He knows how you think. You think he gets so involved in his work that he doesn’t spare you a single thought. But really, he’s so strongly devoted to you that it feels like the emotion could rip him open from the inside.

You squint. “Watching you sign a bunch of paperwork while you pretend I’m not here is not spending time together,” you argue, laughing despite yourself.

“Don’t go. C’mon,” Carmy pleads, very distantly begging. He tilts his head and blinks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Come sit,” he tells you.

“Sit where?” you scoff.

“In my lap.”

“I’ll squish you,” you insist, giggling.

“Shut up and sit down,” he commands, still playful but leaving little room for argument. His wide palms smooth slowly up and down his denim-clad thighs. Your heart lurches into your throat.

You walk the short distance to him with a huff of feigned annoyance, dress swishing around your knees. Carmy pushes away from his desk to give you space to sit. You take a seat on his lap, just like he asked you to, but he stops you with a pair of strong hands grasping your hips.

“Not like that,” he murmurs.

Your brows furrow in response. “What do you mean?”

“On my thigh,” Carmy corrects, swatting playfully at your clothed hip. “C’mon. Sit right.”

You rise slowly, with a hesitant squint in your eyes. “What are you playing at, Bear?” you wonder lowly, legs spread slightly to welcome his thigh between them.

Carmy bounces his shoulder in a lazy shrug. His tattooed hands creep up the hem of your dress to urge you down onto his lap — the proper way. “You’re the one always sayin’ I’m too busy for you, right?” he responds, hardly expecting a real answer, as he helps you straddle one of his thighs.

The angle is awkward. The old chair leaves little room for the both of you. You’re forced to keep one leg on the ground while the other bends at the knee between his legs. You hold tight to his shoulders, trusting him to keep you steady. Your dress bunches at your hips in the meanwhile. Carmy raises his thigh until it’s flush against your clothed cunt. 

Your breath catches, and he smirks.

“So… You’re gonna cum on my thigh,” he continues casually. “…And after that, we’ll go home, I’ll fuck you like you need, and then I’ll run you a bath… How’s that sound?”

Your stomach swirls with a familiar warmth — which you can feel pooling in your panties now. “What about the PB&J?” you joke in a quiet voice that trembles only slightly.

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “After the bath.”

“What about in the bath?”

“Whatever you want,” he assures with a smile. “You just gotta ride me first.”

The lighthearted air turns bone-crushingly sensual in a flicker of a moment. His light eyes pierce you mercilessly, peering into the depths of your soul. You melt for him, going uncharacteristically soft and subservient, just how he likes.

Carmy helps you with a few passes over his thigh. You’re obviously unsure, and he can tell by your hesitant movements. His free hand squeezes your hip, urging you up his leg and down again, until you find your own rhythm. Then he turns back to his work and tries to focus. The soft sound of your breathy moans entwines with the scribbling of his pen.

You rock your hips in measured thrusts, trying to find the proper pace. The delicate fabric of your panties ruts along the rough denim of his jeans — catching your clit perfectly when you buck your hips just right. Lightning strikes down your spine, then. Both alleviating the ache between your thighs and creating a new one all at once. 

Your breath hitches. Pitiful whimpers sound in your throat instead. You bury them all in Carmy’s neck as you hide your face in his shoulder, with your warm cheek pressed to his ear and your fingers balling his shirt in your fists.

There was something foreignly erotic about all this. Being in Carmy’s office, the door unlocked, with Syd and Richie meandering elsewhere in the kitchen. The fear of being caught made your movements quick. Careless. Wild. 

And there was something about Carmy, too. The way he’s got you getting yourself off, with little help from the boy himself, while he busies himself with paperwork. You can hear him scribbling away still, flitting through papers with the hand not holding you. All while you hump his thigh, so desperate for attention. It’s pathetic. And something about it made you feel good.

Your pretty whimpers turn into deeper, breathier moans. Carmy smiles to himself. He can feel the warmth of your cunt despite the layers between you. It makes him wonder if you’ve left a stain on the denim. He prays you’ve left a stain on the denim — wants the mark of your honey stamped there forever.

“You close?” he murmurs when he notices your legs starting to tremble.

You bury a whine in his neck. “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hey,” he hums, pulling away from his paperwork for the first time in several minutes to look at you. 

His long fingers rise from your hip and curl into your hair. He tugs softly at the strands to urge your head back so he can admire his work. Your eyes are lidded and glassy, your lips swollen and parted — already fucked-out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I asked if you were close,” he repeats, unsmiling.

“Yes,” you manage through a whimper.

His grip on your hair slackens. His touch returns to your hip, encouraging your rapid movements. His pink lips quirk in the faintest hint of a smile. “Good,” he praises. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You bury your face in his neck again, lips curling around your teeth to stifle the moans swelling there. Your hips lose their rhythm as the threat of your orgasm grows. Your clit pounds like a second heartbeat. You briefly wonder if Carmy can feel it, and the thought alone sends you reeling.

“Carmy,” you keen, voice wavering. “I’m gonna cum.”

You feel him nod against you. He licks his lips and turns his head. His nose squishes your temple; his wet mouth brushes your ear. 

“Do it, then. C’mon,” he mumbles against you, coaxing you closer towards your pleasure — not because he’s a pro at the whole dirty-talking thing, but because he knows how much you like it. “Be a good girl and cum on my thigh. Come on.”

You last two more passes up and down his lap before you tense on top of him. Your hips still as you whimper into his shoulder, shuddering hard when your orgasm washes over you.

“Atta girl,” Carmy praises. “Keep cumming for me.”

He drops his pen and finally turns away from his work. He grips your hips with both hands and works you the rest of the way through your orgasm. You let him, for a few agonizing moments, until your high fades and leaves you achingly sensitive.

You inhale sharply through your nose and reach suddenly for his wrists. “No more,” you plead, then exhale a breathy chuckle.

When you part from his neck, Carmy ducks his head to catch your averted gaze. His wide eyes dart over your pleasure-stricken features. “You good?” he wonders. His words have lost any hint of sensuality. He’s always serious about checking in on you.

You nod and swallow hard. “’M good,” you promise, then freeze when your knee nudges his half-hard cock. “Are you good?” you parrot.

Carmy scoffs a breathy chuckle. “I’m almost done here— go bum a smoke from Richie, alright? I’ll out in a second.” 

He kisses you softly. A chaste kiss that’s perhaps too innocuous for such a honeyed moment. You rise on tired legs, and he swats playfully at your side. “How’s that for spending time together, huh?” he calls over his shoulder as you wrench open the office door.

You lean in to meet him halfway, pressing your lips against his. Carmy’s thumb presses down on your chin, opening your mouth enough for his tongue to work its way inside. You whimper at the contact, tangling your fingers into his curls, and kissing him back with just as much passion. Carmy has always been a messy kisser, strings of saliva connecting your mouths every time you take a breath of air.

It’s not long before you feel him getting hard underneath you. Your hips grind against him, chasing that slow heat burning in your stomach. The movement is tentative, almost like you’re teasing yourself.

“Fuck—“ he groans against your lips. He takes a hand from your face and moves it to the small of your back. His hand slips underneath your shirt, needing to feel your skin. He pushes against your back, encouraging your movements against him. His other hand falls down to your thigh, squeezing tight.

The hand wanders on from your thigh fast. The rough calluses on his fingers leaves goosebumps in its wake as he trails along your stomach. His kisses lose their precision, messily colliding with yours. It’s when his hand reaches the waist of your underwear that you finally break the kiss.

“Can we—can we just do this? Feels good like this,” you whisper against his mouth. You rut your hips against him slowly, holding eye contact. He’s a sight in front of you. His lips are swollen—covered in saliva. He’s taking quick breaths in between his parted lips, which are now a vivid pink.

Carmy nods quickly, moving both of his hands to hold your hips. His gaze is careful as he watches you, urging you to move against him. “Just this?” His pupils are wide, looking up at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You frantically nod your head, close your eyes, and get lost in the sensation.

Carmy’s in awe of you. The whole situation is making him dizzy. Your hands move from his hair down to his stomach, pressing into the hard muscles of his abdomen. The change in leverage directly stimulates your clit against his length. Your hips speed up as you become more desperate for release. Carmy lets his head fall back; the pressure against his cock becoming almost too much.

When he looks down at your hands on him, that’s the moment he sees it. The way he’s soaked through his boxers, and you’ve soaked through your underwear. The sight of you grinding against his raging hard on with zero hesitation nearly makes him cum on the spot.

“Look at that—fuck baby—we’re both soaked.” His voice is shot. Rough like it’s painful to speak.

The wet spots become larger with your movements. Heat rushes to your face at his words, and the down right sinful wet sounds coming from below you. “Carm—“

His eyes somehow get more blown out, watching every expression you make. “You’re so pretty like this. Getting yourself off like such a good girl f’me. Feels so good—I didn’t know it could feel like this.“ Between his sentences, both of his hands dig into your hips, tight enough to bruise. He’s getting close, using his strength to hold you to him as his hips jerk into you.

The combined movements sends a heat to your stomach that’s growing hotter by the second. You can barely hold yourself up, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. Your face tucks into his neck as your ams wrap around him, pressing his chest to you. “Bear—Bear I–I can’t—“ you whimper. Your hips move lazily, not having the stamina to keep up.

One of his hands cradles the back of your head, soothingly rubbing at your hair. “Shh baby— I know you’re close. Making such a mess all over me,” he coos. Carmy takes over the brunt of the work, rolling his hardened cock up against you, nudging against your clit with every movement. The nearly constant stimulation draws desperate sounds from you.

“Carmy. Please—please, please, please,” you mumble.

“You can do it sweetheart—gonna make me cum too—I’m so close, shit.” Carmy pants through labored breaths, sweat starting to form on his chest from where you’re leaning against him. “Let go for me, yeah? Know you can, baby.”

Those words are the last encouragement you need. With a few more rough thrusts against you, the heat in your stomach explodes. You jolt against him as your orgasm washes over you. You turn your head to face his neck, and nip at Carmy’s skin through the aftershocks.

The sound of your moans, and your teeth and lips on his neck does Carmy in. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whines as he releases into his underwear. He holds your hips to his own, rocking into you with every wave of his orgasm. If he wasn’t soaked before—he is now saturating the both of you in his cum.

Carmen Berzatto makes it very difficult for you to ignore him. On top of already taking up much of your thoughts, he's persistent about seeing you. Which wasn't usually a big deal, you were just as adamant sometimes.

Something in you creates a deep sick feeling whenever you think about seeing Carmy right now. There's a tug in your chest and you tell him you're busy or just can't see him. You think it works out when you start your cycle, giving you a longer excuse to keep dodging Carmy.

C: Hey

C: Can I see you?

The request makes your stomach flip. It's not like you're lying, but his persistence makes you anxious. Eventually, you're going to have to see him again.

You: no.

You: started my period yesterday

Bubbles appear a few times while Carmy types. Usually, he gets the hint and backs off for a few days.

C: Is Claire there?

C: I can come and cook. No funny business.

You brush off his offer, telling him Claire was still mulling around the apartment before her shift. You'd probably go to bed after seeing her off, curl up on the couch with some trashy show on to keep you company. His offer surprises you, and you don't think it'll happen again.

But, despite your words, Carmy's already messaging Marcus, asking how quickly he can whip up a batch of brownies.

Carmy doesn't want to consider how odd this is, sitting in his car down the street from your house.

He glances at the bags in the passenger seat, anxiety biting at his nerves.

While he waited for Marcus to get back to him, Carmy did a bunch of reading. He found several different articles listing different foods and ingredients that supposedly help with cramps. He also found articles listing different home remedies or activities for partners looking to help.

Not that Carmy really considered himself your partner but... He didn't not? Carmy never thought too hard about a label for what you guys do or are to each other. But he didn't see the harm in preparing himself to support you. And he was your.... Friend? Whatever he was, he wanted to help.

Movement catches his eye and he perks up a little. Carmy watches as Claire locks the front door to your house before she goes down the steps. He ducks back slightly, even as she heads in the opposite direction from his car.

Carmy gives it a few more minutes before he scrambles out of the car, rounding to the passenger side to collect the bags there. He holds them in one hand as he slings on his overnight bag and locks his car.

Then, Carmy heads for the door.

"What the fuck?" You startle, not expecting Carmy on your doorstep.

"Don't- don't ask questions," he tells you. "I have brownies... and other shit, so can I come in?"

You're at a loss for words, taking Carmy in. There are two reusable grocery bags in one hand and a backpack strap slung over his shoulder.

"Y'gonna let me in, sweetheart, or are ya gonna rob me blind?" The question makes you snicker before you step to the side. Your eye catches on his backpack as he passes.

"What's in the survival bag?" You poke, shutting and locking the door after he enters.

"Just some stuff in case I get mauled again." He says it casually, toeing his shoes off next to the door. You can see the small smile pulling at his lips and you wish you could push him back into the hall.

"Fuck off," You tell him, grabbing both of the grocery bags from his hand. He lets you take it, going to set his backpack on the couch before he comes back to the kitchen. You've set the bags on the counter, before hopping on top of the surface, peeking inside one of them.

"What is all this?" You ask, moving some of the items around.

"Quit pawing at it," He pulls your hand out of the bag, setting it back on your lap. You make a noise at him, watching while he takes things out and sets them on the counter behind you. Most of what he pulls out looks like ingredients. Different fruits, vegetables, meat, and fish that he stores in the fridge.

The items change at the bottom of the second bag, a box of chamomile tea, a heating pad, a few different painkillers, and a clear pan of brownies.

"You made those?" You ask, leaning to get a glimpse of the glass pan.

"Uh," Carmy looks at them before looking at you. "Marcus. Marcus made 'em."

You nod, watching him walk to the stove before setting it to a preheat temperature. "Tell him I said thanks."

Carmy nods, stacking the non-food items to the side along the edge of the counter. Once he's got everything organized how he likes, he looks up at you. His gaze is soft while he takes in your appearance and you watch idly as Carmy walks around to your side of the counter.

"Can I get a kiss?" He steps up next to you along the counter. You give him a look and he huffs softly. "Can't even get a kiss now?"

"You just don't usually ask," you tease before leaning in to kiss him. Carmy makes a noise of content, chasing after your mouth to press another kiss to your lips. Then another. And another.

You have to bring a hand to his hair to tug him away. Carmy lets out a groan of complaint, leaning back into your touch.

"You said a kiss," you remind him.

"Policing kisses now?" He sighs and you give him a grin.

"Can't have you getting distracted and worked up." You tease him and he huffs.

"Just take care of it in the bathroom..." he grumbles, making you tug his hair again.

"Weirdo," you tell him before he's pressing another kiss to your mouth.

"Missed you," he confesses quietly, giving you a second kiss. You hum, ignoring the tug at your heart. "Where y'been?"

"Told you. Busy.." You mutter. You can tell he doesn't believe you, but you don't want to discuss it with him. To distract him, you give him another kiss, which he reciprocates happily.

Carmy finally pulls away, going back over to the food on the other side of the counter. You tell him where things are as he asks, eyes following him around the kitchen. It's not long before he's cutting up the different items of produce and setting them aside in different containers.

He talks you through what he's making, lists off the ingredients and spices he's using. Carmy tells you about how he found a few different articles listing different foods and produce that helped relieve bloating and cramps during menstrual cycles. It's a bit more difficult to hear what he's telling you when he's facing the stove, and away from you. He notices it too.

"Could you come over here?" Carmy asks over his shoulder, busy with the pan on the stove.

"Why?" You ask, making a face at his back.

"Well, because I'd like to look at you while we talk," Carmy says, and you can hear the sarcasm in his voice. You roll your eyes, bracing your hands on the counter.

"I'm comfortable here," you complain and he looks back at you.

"Well, you could be comfortable over here." He shoots back and you let out an exasperated sigh.

"No." You tell him, with a tone of finality like it'll change his mind. He grumbles something under his breath you can't quite make out, it makes you hum in question but he just shakes his head. You settle back when he doesn't say anything else for a few minutes, thinking you've won the debate.

Carmy leaves the stove to stand between your legs, hands coming to rest on your hips.

"Hi," you say softly, giving him a small smile as if you're not being a little impossible.

"You're very difficult today," He tells you, squeezing gently at your hips. You give him a simple shrug, like it makes up for everything. He gives you a look as his grip tightens around your waist and you're not sure if you like what it means.

You let out a noise of surprise as he drags you off the counter, hands sliding under your thighs. Carmy's steady as he carries you over to the counter between the stove and your refrigerator.

"There." He says softly, shifting you back a little. "Comfortable?"

"I guess," you sigh. He gives your thigh a quick pinch, making you laugh. "Smells better over here."

You watch Carmy as he tends the stove attentively. Most of what he tells you about the dishes goes over your head, but you appreciate the effort all the same.

"Y'know, I was doing some reading," Carmy starts, prodding the vegetables in the pan before he looks at you. "Some people said orgasms help relieve cramps.."

His face has a soft flush to it, something that could be attributed to standing over the stove. But you know better than that.

"You said no funny business, Berzatto." You narrow your eyes at him, making Carmy look away sheepishly.

"I was just sayin'," he puts his hands up defensively, keeping his gaze on the food.

"Mhmm." You hum, still looking at him suspiciously. Carmy's fighting a grin as he turns back to the food, and you give him a tap with your socked foot.

You both sit in silence as he continues to work on the salmon. Carmy cooks in batches, eyes flicking between two fillets before he determines they're good and sets them to cool. You don't have to ask to know it hurts his soul a little to let the food cool to be reheated later. He's already made it through most of the produce and fish, and it's not long before he's working on the chicken.

He sets the oven to preheat and you point in the direction of your glass pans, watching as he seasons the meat. It's not long before the oven beeps and Carmen slips the pan onto the top rack. He sets a timer with the appliance, moving the dishes he's no longer using to the sink.

"Saw my mom the other day," he says from where he leans against the counter. Carmy's got his arms crossed over his chest in a way that pushes up his pecs and makes you want to fall to your knees on the kitchen floor.

"Oh yeah? How'd that go?" You ask, letting your feet kick idly.

"Good," he shrugs. "Cooked for her.."

"Really?"

"Mhm," he nods, pushing off the counter to cross the kitchen. "Weird been back there now."

"I bet," you tilt your head slightly. "Street still look the same?"

"You haven't been back?" He asks, surprised. You shrug from your spot in the counter.

"They usually come here, make sure we're alive and living right. Claire usually goes back to the house and gives me the run down." He nods along as you speak, watching you closely. "You guys talk or was she just... DD?"

"Yeah uh.. We talked. She... She apologized for a lot of stuff. It was..." He trails off for a moment, chewing on the words. Carmy's gaze wanders around the kitchen.

"You don't have to talk about it," you tell him gently. He looks up at you, surprise in his gaze. "We don't have to talk about it tonight."

Carmy doesn't ask when he kisses you again, slipping to stand between your legs. This time it's longer than the others, letting him take the lead and kiss you dizzy. His hands grab at your thighs, kneading them softly. One of them comes up to your cheek, keeping you close.

You sigh against his lips as he tugs your hips closer to his. The hand from your hip snakes around to your lower back, palm flat along your spine. Carmy, whether he means to or not, starts rocking his hips against yours. It's a slow and steady rhythm, barely noticeable until he lets out a quiet grunt.

"Carm-" You mutter in warning. He groans softly against your mouth, hand moving from your back to your thigh.

"You can wait a week," you tell him and he scoffs.

"Been waiting more than a week already." He complains. Despite his words, Carmy shifts back so there's a little more space between your bodies.

"Good.." You mutter softly and he lets out a groan.

"Don't start with that." He tells you and you have to fight a laugh. Instead you give him a small grin, giving him a quick peck.

"Finish the food, Carm. 'M getting hungry." You give his hip a soft squeeze as a means to prompt him.

"You're so demanding..." Carmy teases before giving you another quick peck.

"It's not everyday I have a Michelin star chef at my disposal," You bite back, smiling when he gives you a look. He gives your thigh a quick squeeze.

"Literally fuckin' do. You just don't utilize him." There's a deeper meaning to his words that make your throat close up. You don't know if he meant it, and you don't want to find out.

"Finish the food, Carmen."

After you and Carmy eat, he takes some time to clean what he's used. He doesn't let you help much, instead tasking you with putting away what he prepped. While you're putting away the tuberware, Carmy sets the dishwasher to run and stacks the last of the dishes in the sink.

Carmy follows you over to the couch, placing a kiss on your temple as he grabs his bag. "Gonna go change.."

You let him go, settling on the couch with a blanket draped over you as you lay back. You take your phone out of your hoodie pocket and turn on an alarm, set for just after six in the morning. Just in case Carmy's still around the apartment as Claire starts to leave work. It'll give you enough time to get him out and clean up the place.

Carmy doesn't take long to change, coming out of your room after a few minutes. You pause when you glance up at him from your phone.

"Is that all you have to wear?" You ask, raising a brow. Carmy looks confused, nose slightly scrunched.

"What'd'ya mean?" He asks. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, it's just... Your dicks like.. Out."

"No the fuck it's not-" He starts defensively. You don't miss how he glances down at his lower half, maybe a little self-conscious.

"It's not like... Bad. It's just y'know.. There." You shrug. Carmy almost looks a little offended when you say it.

"Want me to go put pants on?" He asks pointedly, motioning back towards your room.

"I never said that," you tell him. "I was just commenting on it."

"Okay.." He huffs, turning around to go and turn off the lights in the kitchen. You watch idly as he does, eyes tracing his form as Carmy walks back towards the living room. You set your phone on the coffee table, settling deeper into the cushions.

"Come here," You open your arms as best as you can from your position on the couch. Carmy hums, coming over and climbing on top of you carefully. "Y'sure? I'm not gonna like, squish ya too much?"

You grumble quietly, wrapping your arms around his middle and pulling him onto you. He makes a noise of surprise before getting settled on top of you more, wriggling around so he's supported by the back cushions. "Better?"

You nod, adjusting as he moves his arm under the pillow, providing a slight extra cushion.

"She just lets you set up shop on the couch?" Carmy asks.

"When she's at work, yeah. No one here but me so," You shrug before you start to move under him.

"Careful.." He mutters and you roll your eyes. You wiggle around enough that Carmy's body is pressed against the back of the couch, his head resting on the pillow. He's positioned in a way that his hips are still resting against yours, your legs tangled together.

"You're warm," you mutter, pressing your face to his collarbone.

"Better than the heating pad?" He asks, voice muffled by your hair.

"Much," you tell him, rubbing a thumb over some of the exposed skin of his back. He brings his free hand to rest against your hip, slipping under your sweater to knead the flesh on your side.

"I was readin' and they said something about abdominal massages helping," He offers softly, the heel of his hand pressing firmly into the skin.

"You did an awful lot of reading, Carm. Trying to impress somebody?" You pull back to glance up at him. "Trying to see if any of this works before trying it on your other side piece?"

It's meant as a joke. Poking fun at how much he's read up on menstrual cycles just for this moment. But Carmy's brow furrows and a small frown pulls at his lips.

"There's no other side piece. You think you're a side piece?" He asks genuinely, gaze searching yours.

"No... Carm, it was a joke," You assure him quietly, tucking a few stray curls behind his ear. "Giving you shit for learning so much."

"You're not my side piece. There's no one else," He says it firmly before placing a quick kiss on the palm of your hand. The admission makes your stomach twist, and you scramble to come up with something to bury it with.

"Good. Don't need to be worrying about getting a disease on top of sneaking you into the apartment." You try to push the feeling down, and he gives you a huff.

"Wouldn't do that to ya," He mutters. "Not your side piece, am I?"

The questions makes you laugh before you give him a grin.

"Barely have time for you, don't think I'd be able to have two side pieces." Your admission makes him smirk, and without you knowing, soothes the anxiety in his stomach.

"Good, cause I don't like to share," His voice is gruff, and his hand slides from your hip to grope your ass gently. You make a noise of surprise, leg jerking slightly and knocking against his.

"Don't I fucking know it," You grumble before pressing your face back into his neck.

"How about that massage?" He asks again, hand sliding down the knead at your thighs softly.

"Maybe later, before I have to kick you out," You sigh. "Just want to lay for a little bit.."

"Okay..." Carmy whispers, wrapping his arms around you. "Y'want me to put something on?"

"Mm no..." You let your eyes flutter closed, letting your forehead press against his collarbone. He lets out a quiet 'alright' before he's tracing soft patterns along your back.

You don't mean for it to happen, but after a few minutes, your breathing evens out. Carmy knows you're asleep when you press your face against his chest, ear pressed to his sternum like you're listening for a heartbeat. And maybe you are.

"Hey..." Carmy's voice is soft. You hide your face in his neck, squeezing tight around his middle. "Know you're awake..."

"No, 'm not.." Your voice is muffled against his skin and he huffs.

"I gotta go," he tells you gently and you can't help but whine. "I know, I know. But Claire's on her way home..."

You groan loudly, loosening your hold on him. You don't miss the huff he lets out, giving his side a soft pinch. Carmy lets out a soft 'hey' as you start to untangle yourself from him, blinking sleep from your eyes.

"Didn't mean to sleep so long..." You mutter, stifling a yawn.

"It was late," he shrugs. You hum, looking around for your phone.

"Did the alarm go off?" You ask. Carmy nods, and you look at the time quickly. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Thought you could stand to sleep in," he tells you, moving your legs so he can sit up. "B'sides, we have time."

You make a noise, checking your phone for anything from Claire. You're greeted by nothing, thankfully. Carmy leans against you, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder.

"You gotta go get dressed," you sigh, letting your head rest against the top of Carmy's head. His curls tickle your cheek as you let your eyes fall shut, fighting the urge to doze off.

You pat his knee, silently urging him to get up. It works. Carmy presses a quick kiss to your cheek before getting off the couch and heading to your room.

You glance back at your kitchen, looking for anything that would give away that Carmy had been over. You don't spot anything immediately, making a mental note to put the leftover dishes in the dishwasher. You listen to Carmy move around your room, sinking into the couch.

It doesn't take him very long to get ready, coming back to the living room with his backpack over his shoulder. When he comes back to stand in front of you on the couch, Carmy puts out a hand to help you up. You take it, pulling yourself off the couch, letting yourself stumble into him when you overcorrect. Carmy makes a small sound when you bump into him, his other hand coming to your waist to steady you.

You trail after him as he walks to the door, tugging down your hoodie a bit more. The air outside is warm when Carmy opens the front door, it makes you shiver slightly when it hits your bare legs.

He pulls you into a hug, arm slung around your shoulders as he pulls you close. You wrap your arms around his middle, melting into the hug slightly. You make a noise of complaint when he pulls back a little but Carmy makes up for it when he ducks in for a kiss, and you're not surprised when it's a long one.

"You gotta go..." You mutter against Carmy's lips, but you don't let go of him just yet. And to be fair, Carmy's not ready to let go of you yet either. His hands are steady on your waist, keeping you close.

"Bring you to my place next time..." Carmy promises, giving you another kiss. You hum in agreement, letting him press two more kisses to your mouth before pulling away.

"Okay, seriously. Get going," you urge him.

Carmy sighs softly before pressing a kiss to your temple. "Let me know how you like those dishes, okay? I'll write some of them down to make again."

You nod, letting him cling to you a little bit longer. "You'll get all my reviews, chef."

"Okay," Carmy laughs, starting down the steps.

"Let me know when you make it home," You don't know where it comes from. It startles you slightly but it's swept away when Carmy grins and gives a quiet 'alright.' You watch Carmy climb into his car and wait for him to pull away from the curb before stepping back inside. You make sure to lock the door to keep Claire from asking about it when she gets home.

Carmen currently found himself sitting in your car, parked in the middle of a near-empty lot, as you blasted the radio. You hadn’t shut up for the last thirty minutes. You couldn’t. There were too many things to say, too many thoughts to share.

And Carmen listened—not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. Because it mattered to you. 

He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up as you spoke about the music. He didn’t understand half the technical terms you used and probably never would, but that didn’t matter. He loved the way your hands moved through the air, describing a specific part of a song like you were conducting it.

He wondered if this was how people felt when he talked about cooking. Did he light up like this? Did his hands move the same way?  Did people look at him the way he was looking at you now?

Carmen had been so focused on the way you looked as you talked that he completely lost track of what you were actually saying. You noticed. You always noticed.  You snapped your fingers in front of his face to bring him back.

“Yo, Carmy? You still with me?”

“What? Yeah—sorry.”

“I’m boring you with my music talk, huh?”

“No, no—of course not. I was just—”

“Jesus, Carm. I’m joking. You’re all good.”

This happened a lot. Sometimes Carmen got too caught up in the sight of you, in his thoughts about you, that he missed whole pieces of conversation. You never seemed bothered by it. You never held it against him.

But it happened enough for you to notice—how his eyes would glaze over just slightly, or how he’d be so focused on your face that he didn’t compute a single word coming out of your mouth. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Who wouldn’t want Carmen Berzatto staring at them like they were the only person left on Earth?

“I could play at the restaurant,” you said suddenly.

You surprised him—it was obvious on his face.

“I mean, think about it. You could have live music on, I don’t know, Saturday. Then I could go, and I could play.”

“…Okay. I’d need a stage.”

“No, fuck that. I don’t need a stage to play.”

“Okay. What about payment?”

“Jesus, Carmy—way to spoil the mood.”

You were toying with him. You couldn’t help it. Carmen was an easy target. You loved seeing the way his brows crinkled when he thought he’d actually managed to piss you off. He never did. Well—maybe if he really tried, he could. But he never had. Not once. And yet every time you teased him, you still got him. Every time.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Carmen muttered, but he was smiling when he said it.

You leaned back in your seat, kicking your feet up onto the dash like you lived in the car. Like this was your shared little world where nothing outside mattered—not the restaurant, not the bills, not the creeping anxiety that clung to Carmen like grease in his skin.

“Yeah, well,” you said, tilting your head to look at him, “you keep coming back, don’t you?”

He did keep coming back. Not because it mattered. Not because he had to. But because you were a break. A break in the constant anxiety and dread that filled him. A break from the restaurant and its never-ending chores.  A break from his mind. Here, in your car, locked away from the rest of the world, Carmen felt like he could breathe again. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand what you were talking about half the time. The sound of your voice—the simple presence of you—managed to calm him.

So yes, he kept coming back to you.

Even if maybe there were other things he could be doing with his time.

You always made sure he had nothing left on his plate before letting him melt into your passenger seat. You didn’t let him hide here if there was something waiting to be resolved. And even when he said, “I’m good, I’m done for the day,” you still checked with Syd. Not because you didn’t trust him.  But because you didn’t want to be a burden.

You didn’t want to be the reason the restaurant fell behind.

Because as much as you selfishly adored your time with Carmen— as much as you wanted to keep him here, tucked away with you forever—you knew what the restaurant meant to him. How much it meant to be building something again. It meant something to him, which meant it meant something to you too. Because he meant something to you. 

Carmen’s eyes raked over your face before shifting to the place where your hands thrummed against your thighs. You seemed so at peace here—so angelic against the light of the setting sun. Carmen often thought that, in moments like this. But he never told you.

“You look really pretty.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

It wasn’t like Carmen to say things like that. Not to you. Not to anyone, really.

He was quiet with his feelings—kept them pressed down, folded into corners of himself he rarely let people see. And even though you were close, even though you spent hours like this—just being together—he had never said anything like that before.

Not really.

You glanced over at him, searching his face for a sign that he was joking, or distracted, or thinking about someone else entirely.His brow furrowed slightly, like maybe he was already regretting saying it. Like the words had slipped out before he could shove them back down.

But he didn’t take it back.

You felt your stomach twist, just a little.

“…What?” you asked, not because you didn’t hear him, but because you needed to be sure.

Carmen looked away, jaw tight. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh—nervous, fidgeting.

“I just…” he started, then stopped. Swallowed.

“I think that sometimes. That you look… you know. Pretty.”

You stared at him for a moment, completely still. Because you’d known he liked being around you—sure. You’d known he cared. But this? This was different. 

Your heart beat louder than it should’ve.

You didn’t really know how to respond.Maybe you should thank him, but that felt too superficial, too odd considering the situation. Carmen Berzatto had just told you that he often thought you looked pretty—and that was doing something to you that you hadn’t expected it to.

You’d always had a sort of thing for him. The Berzattos were a handsome family—it was easy to fall for their looks. So yeah, when you were younger, you thought Carmen was cute. But then you started to know him. Started to hang around him. Actually became his friend.

And the thought of him being cute melted into something else.

But he had too much on his plate already, and you didn’t want to just pile on another thing for him to be worried about.

Friends don’t look at friends the way you look at Carmen.And Carmen doesn’t look at you the way he looks at his other friends—the few ones he does have.

So you let yourself sit in silence for a moment, running over a million thoughts at the speed of a second. And then, before you could chicken out,before you could convince yourself that it wasn’t worth it,you removed your feet from the dash and began to lean over the center console so you could reach him.

When your hand touched Carmen’s thigh, his head snapped up from the window to look at you. He hadn’t even realized you’d moved—not until you were practically on top of him.

And you stayed there for a second. Not moving. Not talking. Just letting your breath and his mingle.

His eyes darted from yours to your lips and you took that as your shot.You pressed a gentle kiss to him, backing away softly in an attempt to allow him to take in what had just happened.

But Carmen didn’t need to think. In fact, he’d almost shut off that part of his brain in that moment. Because if he started to think, he would chicken out. And he didn’t want to lose the opportunity you had just granted him. So before his brain could even compute it, he had dragged you onto his lap, hand settling at your waist as he kissed you again.

Carmen’s lips trailed from yours down to the hollow of your neck, soft and searching. You tilted your head, giving him better access, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. His fingers pressed firmly at your sides, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the subtle shift in his breathing as desire laced every movement. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent—it was something deeper, slower. Like discovery.

Your hands found their way up, tangling in his hair, feeling the slight roughness beneath your fingers. He responded with a low sound in his throat, pulling you into him again.

The radio hummed somewhere in the background, but it was just noise now—everything else narrowed to the warmth of his skin, the press of his body, the steady beat of your shared breaths.

Carmen’s lips left your neck to meet yours again, more demanding this time, as if he was catching up on all the things he’d been holding back. Your hands slid down, tracing the line of his shirt, feeling the strength beneath, the promise of more.

You ground your hips down onto Carmy’s, causing him to let out a low groan. You smiled against his lips, repeating the action. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body pressed harder into yours, matching the rhythm you set.

And then he pulled his mouth away from yours. You wondered for a moment if he’d changed his mind. Wondered if you were going too fast for poor Carmy. But he surprised you.

“Get in the back.”

You raised your eyebrows at the sudden shift in his voice. Where had the shyness you knew so well gone? Carmen seemed to catch onto your amusement, his hands moving to caress your ass. He smiled as you gasped at his actions.

“You started it.”

“And you’re gonna finish it, Berzatto?”

Carmen smiled at you—full of mischief.

“Get in the back and you’ll find out.”

That was all you needed. You climbed over the center console, sitting in the backseat. Carmen didn’t even need to ask you to take your pants off; you were already stripping them when he managed to get to the backseat. His eyes raked over the newly exposed skin, hands moving to knead it like soft dough. 

Carmen’s hands didn’t stop kneading, their touch slow but deliberate, as you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You were practically lying down in the back seat, Carmy hovering above you. The car felt smaller than it had a couple of moments ago, the air charged with a sort of unspoken need.

You let out a soft breath, your fingers trailing down his arms, feeling the strength beneath the fabric.

“Can I see you without the shirt?”

Carmen was surprised by your question. You’d been so prepared to undress yourself before him, but you worried he wouldn’t be as comfortable doing that. Instead of answering, his hands released your body for a moment, tugging his shirt off. Your palms traced his body as he leaned down to kiss your neck again.

His hands moved over your stomach, fingers skimming against the edge of your shirt. You nodded your head at him before he even asked the question, hands moving to help him peel your shirt off. When the shirt slipped over your head, Carmen’s lips met yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You could feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, the pressure of his body pressing against yours. His fingers trailed lower, brushing over your ribs, the bare skin beneath your bra.

“Can I?” he murmured against your lips.

Your breath hitched as you nodded, lifting your arms just enough for him to slide your bra straps down your shoulders. His hands cupped your breasts gently, thumbs circling your nipples through the thin fabric. Your head lifted slightly off the seat as Carmen leaned down, taking one of your breasts into his mouth while his hand continued to caress the other.

You could already feel the wet spot forming on your underwear. Carmen wasn’t much better off—his boxers were already stained with precum, his dick twitching with every soft sound that escaped your lips. And every sound did feel like music to him, which felt appropriate, considering your profession.

His lips trailed lower, moving from your breasts to your stomach, and finally to where you needed him most. He hooked his fingers around your waistband, pausing for just a moment to meet your gaze in silent question before tugging the fabric down your legs.

The space was tight, but Carmen was determined. He managed to settle between your thighs, his face mere inches from you.

And then he leaned in.

Your body jolted at the first touch of his tongue. A soft gasp escaped you as your hand found his hair, gripping tightly as he continued working you open with slow, deliberate movements.

Carmen groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through your core and pulling another breathy moan from your lips. He was taking his time with it, dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and focused—like he was tasting something he’d been craving for a long time.

Your thighs twitched around his shoulders, and he only pressed in deeper. One arm curled beneath your leg to keep you open for him, while the other reached up, hand sliding along your ribs until his thumb brushed over your nipple again. Every point of contact lit you up.

“Fuck, Carmen—” you breathed, voice catching as your hips rocked against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to glance up at you, lips shiny and eyes heavy.

“Yeah?” he said, voice hoarse. “That feel good?”

The teasing lilt in his voice was new—rough and low, coaxed out by the way you fell apart for him.

You nodded, too far gone for words. Your fingers tightened in his hair as he lowered his head again, tongue circling your clit before sucking softly, rhythmically. You gasped, a sharp, broken sound that made his hips twitch beneath the denim.

You were close, and he knew it. He could feel it in the way you pulsed against his mouth, in the way your thighs tried to close around his head.

He didn’t let up. If anything, he doubled down—sucking harder, tongue flicking in just the right way, fingers now slipping lower, pressing inside you without warning.

Your back arched off the seat, a cry spilling from your mouth as the pleasure hit all at once, wave after wave rolling through you. Carmen didn’t stop until you were twitching under him, your grip in his hair loosening, chest heaving with the force of it. Only then did he lift his head, dragging his mouth across your thigh with a breathless laugh.

“Jesus,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You were far too breathless to offer a witty quip in response. So instead, you tugged him up by the chin and kissed him, messy and needy. You could taste yourself on his lips, the mixture of you and him almost intoxicating. Your tongue moved over his, hands clinging to his biceps as you tried to keep him close.

It was too much for Carmen to handle. Being this near to you, yet still not close enough, was driving him insane. And you could see it. You could feel it in the way his body trembled as he tried to hold himself up. You could feel it in the bulge straining against his jeans. With every movement of his tongue, he rocked his hips into you—his clothed dick dragging against your thigh, desperate for friction.

You shifted one of your hands from his cheek, palm trailing down his body until you reached his belt. You didn’t know how you’d managed to do it one-handed, but somehow, you got his belt off. You caressed him through his boxers, reveling in the soft moan that escaped his lips at the action.

“Someone’s excited to see me.”

Carmen couldn’t help but laugh at your words, his forehead resting against yours as you smiled. Your hand slipped beneath his boxers, soft fingers wrapping around his dick. Carmen bucked into your hand unconsciously.

“Yeah? Like that?”

He’d gone quiet all of a sudden—just nodding at your words.

“Come on, Carmy. Where’s the loudmouth I know and love?”

“Fuck you.”

You grinned. “There he is.”

You shifted your grip, fingers moving over his head as you continued your languid strokes. He kissed you again—maybe in an attempt to shut you up. Or maybe to stop himself from groaning out loud. You nipped at his lips, tugging them between your teeth.

“Wanna hear you, Carmy,” you whispered against his lips, your voice low, sultry, commanding.

Carmen groaned — this deep, wrecked sound from somewhere in his chest — and you felt his whole body shudder in response. His hands gripped your hips like he was grounding himself, but his resolve was slipping. Fast.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, almost like a prayer, breath hot against your skin.

“Haven’t even got to the best part yet.”

Your words sent a shiver of desire rushing through him. Yes, he had wanted to keep going—that’s why he’d told you to move to the backseat. But to hear you acknowledge it, to hear those suggestive words slip from your lips, ruined any self-control he had left.

Without warning, he shifted, guiding your body further down the seat. His fingers hooked around the edge of your underwear, tugging them fully off this time and tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands spread over your thighs, pushing them open as he settled between them, his gaze trailing down your body like he was memorizing it.

“You still sure?” he asked, voice rasped and a little wrecked.

You nodded–breathless, aching. “Yeah. Fuck, Carmy—please.”

He lined himself up, pressing the thick head of his cock against you, teasing you with just the tip. He watched the way your body reacted — how your hips lifted toward him, how your breath hitched — and he swore under his breath. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, and then he pushed in slow, deep, agonizingly, deliberately.

Your head fell back with a gasp, hands gripping his shoulders as he sank into you inch by inch, filling you completely. The car felt even smaller now, the heat between you overwhelming.

Carmen stilled when he was fully inside, trying to catch his breath, to keep from coming right there.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your neck. “Fuck, you’re warm. Oh god.”

“Carmy,” you whined, biting your lip as you tried to adjust to his size.

He growled — actually growled — and pulled back before thrusting into you again, harder this time. You moaned, nails digging into his skin.

The rhythm started slow, deep, grinding — like he wanted to savor every second — but it didn’t take long before it grew messier, more desperate. You wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer, to let him hit deeper. He bit into your shoulder, hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that had you both panting.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “Fuck—just—so good.”

Your lips brushed his ear as you whispered, “Don’t stop, Carmy.”

Carmen’s hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging in just enough to remind you he was there—anchoring you even as his movements became more urgent, more desperate. Each thrust hit deeper, sending sparks of pleasure bursting through every nerve ending.

Your breath hitched with every collision, a mix of gasps and moans tumbling from your lips, the confined space of the car amplifying every sound. The way he moved—rough yet careful—made you feel cherished and possessed all at once.

He kissed down your jaw, teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as your bodies moved in perfect, heated sync.

You were going to come. You could feel the coil tightening with every thrust. And when Carmen started mumbling words of praise against your neck, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

You met his gaze, eyes shimmering with need and something softer—trust, desire, something unspoken that hovered between you.

“Carmy,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “I want you to come with me.”

His pace faltered for just a moment, but then he nodded, lips brushing against yours in a promise.

The sun was long gone; the only light illuminating the car was a crappy one from the parking lot. You were sure anyone who passed by could tell what was happening inside. With how rough Carmen was moving, you’d be surprised if your beat-up car wasn’t rocking along with the rhythm. But you couldn’t care less. Let them see. Let them watch the show.

The tension coiled tighter, muscles burning, heart pounding. Your world narrowed down to the feel of him, the sound of your joined breaths, the heat that bound you both.

And then, with a shuddering groan, Carmen tipped over the edge, his body trembling as he spilled inside you, every inch of him alive with release.

You clung to him, riding out the waves of your own climax as the world outside faded away.

For a long moment, you just held each other—breathless, tangled, the world outside reduced to distant noise. Your eyes were glued to the ceiling of the car as you tried to catch your breath. You could feel the warmth that still radiated from Carmen's body beside you. Could feel the scratch of his jeans against your bare legs as he shifted into a more comfortable position. 

Carmen rested his forehead against yours, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer. “You okay?”

You nodded, fingers tracing lazy patterns across his sweat-dampened skin. “Better than okay.”

A tired smile tugged at his lips. “Damn, you’re something else.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. “So are you.”

Neither of you spoke for a while, just breathing in the closeness, the newness of what had shifted between you.He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made your heart twist. 

“I don’t want this to end.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“Stay over,” he said quietly, his voice almost a plea. “Sleep in my apartment tonight. Let me wake up to the sight of you in the morning.”

The smile that broke onto your face could have replaced the sun. You tugged him into a soft kiss.

“Okay… but you’re driving.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Wait, what?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” you teased, nudging him gently.

Carmen laughed—a low, warm sound—as he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you. “Alright, alright. I got you.”

As Carmy lay in bed that night, he thought about you. The smell of your perfume lingered in his sheets; he closed his eyes as he inhaled the scent. He could never remember the name of it, but the lingering almond vanilla musk made his heart yearn. “Fuck.” Carmy chuckled; he knew what he had to do. 

“Can’t come over. Work.” You read Carmy’s text aloud to your friend Cecilia. “I sent him pictures, and he didn’t respond for like six hours. I don’t get it.” You groaned, throwing your phone on the couch next to you. Cecilia laughed, “You two are so dumb. He’s clearly into you, but you’re trying to convince yourself that you aren’t into him.” “I’m not into him like that- he’s a good fuck, that’s it.” Cecilia rolled her eyes and playfully slapped your thigh. “You like him, dude. It’s okay, it isn’t a big deal. You can’t have sex with someone for months and not develop at least minor feelings for them.” 

Carmy got out of the shower and noticed a new message from you. He groaned as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He’d been trying to push you out of his head, but he melted when his phone displayed you sprawled on your bed in his favorite lacy underwear and a message about being lonely. You were pleased with yourself when he’d responded almost immediately. When a picture came through of him standing in his bathroom with a towel loosely hung around his hips, chest, and chain glistening with leftover water, it made your stomach flutter.

When Carmy showed up at your place that night, he couldn’t help but think about the last time he’d been at your door. While he enjoyed the casualness of the relationship, he didn’t want anyone else and sure as hell didn’t want anyone else having you. He didn’t even have to knock. You opened the door and pulled him through the doorway. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, needy kiss. Carmy smirked into the kiss. He closed the door with one hand, and the other was under your shirt. Your skin tingled as his fingers pressed against your spine to bring you closer, deepening the kiss.

“On your knees.” Carmy groaned as he pulled away from the kiss, “You wanna be in charge tonight?” you sweetly asked, looking up at him to see his eyes darkened with lust. “On your knees. I don’t want to repeat myself.” Carmy commanded as he pressed a final kiss to your throat. You nodded and sank to your knees. Carmy sighed as you fumbled with the button and fly of his jeans. He watched you pull them down to release his growing erection. You took him in your hand and spit before slowly stroking up the length of Carmy’s cock. You stared up at Carmy as you ran your tongue up the underside of him before taking the tip into your mouth. As you swirled your tongue around it, you felt Carmy’s hand grasp the back of your head. “Come on, princess, you know what I want you to do.”

As Carmy’s orgasm approached, he pulled out of your mouth, a string of salvia connecting your lips to him. “Keep your mouth open.” Carmy moaned as he stroked himself. You giggled and stuck your tongue out for him; his strokes got sloppier as he got closer. “Fuck.” Carmy cursed as he came across your face. He watched as you brought a finger to your cheek to collect the semen and bring it to your mouth, “So fuckin’ hot, baby.”

 “Yea?” you asked, batting your lashes in his direction. You rose to your feet to take him back to your bedroom. You were a few steps ahead before noticing Carmy wasn’t following you, “What ya waitin’ for, Berzatto?” Carmy was buttoning his jeans, “Gotta go. I have plans.” 

You stood there dumbfounded. “What do you mean you have plans?” Carmy shrugged in response before explaining he was going to a bar with a girl he’d matched with on Hinge. “You’re on Hinge? Since when?” you laughed, trying to save face. Carmy nodded, “We’re not exclusive.” “No,” you shook your head, “you don’t get to just come here for head and leave.” you crossed your arms over your chest. “Sorry? Call you later.” Carmy shrugged before walking out of your apartment. “What the actual fuck?” you asked yourself as you stood there expecting Carmy to come back inside to say he was just messing with you. 

Carmy was awoken by pounding on the door; he snapped up and looked over the backside of the couch. His apartment was dark aside from the warm light coming from the TV. He got up and pushed a hand through his hair before going to the door. When he saw it was you, he knew his plan had worked. “Okay. What the fuck is going on with you?” you asked, pushing past him into the apartment. Carmy laughed to himself and closed the door before turning his attention to you, “I wanna be your boyfriend.”