i'm afraid that's me, darling

“Believe me, I, too, would rather be hanging around with Isaac Lahey, yet we’re both here. Let’s just get it over with.” Stiles snorted a laugh, but didn’t comment.

You didn’t not get along with Stilinski. You weren’t sure if you could be called friends, exactly. You’d known each other pretty much all your lives, just like the majority of your school. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a metropolis. 

You sighed and laid out your notes, Stiles following your example. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Those are your notes?” 

There were only doodles, random calculations and sporadic keywords scribbled on the loose piece of crumpled paper he straightened out next to your notebook. 

“I’m surprised, too. There’s actual words. I don’t usually get that far.” The smirk on his face could only be described as smug. You groaned. This was going to take forever. You divided the topics for the paper amongst yourselves and silently got to work. The ‘silently’ part didn't last long, however. It never did with Stiles.

“Are you still living with your uncle?” He questioned suddenly. You frowned at the question, confused, but nodded either way. 

“So can’t you just, I don’t know, cook him dinner and have him give us a good grade?” The gleam in his eyes nearly made you laugh. Nearly. Instead, you flicked him on the side of the head. He whined something about unnecessary violence, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“I’m not bribing my uncle just so you can slack off, Stiles. Besides, I’m never really sure if he even likes me,” you wondered out loud. 

“You and me, both…” Stiles grumbled. 

You glanced at Stiles as he scribbled furiously, seeming to finally get some of his research done. His knees wiggled excessively as he wrote about the economic effects of pandemics. You wrote down a few key parts of the paragraphs in your book before turning to your laptop and beginning the outline of the paper. Stiles hummed quietly as he read the entry he’d just written, tapping his pen furiously against the table. 

“Can you stop that?” You requested, his incessant movement distracting you more than his general being already did. He glanced up, an amused expression on his face. 

“What,” he tapped his pencil faster. “This?” You contained the urge to roll your eyes and stared at him blankly. He stopped the movement for perhaps one whole minute before picking it back up again. 

You only glanced up pointedly this time. He added a jiggle of his knees in challenge. You rose from your chair, leaned over and snatched the pen out of his hand, throwing it across the library. “Fetch.” 

Stiles gaped up at you in surprise. The timing of it was very unfortunate, but you’d never really noticed how Stilinski had grown into his awkward features. Something must’ve shown on your face, because Stiles now looked just as confused, perhaps intrigued, as you felt. While you’d been confident in throwing his pen across the room in annoyance, having him look up at you like that made it so you weren’t sure if you wanted him to get up. You cleared your throat and sat back in your chair. 

“Unbelievable…” Stiles muttered under his breath as he got up to get the pen. It gave you time to recompose. You didn’t look at him as he sat back down, but felt his eyes burn a hole through the side of your head. 

An unfamiliar tension hung in the air while you worked in silence. You snuck glances at Stiles, who was finally focussed on his writing once more. His hair was longer, still messy and unstyled from practice. The grey workout gear perfectly accentuated his broadened shoulders. He bit his lip after reading a complex entry, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on your own, or on your neck while your hands tugged on his now perfectly tuggable locks. 

A few times his eyes met yours. You’d quickly dart them back to your notebook, pretending you hadn’t been looking, knowing damn well he’d seen.  

Oh my god. Get. it. together.

“Did you finish?” You dared ask after a while, having completed your own part. All you had to do was put your parts together, wrap it up and finish. 

“I’ll give it to you, but you have to give something to me first,” Stiles spoke in a challenging tone. For a split second back there you’d wondered how he was still single after all this time, but now you were reminded. He was insufferable. 

“What could you possibly want from me, Stiles? Just give me your damn part.” 

“A kiss.” 

“What? No!” You sputtered. Stiles’ tongue poked the inside of his cheek cockily as he raised an eyebrow, pointing to his lips. 

“Guess you’ll have some explaining to do to your uncle why you’re only handing in half an assignment, then.” 

“This is coercion, Stilinski! Should I call your dad?” You crossed your arms, refusing to look him in the eye. The librarian shushed you loudly. You could feel heat rush to your face, but didn’t relent. Asshole. 

Stiles leaned closer, running a finger over the side of your face. Your heartbeat increased what seemed about tenfold.

“It’s not coercion if you want me to.” His breath hit your neck as he spoke, sending goosebumps down your arms. “And I’m getting the feeling you really want me to.” 

You jerked away from his reach, coming to your senses. You gathered your things into your bag, mumbling something about your GPA being fine, anyway. You stomped away from the table, heart racing. You were mad, not because he was suggesting something you didn’t want, rather that he’d clocked exactly what you wanted so easily. 

Concerned Stiles would follow you out of the library, you hid behind a few bookshelves in a section nobody usually visited. You caught your breath, placing your palm on your chest. You dropped your bag on the floor, turning to peek around the bookshelf to see if Stiles was still stationed at the table. Relieved, you saw he’d indeed decided to follow you out of the library.

You turned back to grab your bag and head out, but were met with Stiles’ face mere inches from your own. You were startled, but he grabbed your waist before you could fall over. His hold was strong. Your hands instinctively went up to his chest, steadying yourself. Had he always been this tall? 

One of his hands wandered slightly lower, rubbing small circles on your lower back. Your eyes met his, which were just shining with mischief and an underlying sense of self-satisfaction. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. 

“Can I be frank? You’re incredibly annoying,” you stated, slinging your arms around his neck, finally giving in. 

“You can be whoever you want as long as I get to kiss you, Frank,” Stiles laughed. You groaned but pulled him close either way. 

“Shut up.” 

Stiles obliged and put his mouth to yours aggressively, tugging your body against his. One of his hands wandered up, cupping the back of your head to bring it closer. You tugged at the small locks at the back of his neck, eliciting a sighed moan from Stiles. 

“You’re so hot,” he confessed when you broke apart for a second. He turned you so you were pushed with your back against the bookcase, a few books falling to the floor. Neither of you cared as your kiss continued, deepening by the second. His hands held your hips as he started grinding against you, sweats low on his hips. His mouth made its way down your jaw, moving to suck hasty kisses on your neck. 

“Stiles…” you sighed blissfully. Heat gathered in your stomach at the soft, breathy noises coming from his lips combined with the sound of them against your skin. He put his knee between your thighs.

“Knew you wanted this as much as I did, fuck,” Stiles groaned. The pressure from his knee was delicious, but not enough. It was almost as if he could read your mind as he slid his hand into your bottoms, working your underwear out of the way somewhat clumsily. 

“God… so wet for me,” he moaned. You could only reply with breathy whimpers, trying to make as little noise as possible. Stiles shushed you, placing his unoccupied hand over your mouth as the other started rubbing small circles over your clit. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the bookcase. Your knees went weak at the sensation, not much holding you up besides Stiles. 

He slipped his hand out of your underwear, bringing a finger up to his mouth. He casually licked it clean. He hooked his thumbs into your bottoms, seeking eye contact and asking for non-verbal permission to tug them down. You bit your lip and nodded enthusiastically. When your underwear hit the floor, so did Stiles’ knees. Your eyes darted around your environment, but the school was nearly empty at this time, especially the library. 

You had to slap your hand over your mouth when Stiles made contact with your clit, his tongue tentatively licking between your folds. Your breathing was laboured, chest heaving as Stiles took his time exploring. Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth, holding in your moans. Your hands shot to Stiles’ hair. Perfectly tuggable, indeed. 

He groaned when you gave an exceptionally sharp tug, taking the time to look you in the eyes. The vibrations of his lowered voice felt good. You had seemingly no control over your hands, fingers tightening their grip the closer you got to the edge. 

“Shit, baby… So good for me. Gotta stay quiet…” Stiles mumbled. A small, high pitched keen left your lips. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep the silence up. You looked down once more and saw Stiles palming himself over his sweats as he continued eating you out, rhythmically grinding his hips in time with his mouth. 

The sound of a bag zipper closing got your attention. You smacked Stiles’ shoulder to stop, wanting to whine in frustration at just how close you’d been. Stiles paid you no mind, lost in giving you pleasure. You put both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, careful not to tip him over. It was only then Stiles noticed the noise of someone packing up to leave. He scrambled to stand up, trying to help you get redressed. 

“I got it, I got it,” you hissed quietly. 

“Who’s there? You can’t be here anymore! Library’s about to close!” It was the librarian who’d shushed you earlier. You grabbed your bag in a hurry. 

“Would you still rather be hanging out with Isaac?” Stiles asked jokingly, wiping his chin. You whacked his arm, storming past him to the doors. He followed quickly, arm wandering over your shoulders as you walked out of the now deserted school. You didn’t speak as Stiles led you over to the Jeep, insisting on driving you home, at least. 

You sat in the passenger seat as Stiles ran around to the drivers’ side. You wiped your hands on your thighs, huffing a frustrated breath. You hadn’t even finished the paper, and now you got cock-blocked on top of it. So not worth it. You turned to Stiles as he put the keys in the ignition. He’d never looked hotter than that very second, lips bruised, hair tousled and still pent up, besides maybe when he looked up at you with his face buried between your legs. Okay so maybe a little worth it. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna pull over and we’re gonna have sex in the back seat like right now,” Stiles joked. Or at least, you assumed it was a joke. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, threat or invitation?” 

“Option D? All of the above? I mean, D is definitely an option.”

“Pull over and we’ll see how much of an option it is.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, pulling over in a small clearing as soon as he saw the opportunity. He took off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the car. He opened the door for you, closing it and letting you in the back seat. You laid back across the seats and manoeuvred your top off, throwing it at Stiles. He caught it, quickly discarding it somewhere in the car. He shimmied his pants down his legs, not bothering to take off his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in your underwear. Stiles stopped to take a proper look. 

“You’re gonna kill me. You’ve already killed me and this is my pre-hell Heaven trailer of what could’ve been. God iwantyousobad.” You pulled him on top of you as you laughed. 

“Less talking, more fucking, yes?” 

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly,” Stiles nodded furiously, tugging his shirt over his head with only one hand. Hot. He finally closed the car door behind him before he could forget. 

“I’m going to assume you don’t just casually keep condoms in your car?” You questioned. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened his lips in frustration, mentally scolding himself. He finally had you in his Jeep, half-naked, ready to fuck, and he didn’t have a freaking condom??? He finally shook his head no, sighing and pulling away from you slowly. 

You leaned up on your elbows and whispered in his ear. “Hmmm… Guess you’re just gonna have to come inside of me… Wouldn’t want to make a mess of the car…” 

Stiles pounced at that, kissing you like his life depended on it. He tugged your underwear back down your legs, now very familiar with your pelvic region. He struggled to undo your bra, cursing under his breath. You laughed and lended a hand, undoing it and slipping it off your shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles groaned. “Promise me to thank Coach for pairing us up.” 

“You did not just mention my uncle as a reaction to seeing me naked,” you complained. 

“I did. Not sorry. He did me a favour.” 

You ignored the comment and decided to kiss him to shut him back up. Him and his mouth… God his mouth. You were still pent up from the library, and if he didn’t fuck you soon you were pretty sure you’d go crazy. 

“Stiles, want you,” you whined impatiently. He was too busy paying attention to your nipples, taking one between his teeth as he made eye contact. “Shit,” you gasped.

Your hands wandered down his torso, stopping at the hem of his boxers. You tugged them down, setting his very hard cock free from its confinement. The tip was red, dribbling with pre-cum. He was obviously just as pent up as you felt. You gave him a few experimental tugs with your hand before lining him up with your entrance. 

Stiles took over, taking his time to slowly push inside you. You put your hands on his shoulders, holding your breath at the stretch. He was so much bigger than you’d expected. You both moaned when he bottomed out. You felt so full, it was insane. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gave him a nod, indicating he could move. 

He set a slow pace, testing the waters. He was enthralled by the jiggle of your tits with every movement. Typical. His hands moved up to hold them, almost as leverage, as he picked up his pace. 

“Fuck, so good,” Stiles moaned. You were about to move a hand down to touch yourself, but Stiles stopped you. 

“Let me make you feel good, let me make you come.” He put one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and brought the other down to where you were joined. He continued to thrust, putting his fingers on your clit. It took him a second, but he found a rhythm where he could thrust and stroke at the same time. 

“Oh my god, Stiles!” You moaned, the added sensation feeling amazing. The sound of his hips slapping against yours was filthy to say the least. You moved to hold onto something above your head as Stiles sped up. Your hands soon found the little ledge, and you gripped it to the best of your ability. 

Stiles bent down to kiss you, pace still unrelenting. The new angle of him bent forward sent his cock exactly where you needed it. 

“Shit, oh my god.” It was all the confirmation Stiles needed to keep it up. 

“So pretty, so tight around my cock. Such pretty tits. You feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips. 

The pace of his hips became more erratic, both of you nearing the edge. Your knuckles turned white with how tight you were gripping the car door. 

“Gonna come inside you,” Stiles moaned. “Fill you up so nice.” 

“Yes, Stiles, please!”  

“Fuck, so good, so good for me,” Stiles was becoming more talkative and less coherent as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was mouthing at your jawline, sucking another hickey where there were already plenty. 

“Fuck, Stiles, gonna come,” you whined. You could feel his smile against your neck. Smug idiot. He then started rubbing your clit exactly the way you liked it. Combined with him hitting that spot inside you over and over and over again, you were seeing stars. 

“Don’t stop, please,” another moan left your lips. 

“Come for me. Come on my cock. So pretty, so good,” Stiles blabbered. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” You keened, tightening around his dick as you came. He kissed you again as his hips stuttered, thrusting a few more times before painting your walls with his cum. His head fell on your chest as you both caught your breath.

When his breathing had slowed, he groaned before lifting himself off you, chuckling as he pecked both your nipples, then your lips before looking for something to clean you with. He settled on the shirt of his lacrosse uniform. 

“Ugh, gross,” you mumbled as he wiped you clean. Stiles shrugged. “It was going into the wash, anyway.” 

Stiles put his underwear and sweats back on, opening the door and getting out so you could have the space to redress yourself. When you reached under the seat for your bra, you pulled out a baseball bat. “Why do you have a baseball bat in your car?” 

“No… Particular reason. Safety. Lots of dangerous animals… out there.” 

“So you settled on a bat?” You wondered, holding the object. Stiles nodded, not meeting your eyes, his locked on your still naked chest. You threw the bat at him and laughed, reaching under the seat again and this time pulling out your bra. 

When you were finally dressed, you got back in the passenger seat so Stiles could drive you home. It wasn’t a long drive, as you’d already been halfway there before pulling over. He drove up the driveway, and you cringed on the inside, hoping your uncle wouldn’t see who dropped you off. You took your bag and got out of the car, walking around to the drivers’ side where Stiles was already leaning out the window. 

You looked at him and gave him a small smile. You leaned forward to give him a kiss goodbye. “You better email me your part of the paper tonight, Stilinski.” 

“You bet, babe,” he winked and gave you a salute, watching as you laughed and turned to walk inside the house. 

You closed the door and took off your shoes, hanging your coat and leaving your bag by the door. “I’m home!” 

Coach took one look at your appearance and frowned. Right… maybe you should’ve straightened yourself out before walking into the living room. Disheveled hair, hickeys on your neck, it wasn’t exactly rocket science as to why you were home later than usual. 

“If you’re gonna be having boys over, do it when I’m not around, please? I have enough of them to deal with at practice and in class. And at least have the decency to tell an uncle who he’s dealing with.” 

You cringed as the Jeep’s headlights very obviously flashed through the window at that very second, Stiles driving home. It was anything but unrecognizable. 

You closed the laptop, not even thinking of a reply.

The desert wind blew the tarps on your research tent wild, and it flapped up and down as you escorted yourself away and toward your dig team. 

They were standing over a square of dirt marked with white rope, measuring around 6 feet each way. 

The dirt was shoveled enough away to show some promise, and you suspected there were human remains underneath, considering there was an ancient city nearby, but you couldn’t figure it out until you had your chance at brushing. 

Even if they weren’t human remains, maybe you’d find the remains of a plant or ancient medical equipment you could swab and bring back home for chemical testing.

“Hey, can we get a set of brushes over here, and a tape measure?” You asked, shouting in the general vicinity.

You heard footsteps scraping against the dirt, behind you.

“This what you’re looking for?”

You thought, what a dumb question to ask, everyone here knows what a dig kit looks like, and once you turned around to grab the toolbox from the outstretched hand you jumped at the familiar face.

“Dr. Grace–what are you doing here? When did you arrive?”

He answered without hesitation.

“Just now, they’ve been expecting me. I didn't want to ruin the surprise.” 

You grabbed the toolkit from his hands and he shrugged, like it was obvious this is where he needed to be.

“Your email didn’t prepare me enough.” You murmured.

If he heard you, he ignored you, and how could you blame him after all he was the one who advocated for your success in the program, the least you could do was let him see you at work.

“I wanted to see what bioarcheology looks like, since we’ll be analysing and conducting chemical tests on the samples you guys collect here together in just a few days.” He explained. 

He sent you a smirk, adjusting his signature glasses, a smirk that he’d often send you in a way you couldn’t read. 

It was always a smirk you were unsure of…on the one hand he was notorious for being smug in academic settings, you knew about his reputation. He’d smirk at any scholar at any chance he could get, and mostly because he was right. 

However, on the other hand he could be smirking in a way that meant he was attracted to you in ways he could never admit, and you could never ask, and you could never do anything about anyway if you felt the same. 

And then there was the possibility that his smirk was overcompensating for his awkwardness with his students in particular that you witnessed just as much as his smugness.

You had to stop yourself from smirking back.

You shrugged, opened your tool kit and grabbed a few scraping tools and brushes.  

“Well I could walk you through it, but I’m mostly just excited to get back home and conduct tests on all of it.” 

“Really? Homesick already?” He asked.

“Not really.” You lied. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

It’s actually the loneliest you’ve ever been. But you weren’t going to admit that to a professor you were working on research with. 

He followed you as you stepped down into the dig site, walking swiftly down and in between various holes avoiding stepping in the white ropes and finally to the site your team was on. 

The rest of your team hopped out of the hole toward the tents mumbling something about taking fifteen, patting you on the back as they left you alone with Dr. Grace. 

When you reached the specific cubic square of the dig site, you laid down on your stomach, and Dr. Grace — or professor Grace, sat down in front of you.

You grabbed a scraping tool, and started scraping tediously in between the dirt and hard stone (or bone) you felt with your finger tips.

“This is pretty boring stuff, but we do it this way to preserve its shape. We don’t want to damage anything by working too quickly. Otherwise we can’t get an accurate testing in the lab.” 

When you looked up for a moment from your work at Dr. Grace, his head was shifted to the right away from you. His jaw line being cut perfectly by the descending sun, his hair flowing in the wind. 

You rolled your eyes for a moment before looking at what he was looking at.

His gaze was fixated heavily on your dig team from before. They were passing around a soccer ball and laughing. Even your archeology expert — a very stubborn archeology prof named Dr. Catherine Hicks and also a mother of three — was playing. 

“So you dig and they play soccer.”

“Well, that’s just now. Not always.” You shrugged.

“Do you play?” 

“No, I never have time, I’m kind of trying to finish a thesis here.” 

“Would you live a little?”

He said it in a way that implied he was going to force you to play soccer, but when you looked up, he was the one running toward the team of soccer player archaeologists. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

The sun was setting now, and you heard everyone switch on the battery operated lanterns around you illuminating the camp in a soft warm hue.

You followed him up out of the dig site onto the main terrain beside the tents and stood watching him kick around the soccer ball with Dr. Hicks. He was bouncing around like a golden retriever, awkwardly fumbling the ball around, missing kicks, and when you met your gaze with his, there was something about pride and determination that knocked the wind out of him as he turned around to kick the ball again. Dr. Hicks let out a genuine laugh for the first time in weeks.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

Hicks just gestured at Dr. Grace.

“If you had told me two years ago that Dr. Ryland Grace, our leading expert on molecular biology in the entire faculty was playing soccer with archeologists, I’d think you were lying. He went through…a tough phase, something about his relationship with his brother. But something new is driving him. I think, to be more involved in the faculty.”

You just firmly nodded, a dozen questions circulating in your head like: what was Dr. Grace like two years ago? and Why hasn’t he ever talked about his brother?

Your conversation was slightly interrupted as the group let out a howl of laughter, and you heard a loud shifting of sand and a thud hit the ground.

You turned your gaze toward Dr. Grace, you noticed he was on the ground, he was rubbing his back in pain.

“Oh god, let's pull out the instant ice packs.” You instructed.

Dr. Hicks nodded, reaching around you into the tent, handing you the icepack unpopped.

You fumbled toward Dr. Grace, and you popped the ice pack, kneeling on the ground to assess his state fully. His glasses were now off of his face clipped to his shirt. He groaned, and reached out, both of your hands sliding against each other awkwardly, your eyes focusing in on each other in a way that you were unfamiliar with. Maybe in embarrassment? 

He pulled the icepack from your hand and pulled it toward his lower back.

“This is exactly why I dig instead of playing soccer.” 

He let out a short laugh.

“I guess I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.” 

You had to actually think about his statement. Because yes he was probably around 45 — not that you’ve had the courage to ask — but it never really felt like there was much of an age difference between you two. It was almost like the sudden remembrance that the gap was there at all distressed you. 

“Maybe, or maybe you just went too hard.” You tried, reassuring.

Your first name slid off his lips in a sarcastic way, and you realized you’ve never heard him say your first name until now. There was always something overly academic about the way he’d call all his students by their last name.

“I know how old I am, you don’t have to reassure me.”

You reach your hand out to help him up, and you start leading him toward a spare tent. You knew he needed rest and knew full well you’d be up all night digging if Dr. Hicks allowed you to use her head lamp and her stationary LED lamps.

Only when he was on his feet did you both acknowledge that you were holding his hand for a little too long with the tilt of his face toward your hand. You let go abruptly, embarrassed.

You gestured at the tent.

“So uh, this is the spare tent, it’s usually for our funders who come to visit…but seeing as there are none on sight tonight…”

“Then it goes to me, how special.”

You opened the tarp doorway and walked in behind him, closing the tarp behind you both. The mere idea of being in an enclosed space with him wasn’t unfamiliar, you’d been in labs alone with him, in his office discussing your ideas — admittedly shifting your conversation to things a little more casual like your shared interests — but you had never spent a night in the same camp as him.

“So this is it, I guess.” You said, turning on the battery powered lantern. “I guess I’ll leave you to–”

“Wait, stay a little, let’s talk about your progress.” He said abruptly. 

“Oh.”

“Unless you wanted to dig more, but I have a feeling you’ve been overworking yourself enough already.”

He sat down on one of the two foldable cots in front of you, you reluctantly sat in front of the cot across from him. Not because you didn’t want to talk to him, but because you could feel a ‘Dr. Grace talk’ about to start. The kind of talk where he’d give you unprompted advice because he could read you so well and somehow knew you needed it, even though every time you were stubbornly reluctant about said advice. Something about it always bothered you, you didn’t know what. 

“I mean…I kind of have to if I want to do my master’s.”

“What’s the rush?” He asked. “Why not travel the world and fall in love–”

You couldn’t believe what kind of conversation this was turning into, you didn’t know whether to be mad or confused. Your instinct reaction, words slipped out,

“Why is there this inherent rule that you can’t fall in love and pursue your career? I mean maybe I don’t get it because I’m not that kind of person–”

“What kind of person?”

You thought for a moment, rewinding your train of thought. You wanted to ask him about his brother, but you couldn’t, he had never told you about his brother in confidence before. But you knew exactly what he was trying to get you to say, and the conversation wasn’t about that anyway.

There was something about the way Dr. Grace could read you and talk at you that made words fall seamlessly out of your brain and out of your mouth into mid air without having to think. 

“The kind of person that prioritizes love over career, the kind of person that falls madly in love that it becomes self sacrificing I guess. Maybe I’m too young to understand. I don’t know.”

“How old are you again?”

You realized it was the first time he’s asked.

“I’m twenty-five.” 

“Right…”

His gaze drifted elsewhere as he moved to shift the ice pack away from his back, to toy with in his hands. You were staring a little too long at the way his hands moved, comparing the size of them with your own in your head.

There was a silence just then that for you solidified a difference between you and him that was untouchable. It solidified another idea: that you were aimlessly waiting for him to excuse that difference, to make it feel okay for thinking there was something less academic there. Instead you talk,

“Dr. Grace?”

The formal title seemed to knock something back into him, and he looked back up at you, unclipping his glasses and putting them back on his face. He mumbled a soft ‘hmm?’.

“Were you ever that kind of person when you were my age?”

You were expecting a cringe at the reminder of your difference, but it didn’t come. He just leaned forward toward you, placing his hands on your thighs, his gaze looking at you hesitantly.

You felt your body freeze up and as if he realized who he was talking to he pulled his hands back leaving you embarrassingly desperate for them to be back on you again.

“I think I used to be so against being that kind of person, but now I envy people who are capable of being that kind of person and succeed. Like maybe they were right all along.”

This time, you reach over and place your hand on his knee, rubbing there with your thumb comfortingly. You try and not magnify this fact, just try to touch him like you’ve now just realized you’ve always wanted to. He swallowed loudly, and he looked at you, a blush now spreading across his cheeks.

“Maybe they were wrong all along.” You shrugged. “My ex was like that. He wanted to settle down and I wanted to well…do this. I just think maybe there can be both. But especially this.”

You lifted your hand from his knee and gestured around the room, signifying that this was the moment you were in right there.

“I think there can be both.”

And when he said it he looked at you like he was an option, and you cleared your throat as you stood up suddenly at the revelation. 

“I’m gonna–um–”

“Uh yea–you have work to do.”

You turned toward the door, before turning abruptly back to face him again.

“Uh, when do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.” He spoke.

“Oh–”

“Yea, well I just wanted to see you before you head to Antarctica.”

“Right. To monitor my research.” You said plainly, your excuse for what had just happened.

“Right.” 

You shifted on your feet for a moment, your heart now racing at the implications of the interaction. 

“Well, I’ll come say goodbye tomorrow morning, and I’ll send you an email updating you…to let you know what we’ll need in the lab when I get home.”

He nodded, and you both said nothing and you headed back out toward your dig site feeling like you were in a very strange dream.

The next morning was cordial. You said goodbye to Dr. Grace, unable to make any kind of meaningful eye contact, and loaded him back into the shuttle toward the airport.

 And when you finally completed your dig a total of five days after Dr. Grace’s visit you received another email just as you were about to head to the airport yourself for your next dig site. You found yourself excited to read it, your heart racing again.

August 20 — from: [email protected]

I am so sorry for you having to witness me throw out my back, but I hope the rest of your next program in Antarctica goes smoothly. 

I have to admit, there was something about you that made me realize how lonely you must be without that one friend I assigned as your lab partner three years ago.

I hope to see you in the lab soon.

Dr. Grace

PhD Molecular biology

Associate professor in the faculty of science

***

August 25 — to: [email protected]

Dr. Grace,

It was quite a joy actually, witnessing your age show. I hope you don’t mind that I’m teasing you about that. I was definitely less lonely after seeing you, pardon my bluntness.

My Antarctica program is going smoothly…I’ll tell you more once I’ve settled in.

Yours

Bachelors of archeology and biology

September 1 — to: [email protected]

Dr. Grace,

I am finally settled into Antarctica. The team and I managed to find Dr. Delaware’s old bottle of whiskey, we stole it from his side of the outpost. Anyway, we managed to get caught sharing the whiskey drunk out of our minds, and instead of chastising us, Dr. Delaware grabbed the bottle and joined us. This is a secret you must not tell anyone!

He kept asking about you. My best friend back home keeps asking about you. And admittedly, mostly, I am here in this email asking about you.

It’s way too cold here, I hope you’re warmer back home.

Yours

Bachelors of archeology and biology

September 20 — from: [email protected]

These requests seem too stealthy to answer with my university email, so I’m replying with my personal. You can feel free to use this. 

I promise to never tell Dr. Delaware that you stole his whiskey. 

I have to resist myself from asking anyone who will listen about you.

P.S I owe you a hot chocolate to make up for the cold down south.

Ryland Grace.

PhD molecular biology

September 25 — to: [email protected]

Dr. Grace,

Thank you for keeping my secret.

I have finally finished my research down south.

As for the lab…I am planning on flying back home to finish our lab work next week. 

Unfortunately, I am in Los Angeles to visit that friend you were talking about in your last email. She ended up having a stroke, so I’ll be in LA for the next couple days.

I’ll take you up on that hot chocolate next week.

P.S it’s flattering to hear you ask about me as much as I ask about you.

Yours

Bachelors of archeology and biology 

***

You were in LA when you received a reply to your email — an email you sent five days ago — you’re sitting by the pool behind your shitty motel, it’s nearly midnight and you had your earbuds in, and your feet in the water. 

The only light in sight came from the vacant sign. The shitty motel, the only one you could afford off of your limited student loans you had left. The pool is the only thing illuminated now too, behind the hotel, no doors in sight, nothing to bother you, just your own thoughts.

You had to admit you were being unusually flirty with someone you had assumed to not want to cross the boundaries of. But Dr. Grace was right, you were lonely, and he was giving you something you hadn’t experienced in a while — someone who genuinely listened. The chime of the notification interrupted the Sara Bareilles song you were listening to, and you fumbled to open it. You paused your music and took your headphones out.

September 30 — from: [email protected]

Don’t worry about it, your friends come first. A stroke at 25(?) seems a bit young and I’m so sorry! I’m actually in LA too to see my brother who managed to fall off a building and break his back. I'd tell you more, but I’m arriving at my motel in a bit.

And let’s be honest this doesn’t seem like the academic talk you need right now.

P.S Get your first draft of your thesis into Dr. Morgan’s office by Wednesday and we will regroup.

Ryland Grace.

PhD Molecular Biology

You hoped the world was forgiving for wanting to use Dr. Grace’s personal email for much more than academic rigour. You couldn’t seem to get the thought out when you heard a familiar voice rounding the fence, and you knew who it was without looking.

Dr. Grace was pacing on his phone, talking loudly, angrily, before he saw you, and he reacted as if he had done something horrible. He managed to hang up the phone and he freezed on the other side of the fence. You discarded your phone to the side.

“Are you following me, Professor Grace?” You asked, a smirk appearing on your mouth experimentally.

He walked through the gated door.

“Wow this looks extremely unprofessional doesn’t it?” He grumbled, he lifted his glasses to rest on top of his head, pinching his nose in between his fingers. “I swear to god I had no idea you were here, I just came back from the hospital and this is the only motel–”

“You could afford it. Yea it’s tough out here. Sit.” You instructed, patting the edge of the pool, the area next to you.

Dr. Grace lowered himself next to you cautiously, forcing about a foot of space next to you. You let out a laugh at him, and at yourself for wanting him to be much closer than he was. How ridiculous was this?

You both looked out into the pool, silence overcame you both, you cleared your throat. You may as well talk, you invited him to sit…and you so desperately wanted to know what this dynamic change meant.

“Your brother fell off a building?” You asked.

He flinched at your words, as if he was consumed by his own inner thoughts. He relaxed when his eyes met yours, and he barely laughed, a tilted smile sent your way. 

“He’s a stuntman. I guess something went wrong with the rig.” He said, he was untying his shoes now, discarding them so he could put his feet into the water.

“Oh.”

“Yea.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

You traced your mind back to the email, to the questions you wanted to ask but could never before…because you were just a student and he was just a professor overseeing your work. But this fact was becoming lose as the emails went on so you spoke,

“Dr. Grace?”

“Ryland, please. I think it’s time, I mean you’re graduating in four months.”

“Right. Ryland, are you and your brother close?” You asked. 

He shrugged, and you watched as he moved the question around in his head, considering your words.

“I think we used to be…before he dropped out of university. He said he wanted to do stunts, and I took that as a failing. I was too involved in my own success that I found myself comparing him to me.” He admitted.

“Stunts sound cool.” The only thing you managed to say. “I’m sorry he got hurt.”

“Yea well, it happens…I guess in that line of work.”

You frowned.

“How was Antarctica?” He asked.

“Cold, lots of whiskey, lonely. We found so much less than we did in Mexico, but, oh well.” You shrugged.

“I still cannot believe you got drunk with Dr. Delaware.” He laughed.

“Me neither to be honest. I wish you had been there.”

And that honest fact had an edge in the conversation, but it didn’t halt it enough for him to stop laughing at your candor. He shifted closer to you, you wondered if it was a conscious choice or not.

“How’s your friend? She’s too young to be having a stroke.”

“You didn’t manage to catch some hot chocolate on the way did you?” You asked.

Ryland sent you a look, his expectation that you answer…oh the professor in him peeking out. You cringed at the thought, you weren’t in the classroom, you were sitting beside a pool with a very attractive man who happened to have been your professor one time and it frustrated you that you didn’t know how to navigate the fact that you’ve both been sending signals back and forth for weeks.

“Do you have to be so noble?” You asked.

You were never much for vulnerability. You had a deflection in mind.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes at his fake obliviousness.

You just shrugged, forgetting it, and stood up, you shrugged off your shirt, leaving you bare chested.

“Woah, hey–”

“Would you live a little?” You asked, the same question from Mexico he had asked falling off of your lips.

You looked down at his face, he paused, lifting his head upward toward you. It took everything in you not to bring your hand down toward his face to run your hand over his stubble. His mouth hung agape, his eyes fighting between shifting to your chest and to your face. 

You looked away, shrugging your pants and underwear off next, before jumping into the pool. When you surfaced, Ryland was sitting there still, his clothes slightly splattered with water droplets that flew toward him during your plunge. Water droplets slipped down the lenses of his glasses too.  

You wondered why you didn’t feel embarrassed, you had no idea what his intentions were. But maybe it was the fact that you had been awake for more than 12 hours, and the fact that it felt like your world was crumbling and you just needed to feel something…that helped you give no shits. 

You swam closer to Ryland, your feet barely touching the floor, you peered at him in between his opened thighs. You placed your hand on the same knee you had your hand on weeks ago, wetting his jeans with the water running from your skin. 

“Your turn.” You whispered.

You reached forward, taking his glasses off of his face and placed them on the edge of the pool.  

And you were shocked, when Ryland wordlessly stood up, his eyes still wide in shock, and threw off his own shirt. You heard his breath hitch when his hands stumbled toward his belt and the zipper off his jeans.

When you saw the zipper un zip, and watched him discard his belt, you turned to look away, drifting in the water, the seriousness of the situation coming back to you. 

“You can–you can watch.” You heard Ryland say.

And it pierced through you, your heart picking up speed at the idea of seeing professor Ryland Grace naked. 

You had moments during labs when you’d catch yourself staring at his biceps for longer than you had intended, and moments like in Mexico when you couldn’t help but categorize every moment you thought he was even the slightest bit attractive into a folder in your mind. But this was different.

You turned your body back around to face him, a blush rising to your face.

Ryland pulled his jeans off, leaving him in only white boxer briefs. You followed your eyes down his chest toward his V line, trying your best to keep a straight face. When he hooked his thumb into his boxers, and you looked at his face, you caught something like hesitation there…as if he was about to put all of it back on. Instead, he pulled them off too.

You caught a glimpse of him well enough to see him smirk at the way your eyes traveled, before he jumped into the water after you. The splash shocked you and a laugh escaped your throat as he surfaced from the water too, he gasped for air.

“What the hell was that?” He asked, bewildered.

“I honestly don’t know.” You answered.

You experimentally drifted in the water toward him, surprised to have his hands land on your waist under the water as you gripped onto his bare shoulders.

“This is a compromising position.” He whispered.

And yet neither of you managed to protest even a little. He lifted his hand to swipe away the wet hair from your forehead and you gasped at the casual contact.

“Professor Grace–”

“Ryland.” He corrected.

“Ryland,” You murmured, and tilted your head closer to his.

He pulled back clearly in protest with himself, you let out a frustrated groan. 

“What happened with your friend?” He asked. “Please.”

It came out as a beg, like he needed the distraction, his grip on your waist tightened, and he held you at an arms length distance, your feet now both touching the ground of the pool as he led you to push you against the wall. Apparently, nakedness was also a forbidden thought, your most vulnerable parts so close together, not something you’d dare to bring up.

You caught his eyes, the glance between your mouth and your eyes.

“Well…I used to always compare myself to her. She was doing excellent in your labs, in every class really…and one day I asked how.”

“And?” 

“She had a cocaine habit, and apparently an adderall habit too. Anyway, it got bad and she was forced to move back home and she ended up having a stroke at work. I mean, I tried to help her so many times, and I thought it was my fault, but–”

Ryland moved his head down to graze his mouth against your lips, and you both stood there for a moment doing nothing about it. 

Your lips both moved close enough for a second to engage in a very small feathery light kiss, nothing more, his mouth breathing heavily into you, he whispered your last name softly, you corrected him, instructing him to use your first name, and he did in a way you had never heard anyone say your name before.

His forehead fell onto yours desperately, and you whined.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He whispered, the vibrations of his voice hitting your face.

“It wasn’t your fault either.” You breathed. “Your brother will be fine.”

This time you try to tilt your head in a way that would land your mouth on his more meaningfully, more concretely, in a way that would count. But he dodged it and you sigh at his avoidance.

“I don’t know what this is.” You admitted.

And that got him off of you immediately, lifting his forehead fully. He unclamped his hands off your waist and pulled away abruptly. His eyes widened in sheer panic.

“I can’t–I’m too old for this, for you–”

“Ryland–”

“Dr. Grace.” He corrected.

And you watched as he descended out of the pool, putting back on his clothes, leaving you literally naked and confused in the motel pool.

***

October 5 — to: [email protected]

Ryland, 

I’m so sorry for putting you in such an awkward position when you were most vulnerable…I guess I was feeling a little vulnerable myself.

I hope your brother has a speedy recovery.

Yours

Bachelors or archeology and biology

October 25 — from: [email protected]

Just checking in on how your thesis is going, are you in need of more lab time?

Ryland Grace.

PhD molecular biology

***

You avoided Ryland like the plague when you got back home, but it became abundantly clear that you could no longer avoid lab time like you so desperately wanted. 

So when you received Ryland’s overly professional email, you were checking your email on your phone one evening as you were about to leave your apartment to the university, to use the lab offered to you by a different professor. That professor exclusively promised you that you could work in his lab after hours, like now — 6:00pm — since you told him you worked better at night.

You were just about to grab your laptop and start heading out, until you heard a horrible crashing sound. 

You ran toward where the sound was coming from — your bedroom — and gasped as you watched water spew out of the ceiling in huge heaps straight onto your bed comedically, flooding the entire room. Your laptop was completely destroyed, along with your other things.

Not only were you avoiding the one person you respected the most at the entire university, you were running on two hours of sleep trying to finish your thesis, your best friend had just recovered from a massive stroke, and now your laptop was damaged.

You grabbed your soaked laptop, and your tote bags — one containing research samples you definitely should have put in the lab chamber and one containing your charger and notebook — and dialed your landlord's number. 

When he picked up, he told you he was going to send people to shut off the water coming from upstairs, but that you should find somewhere else to go while they do maintenance. 

So instead of staring at the pouring water continuing to flood your apartment, you got into your car and drove to the university, sobbing hysterically on the drive then up until you tried pushing the door open to the lab.

When it didn’t open, you realized you'd made a horrible mistake. Because you looked up through the locked glass door and made eye contact with Ryland. You had instinctively walked toward Ryland’s designated lab.

You caught Ryland’s eyes, he was wearing one of his science pun shirts, the lab safety goggles pushed to the top of his head, his glasses firmly on his face, those stupid glasses that were the first thing you’d ever realized was what made you attracted to him in the first place.

He rushed over to you, opened the door swiftly, and when you panicked going to turn around, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you inside.

“Ry–Dr. Grace, I’m sorry I meant to—”

“Woah, hey, hey,” He grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into the light of the lab. “What’s wrong?”

You laughed through your hysterical sobbing, dropping your bags on the floor.

“My apartment flooded!” You shouted.

“How long have you been awake?” He asked.

“Four days, but I had a 20 minute power nap…yesterday.” 

You sobbed again, harder this time, and Ryland looked at you just as panicked as you felt. Your mind drifted toward your laptop in your bag, drenched in water, and you gasped at the realization.

“My thesis is on my laptop, and it's destroyed.” 

You pushed away from him, pulling your laptop out of your bag. You shoved it in his hands, the water still seeping in the sides of it. That was also when you registered that the bottom of your pants had been soaked in water, and you hadn’t managed to even bring a jacket. You had managed to walk to your car in the windy conditions, as well as through the university campus without even feeling the chill.

His silence was deafening and you didn’t have the nerve to look into his eyes, not since your last encounter that had managed to change things drastically. He placed your laptop down on a lab bench.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “I don’t actually know why I’m here–well I do, I was going to do work in Dr. Delaware’s lab, but then I—and then you–”

“Hey, come here.” He interrupted, signalling you over with two fingers.

You crossed your arms over your chest, assessing his face, his body.

“Really?” You asked.

And he nodded, like it was the easiest interaction he’s had with you in weeks. He opened his arms, and you walked over wrapped your arms around his neck, and you nuzzled your head into him, his biceps securing you strongly to his chest.

You both stayed there for what felt like forever, and you listened to his heart beating. The tapping of it against your head regulating you, and he breathed slowly in and out leading you to breathe too. 

“That’s it, that’s perfect.” He praised, when your breathing began to match his own. “It’s going to be okay.”

He pulled you back enough to raise your face with his hand, and you thought for a moment — in the silence and in the way he was looking at you — that he might finally kiss you like he meant it, that he’d finally kiss you like he could care less about rules and conventions. But instead he said,

“Grab your things, we’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my apartment, you need food and sleep, not research.”

“You know I’m not fragile, I’m actually quite strong.”

“You have your fragile moments, this is one of them.”

For once, you didn’t feel the energy to argue.

“Take my car.” You responded, drained.

You grabbed your bags off the floor beside your feet, and this time, surprisingly, Ryland was the one to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers, his panic turning into shyness as you walked out the lab and toward the parking lot.

As you walked through the dark campus, no eyes on either of you, you wondered what it would be like to have him like this in the daylight. What perceptions would people have of you both, what would his reputation turn into? His thumb rubbed softly against yours. 

“I don’t know what this is either.” He admitted.

You managed only an ‘Okay’, when you reached your car in the upper campus lot. He opened the door to the passenger seat, a silent agreement that you were in no condition to drive. 

You slumped into the seat and you let him buckle you in, he grabbed your car keys and he closed the door quickly to get into the driver's seat, adjusting the seat so it pulled back for his long legs and his mirror height.

The drive to this apartment was quiet, a different kind of silence, one that was comfortable. A comfortable silence you often found in places like the lab with him, or in office hours when you were secretly staring at him when he proof read your research drafts and research proposals. This was just like that. You stared at him as he drove. You followed the arch of his nose, the clench of his jaw, and your eyes ran down to his hand as he reluctantly placed it on your thigh, rubbing you with his thumb, his hand staying firmly in place.

When he parked the car he managed to get to your door quickly enough to open it for you as you unbuckled.

You chuckled.

“Were you this sweet when you were my age?”

He cringed then shook his head.

“Tried to be…I think.” He simply responded.

You grabbed his arm as he closed the door leading you into his apartment complex. In the elevator you felt yourself getting drowsy, your head fell onto his shoulder in exhaustion. In response he moved his arm to wrap around your waist, steadying your collapsing body.

When you got to his door you waited as he unlocked it, and grabbed your bags from you as you stepped in. It was surprisingly organized — small — but organized.

Everything had a place, all his books on an ikea shelf, his CD’s in a shelf on the wall, his blankets folded on the small green couch, even his shoes and jackets were hung up nicely.

You noted the sci-fi posters and the posters of the cellular structures of plants and animals, the coffee rings on the table, a book he must have been currently reading on the coffee table, a photograph of a man you assumed to be his brother — who looked identical to him — and a plant he seemed to take tedious care of in the corner thriving.

You turned toward the kitchen, a simple kitchen with granite counters and wooden cabinets. Nothing too special, it flowed easily into the living room.

It was like looking into a version of him you never got the privilege of seeing because he was just another professor. But you were a different version of yourself now standing in his living room too and you couldn’t take that as solid evidence that being there and being with him was allowed, but it surely counted for something.

“Huh.” 

“What?” 

Ryland closed the door with his foot, locking it, and hung his keys on the key rack beside his jackets.

“Nothing, I just–like it.” You said, signalling to the room.

Ryland ducked his head in embarrassment, his gaze shifting toward his feet.

He mumbled when he was nervous and you noticed it often when he had forgotten the instructions to a lab test you were asking to do, or when he was giving any kind of public seminar.

“It’s not the best for a professor, but I think my salary is about to increase–”

“Ry,” the nickname caught his attention, and he looked back up at you. “I like it, really I do. Thank you for letting me stay.”

He bobbed his head in a simple nod and then he walked toward you, leading you — with his hand on your lower back — into his bedroom. 

“Your pants are covered in flood water, you can uh–you can pick out some sweatpants and a shirt if you need, they’re in the bottom dresser drawer.” He explained, and you noted the blush rising to his cheeks.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll–I’ll let you change. I’ll make you some food and by food I mean heating up leftover Chinese from my grading session with my TA’s.”

Ryland left the room back into the kitchen and living room situation. 

You leaned down to open the wooden dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. You picked a pair of grey sweats, and closed the door to undress. You pulled off your wet jeans, and stepped into his pants, they were baggy, but comfortable and you sighed at how relaxed you suddenly felt. 

You slipped your shirt off too instinctively, and picked the first shirt you saw. A shirt that said “UM the element of confusion”, and you laughed at how accurate the feeling was right then before pulling it over your head. You heard the microwave beep as you dropped your old shirt to the floor.

You walked back into the living room, and into the kitchen area. When Ryland glanced at you, he smiled, he smiled at you just entering the room with teeth and all. You witnessed his chest relax, his shoulders fell and you relaxed in part.

“Thank you for the clothes.”

“You’re welcome,” He rubbed the back of his head, and he stepped toward you tugging on the shirt you wore. “You look good in my clothes.”

You blushed, unsure of what category the relationship you had was falling into. 

“Thanks.”

Ryland walked back toward the microwave, and handed you a white bowl of leftover Chinese noodles and rice — along with a metal fork — and popped his bowl into the microwave. You resort to sitting on top of the kitchen island in front of him, your legs hanging off the edge as you ate.

He pulled his food out of the microwave and stood in front of you eating. Neither of you were sure how to navigate that. You ate in silence, and when you were done, you put your bowl down on the counter. You watched as he ate silently, and you tried to be logical, to not feel the thing you feel right then, but you did. Because you were sitting in his apartment, wearing his clothes, eating his leftover food, because your apartment flooded and he so nobly offered you a place of refuge. 

There was something about that, that had to account for something…had to mean that this was okay now, this was easy, you could stop pretending you were just a student to him.

His mouth opened and shut, and you took it in yourself to speak first,

“For some reason I have this fear that you don’t think about me unless I’m right in front of you. I feel like I’m running around in figure-eights around you. And you’re the one who sent the first email!”

He stepped closer to you, in between your legs his face looking at you directly at the same height, and you thought, this is the most eye contact we’ve done for weeks.

He placed his hands on your clothed thighs, and this time he didn’t pull back, and you experimentally placed one hand on top of his. You had been right previously, his hands were much larger compared to yours.

“I try not to think about you, but I can’t stop, that’s the truth.” He threw his hands up agitated. 

You watched him back away and he started to pace across the hardwood floor.

“I get so anxious and nervous around you, I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, and how incredibly talented you are, I always want to tell you all the new fun facts I learn — I mean did you know that penguins have a gland above their eye that converts saltwater into freshwater,” He looked at you, his eyebrows perking up.

You laughed at his adorable rant, the Ryland you knew coming out.

“It’s called a supraorbital gland,” He clarified, solidifying the fact with a downward motion of his hand. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that one for weeks when you mentioned seeing the penguins at the zoo two months ago! I mean—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“What if it’s just gravity? We just keep falling toward each other, and maybe this doesn’t have to mean anything more than that?”

“And what if it’s timing? I mean, I didn’t ask to be a renegade when I met you.”

“Is that what's stopping you, anxiety?”

He didn’t hesitate when you pulled him down by the collar of his shirt so his face was a mere inches in front of yours. His lips grazed yours again and this time, he was the one to finally press a firm kiss to your bottom lip, your lips parted as you kissed him back just as firm, lifting your hand to the back of his neck…running your fingers through his hair there. He shivered at the feeling, and pulled back, gasping for air.

“We can’t–I can’t–”

“I’m graduating in four months,” You reached toward him, lifting the glasses off of his face and pulling him down again by his shirt firmly, you kissed him again, and he groaned into it. “And you’re not even my professor anymore.”

He placed his hands on your body, running them up your thighs, and up to your waist, before pulling them under your shirt and running them up your bare back.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, against his body. His mouth desperately parting in hungry kisses, his tongue for the first time grazing yours — which you welcomed with the tilt of your head to the left — for a second before his mouth landed on your upper lip.

He pulled back only, to drift his mouth to the right side of your neck. His mouth sucked and kissed along the skin there, and your head fell back instinctively in response, and a whine left your mouth and you were surprised it came out at all — his mouth making your body surrender and pull down all your defenses and tendencies to stay quiet out of embarrassment.

You didn’t care, he was there, making you feel good.

“You are trouble.” He groaned the last syllable.

“I know.”

He kissed you again, your mouths fighting for dominance. He pulled his hands back to your thighs and instructed you to wrap them around his waist.

He lifted you off of the counter and you separated from his mouth, his lips chased yours as he walked backward toward his bedroom. You smiled at his desperation, you lowered your head to nip at the skin below his jaw and he whimpered. It shocked you, how fragile he was at the whims of you.

He didn’t even bother closing the door as he lowered you onto the bed, the blankets already a mess, neither of you caring as he used his hand to open your thighs, you stopped him and grabbed his hand lowering it to the elastic waistband of the sweatpants you wore.

“You just put these on.” He whispered.

His tone implied that this was his way of taking care of you, his eyes shone in empathy at you and you brought your hand up to his face, rubbing the stubble with your thumb.

“Professor Grace, please, I have been begging for you to touch me.”

Ryland groaned, dropping his head at the formality and it took him less than a few seconds to take his sweatpants off you.

“Okay.” He whispered, a blush creeping up his face to his ears.

His sudden shyness made you curious, you wanted to understand how his smugness shielded it.

You laid your head against his pillow, and you looked at the ceiling waiting in anticipation for him to touch you in any way. You felt his hands travel to open your legs, and he kissed up your neck again. His fingers ran down your left thigh, up and down, until he swiveled them to graze closer to your center.

When you felt his fingers graze up and down the fabric of your underwear, finding your clit circling it through the fabric, your hips stuttered and you sighed.

You relaxed in the idea of his fingers on you, making you feel good, the same fingers he’d use to adjust your microscope in the lab or graze against yours when you grabbed a glass jar of chemicals. This was less sterile. This was different.

His mouth that was still on your neck formed into a smile.

“Hmm, you want more?” He asked.

“Please.” You begged.

“I’ve been wanting to taste you.” He admitted.

And you sat up a bit, to watch his reactions. He paused, and he looked at you for the go ahead. You were so shocked at the idea of your professor having thought about you like this before.

You gave him a nod. So he cautiously, as if you were fragile — and you were this was becoming a fragile moment — hooked his finger into your underwear and pulled them down your legs. His eyes stayed on your as he discarded them to the side.

He watched wordlessly as you sat up and took off the shirt in one fluid motion too.

He kissed you then, a firm peck, before he began kissing down your chest. He sucked and paid close attention to how you shivered, and how your body arched in anticipation.

He began kissing down your stomach and when he paused and looked up at you his eyebrows furrowing in your direction you were worried you had done something wrong, but all he said was,

“You’re perfect.”

And continued down to your thighs. When finally you felt his tongue find you, you felt him lick a straight line from your entrance up toward your clit, the contact shook you.

Your hands immediately locked onto his head, pulling at his hair. And his mouth began to move, his tongue circled your clit in agonizingly slow motions. And his mouth moved to latch onto it fully, you felt his tongue drift up and down and when he licked into your entrance his nose rubbed against your clitoris perfectly.

“Oh god, Ryland, so good.” You whined, writhing.

He groaned when you began rocking your hips, grinding against the bridge of his nose. The nose you always found so attractive, his side profile you’d stare at subtly in labs.

“Fuck, that’s it, you taste amazing.” He moaned.

His voice was muffled by you as his mouth moved over your core.

It felt like every worry in your mind about what this was was nowhere to be found.

You gripped the bedsheets with your free hand, your grip on Ryland’s hair getting tighter as you rocked over his nose. Your legs opened further and your feet planted themselves on the mattress.

You could feel the pressure building, you were already getting close, and that’s when he inserted a finger inside of you, rubbing that perfect spongy spot firmly with the pad of his finger. You moaned pornographically, and only then — for the first time in the entire night — were you embarrassed.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you?”

He asked, and he titled his head up, to watch you writhe and then back down to let you continue your rocking. You nodded incessantly.

“Yes, Ryland, please.”

“That’s it, that’s perfect, come for me.”

And you did, hard. Your back arched and you felt the pressure built into a radiating pleasure that flew up your body, and the sound that came out of your mouth echoed through the room.

He laughed. Actually laughed when you relaxed. You let out a content sigh, your body going lip under his hands.

And instead of pausing, he licked you again, drinking up your cum, and you whined at the feeling, letting him do his thing, until you tugged on his hair and you pulled him up toward you.

His mouth was covered in your wetness, and his nose glistened from your slick as well.

“You laughed at me.” You accused.

He lifted his hand to cup your face, looking down at your lips, not a smirk, a genuine smile being sent in your direction.

“That’s just the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you.”

This time you smiled genuinely, and you kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.” You murmured.

When you pulled your mouth down to nibble at his skin, your tongue licking there before sucking, it was his turn to crumble. And when you felt him scotch up toward you, and you ran your hand down his chest, and to his jeans, you felt how hard he was already.

You ran your hand over his clothed cock, and his hips bucked forward, you laughed at him this time as he groaned.

“You laughed at me.” He accused this time.

“It’s just. you’re not as strong as I previously thought.”

“I want to be inside of you.” The words came out faster as you ran your hand up and down his clothed length. “God I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

“Nobody will find out.” You said, bringing your mouth back up to kiss him.

He leaned forward, kissing you, guiding you to lay back down on your back.

You watched as he stood and threw his shirt off, his toned chest once again making you drool. He slowly took off his belt, and this time when he unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down along with his boxers, you took in the sight of his hard cock already seeping with precum. He smirked at your reaction, and slowly crawled back toward you on the bed.

When he found your mouth, he lowered himself, so that his arms were on either side of you. He kissed your button lip once, then your top lip before parting his lips to slip his tongue against yours.

And you opened willingly, grazing your tongue against his in one big fluid motion, tilting your head to deepen it before you kissed him again harder.

You felt Ryland bring his hand down to his cock, and you pulled back to watch him stroke himself. He whimpered, his head falling back at the feeling of his own hand, his eyes shutting momentarily.

You brought your hand down to his cock, and paused his own motions, you bit your lip as you guided his length through your folds.

“Mmm, fuck you’re gonna kill me.” He moaned.

And you rocked your hips, just relishing in the friction of his cock sliding against your wetness, the tip of it hitting your clit.

When his hips tilted back, he grabbed himself, and lined up to your entrance. And he paused, his eyes slightly wider than before, yet still drunk in you.

He scanned your face, and you scanned his face back and he asked,

“Is this okay?”

And you nodded, and you let him thrust forward and sink inside of you. The feeling was just as you imagined, and when he bottomed out, his hips close to yours, he fell forward his chest against your chest, and he kissed you softly.

“Fuck, I’ve imagined this way too many times before.”

“For how long?”

“Since August.” He whispered.

You only rocked your hips in response and he let out a moan you only heard in pornographic audio book readings or in erotica audio subscriptions.

He thrusted forward to meet your motions, and you scanned his face, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed so much you worried he’d strain his forehead.

“Move your hips just like that, good.”

The humour of his instruction sounding academic did not miss you, in fact it turned you on even more.

You clenched around him unconsciously, he whimpered at that fact. He lowered his head to kiss at your collarbone.

“Yea? You like it when I praise you? When I instruct you? The whole professor thing works for you?” He was babbling, moving his hands to grab so hard onto your waist it would cause bruising.

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment because he was right.

And if you knew Ryland, you knew he was marking that down for later.

But you had no chance to respond as he raised himself away from your chest, to piston into you as he threw your leg over his shoulder.

He was hitting that one perfect spot over and over again, and you struggled to reach, to graze your hand against his sweaty abs. And you whimpered as you felt him reach forward to rub your clit in circles with his thumb, the firm pressure there making your orgasm come to your horizon. You matched his thrust, lifting your hips perfectly.

“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” He gasped.

You threw your head back.

“Come inside me please.”

And it only took a couple more thrusts for your orgasm, to arrive. You clenched around him and Ryland moaned your name once, his hips stuttered, and he thrusted again.

“I’m coming, oh fuck-”

And he collapsed on top of you, his cum shooting inside of you as he thrusted. He grabbed onto you desperately, and sighed as he fell on top of you.

You both let out a deep breath, and when Ryland pulled out of you, suddenly everything was back. The fact that you had just slept with a professor on your research team, for your undergrad thesis, shot its way through your brain once again.

Ryland rolled off of you, and you both looked at the ceiling, then at each other, your disheveled states hilariously present and you asked,

“So…what does this mean?”

Ryland’s breathing leveled out, and you felt his hand reach for yours, and he answered,

You were sitting on the top step of the shallow end, legs stretched out. A red Solo cup rested on your knee. Across from you, Eddie floated on his back on one of those ridiculous floaties, arms spread wide, tattoos catching the light every time he breathed. Robin sat on the wide ledge near the diving board, knees tucked up, sipping whatever concoction Eddie had made her. Steve was right beside you on the edge, feet dangling in the water, a joint between his fingers and that loose, half-drunk smile he only wore when it was just the four of you.

Eddie sat up with a splash, water streaming down his face. “Okay, but hear me out — I’m telling you, if I can just get the timing right on the bridge, this song is gonna slap. It's dark. It's sexy. I had to write a badass song about surviving the apocalypse, right? Like I didn't get these fuckin' scars for nothing.”

Robin made a noise like she was choking on her own laughter. “Munson. You're insane.”

“Insane? Maybe. But,” Eddie said, pointing at her with the joint before passing it to you. “You know you'd do the same shit Buckley. Some of us are just more musically talented than others.”

Steve snorted, reaching over to steal the joint from your fingers after you took a hit. The smoke curled warm in your lungs, making everything feel a little softer around the edges. “Dude, you survived one apocalypse. Try surviving four. Plus Buckley is great with music. Don't shit on her trombone talents.”

You laughed so hard you had to grab Steve’s arm to keep from sliding off the step. “Yeah Munson. That girls got good blowing skills. Don't shit on her.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically. “I would never shit on my dear Buckley. You know I love you. Maybe I could use some of your blowing skills on this song.”

“Blowing skills?” Robin echoed. “Christ Munson. If you want me to blow you, you're gonna be waiting a long ass time.”

Steve was laughing too hard to come up with a coherent thought. Eddie looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Steve just splashed water at Eddie with his foot and said, “You’re all lucky I let you live here. I could’ve had peace and quiet. Instead I get you three idiots bickering and someone— someone — keeps stealing my good towels and leaving them on the bathroom floor.”

Robin raised her hand. “That was me. They’re softer than mine. Sue me.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the water lapping gently at your waist. “Speaking of stealing… Eddie, you owe Steve like six pairs of socks at this point. I saw them in your room.”

Eddie looked down at his feet in the water like he’d been caught. “They’re comfortable. And Stevie already stretched them out so they're perfect.”

“It’s theft,” Steve said, but he was grinning, the kind of grin that crinkled his whole face. “You know what else is theft? The last of the good cereal. I bought that box of Lucky Charms yesterday. It was gone by breakfast. I’m looking at you, Buckley.”

Robin didn’t even try to deny it. “I have no regrets. You can’t leave name-brand cereal in a house with three other people and expect it to survive. That’s on you, Harrington.”

The joint made another slow circle. You took a hit, passed it to Robin, and felt that warm, floaty buzz settle deeper into your chest. Everything felt good — the way the pool lights made Eddie’s wet hair look almost black, the way Steve kept bumping his knee against yours like he didn’t even notice he was doing it, the way Robin’s sarcasm had gone soft around the edges tonight. With the four of you the conversations could change on a dime but everyone kept up. You all loved each other.

Eddie paddled closer, resting his arms on the edge near your legs. “You know what I still can’t believe? That time Steve tried to make lasagna for all of us and used sugar instead of salt in the sauce.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head back. “It was dark! The containers looked the same!”

“It tasted like someone murdered an Italian grandmother,” Robin said solemnly. “I still have trauma. I had to wash it down with three beers just to be polite.”

You grinned at Steve. “And then you tried to fix it by adding more cheese and it just became… cheese soup with noodles.”

Steve pointed at you, mock-offended. “You ate three bowls. Don’t act like you weren’t into it.”

“I was high,” you said. “Everything tastes good when you’re high. That doesn’t make it good.”

Eddie cackled and flicked water at Steve. “She’s got you there, Harrington. Face it — you’re a menace in the kitchen. But we keep you around for the pool and the hair care products. Your shampoo collection is the only thing keeping this house from falling into complete chaos.”

Steve ran a hand through his wet hair on instinct. “It’s a routine you heathens. You wouldn’t understand. Some of us like to look like we didn’t just crawl out of a hedge.”

Robin leaned over and ruffled his hair on purpose, making it stick up in every direction. “There. Now you look like the rest of us. Welcome to the hedge club.”

Steve swatted at her hand but he was laughing again, that easy, bright sound that always made the night feel safer. The four of you drifted like that for a while — splashing each other lazily, trading stories about the ridiculous little disasters of living together, the past year. It's become something you never wanted to let go of. Your safe space in the chaos of the world.

Your skin was starting to prune. The high had turned everything warm around the edges. You felt loose and happy and stupidly fond of all of them.

Robin was the one who finally called it. “Alright, my fingers look like raisins and I’m pretty sure if I don’t eat something solid soon I’m going to start chewing on the pool noodles. Inside. Now.”

You pulled yourself up onto the edge, water streaming down your legs and bathing suit. Robin tossed you a towel. It smelled like Steve’s detergent — clean and expensive and somehow like home now. You wrapped it around yourself, goosebumps rising as the night air hit your wet skin.

Steve stood up, a little wobbly, towel slung around his neck. “Yeah… couch is calling my name. Just for a second. I’m good. I’m great. Not way drunker than I thought I was sitting down.”

Eddie climbed out after him, shaking his head like a dog and sending water flying. “Harrington, if you faceplant I’m not carrying you. You're gonna have to be an outside dog from now on.”

Steve waved him off, already heading for the sliding glass doors. “Yeah, yeah. Is the world spinning for anyone else?”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Steve made it three steps into the living room before the big sectional couch pulled him in like gravity. He dropped onto it with a heavy thump, one arm dangling off the edge, eyes already half-closed.

“Just… resting my eyes,” he mumbled. “You guys keep… having fun. I’ll be right…”

His eyes fluttered once. Twice.

And then he was gone — out cold, soft snores starting almost immediately, completely dead to the world.

Robin stared at him for a beat, then pressed both hands over her mouth to smother her laughter. “Oh my god. He didn’t even finish the sentence.”

Eddie leaned in the doorway in his low-slung towel, grinning wide. "Such a lightweight. Look at him. King Steve, defeated by vodka and like two joints.”

You stood there in your damp towel, water still dripping from your hair onto your shoulders, and felt that same warm, bright feeling from earlier swell in your chest. Steve, safe and passed out. Eddie watching you with that spark in his eyes. Robin already heading toward the kitchen with a mischievous little bounce in her step.

“Well,” Robin called over her shoulder, “since our fearless leader has officially tapped out… who wants to see if there’s any pasta left in the fridge? Or are we going straight for the liquor cabinet?”

Eddie looked at you, one eyebrow raised, smile slow and easy.

The three of you left Steve snoring softly on the couch and drifted into the dining room like it was the most natural thing in the world. The big wooden table still had a couple of chairs pulled out from earlier in the week when you’d all tried to eat a real meal together. Robin grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and dropped into one of the chairs, kicking her feet up on the one next to her. You and Eddie stayed standing for a second, the wet ends of your hair still dripping onto your shoulders and the tops of your towels.

Eddie dug another joint out of the crumpled pack he’d left on the counter earlier and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The flame lit up his face for a second — sharp grin, dark eyes, water still clinging to his collarbones. He took a long pull, then passed it to you without a word. You leaned against the edge of the table and took your own hit, the smoke curling warm and familiar in your lungs. The high from the pool hadn’t fully faded yet— this one just layered on top of it, making the dim overhead light feel softer and the air between the three of you feel closer.

Robin twisted the cap off her beer and took a long drink. “God, work’s been so fucking weird lately. Jimmy's gone so it's just been me and Harrington running the show. Who decided that putting us in charge was a good idea? Dingus over there wouldn't know good music if it weren’t for us. He'd be playing ABBA all day and wonder why we'd get hate mail.”

You laughed, the sound a little looser than usual. “That sounds exactly like him. Just be glad you're not working under Keith anymore. Dude was a total fuckin' creep. Remember that time he tried to hit on Nancy and she brutally destroyed every bit of confidence he had left?”

Eddie chuckled from where he was leaning against the wall, joint between his fingers again. He wasn’t saying much — just chilling, listening, that lazy little smirk on his face like he was happy to let the two of you talk while the smoke curled around him. Every now and then he’d take a hit and pass it back to you, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.

Robin groaned and took another sip. “And don’t even get me started on my mom. She keeps asking when I’m gonna ‘bring a nice boy around’ like I haven’t been gay as fuck my whole life. I told her I’m busy surviving the apocalypse and working, but apparently that’s not a good enough excuse.”

You took the joint from Eddie again, the paper warm against your lips. The high was settling deep now — that sweet, heavy feeling behind your eyes that made everything feel a little more honest. You exhaled slowly and looked at Robin across the table.

“Honestly? You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with any of that shit,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink them. “The last guy I was with was… god, he was bad. Like, aggressively bad. All confidence, zero skill. Kept asking if I was close. I had to fake it just to get him to stop. And then he had the nerve to look proud of himself after.” You shook your head, laughing a little even though it wasn’t really funny. “You’re seriously so lucky you don’t have to deal with that mess, Robin.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling — the kind of smile that said she knew exactly what you meant and was grateful she didn’t. “Yeah, well. That’s one bullet I’ve managed to dodge.”

You took another slow hit from the joint, then passed it back to Eddie. The question came out casual, curious, the kind of thing that only got asked when everyone was a little drunk and a little high and the house was quiet except for Steve’s distant snoring.

“Have you ever actually had sex with a guy?”

Robin made a face but didn’t look offended. She just shook her head. “Nope. Never.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious now. “What about kissing? Have you ever kissed a guy?”

She snorted. “Yeah, duh. Had to pretend to be straight at some point, right? High school was a whole thing. There was this one guy who wouldn’t leave me alone until I let him kiss me at a party. It was… fine. Wet. Weird. I spent the whole time thinking about how I’d rather be anywhere else.” She shrugged, taking another drink. “But it got the job done. People stopped asking questions for a while.”

The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. Eddie was still quiet, but you could feel him listening — that sharp, attentive energy he got when something interesting was happening. He took a hit from the joint and held it, watching the two of you with dark, amused eyes.

You leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, the high making your voice come out softer and more honest than usual.

“Okay, but… if you had to have sex with a guy,” you asked, “who would it be?”

Robin didn’t even hesitate. She looked you dead in the eye, a little smirk tugging at her mouth, cheeks faintly pink from the beer and the conversation.

“Well, I only trust two guys,” she said. “And since Harrington’s passed out cold in the other room, I guess Munson would do.”

The words landed in the quiet dining room like a spark on dry wood.

Eddie let out a low, surprised laugh — not mocking, just genuinely caught off guard. Smoke curled from between his lips as he exhaled. “Wow. High praise, Buckley. I’m flattered. Truly. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

You felt your own pulse pick up a little, the high sharpening everything — the way Robin was looking at you both, the way Eddie’s grin had gone a shade more dangerous, the distant sound of Steve’s soft snoring from the living room like he was still somehow part of this even while he was dead asleep.

Robin just shrugged, but there was something playful and a little charged in the way she held your gaze. “I’m just saying. If the world ended tomorrow and I had to pick… at least I know he might not be a complete disaster about it.”

Eddie took another slow hit from the joint, then held it out toward her like an offering, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Buckley. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Robin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she reached for the joint. “Don’t get cocky, Munson. It’s a hypothetical. And you’re the lesser of two evils right now.”

The air in the dining room had shifted — still light, still a little giggly from the drinks and the weed, but underneath it something warmer was humming. Something that felt like it could tip in any direction depending on what happened next.

Eddie’s eyes flicked to you for a second, like he was checking to see how you were taking all of this. His smile was easy, but there was a spark in it that hadn’t been there before.

The words hung in the air for half a second.

Robin’s answer — casual, a little smirk on her face, eyes flicking between you and Eddie like she was testing the temperature of the room. Steve’s soft snoring drifted in from the living room like background noise.

You looked at Robin.

She looked at you.

And there it was — that look. The one the two of you had perfected over the last year of living in this house together. The we’re about to do something really fucking stupid and we both know it look. Half challenge, half invitation. Your mouth twitched. Hers did too.

Eddie blinked between the two of you, brow furrowing. “Okay… what the hell is happening right now? Seriously. You two are doing that thing again. The creepy telepathic eye contact thing. I don’t like it when you do the creepy telepathic eye contact thing—”

Robin was already sliding out of her chair.

You met her halfway.

The second your mouths crashed together it was heavy. No hesitation. No testing the waters. Just the sudden, hungry press of her lips against yours, the sharp little inhale she took when your hands found her waist and pulled her in. She tasted like beer and the faint cherry of her lip balm and the weed you’d all been passing around. Her hands were in your damp hair immediately, tugging, angling your head so she could kiss you deeper, messier. The high made everything sharper and blurrier at the same time — the slide of her tongue against yours, the way her body pressed flush to you, the little sound she made in the back of her throat when your teeth caught her bottom lip.

You barely registered the dining room table behind you until your ass hit the edge of it. Robin followed, crowding between your legs, one hand braced on the wood beside your hip while the other slid up under the edge of your towel, palm hot against your still-damp skin.

Eddie made a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“What the fuck,” he said, voice cracking in the middle. “What the hell is happening seriously. Is this— are you two— Jesus Christ, I’m right here. I’m standing right here. Harrington’s passed out in the next room and you two are just— okay. Alright. This is fine. This is totally fine. I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out—”

You broke the kiss just long enough to laugh against Robin’s mouth, breathless and giddy and a little wild from the high. She was laughing too, forehead pressed to yours for a second, both of you grinning like idiots who’d just decided to set something on fire for fun.

Then you turned your head, still half-tangled with her, and reached out.

Your fingers curled around Eddie’s wrist.

He looked down at your hand like it was a live wire.

“Come on,” you said, voice low and rough from the kissing and the smoke. You gave his arm a tug, already sliding off the table, Robin’s hand finding yours on the other side. “Bedroom. Now.”

Robin was still giggling as the three of you stumbled out of the dining room — her free hand grabbing the mostly-smoked joint and the lighter on the way past the table. Eddie let himself be dragged, half-protesting, half-laughing in that high-pitched, overwhelmed way he got when his brain was short-circuiting.

“I— you can’t just— what is happening right now,” he kept saying, even as he followed you down the hallway toward his room. “I was minding my own business. I was being chill. And now I’m being kidnapped by two extremely hot, extremely high girls who were just making out on Steve’s dining room table like it was a normal day—”

“Shut up, Munson,” Robin managed between laughs, shoving his bedroom door open with her shoulder. “Consider this your lucky day.”

You were both still giggling as you pulled him inside — the sound bright and stupid and full of that reckless, drunk-high energy that always seemed to hit hardest at three in the morning. Eddie’s room smelled like him— weed, old leather, that cologne he stole from Steve and never gave back. Posters on the walls, clothes on the floor, his guitar propped in the corner like it was watching.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Robin was still pressed against your side, her mouth finding the curve of your neck for a second just because she could. You were still holding Eddie’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were grounding all three of you in the moment.

Eddie stared at the two of you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, that wild grin starting to break through the confusion.

“Okay,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Okay. I’m listening. I’m extremely listening. Someone please tell me what the game plan is here before I have a heart attack in my own bedroom.”

You and Robin exchanged another look.

And then you were both laughing again — soft, breathless, already moving toward him like the night had always been headed exactly here.

Robin broke first, a soft, nervous giggle escaping as she looked at you. “Okay. So. We’re really doing this.”

You felt that same reckless, high-drunk spark from the dining room table flare hotter in your chest. You stepped in close to her, one hand sliding around her waist, and spoke low enough that it felt like a secret even though Eddie was right there.

“I’m gonna teach you how to give a blowjob.”

Eddie made a strangled noise from somewhere behind you. “I— what— teach—?”

Robin’s eyes flicked to him, then back to you. She looked a little dazed, a little turned on, a little like she couldn’t believe she was nodding. But she nodded anyway.

You turned to Eddie, who was still standing there looking like his brain had melted. His cock was already straining hard against the front of his swim trunks. You exchanged a silent look of permission with him, stepped right into his space, hooked your fingers into the waistband, and tugged them down in one smooth motion.

His cock sprang free — thick, ruddy tip, already leaking. Bigger than average. Heavy.

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Jesus Christ. Are they all that size?”

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave him one slow stroke, just to watch the way his stomach jumped. Then you glanced at Robin with a crooked little smile.

“Nope. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan the second you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t waste time — you leaned in and took the head of his cock into your mouth, warm and wet, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside while your hand worked what you couldn’t fit yet. The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, the way his hand immediately found the back of your head like he didn’t know what else to do with it — it all hit harder because of the high. Everything felt magnified.

“Fuck— fuck—” Eddie’s voice cracked. He was staring down at you like you’d just personally rewritten the laws of physics. “Okay. Okay, this is happening. This is really— Jesus, your mouth—”

Robin watched, transfixed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her cheeks were flushed. After a minute she cleared her throat, voice a little hoarse.

“Can I… can I just start with a handjob? I don’t think I’m ready for the whole… mouth thing yet.”

You pulled off Eddie’s cock with a wet pop, lips shiny, and looked up at her. “Yeah. Come here.”

Robin knelt down beside you on the floor. She hesitated for only a second before wrapping her hand around him — tentative at first, like she was testing the heat and weight of him. Eddie made another broken sound above you both, hips twitching.

You covered her hand with yours.

“Here,” you murmured, guiding her. “Like this.”

You started slow — long, steady strokes from base to tip, your fingers curled over hers so she could feel exactly how much pressure to use. Eddie’s cock twitched hard in your combined grip, a bead of pre-cum welling at the slit. You used it to slick the way, dragging both your hands up and down in a smooth rhythm.

“See?” you said softly, close to her ear. “He seems to like it when you twist your wrist a little at the top. And you can use your other hand on his balls if you want — gentle, though.”

Eddie was losing his mind above you. One hand braced on the edge of his dresser, the other hovering like he didn’t know where to put it. His voice was wrecked.

“I— I don’t— what the fuck is my life right now— god, that feels— you two are actually going to kill me—”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh, but she didn’t let go. She was watching your hands move together over him, fascinated, biting her lip. The high made everything feel warmer, slower, more electric — the slide of skin on skin, the way Eddie’s cock pulsed between your fingers, the soft sound of his breathing breaking apart above you.

You kept guiding her, slow and patient, showing her how to stroke him just right while Eddie stood there completely at your mercy, confused and painfully, desperately horny, and very clearly not wanting any of it to stop.

The slow, guided strokes had Robin breathing a little harder. You could feel the shift in her — the way her grip got more confident under yours, the way she kept glancing at Eddie’s cock like she was daring herself.

Robin licked her lips.

Then she leaned in.

Her tongue dragged slowly up the underside of Eddie’s cock in one long, tentative stripe from base to tip. She made a soft, surprised sound at the taste and the heat of him, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she did it again, slower this time, like she was getting used to it.

You didn’t hesitate. You dipped your head right beside hers and followed.

The two of you worked him together — tongues sliding up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, getting him messy and wet. Saliva and pre-cum mixed as you licked over the same spots, sometimes your tongues brushing against each other in the process. Robin let out a shaky little laugh against his skin, and you answered it with one of your own before you both went back in, lapping at him like you were sharing something filthy and sweet at the same time.

Eddie made a sound like he’d been shot.

“F-fuck— fuck— you two— Jesus Christ—” His voice was wrecked, high and strained. One hand was white-knuckling the edge of the dresser so hard the wood creaked. The other hovered uselessly in the air like he was afraid to touch either of you in case he lost what little control he had left. His thighs were trembling. “I’m— I’m not gonna last if you keep— god, your tongues—”

You and Robin ignored the warning.

You met in the middle again, tongues curling against each other over the head of his cock before sliding back down together, coating him in shiny wetness. Then you were kissing — really kissing — right there on his dick. Mouths open, tongues sliding hot and slick against each other with the thick length of him caught between you. Every time your lips met you could taste him on her, and she could taste him on you. It was messy. It was obscene. It was so fucking hot you felt dizzy with it.

Eddie’s hips jerked forward without his permission. A broken, desperate noise tore out of his throat.

“I’m serious— I’m— fuck, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop— I’m trying— I’m trying so hard not to—” His voice cracked on a moan as your tongues met again over his slit, lapping up the fresh bead of pre-cum that had leaked out. “Please— Jesus, you’re both gonna kill me—”

Robin pulled back just enough to look up at him, lips shiny and swollen, a wicked little smile on her face even though her cheeks were flushed dark. She gave the head of his cock one more slow lick, then glanced at you like she was checking if you wanted to keep going.

Eddie looked like he was hanging on by a thread — eyes glassy, chest heaving, every muscle in his body locked tight as he fought not to come all over both your faces right then and there.

“Can I… watch you get fucked first?”

You were still on your knees, one hand loosely wrapped around the base of Eddie’s cock. You glanced up at her, a slow, wicked little smile spreading across your face.

“Only if you sit on my face.”

Robin’s eyes went wide for a second. Eddie made a noise like his brain had short-circuited again.

You didn’t wait for more discussion. You stood up, grabbed Eddie’s hand, and tugged him toward the bed with you. Robin followed, still looking a little stunned but not saying no. You crawled onto the mattress and laid back, legs spreading automatically as you looked up at both of them.

Eddie hovered at the side of the bed, swim trunks still around his thighs, cock flushed and shiny from both your mouths. He looked wrecked already — hair wild, eyes dark, chest heaving.

“Are you guys sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Like… we can stop at any point. This is— this is a lot. I don’t want anyone to—”

“Munson,” you cut in, staring straight at him, “if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to be mad at you.” Your tone was light but firm. Then you turned your head toward Robin and patted the space above your face. “And Robin… come sit on my face.”

Robin hesitated. Her cheeks were flushed dark, one hand twisting in the hem of her swimsuit. She looked at Eddie, then at you, then back at Eddie like she was checking one last time that this was really okay. Eddie just gave her a helpless little shrug, like I have no idea what’s happening but I’m not stopping it.

She climbed onto the bed.

You helped guide her — hands on her hips as she swung one leg over your head and slowly lowered herself, pushing the gusset of her swimsuit to the side. The second her cunt brushed your mouth you licked up into her, slow and deliberate, and Robin made a soft, shocked sound above you, thighs trembling on either side of your head.

Eddie was still standing there like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You reached down between your own legs and peeled your bikini bottoms off. Y you looked at Eddie upside-down from between Robin’s thighs.

“Eddie.”

That was all it took.

He climbed onto the bed, shoved his trunks the rest of the way off, and lined himself up. The head of his cock dragged through your folds once, twice, collecting wetness, before he pushed in with one long, smooth thrust.

You moaned into Robin’s cunt.

Eddie groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck— you’re so— god—”

He started fucking you in deep, steady strokes, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. Every time he bottomed out you cried out against Robin, the vibrations making her gasp and rock down harder onto your tongue. She was watching everything — the way Eddie’s cock disappeared into you over and over, the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your mouth worked between her legs.

Robin leaned forward.

Her fingers found your clit and started rubbing in tight, desperate little circles, matching the rhythm of Eddie’s thrusts. The added stimulation made your whole body jerk. You sucked harder on her clit, tongue flicking fast, and Robin’s thighs clamped around your head as she moaned.

Eddie was losing it.

He was trying so hard to hold back, but between the way you felt around him, the wet sounds of you eating Robin out, and the sight of her fingers working your clit right above where he was buried inside you — it was too much.

“Fuck— I’m— I’m close—” he gasped. “I can’t— you feel too good— Robin, if you keep— shit—”

Robin rubbed your clit faster, leaning down so she could watch Eddie’s cock splitting you open while your tongue fucked into her. The angle let her grind down harder on your face.

You came first.

It hit hard — a full-body, shaking orgasm that made your back arch off the bed and your moan get muffled against Robin’s cunt. Your walls clenched tight around Eddie’s cock, pulsing hard, and that was it for him.

Eddie came with a broken, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you. Thick, hot pulses that you felt with every twitch of his cock. He kept fucking through it in short, desperate thrusts, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Robin followed right after — thighs shaking around your head as she came on your tongue with a soft, surprised cry, her fingers still moving on your oversensitive clit until the overstimulation made you whimper.

For a few long seconds the only sounds in the room were heavy breathing, the wet slide of Eddie slowly pulling out of you, and Robin’s shaky little laughs as she carefully climbed off your face.

Eddie collapsed onto the bed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice completely wrecked. “What the fuck just happened.”

Robin was still catching her breath, looking down at both of you with wide, dazed eyes and a stunned little smile.

You just lay there between them, flushed and satisfied and still buzzing from the high.

The three of you were still catching your breath, bodies loose and warm on Eddie’s bed. Robin was the first to move, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Her hair was a mess, lips still shiny from where you’d had your mouth on her. She looked down at Eddie, who was flat on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, his cock soft and half-hard against his stomach, shiny with a mix of your wetness and his own cum.

“So like—” Robin started, voice a little hoarse, “when your dick works again… can I try?”

Eddie dropped his arm and turned his head to stare at her like she’d grown a second head.

“When my— what the hell are you talking about, Buckley?”

Robin sat up a little more, tilting her head as she studied him with open curiosity. “Y’know… like when it gets all hard again like before. I wanna try. For real this time.”

You snorted, still lying between them, one hand resting on your own stomach. “I know a way we can get him hard again.”

Eddie lifted his head, eyes wide. “Hello? I’m— I’m right here, you menaces!”

You and Robin glanced at each other.

“Should we?” you asked, already smiling.

Robin hummed, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. Think we should.”

Before Eddie could get another word out, you rolled toward Robin and kissed her.

It started slow — lazy, post-orgasm kisses, your mouths moving together soft and wet. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Robin made a quiet sound and leaned in harder, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as her tongue slid against yours. The kiss got deeper, messier, the two of you making out right there on the bed like Eddie wasn’t even there.

Eddie made a wounded noise from beside you.

“This isn’t fair,” he complained, voice rough. “I want a kiss. I’m the one who just— I participated! I did labor! I deserve— hey— hey—”

You broke away from Robin with a grin and turned to him instead.

The second your mouth met his, Eddie melted. He kissed you back desperately, one hand sliding into your hair as he licked into your mouth like he’d been starving for it. You could feel him starting to twitch against your thigh already.

Robin watched for a second, then leaned in and nudged you aside so she could kiss him next. Eddie made another broken sound as she kissed him — slower at first, exploratory, then deeper once she got the hang of it. His cock gave a visible twitch against his stomach, starting to fill out properly.

You took your turn again, kissing him slow and filthy while your hand drifted down to wrap loosely around the base of his cock, giving him one lazy stroke. He was getting harder by the second.

“Fuck— you two are evil,” he muttered when you finally let him breathe. His voice was already wrecked again. “I was trying to be good and recover and now I’m— god— I’m hard again. This is your fault. Both of you.”

Robin glanced down at his cock, now fully hard and flushed in your hand, and bit her lip.

She looked back up at you, eyes bright and a little nervous but determined.

“So… can I try now?”

Eddie sat up a little, running a hand through his messy hair. His cock was fully hard again, resting against his stomach as he looked at Robin with that same soft, slightly overwhelmed expression he’d had since the dining room.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle even though he was still catching his breath from the kissing. “I’m serious. You can stop at any point. Like… any point. You say the word and we’re done, no questions asked.”

Robin rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive.

“I know, Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You’ve said it like six times already. I’m not gonna shatter.”

Eddie held his hands up in surrender, but he was still watching her carefully. “Okay. Okay. Just… making sure.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to do it missionary? Or, like… any position you’re comfortable with.”

Robin made a face like he’d suggested they do it in the middle of the grocery store.

“Fuck no,” she said immediately. “I’m too shy to even talk at you right now, let alone look at you while you’re fucking me.”

Eddie blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. “Reverse cowgirl it is, then.”

You helped shift things around on the bed, moving pillows and making space. Robin climbed over Eddie’s lap, facing away from him — toward you instead. Her hands braced on your thighs for balance as she hovered over him. Eddie wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, the other resting lightly on her hip as he lined himself up.

Robin took a shaky breath, then slowly started to sink down.

The second he bottomed out inside her, her eyes went wide. A sharp, punched-out sound left her throat. She froze there for a second, adjusting to the stretch, fingers digging into your legs.

Eddie’s hands tightened on her hips. “You okay?” he asked immediately, voice low and careful. “Robin? You good?”

She didn’t answer right away, just breathed through it.

“Robin?” he tried again, a little more worried. “Hey, talk to me. You okay?”

Robin finally turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson,” she gritted out. “I can feel you in my throat.”

Eddie let out a startled laugh, the sound bright and relieved all at once. “Jesus. Okay. Noted.” He gave her hips a gentle squeeze. “Just checking. You’re calling the shots here.”

Robin took another slow breath, then rolled her hips experimentally. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her when she felt how deep he was. She glanced at you, something between overwhelmed and determined in her expression, like she was still processing the feeling of being this full.

Eddie was still grinning, even as he stayed perfectly still beneath her.

“Guess I’m just a human dildo tonight,” he joked, voice warm and teasing. “At your service.”

Robin let out a shaky little laugh despite herself, still adjusting, still getting used to the stretch of him inside her. She hadn’t started moving properly yet — just sitting there, breathing, getting her bearings while Eddie waited patiently underneath her and you stayed close in front of her.

You could feel the tension in Robin’s body — the way her thighs were trembling slightly where they bracketed Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing was still a little too careful. So you leaned in and kissed her again, slow and grounding, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck. She melted into it almost immediately, some of the rigidness easing out of her shoulders as she kissed you back.

When you pulled away, she turned her head just enough and said, voice a little rough, “Eddie… start moving.”

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He started slow, rolling his hips up into her in careful, shallow thrusts. Robin’s breath hitched, her hands tightening on your thighs as she adjusted to the feeling of him moving inside her. You stayed close, one hand sliding down between her legs to rub her clit in slow, steady circles with your thumb — matching the rhythm Eddie was setting.

Robin let out a shaky moan against your mouth when you kissed her again.

You didn’t stay up there long.

You broke the kiss and lowered yourself further, settling between Eddie’s spread thighs. From this angle you had a perfect view of where they were joined — his cock glistening as it slid in and out of her. You leaned in and dragged your tongue slowly over Robin’s clit first, then lower, licking along the base of Eddie’s cock and his balls on the next pass.

Robin clenched hard around him the second your tongue touched her.

“Fuck—” she gasped, hips jerking.

Eddie groaned, his hands gripping her waist tighter. “Jesus Christ, what did you just do to her?”

Robin let out a breathless, slightly unhinged laugh even as she rolled her hips down to meet Eddie’s next thrust. “She’s— fuck— she’s licking both of us. I can feel her tongue on your— god.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh of his own, still fucking up into her in those deep, steady strokes. “You're so fucking tight Buckley. Pretty sure I'm going to fall in love with one of you after this.”

Robin reached down blindly and grabbed a handful of your hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on as you kept licking — slow, deliberate strokes over her clit and the parts of Eddie’s cock that weren’t buried inside her.

“Shut up,” she managed, voice breaking on a moan when you sucked gently on her clit. “You’re— it feels like you're fucking me with your arm. H- How the hell do you walk around all day with— fuck— with that in your pants? Where the hell— Jesus Christ— do- do you put it?”

Eddie grinned, even as his breathing got rougher. “Y'know Buckley. That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

Robin let out another shaky laugh that turned into a moan when you licked a particularly sensitive spot. “I hate you. I hate both of you. This is— fuck— this is your fault.”

“Pretty sure it’s your fault for asking if you could try,” Eddie shot back, voice strained but still teasing as he fucked her a little harder. “I was being a gentleman. You’re the one who decided to use me as a human dildo for kicks.”

Robin’s only response was a broken moan and another tight clench around him as your tongue worked between them.

Eddie groaned, head dropping back against the pillows for a second. “Yeah. Okay. Keep doing that. Both of you. I’m not complaining.”

Robin was breathing hard now, caught between Eddie’s cock and your mouth, her body starting to move more instinctively with every thrust. She was still holding onto your hair like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of sex, Eddie’s low groans, and Robin’s increasingly desperate little noises every time your tongue dragged over her clit or Eddie hit a spot that made her clench.

Robin was getting close — you could feel it in the way her thighs were starting to shake on either side of Eddie’s hips, the way her breathing had gone ragged and uneven. You kept your mouth on her, tongue working her clit in tight, focused strokes.

Eddie was clearly struggling. His grip on Robin’s hips had gone tight, and his thrusts were getting a little less controlled, a little more desperate.

Robin must have felt it too.

She turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder, voice breathless but sharp.

“If you cum anywhere near me, Munson, I’m going to murder you. I’m serious. I will actually kill you.”

Eddie let out a strained, half-laugh, half-groan. “Noted. Loud and clear. No coming near the lesbian. Got it.”

You pulled your mouth off Robin’s clit just long enough to speak, voice low and a little hoarse from how long you’d had your face buried between them.

“I’ll take it,” you said, looking up at both of them. “Cum on me. Face, tits, wherever. I don’t care.”

Eddie made a broken sound at that, hips stuttering for a second before he forced himself back into rhythm.

You went right back to work on Robin — two fingers rubbing tight and fast right where she needed it. Eddie kept fucking her through it, deep and steady, even as he fought to hold himself back.

Robin’s whole body went tight.

“Fuck— fuck— I’m—” Her voice cracked as she came, clenching hard around Eddie’s cock in rhythmic pulses. Her thighs shook on either side of your head and she grabbed at your hair again, holding on as the orgasm rolled through her. A broken, gasping moan tore out of her throat as she rode it out on Eddie’s cock.

The second she started to come down, Eddie carefully lifted her off him with shaking hands. His cock slipped free, shiny and flushed dark, and he barely had time to stroke himself once before he was coming from between her legs.

Thick ropes painted across your face and chest — hot and messy, landing on your lips, your cheek, and streaking down over your tits. Eddie groaned loud and broken as he came, hips jerking with every pulse, one hand braced on Robin’s thigh while the other worked himself through it.

Robin was still catching her breath above you, looking down with wide, slightly dazed eyes as she watched Eddie finish all over you. She let out a soft, breathless little laugh.

“Holy shit.”

Eddie was still breathing hard, staring down at the mess he’d made on your skin like he couldn’t quite believe any of this had actually happened. His cock gave one last weak twitch in his hand before he let go, slumping back against the pillows.

Robin carefully climbed off him and flopped down beside you on the bed, still flushed and breathing heavy. She looked at the cum on your face and chest, then at Eddie, then back at you.

“…Okay,” she said, voice a little shaky but amused. “That was… a lot.”

Eddie let out a weak, exhausted laugh from where he was sprawled out, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, it really fucking was.”

The three of you were sprawled across Eddie’s bed in a messy, sweaty pile. Robin was on her back beside you, one arm thrown over her eyes, still breathing hard. Eddie was half-sitting up against the headboard, looking thoroughly fucked-out and a little stunned. You were in the middle, cum cooling on your face and chest, the high still humming pleasantly under your skin.

Robin was the first one to break the silence.

“Wait—” she said, turning her head toward you and Eddie with genuine curiosity. “Is this what Steve’s is like? Has anyone here seen Harrington’s dick? Like… for science?”

Eddie let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, running a hand down his face.

“….Yeah, I don’t think you’re gonna be a lesbian anymore after this.”

Robin snorted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “Nah. Still a lesbian. Have you seen how nice her tits are?” She gestured vaguely at your chest with one hand. “And she doesn’t have a dick that split me in half.”

Eddie clutched his chest dramatically, even as he was clearly fighting a grin. “Glad to know that I’m just an afterthought?”

You turned your head to look at him, still a little breathless, a lazy smile tugging at your mouth.

“If it makes you feel better… I’d have sex with you again.”

Eddie’s head snapped toward you so fast it was almost comical. His eyes lit up, that familiar cocky little smirk sliding back onto his face despite how wrecked he looked.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “Is that an invitation?”

You let out a soft laugh, reaching over to wipe a bit of cum off your bottom lip with your thumb.

“It’s more of a standing reservation.”

Robin groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with both hands even as her shoulders shook with laughter.

“Oh my god. You two are actually disgusting. I can’t believe I let either of you near me.”

Eddie was still grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’d just been used as a human dildo and then immediately discarded in the rankings. He reached over and lazily dragged two fingers through the mess on your chest, smearing it a little before bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking them clean with zero shame.

“Standing reservation,” he repeated, like he was tasting the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Robin peeked at him through her fingers. “You’re not allowed to do that Munson. It’s rude.”

“Rude is my brand, Buckley,” Eddie shot back, but his voice had gone softer, warmer. He glanced between the two of you, something fond and a little overwhelmed flickering across his face. “You two are gonna be the death of me. I hope you know that.”

You smiled, still loose and satisfied, and reached over to rest your hand on Robin’s thigh while your other hand found Eddie’s.

“Worth it though,” you murmured.

Robin didn’t answer right away. She just let out a long, dramatic sigh and turned her head to look at you, then at Eddie, then back at you again.

“But what if it’s not fine,” you’d pleaded. “What if there’s a- A storm, or more people than we thought, or- Or Bucky gets hurt-“

“Who is in charge of Bucky’s health?” Yelena had cut you off with a pointed look, and you’d swallowed.

“I’m not- I wouldn’t say in charge-“

“You make him eat vegetables. That is in charge.”

“I make all of you eat vegetables-“

“You don’t make me eat vegetables,” Walker had muttered, and you’d flipped him off.

“That’s because I hate you.”

Walker had scowled, Ava—pressed against the wall of the room and clearly trying not to be involved in this conversation—had snorted, and Yelena’s mouth had twitched.

“See,” she’d given you a winning grin. “You are a natural leader. You will be fine.”

“I will not be fine-“

Bucky had said your name, and everyone in the room had gone still. He’d been left out of this meeting. From Yelena’s wide eyes and Ava’s smirk, it hadn’t been hard to work out that it was on purpose.

“What isn’t going to be fine,” Bucky had muttered, and Walker and Yelena had an exchanged sharp, you do it looks.

Walker had lost the glare off, sighed, and turned to Bucky with a wide, winning grin.

“You’re taking the scout on her first mission, buddy, congrats- Shit- Hey-“

Bucky had stormed forward, metal hand flexing like he was thinking about wrapping it around Walker’s throat. He’d stopped himself, shot you a strange look, and jerked his head.

“Out,” he’d grunted, before pausing and adding, “Please.”

The please hadn’t been necessary. You’d almost run out the room with a nervous look back, a little worried you were going to come back to a bloodbath. The glass was supposed to be fully soundproof. You’d still been able to hear muffled, furious shouting. 

Bucky had stormed out after almost an hour, given you a tight look, strange look, then stomped down the hall. Yelena had given you a thumbs up. You’d—foolishly—hoped that meant you were off the hook.

It hadn’t.

You’d been dropped in Norway with Bucky a week later, an hour after planned—Alexei wanted to bring his camera, and wouldn’t hear anyone tell him no—with plans to be picked up in the morning.

“Stay close,” Bucky had muttered, not meeting your gaze. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You’d nodded, your voice barely more than a  breath. “James, I- I don’t know what you’d do.“

“Then don’t do anything.” He’d snapped.

You’d shrunken into yourself. You knew he didn’t like this—you weren’t a big fan either—but the bristling, electric anger almost radiating off of him, it wasn’t anything you were used to. Bucky was usually kind to you. He opened your doors and brought you muffins from the bakery down the street. You made him watch movies when he couldn’t sleep, and he asked you questions about pop culture when he was confused. You had a good—confusing, but good—relationship.

Yelena likes to tease that he like likes you. You try to punch her in the face, and always miss. He doesn’t. He couldn’t. He’s Bucky Barnes, and you’re a dork with a computer that he’s nice to because he’s a good man.

A kind, handsome, perfect man with a jawline you’d kill to kiss and hands you’d die to hold. A man who remembers your birthday when you sometimes forget, and knows your coffee order, and lets you push him around even thought he could crush you with a single hand. You’d like him to crush you with that hand. Maybe pin you down with it and split you open and kiss you with those soft lips that always ghost with a smile at your stupid jokes.

You never should’ve told Yelena about your tiny, little, totally manageable crush on him to begin with. It’s going to be the death of you. You’re sort of starting to worry that this was Yelena’s grand plan to finally make you talk to him. If it was, you’re actually going to kill her, or hire someone who can.

Because it started raining. And after it started raining, lightning cracked through the sky, and thunder followed, and you and Bucky got slowed down. Slowed down enough that—combined with the weather conditions—Alexei couldn’t come pick you up. And you had to find a hotel in Norway.

And the only room left had one bed.

And you’re going to jump off the balcony and pray that Bucky doesn’t catch you.

“You should take a shower,” he mutters, tossing your bag onto the couch. “I’ll go find some extra clothing.”

You nod, pulling at the sleeves of your drenched shirt. “I- I can take the couch-“

“No.”

You sigh. “Bucky-“

“I’m on the couch,” he shoots you a stern look, bracing his hands on his hips. “And you’re on the bed.”

You swallow, and nod. Arguing with him right now doesn’t seem productive. You’re lucky he’s still talking to you after the mission.

It didn’t go poorly. In fact, given everything, it actually went better than you could’ve hoped for. But Bucky is still looking at you like you’re a problem, and it’s making you sort of sick. You don’t want to be something extra that weighs on his shoulders. Don’t want to be an extra layer of ice, pressing down on his chest when he’s already the one keeping you both together. It’s already cold enough as it is.

You shower. Bucky finds clothing—an oversized, thin fabriced shirt that just drapes past your thighs—and follows after you. Neither of you say much, and you try not to let the silence feel like poison, but it’s hard. He’s never been quiet with you this long, but you’ve also never been in this kind of situation with him before.

“Alexei will get us in the morning,” he mutters, stepping out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Then we’ll get you home.”

“Oh- Okay.” You flush, staring down at your hands. His chest is broad, and bare, and warm looking. The rivers of scars over his shoulder and pecs look like they’d be easy to map, and the dip of his towel show off the strength of his stomach. Thick and muscled, soft in all the right places, probably easy to wrap yourself in, and-

Bucky mutters you name, and you’d stopped staring at your hands without thinking. You clear your throat and slide into the bed, grabbing your phone with shaking fingers and pretending to be deeply invested in the blank lock screen. In your periphery, Bucky doesn’t move for a long moment. You dare to look at him under your lashes, and find him staring back.

“Bucky?” You ask softly, and Bucky’s throat bobs. “Are you-“

“You did good,” he grunts, and you blink, heat rushing between your thighs.

“I- I did good?”

He nods tightly. “Today. You did good.”

“Oh.” You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “I- I didn’t do much-“

“You got me through the lab. You listened.”

“Anyone can listen, James.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches, and he huffs something close to a laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he mutters, grabbing his warm clothing off the arm of the couch. “And don’t sell yourself short, doll. You listen real well.”

Your mouth falls open, and you think you might be frozen in place. Bucky retreats back to the bathroom, and you’re not even sure what to do with yourself. You’re sure he didn’t mean it like that, but god, it would’ve been nice if he did. Your head certainly takes the thoughts and runs with them. Bucky over you in this same bed, that metal hand pressed against your stomach, cooed praise and light orders of take it and make some noise for me, doll. The gleam in his eyes when you’d listen, the way he’d feel buried inside of you, the burn of blue eyes as he’d watch you come apart, driving into your cunt over and over and over-

“Night,” Bucky grunts, and you blink at him through the dark.

“Night,” you breathe back, and for a second, you just stare at each other.

Bucky’s gaze softens slightly. You could swear is does. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but his gaze drags down the fabric of your sleep shirt, catching on your bare thighs and spread legs. His tongue darts over his lips, and you press your thighs together, shifting nervously on the mattress.

He looks back up to you, jaw working tight. 

“Night,” he mutters again, and you swallow.

He goes for the light, and you glance at the couch. It’s small. More of a sectional than a functional piece of comfort.  

“Bucky?” You say, before you can think better of it. “Do you- Do you want to sleep in the bed.”

Bucky freezes, his hand on the light switch. You swallow, pulling the sheets higher up your body, and Bucky mutters your name. “You don’t have to-“

“Are you going to be able to sleep on the couch?” You whisper, and his jaw ticks again.

“That’s not your shit to worry about-“

“Alexei’s going to talk the whole ride home,” you push, and his throat bobs. “And you- You get really grumpy when you don’t sleep.”

Bucky chuckles. “I get grumpy, huh.”

You nod, and he sighs. His hand curls into a fist, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to tell you no.

“I- I really don’t mind-“ 

“Alright,” he cuts you off, words short and clipped. “You win.”

You blink, and try not to smile when he hits the lights. The streetlamps outside let you see his figure, walking over to the bed. You force yourself not to hold your breath, and lie down like everything is perfectly normal.

The mattress dips. Bucky lies flat and stiff on his back, slowly pulling the sheets over his body, and you turn away, trying to hide the flush blooming over your face.

This was a mistake. That’s clear now. You adore him too much, and you wanted to help, and it made you forget about the actual consequences of Bucky being right there, next to you, wearing only sweats and emitting heat like a furnace. The bed feels smaller than it did a moment ago, but that might just be the size of him. Your fingers brush, and his hand jerks away like he thinks you’re going to burn. You twist further over, pulling the blankets with you.

“You’re hogging,” Bucky grunts, and you pull your knees a little into your chest.

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to loosen your grip. “Just- Cold.”

It’s not cold. It was, before he climbed in next to you. Now it’s impossibly humid, like you’ve been dropped in to a hot spring. Bucky sighs, and doesn’t take the slack of the sheets you offered. You shift in the bed, trying to make yourself smaller, trying to offer him more space.

The minutes crawl past you. It’s been an exhausting day, but you’ve never been more awake. You’re worried he can hear your heartbeat. You’re worried he can smell the arousal, pooling between your thighs whenever your feet brush. You’re almost curled fully into a ball, the sheet wrapped around you like a cocoon. A restless, anxious pill bug of a cocoon, trying to find a spot on the bed where you’re not painfully aware of Bucky’s presence.

His hands, brushing near your spine when you roll the wrong direction. The steady sound of his breath, that should be calming but only works you up more and more. The line of his jaw when you risk a look, and the flutter of his lashes as he stares at the ceiling. At least he’s not sleeping either. You can be grumpy together, in the morning.

“You’re movin’ too much,” Bucky grunts, and you’re flushing so deeply you’re worried you’re going to light on fire.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he sighs.

“’S fine.”

You think he might just give up and go back to the couch, but he doesn’t. You consider taking the couch yourself, but you’re stubborn. You asked him to do this, and if you try to go to the couch, Bucky will just throw you back to bed and take the couch himself.

That’s a nice idea. Strong arms wrapped around you, manhandling you, folding you over and tossing you wherever he pleases like a fuckdoll.

You risk another look, and almost whimper.

He’s staring at you in the dark, that strange, hooded look gleaming in his eyes. Your heart pushes into your throat, and your fingers dig into your hips as you hold yourself. Neither of you seem to be able to think of anything to say. Bucky licks his lips again, his eyes darting down to the arch of your neck, and your breath catches. The air seems to be pressing over your skin like a shroud. You’re not sure what to do with yourself but try to breathe.

This must be a dream. Bucky wouldn’t look at you like that during the day. And if it isn’t a dream, he probably doesn’t mean it the way your sleepy, addled brain thinks. He’s always had the same effect on you as a strong drink. Making you a little loose-lipped and foolish and delusional. There’s a reason you don’t go out with him. You’re not trying to ruin the good, steady friendship you’ve had for so long.

“I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” you whisper, and Bucky frowns.

“Stuck with you?”

“On- On the mission.”

His frown deepens. “I’m not stuck with you, that’s-“

He cuts himself off, rolling onto his back with a groan. He runs a hand over his face, and you swallow, pushing up a little to hold his gaze.

“It’s okay, I- I get it-“

“I wasn’t stuck with you,” he cuts you off, tone surprisingly stern. “I mighta been- Harsh,” he lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “But listen to me, I’m never- I like havin’ you around, alright? Never stuck with you.”

“But-“

“You matter,” he grunts, staring firmly up at the ceiling. “I don’t like this ‘cause you- You’re not supposed to be in these kinda situations, doll. That’s it. Don’t think it’s anything else.”

“Oh- Okay.” You whisper, and Bucky’s eyes dart to yours.

“Got it?”

You nod, and he sighs, looking back to the ceiling. His arms are still crossed, and he doesn’t look cold, but just lying there without blankets, it can’t be comfortable.

“Bucky?” You say softly, and he grunts. “Do you want the blankets?”

“I’m good-“

“We could share,” you add quickly, and he shoots you an amused look.

“I tried to share. You’re the one who kept yankin’ them away from me.”

You flush, wrinkling your nose. “They’re small-“

“They fit the mattress. Should fit two people.”

“Well, they didn’t think one of those people would be you.”

Bucky raises his brows, and your eyes widen.

“I- I just mean- You- You’re very big, and- I’m smaller- The sheets are smaller, and you’re big-“

“Said I’m big already,” he drawls, and you’re going to smack him.

“Well, you are,” you snap, yanking the sheets fully around you. “And now I’m not sharing. Because you’re being a butt.”

You flip over, burying your face in a pillow when Bucky laughs. It’s a low, deep sound that rolls through your body, almost making you dizzy. You feel the mattress shift behind you, and curl further into yourself.

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters, low and rough, and you’re sure you’re dreaming now.

“Your heart is racing.”

Bucky chuckles again. That’s a dangerous sound. He shouldn’t be allowed to make it.

“You’re bein’ bratty tonight,” he murmurs, a large, light hand tracing over the curve of your hips. “It’s cute.”

You want to roll over and hit him or something. It’s not fair to do that. Not right now, not to you. “James…” You whisper, and he hums.

“Love when say my name like that,” he toys with your hair between, and you bite back a moan. “You know you’re the only one I let say it, right? Only one who could get away with damn near anything ‘round me.”

You make a disgruntled, confused little sound that’s a mix between a moan and whine. You’re really not sure what the fuck is happening, but you’re terrified to ruin it. To move wrong and break from the dream.

“But Christ, doll,” Bucky wraps his hand slowly around the back of your neck, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning back into the touch. “I’m tryin’ real hard to be gentleman, and you’re not making it easy.”

His thumb drags over the base of your hairline, and the mattress dips again. Your breathing becomes shallow, as Bucky leans down. His lips brush near your ear, and you whimper, clinging onto the sheets for dear life.

“I can smell you,” he says, and you’d like the mattress to just swallow you whole. “Can smell how you get fuckin’ wet looking at me, how you gush whenever I touch you,” he squeezes that back of your neck gently. “Tell me to back off. Before I do something real stupid and selfish.”

You roll over slowly, and try not to moan at just the sight of him. Hanging over you in the dark, broad shoulders and parted lips, staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

“Selfish?” You manage to breathe, reaching up to rest your hand, flat against his burning chest. “James, you’re not-“

“Don’t.” He catches your wrist, but doesn’t push you away. “I want you all to myself. I’d call that selfish.”

You shake your head, your heart pounding your ears. Your nails scrape over his skin, and his whole body almost shudders with restraint. He mutters your name, cupping your cheek, his thumb dragging against your lower lip. 

“Please,” he rasps. “Don’t look at me like that, doll, c’mon-“

“What if I want you to look at me like that,” you whisper, and Bucky’s fingers flex against your jaw. “What- What if I want you too.”

Bucky’s gaze drops back to your lips. His tongue flicks out again, and when he looks at you, you can feel the desperation, tight as a wire between your bodies, begging to be snapped.

You’re not a brave person. You have never been. But under his attention, you feel like you could do anything. You drag your hand over his shoulders, and he shudders. You hold him, trembling with anticipation, and tug him down. He lets you, lowering until your lips are just brushing, his eyes lidded and features blown out.

“You sure?” He mutters, letting out a sharp breath when you nod. “I’m not- One night ain’t gonna be enough-“

“Good,” you whisper, and Bucky groans, fully dropping his brow. “Bucky- Please-“

Bucky kisses you, and you’ve dedicated countless hours to dreaming of this moment. You’ve played it out in a million scenarios, a million different ways, with a million different results. You never dared let yourself think that the reality would be better than the dream, and yet you’re here. And Bucky’s kissing you, and you didn’t know anything could feel so good.

He’s slow. Almost cautious, like he’s trying to test the waters of just how much he’s allowed to take. His lips are chapped and warm, working softly against yours, lighting a little fire with every single, teasing kiss. His tongue brushes over your low lip and you suck in a sharp breath. Bucky hums, pressing a little further down, caging you beneath the mass of his body, trapping you beneath him.

You’re exactly where you want to be. You open your mouth when his tongue presses on your lower lip, tugging gently on his hair to coax him on. He moans down your throat, weaving his fingers into your hair and tugging ever so lightly back. You let him guide you, clinging to his shoulders, getting swept away in the mass of him, the feeling of having him everywhere. His free hand drags down to caress your side, and you arch into the touch with a soft, uncontrolled sound.

Bucky groans, and his kiss gets sloppier. His movements become shorter, his lips demanding against yours. You’re already out of breath, but you don’t dare to push him away. You’ll let him kiss you like this until your head is spinning, until you pass out from the pleasurable, burning ache of his kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters against your lips, kissing between every word as if he can’t stop himself. “You’re so fuckin’ soft for me, doll, so sweet and easy.”

You whine and Bucky chuckles, kissing you deep and long and so torturously slow. His hand drags further down, tugging the hem of your shirt up. Your legs spread mindlessly, all the thoughts in your head being sucked away by Bucky’s kisses. Cool, metal fingers drag up your sensitive thigh, and you gasp, whole body shivering under the touch.

“You like that, huh,” Bucky kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. “Tryin’ to take it nice and slow, but you’re already begging for a little, more. Look at you,” he kisses up your cheek, over your jaw. “Gonna take real good care of you, doll. Make it feel real good for my pretty, needy girl.”

Words are already failing you, and you’re getting a little worried for what kind of boneless, fuckdoll puppet you’re going to be when he’s done with you. It’s an electric, hopeful fear. You hope you can feel him when you sit down tomorrow. You hope you can’t walk straight for a fucking week.

Bucky kisses over your nose, then your neglected cheek, and down your jaw. His teeth graze against you, his hand in your hair angling you around so he can suck little bruises right under your jaw. Those thick, metal fingers are still teasing along the inseam over your panties, and when his thumb brushes against the embarrassingly wet spot against your core, he groans against your skin.

“So wet,” he mutters, kissing over the sore mark under your jaw, then attaching his lips near your pulse point. “All for me, isn’t it? Thinkin’ about me fucking you, nice and slow.”

His tongue flicks against your throat, and you make a borderline pathetic noise.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You cry out, wrapping your arms fully around his neck. “Just for you- Only for you- Please-“

Bucky groans, pushing his face further into your neck. His thumb drags back against your clothed slit, teasing the lightest amount of pleasure until you’re clenching around nothing.

“More,” you try to demand, but it’s breathy and broken. “James, I- I need more-“

You roll your hips up, and Bucky’s thumb bumps right up against your clit. Your thighs try to push together and hold him there, but he grabs them forcing them back open and pushing his knee right against your core.

“Demanding,” he presses a quick kiss to your lips then pushes back up, tracing his thumb over the curve of your swollen bottom lip. “You wanna try that one again?”

You swallow and shake your head, trying to push him just a little, just to test what will happen. Bucky’s jaw ticks. He pushes his knee further forward against your cunt, and you cry out, rolling your hips to chase a little extra friction. Bucky lets you, his thumb pushing a little further into your mouth.

He groans when you take him, swirling your tongue and sucking as the need between your thighs builds impossibly high. He keeps hitting against your clit, but not with nearly enough pressure, and he’s planted against your fluttering cunt, but you need him in you. You need to not be able to think, outside of Bucky all around you. If you were stronger, you’d try to pull him back down, but you’re not. You’re  a messy, fluttering mess beneath him, unable to remember how cold it was moments ago as you suck on his thumb like a whore.

Bucky presses on your abdomen, pushing you deeper into the mattress, and you grab his wrist. You give him your best, watering, pathetic eyes. You need more of him the same way you need oxygen. His knee isn’t enough, no amount of him is enough. If you don’t get to drown in the pine scent and massive strength of him, you might start actually screaming.

“Look at you,” Bucky mutters, leaning over your body with a smirk. “So pretty like this, doll. Could drive a man fuckin’ crazy.”

You whimper, eyes dropping to his crotch. To the thick, massive tent pressing against his sweats, and the slightly dark spot against the gray fabric. You moan around his thumb, and watch it twitch slightly. Bucky groans, leaning further down so the head of his cock drags against your soft thigh. He pulls his thumb away, smearing a line of spit over your cheek, then ducks down and lick it away. You moan, turning your face to try and meet his lips, and he chuckles.

“That’s right,” he mutters, indulging you with a slow, gentle kiss. “I know what you need, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed and Bucky goes back to kissing you like you’re something priceless. You’re still fucking yourself on his knee, the feeling spreading like a warm, rising tide through your body. Bucky hums, his now free hand slowly dragging under your shirt. Teasing up your side, under your breast, then pinching your nipple between two fingers and rolling it in tight, fast circles.

He swallows the cry that leaves your lips, flicking your nipple before soothing the hurt with his thumb.

“Easy,” he mutters. “Nice and easy. Let’s get you ready, huh?”

You nod, thinking back to that tent in Bucky’s pants. You’re going to need to be ready to take that. And whatever he has to do to get you there, you’re more than willing to let him.

Bucky pulls back up and slowly guides your t-shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side and helping you settle back into the mattress. A low groan rumbles through his chest as his eyes rake over your body, and your arms instinctively go up to cover yourself from the unrelenting, almost feral gaze.

He catches your wrist and pins it over your head, giving you a stern, knowing look.

“Don’t hide,” he scolds, his metal hand slowly trailing down your exposed body. “Most gorgeous fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen, trying to hide her pretty little body from me.” He grabs your waist, squeezing the soft skin before massaging it, holding your gaze the whole time. “Been driving me made for years, baby. Thinking you were right there and I’d never get to have you like this.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Torture. Goddamn torture.”

Your mouth is hanging open, your breaths coming out in short helpless pants. You’re not even really sure what to do with yourself but lay there, and you’d feel worse about that if it didn’t seem to be exactly what Bucky wanted as well.

“Thought about just fuckin’- Living with my face here,” he palms at your breast, the cold of his metal hand a sharp contrast to the fire, brimming under every inch of your skin. “Marking those up until the whole world knew that you were mine. My needy little slut.”

You whimper, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“Yeah, I know you like that,” he flicks your nipple, watching with dangerous attention as your body seizes up. “Always could smell you gettin’ wet when I’d tell you what to do. Drove me out of my mind, you got no idea.”

You think you’ve got some idea. His grip on your hands is tight like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, and his every muscle is rippling with restraint. You let out a low, soft whine of his name, and Bucky makes that deep, hungry sound again.

“This pussy,” he mutters, dragging his hands back down your body, cupping your pussy and grinding the palm of his hand against your clit. “It’s mine, isn’t it, doll.”

“Ye- Yes,” you whisper. “It’s yours, James- Please.”

Bucky grins, hooking two metal fingers around the ruined fabric, knuckles bumping against your needy pussy, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Damn right it is.”

He rips your underwear off in one motion, and you don’t even get a second to adjust to the feeling before Bucky’s shoving his ring finger straight into your cunt, pressing his thumb down over your sensitive clit. You make an embarrassingly loud sound, almost bucking off the bed, but the metal hand is impossibly strong. He pushes you back down, crooking his finger deep inside of you, and laughs when your eyes roll back in your head.

“Come on, doll. Eyes on me,” he pumps his finger once, twice, the slaps your sensitive cunt before shoving his hand back in. “Eyes on me.”

You force your eyes to open back up, locking onto his as you try to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It’s just one finger. One thick, massive, metal finger that you can feel straight through your core and to your toes. The cold makes every sensation starker. Bucky’s forced eye contact makes you feel raw and exposed, like a meal he’s about to savor.

“Good girl,” he coos, pulling that finger almost fully out, swirling his thumb around your clit, and pushing it back in.

“Buckyyyy-“ You moan, lashes fluttering as he bumps right against that gooey spot deep inside of you. “Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“I’m not teasin’,” he leans over you, his hand picking up the pace. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby. You can do it.”

You try. God you try. Bucky fucks his finger into you like a machine, reangling his hand so the metal palm is slapping against your clit, working you open more and more and more until you’re whimpering and unravelling beneath him. It’s so overwhelming, you’re almost forgetting to breathe. You strain against his hold on your hands, but it’s hopeless, and you just end up wiggling below him, tits bouncing in his face.

Bucky groans at the sight of you, his hips jerking and cock dragging against your sensitive inner thigh, but he doesn’t slow down or offer you another kiss. He just keeps you pinned beneath him, drawling out praise and mocking words, shoving in a second finger when the first starts to slip in and out too easy.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy,” he rasps, eyes burning against yours. “Bet my cock is gonna slide right in, doll. Made to take me like the pretty slut you are.”

You moan again, every last bit of dignity slipping through your trapped fingers. The eye contact makes it too intense, and the second finger is bullying you open just right, offering a little extra pressure against your sensitive g-spot. Bucky’s eyes flash, when a tiny, hitched noise leaves your throat, and presses down harder.

“That’s it, isn’t it,” he mutters, watching every twitch of your face, every flutter of your wet lashes like some kind of incubus sex-hawk. “There’s the spot, baby. Feels so good, I know you want to cum.”

You whimper, nodding desperately. Bucky grinds his hard palm against your over-stimulated clit, and your think you’re going to explode.

“It’s alright, babydoll,” he coos. “Let go.”

Your orgasm snaps through you like a rocket, ripping every nerve of your body and making your vision go white. You thrash and scream as you pussy gushes and clenches, your eyes still unable to leave Bucky’s. His jaw is hanging open, his face lust-drunk and predatory, and it just makes your orgasm crest higher. You think he could shove his whole arm in you and you’d be able to take it, with how he’s unraveled.

If the size of his cock in his pants is any indication of what’s coming. That’s for far better than worse.

You’re trembling when you come down, tears streaming down your cheek and broken mewls escaping your lips. Bucky leans down slowly, kissing your cheek, then your closed eyes, then your open mouth.

“You’re doin’ so well, baby,” he murmurs, letting your wrist go so he can cup your jaw. “Gonna fuck you so good, my sweet girl.”

You make a pathetic, eager sound, and Bucky’s faint smile ghosts over your lips. He leans back up, his thumb dragging against a hickey he left on your neck, and his shoulders shake.

“No idea,” he mutters. “No fuckin’ clue what you do to me.”

He pulls a little further back, tugging down his sweats, and you squeak at the sight of him. You didn’t think dicks could actually look like that without steroids or surgery or something. Thick and veiny, a good amount of hair cropped around heavy balls, his thick, angry head twitching as he fists himself and drags his thumb over his slit.

You look up at him, almost drooling. “You- You’re-“

“Big?” He teases, and you try to scowl, but it’s more of a pout.

“Shut up,” you whine, and he laughs, crawling slowly over your limp body.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky leans down, kissing you like you’re not both sex-addled, ruined wrecks of people. It’s the kiss you imagined when he would be a knight, and you’d be a princess, and he’d sweep you off your feet in your dreams. Slow and loving, more of an oath than an act of need. Trying to say things neither of you know how to articulate with words. You reach up, cradling Bucky’s face between your hands, and he lets out a shuddering breath, muttering your name.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he warns, and you smile against his lips.

“Yay.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but kisses you again, holding onto that soft, honey-sweet moment. His cock rubs between the lips of your pussy, and your breath catches.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, and it’s not a joke anymore. He’s nudging against your entrance, and a sting is already building back up behind your eyes. 

“I know,” Bucky mutters, kissing away your tears. “But you can take it, doll. Know you can.”

You nod, letting Bucky kiss you into the mattress. He’s holding you down with the weight of his hips, stopping you from squirming or crawling away as he nudges in the first inch.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans. “So tight, doll, shit-“

Another inch, and you’re struggling for air. The stretch burns in the best possible way, making your head spin and your mouth hang, agape and useless. Bucky kisses your open lips like he can’t help himself, and you can feel his control already slipping as he groans, pushing a little more inside.

His thumb fumbles to find your clit, rubbing tight circles, easing you further and further open. Bucky moans when he bottoms out, his whole body tensed as he tries to hold himself still, giving you time to adjust.

Your eyes cross, and your toes curl, and slowly the pain shifts into a warm, desperate pleasure.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You whisper, scratching at his back. “Move, please.”

He grunts, and pulls his hips fully out before driving them slowly back in. You moan, and he grabs your jaw, forcing his mouth back over yours.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he grunts against your lips, repeating the long, torturous motion. “Sweet fuckin’ doll, gonna milk this cock, aren’t you. Let me fuck you however I want.”

You mewl and nod, a molten puddle in Bucky’s arms. The sheets are long tossed to the ground, so you grab his bicep, blinking up at him with needy, pathetic doe eyes. Bucky groans, his pace picking up slightly.

“That’s right,” he grunts, finding an angle that makes him bully your g-spot, a rhythm that pushes broken moans out of your throat. “So sensitive, gorgeous when you cry for me, shit-“

Bucky groans, pressing down to kiss you, all bruising force and spit. You let him, unable to think outside of the consuming way he’s around you, the brutal split of his cock inside your abused pussy.

He’s fucking you so that the bed creaks, so that everything feels floaty and light and impossibly good. His abdomen presses against your clit and his dick hits every good spot inside of you, rearranging your guts and turning you into pure putty.  It’s embarrassing, how quickly you’re getting to the edge again. Bucky notices, and doubles down, slamming his hips down just a little harder.

“Like that, baby?” He grunts, watching your slack, cockdrunk expression. “Like bein’ fucked like this? Wanna soak my cock, show me how fuckin’ good it feels?”

You nod, another wrecked noise escaping your throat. Bucky snakes his metal hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit in small, tight circles.

“Again, doll, cum on this dick,” he spanks your clit, then goes back to the circle. “Cum for me-“

You shatter with a cry of Bucky’s name, pussy clenching and fluttering, body arching off the mattress. Bucky groans and doubles over, pressing his face between your breasts and mouthing at them like an animal. Your hands shoot into his hair as you try to hold onto something, your orgasm just cresting higher and higher as Bucky keeps fucking into you. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you, his shallow thrusts desperate and uncontrolled, his moans vibrating against your skin and making your whole body twitch.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You sob with pleasure, pressing his face further into your body. “Fuck- James- Oh my god-“

Your orgasm doesn’t seem to be settling. It just builds higher and higher as Bucky keeps fucking into you, desperate and rough. You rock beneath him, overstimulated and dazed, and his wraps his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard as his thrusts start to get jagged.

You pet his head with trembling fingers, gasping every word with a hoarse voice. “Come on, James, pleaseee-“

Bucky moans your name, and crashes back up to your lips as he slams home, and cums deep inside your cunt.

There’s so much of him. He kisses you with tongue and long moans, and you’re barely even able to return the affection as he empties himself into your warm cunt. You can feel him in your throat, in the tips of your fingers, almost bursting out of your tummy and seeping through your pussy lips. Bucky fucks you through his orgasm, slower and slower with every thrust, panting against your lips. You clench around him and he buries himself back in with a grunt, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up into his lap.

You kiss his slowly, everything a little bit of a haze as you finally float back down from your long orgasm. Bucky kisses all over your face as the last of him spills inside of you, then presses his face against your neck, letting out a shaky breath.

His tongue flicks against another one of those bruises he left, and you shiver.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and you hum, leaning your cheek against the side of his head.

“’S okay.”

Bucky sighs, leaning back to meet your hooded, starry eyes. You’ve never been so exhausted, but fuck, you don’t care. You’ve also never felt so close to someone. To Bucky. You never want to let go.

“That’s gonna hurt in the morning,” he mutters, and you’re not even sure which part he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter, so you just shrug.

“Worth it.”

Bucky swallows, glancing down at your lips. Like he’s suddenly not allowed to just kiss you.

You lean forward for him, and he immediately melts over you. You smile into the kiss, curling into his chest, and he lets out a low, rough groan. You should probably get off the bed soon. Neither of you are going to be able to sleep in it now. But you really don’t care. If you could, you’d just stay here forever.

Bucky leans back, tracing his thumb over the corner of your mouth. He’s looking at you like you’re a dream. You hope he thinks you’re looking at him the same way.

“Might be a little late,” he rasps. “But can I get you dinner?”

You giggle, and nod. Bucky’s shoulders sag.

“Thank god,” he mutters, leaning back in for another kiss. “Got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, doll. Really.”

You hum, and just kiss him back. You’ll show him that you know exactly how long later, because you’ve been waiting even longer. For now, you just let him kiss you. You’re going to have all the time in the world, to ruin other beds. You don’t want to waste a single second of his heat and ease in this one. Finally, in Bucky’s arms.

✦End note: it can't believe i've never done this trope before it's amazing i love it here✦

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