For fox sake

Over the last several years, Steve’s normally vacant house became a safe haven for disasters like these, also a place where the kids could be together to just hang out on the quiet, normal days. He never said it, but he loved hearing the kids laughing and yelling, sometimes having movie nights, or playing DnD; it was a welcomed sound compared to the painful quiet he had grown used to for the majority of his life. 

Tonight, no inside jokes and endearing name calling echoed throughout the house. No fighting over which movie to play first, or what kind of pizza to order, or the shouting and cheering that usually came along with playing their favorite game. If anything, there were somber conversations, softly echoing through the house, with words and emotions no kid should have to be worried about. Sometimes there was crying, or complete silence, where the only thing Steve could hear was the faint, yet now permanent ringing in his ears he had gained over the last several years. Any which way a sound like these carried through the house, it broke his heart.

So, you try distracting him as the two of you clean one another’s wounds for yet another night. You keep things light where possible, but the both of you know it’s only a bandaid over a permanent emotional scar that is torn open time and time again. The physical wounds always heal, but the heartbreak you’ve all grown accustomed to is one that weighs so heavy on everyone’s hearts, and you can’t imagine it vanishing anytime soon.

“Yeah, I swear, it’s like you’re magically turning into a connect the dots picture, or something.” Steve smiles, laughing softly through his nose at your corny attempt to keep his mind off of the trauma.

“You think so? Maybe one of these days you should come up with a drawing out of ‘em.” Steve’s trying his hardest to keep things lighthearted, too, but sometimes it’s just easier to feel the pain instead of forcing any positivity.

“Jesus, this is gnarly.” You murmur, still amazed by the damage Steve took this time around as you’re softly swiping some kind of medicated ointment along the open wound. He hisses from the dull sting, but the substance begins to numb the ache and inflammation, bringing some sort of relief, if any at all. “Do you feel like a greasy slug when you use this stuff? Because I definitely feel like a greasy slug when I use it.”

Neither of you had figured out the best way to dress the wound around his neck, so Steve had been changing clean t-shirts like bandages every few hours. The others, at least, were relatively easy to clean and dress, but they seemed to be deeper; Steve probably needed stitches on some, but he refused to go to the hospital, insisting other people in town had worse injuries, and needed the medical attention more.

“I mean, I feel slimy… but not like a slug— Jesus, how much sleep did you get last night?” At first, you think he’s asking because of your silly remark, but then he’s cupping the side of your face, thumb gently rubbing along your cheekbone, getting a better look at the dark circles draped under your eyes. You push aside the butterflies in your stomach from his touch as you reach for his clean shirt, moving his arms out in front of you to roll the fabric down and over his arms and head. For a moment, you miss his touch, but it’s back on your face after he adjusts his shirt.

“Seriously, are you sleeping at all?” He asks softly, eyes filled with worry. Leave it to Steve to worry about everyone else before himself. 

You shrug as you look away, not wanting to make a big fuss. “Last night was just rough up here,” You poke at your temple. “That’s all. I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep easily tonight with how tired I am.”

“Where’d you sleep last night?” He asks, knowing decent spots to sleep were limited now that the all of the kids were reunited again. Everyone, except Max who was at the hospital, and Lucas, who refused to leave her side. Still, there were only so many places to rest for the entire group, even in a roomy house like Steve’s.

“Um… well, some of the kids had the pullout couch, one took a recliner, Robin has the guest room, and Jonathan and Nancy have your parents’ room… so I slept on the floor in the living room.” You shrug, but you know that contributed to the lack of sleep, and extra aches in your back. How you ever easily slept on the floor as a kid during sleepovers, you’ll never understand.

Steve looks bothered by this, letting go of your face as you move to the faucet to wash your hands. “What? Why didn’t you say something? You could’ve had my bed.”

You scoff a laugh out, “Steve, you need a real bed after everything you’ve been through. I can handle the floor like a big kid.”

“Okay, well, tonight you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the floor, I don’t mind. Or I can sleep downstairs somewhere if you want sp—”

You shake your head wildly. “Don’t- I don’t wanna be alone again.” You maneuver around Steve as he slides off the counter, and you take his spot to let him tend to your wounds next. Finally, you confess, “I fell asleep once, and it was just one giant nightmare. I stayed up after that. Didn’t want to see that shit again.”

Steve washes his hands, lips pursed and brows furrowed as he keeps quiet for a moment, thinking. The two of you always trusted one another, always came to one another whenever you needed, so why the hell were you isolating yourself now?

“Next time, tell me. Wake me up. I don’t care.” Steve’s tone is firm, but he’s not upset with you. Just upset that you’re retreating into yourself when he just wants to help. 

He starts peeling off the butterfly bandages around the slit skimming vertically down your eye. It begins just above your eyebrow, running down to your brow bone, pausing across your eye before continuing just under your lash line, finishing off past your cheekbone. Instinctually, your eye begins to squint closed, but the action tugs at your skin, stinging along the edge of your wound. 

“Steve, you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since high school. Why would I wake you up when you need the rest?” He starts cleaning the wound, sighing to pause himself, think carefully about what he wants to say next. You keep going. “I actually did come in last night, but you were sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up, not when you need the rest.”

“Close your eye for a second.” You do, appearing as if you’re failing an attempt at winking. Steve’s gently patting the cut with some sort of medical disinfectant on a cotton ball, heart aching little by little as you whimper in pain. You try keeping quiet, knowing your wounds are nothing compared to his. “You can cry you know. Or curse. Or yell. Or whatever. Stop trying to hide it.”

“Mine are like… paper cuts compared to yours.” He pats the wound dry with a new piece of cotton, sighing again. “What?”

“You don’t have to hide your pain from me. I’m not sure if you’re worried its a burden to anyone, or whatever, but you never hid from me before. What happened?” Steve begins to apply clean butterfly bandages along the deep slit in your skin. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to your lips, and you have to remind yourself your other face wound is a split in your lip. “Gotta get that next.”

“I can do it.”

“Nope, if you’re gonna nurse all of my wounds, it’s only fair if I do that for you in return.”

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“No, but I want to. You’re my best friend, and you’ve been patching up my wounds since we were reckless little shits on the playground. You care about me, let me care about you.” His thumb gently presses on the untouched side of your bottom lip, holding it steady so he can begin fixing that one up, too. You’re too aware of how the pad of his thumb feels against your lip, wondering what it’d be like to wrap your lips around it and take him into your mouth.

“See, this is why I gotta hold your lip, you’re so twitchy.” Steve teases, unaware of why your bottom lip trembles every now and then when he’s so close. Is he really that clueless? “After this, you’re sleeping in my bed. I’ll carry you and lock you in my room if it means you’re gonna sleep like a normal person tonight.”

Your skin prickles and hair stands on end at his words. He really has no idea what he does to you with silly comments like these.

“Okay, but like…. What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?”

Steve stops his movements, snorting as his eyes close while a smile graces his features. With a shrug, he simply answers, “Hold it.”

Your jaw drops, feigning offense. “That’s fucked up, Steven.”

“So is sleeping on the floor instead of a bed.”

“You need it more than me!”

“Will you shut up for like, ten seconds? I’m almost done with this.” He’s stifling his own laughter, before murmuring, “Not gonna lie, you’re gonna look so badass when these are healed.”

“Pfffft. Maybe, but no one’s gonna be attracted to this mess.” You’re only joking, but Steve frowns as he applies petroleum jelly to your lips, generous on your cut. 

“What? No fucking way. You’re still a babe.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve. No one’s gonna kiss me after this.” You chuckle, but notice the way his eyes flicker to your lips again, lingering longer than usual, then back to your eyes. His gaze is mesmerizing, with the warm brown color and hazel undertones, you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

“I mean, I w—”

“Hey, St— oh,” Robin’s in the doorway of the bathroom, smirking at the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?” You lean back, fingers curled around the edge of the counter while Steve’s standing up straight, taking a step back from you as he clears his throat.

“N- no, we were just fixing each other up.” Steve nervously spits out, adding a shrug like everything’s cool. 

“Right. Sure you were.” Robin teases. You want to shrink into yourself and completely disappear on the spot. “Where’s the box of movies you stole from work?”

You quirk a brow at her question, then look back at Steve. “You did what?”

“Shut it— I didn’t— I borrowed them. Robin, stop spreading rumors about me.”

“Fine. Sure. You “borrowed” them,” She flashes air quotes with her fingers, and you laugh. “Where are they? The kids are driving me up a wall trying to find them.”

Steve looks puzzled, chuckling. “They’re literally right next to the damn TV. Dustin should know that by now.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh my god,” she turns out of the room yelling down the stairs, “Dustin! Get your shit together, man!” Before walking away, she glances at the two of you again with a smirk, “Have fun playing doctor, or whatever.”

“Leave.” Steve points out the door as Robin’s already leaving.

“Yeah, you showed her.” You tease Steve, trying to let go of what he was about to say before Robin barged in. You’re sliding off of the counter, and Steve playfully pushes your shoulders from behind, forcing you out of the bathroom.

“Alright, smart ass, let’s go.” He nudges you across the hall to his room, but you try turning away. Swiftly, he turns you back towards the door. “I wasn’t kidding, I’ll throw you over my shoulder if it means getting you to sleep in a bed.” He keeps a firm grip on your shoulders, pushing you through the doorway comically.

“Steve, if you wanted me in your bed so bad, all you have to do is ask nicely.” You’re not even trying to be coy or flirt, but it makes him choke on air. You spin around quickly, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I— wrong pipe.” He rasps out, clearing his throat. You don’t buy it, realizing your lazy joke was the reason for his coughing fit. Still, you let it go, not wanting to embarrass him. Steve continues clearing his throat as he pulls some old blankets out of his closet, and some pillows from his bed to lay out on the floor.

“Stay in your bed, I’ll take the floor, it’s fine.” You’re trying one more time, hoping he’ll stop being so stubborn and sleep in his fucking bed. 

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” He wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up off the floor slightly, carrying you a few feet over before dropping you into his bed. 

“I was just thinking the same about you.” You murmur, arms crossed as you look at the bed behind you. You realize how big it is, and have an idea. “If you won’t let me sleep on the floor, just sleep next to me. There’s plenty of room for the both of us anyway.”

“Sleep— sl— next to you? Same bed?” Steve’s voice cracks, pulling giggles out of you. 

“Yes, Steve. Same bed. Unless you’ve got another one hiding around here.” You’re surprised you’re even suggesting this when the idea makes you incredibly nervous, but you need sleep, and Steve needs sleep, and you’re out of any other ideas. “If you want it to yourself though, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No- I- stop it, I’m gonna sleep on the floor, and that’s final.” His hands are on his hips, his signature, go-to move when he’s scolding the kids, but you’ve qualified for its appearance tonight, too. You rise to your knees on the bed, hitting eye level with him while you mirror him, hands falling to your hips in the same pose he has. 

Steve isn’t having it, and before you can start verbally teasing him, he’s pushing you back into bed. You catch yourself on your hands as you stumble back onto the pillows. “I’m gonna superglue you to the bed.”

“Now you’re just being a child.”

“Me? You were just—” Steve sighs, hand dragging over his face. “Just go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to!” Your bottom lip is wobbling as your bloodshot eyes tear up ever so slightly; you’re doing all you can to hold them back, reminding yourself logically this isn’t that serious, but your emotions show otherwise.

If anyone else in any normal circumstances yelled this, they’d be deemed childish. You, on the other hand, you’re yelling this for perfectly valid reasons. And Steve knows what you’re feeling all too well. One more time, his heart breaks for you, watching the panic spread across your sleep deprived face.

“I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to watch you get hurt over and over again in my nightmares. I’ve seen that too many times in real life, it’s sickening watching you get beaten to death time and time again… and I just— fuck. Steve, just take the fucking bed. Please? I don’t want to sleep, and you need it more than me, I really don’t mind the fl—”

Steve sits next to you and pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly against him. That’s when the floodgates finally break. You grip onto his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists as you begin crying on his shoulder.

“M’not going anywhere. Promise. You’re safe, I’m safe, everyone’s okay.” You know that’s not completely truthful; Max is hanging on by a thread in the hospital, and Eddie’s gone. Steve knows this, but right now his concern is getting you to finally fall asleep. “C’mon, you’ll feel better if you lay down.” You expect Steve to gently nudge you to the pillows alone, but he keeps his hold on you, carefully laying the both of you down. “You sure you’re okay with me staying in bed?” You nod against his shoulder, wrapping yourself around him as if that’ll anchor him here for good. 

“Don’t go,” You’re mumbling into the fabric of his shirt, wanting to tug yourself closer to him, hang onto him like a clingy koala, but you’re trying to stay mindful of his injuries. 

“Not going anywhere.” Steve whispers, kissing the top of your head before lingering for a moment. “Not going anywhere without you.” Neither of you untangle from one another, and Steve’s embrace is starting to calm you down to steadier breathing and shaky hiccups instead of heavy crying filled with anxiety and dread. With your body desperate for rest and the security you feel with Steve, it doesn’t take long for sleep to pull you in. Steve’s snoring softly shortly after you fall asleep.

At some point in the night, the two of you untangle, rolling to opposite sides of the bed. Steve’s woken up by movement, strange shifting in the bed next to him, and an airy whimper, just loud enough for him to hear. He rubs his eyes, turning over and sees your figure, facing away from him, remembering that the two of you fell asleep in his bed. 

Steve’s not sure what time it is, nor does he really care, especially not after hearing another soft noise float from your parted lips. Trying to adjust to the dark surroundings, despite the weak glow from a night light plugged in, he stares at you, or what he can see, at least, worried you’re having another nightmare. He moves closer and leans over you, prepared to wake you up and give comfort if you need, but you don’t look scared. If anything, you look pained, frustrated; Steve’s eyes scan down your figure as you move again, noticing the way your hips roll forward against your own hand.

Holy shit.

Frozen, he can’t take his gaze off of you. He needs to. He should roll back over and force himself back to sleep, pretend he never heard anything, never saw you—

“Steve…” You murmur, languidly grinding against the heel of your palm, face buried into the pillow as you writhe under his imaginary touch. His mind starts spiraling.

That’s why you got nervous when he held your lip, or when you mentioned how with a lip scar inevitable in the near future, no one would want to kiss you, and the way the two of you couldn’t take your eyes off of one another. How you looked so mortified when Robin walked in, forcing the two of you apart. He begins to realize how this isn’t new, this has been going on for awhile, and he can’t believe how oblivious he’s been.

The signs have always been in your lingering touches, when you lock eyes with him and share knowing glances no one else would understand, the way you’ve always tried protecting him, or tending to his now routinely scheduled injuries whenever he’s caught up in anything related to the Upside Down. It’s always been in the way you’d give up your comfort for him, how you’d never complain if he woke you up from nightmares, calling at three in the morning. 

How it’s an unspoken pact between the two of you to share your fries with one another, or when one falls asleep early during movie nights, the other thoughtfully covers them in a blanket, letting them rest. How you always keep extra medical supplies in your car just for Steve’s clumsy ass. How he’s sneaking you video tapes for free whenever you visit him at work. How you insist on calling him exactly at midnight on his birthday. 

You’d drop everything in an instant for Steve, and he’d do the same for you without hesitation. Whenever he tries to put your needs first, you’re quick to point out that someone needs to care about him, too.

Steve can’t believe how clueless he’s been, and out of all the times he’s figuring this out, it’s now, while you’re having a wet dream about him. Because of fucking course it would hit him now.

While his thoughts ran in a million different directions at once, he wasn’t aware of how hard he became, hearing your cute little noises, and how he’s still pressed right against you from behind. Does he let you continue? Does he wake you up? If he does, what’s his excuse? Lie and say it was a nightmare? Or tell you the truth, risking ruining something before it could ever begin, embarrassing you on the spot?

Without warning, you turn over, still asleep as your arms slip around his torso loosely, as if you’re still trying to be careful with his wounds while knocked out. One of your legs slot between his, and Steve has to bite back a groan at the pressure against his bulge. As if that alone wasn’t threatening to make him fall apart, your hips begin moving lazily again against his leg, and he can feel your sticky heat on his skin through your sleep shorts. Steve’s about to lose his fucking mind.

“Stevie, wanna make y’feel good…” You’re still asleep as you murmur this. Steve knew you talked in your sleep, but never like this. He can’t take it anymore. One hand ends up on the hip facing away from the bed, while the other is drawn to your neck, curling to the back to hold you gently as his fingers slide up into your hair. 

“Wanna make you feel good too, angel.” He’s guiding you slowly along his thigh, tensing up underneath you; he’s not sure how to wake you up without startling you, and he doesn’t want the building desire to end so soon. 

In time with his thoughts, you begin to stir, eyes fluttering open. You blink a couple times, then Steve nudges against your core again, and you keen, throwing your head back into his hand already waiting for you.

“Oh- oh, fuck, oh my god…” You’re growing aware of the situation, realizing your dream is becoming reality so seamlessly. You’re embarrassed, you want to hide away and apologize, but Steve rubs himself against the leg you have pressed against him, releasing a throaty groan; the embarrassment falls away, fast. “St- Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s trying not to pant this soon, trying not to sound so breathy and needy already.

“M’sorry, I- I didn’t realize that I—”

Steve shushes you softly, bringing your face closer to his as he leans in, noses touching while you’re both making the sweetest noises together. “I can stop, if you want. I- I shouldn’t just assume you want this, maybe it was a silly dream—”

“No, it wasn’t… I really want you, Steve.” Your hands test the waters, sliding up his body, but only over his shirt, before holding his face; your gaze locks with his, and despite the dim glow in the room, you can see the lust ridden look he’s giving you while nodding wordlessly to give his consent. You lean in to kiss him, lips touching ever so slightly; you freeze as self doubt sets in, but he senses it, and kisses you back fully, mindful of your split lip. 

It’s slow, almost too slow for you and how wound up you are from the dream, but you do your best to stay patient. Steve’s hand on your hip sneaks under your shirt, just enough that the tips of his fingers brush against your skin, just beneath the hem. The hand cradling the back of your head moves to your jaw, fingers splaying out to get a better hold on you when his lips part against yours. You make some kind of small noise, a muffled yelp that slips into Steve’s mouth when his tongue slips into yours. Distracted by the kiss, your hips stopped rolling, so Steve begins guiding you along his thigh again.

A moan shudders out of you as you pull back to catch your breath. Steve can’t take his eyes off of you as your eyes flutter shut, head falling back as another sweet moan leaves your lips, losing yourself in the pleasure from such a simple action.

You’re not sure when, but your hands made it to Steve’s back, fists bunched up with the fabric of his shirt, not wanting to touch any part of him that might hurt, but needing to grab something. 

“Does th- this happen a lot?” He manages to ask, and in his head, he’s rolling his eyes at himself, because he wanted that to sound so much sexier than it did. You’re in a whole different world, though, already blissed out when barely anything has happened yet.

“Mhm,” You open your eyes as you answer, the burning desire low in your body growing hotter as the two of you make eye contact again. “Can I- can we— take this stupid thing off.”

Steve laughs, realizing maybe sexy isn’t what either of you need right now; being best friends already, it only makes sense that the only time the two of you can’t form coherent thoughts laced with lust would be when you’re pressed up against one another for the first time.

Pulling his hands back, he gestures to his shirt in the goofiest way, like he’s Vanna fucking White, showing off a purchased vowel. “You can’t take this seriously, can you?” You’re not mad, in fact, you’re laughing with him, and something about the two of you nervously laughing makes you more comfortable being intimate with your best friend. 

“I’m just filling in the blanks for you, angel.” He’s smirking, but he’s also trying to stifle more laughter, so it just comes out as a product of a snicker and a snort. 

“Oh, that was real cute,” You tease, reaching for his waist. “Words, words are hard.” You’re grumbling, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, carefully pulling it over his head.

“Yeah, don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

Whatever smart-ass retort you had ready to roll off your tongue disappears at the sight of Steve, now shirtless. It’s nothing new to you, you’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but in the moment, you’re hyper aware of how different this is. There’s no going back, but if you were being honest, there was no going back once you moaned his name in your sleep.

“What?” Steve asks, laughter dying down as he watches you reach out to his torso, tracing his scars, both old and the ones just beginning to form. 

“You’re so… pretty.”

Steve blushes, a rosy red shade blooms across his face, to the tips of his ears. “I— shut up.”

You scoff, “I’m being honest!” He tugs at the bottom of your shirt, waiting for your permission, but your hands hold his back, shaking your head. Shyly, you state the obvious, “I don’t have a bra on.” Of fucking course you don’t, you never sleep in bras. Even Steve knows that, forever impressed with how you could just unhook that damn thing with one hand so casually and slip out of it, pulling it out of your shirt without ever stripping. It’d take everything in him to hold his jaw from dropping, when you just wanted out of a ridiculously uncomfortable bra.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve reassures softly, only to follow it up with, “I don’t either.”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m going back to sleep,” You tease, beginning to roll back over, but Steve grabs you quickly to roll you on top of him instead. 

“Like hell you are,” He’s tugging at your shirt again, looking up at you with those sweet doe eyes, filled with wonder and curiosity over what his best friend looks like under everything. “Don’t feel pressured to say yes. We can st—”

You’re pulling your shirt off with a determined speed, like ripping off a bandaid, throwing it on the floor. “I do not look good with these bruises.” 

Steve sits up, all humor and admiration draining from his features as he takes in all of the severe bruising you have from a few days ago. “Wh… how— why didn’t you show me? Or tell me? Fuck, I probably made some of them worse—”

“Hey, Steve, it’s okay. Seriously. I’m okay. These are nothing compared to what you ended up with.”

He shakes his head, ghosting his fingers over some of the worst bruises, blooming in the darkest shades of purple and blue he’s ever seen on someone, including himself, and that says a lot. Some are beginning to grow into that sickly yellow, even greenish color. 

“What the hell do I have to do or say to convince you that you’re allowed to show me your pain too?” He’s not sure what he’s feeling, he just wishes you said something, wishes he knew so he could care for you properly.

“There’s not much you can do for bruises, Steve.” You shrug. “M’sorry, I just wanted to put you first. You’re always caring for everyone else before yourself, and I wish you’d let someone care for you, too. I want to give you the love and care you give everyone but yourself. These mean nothing to me, I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Disappointed? From what? How you look with these? Because I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re still a babe with your face wounds, and that applies here too. You have… no fucking idea how badly I want to get my hands all over you, but I think we should stop. I don’t want to make those more painful than they already are.”

“Steve, I can handle it. I bruise like a peach, anyway.” You’re mentioning it casually, but enjoy the way he blushes at your words, clearly thinking of better reasons to be bruised. You smirk, “Feel free to tuck that fun fact away for another day.”

“I— I’ll bring that back up later.” He murmurs, trying to focus. “Anyway… are you sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you grab his hands, bringing them to your tits roughly. “Does this answer your question?”

Enthusiastically, Steve nods, fingers already toying with your nipples, breathing out, “Fuck yeah it does.” You start giggling until he latches onto one of the sensitive nubs, fingers softly pinching at the other every so often, in between grabbing a handful of you. He groans into your skin, thinking about how long he’s wanted to touch you like this, but it’s better than he imagined. 

You’re arching your back as he switches sides, a thread of spit unraveling from his lips that’s still clinging to you;  your eyes to roll back as you grind down onto his lap from just the sight alone, fingers twisting into his locks, tugging softly as he sucks, bites, soothes with his tongue, then repeats.

“I need…” You’re gasping, head falling back; Steve takes advantage of your exposed neck, kissing up your chest before leaving small, soft love bites up to your jawline. 

“You need… what?” He kisses the corner of your mouth, but you can’t take it slow anymore, you need him now. You grab his face to kiss him, and it’s a little sloppy, a little clumsy, but he leans into it anyway. The two of you find a semi perfect rhythm, one that flows with the way you continue to grind onto him. You nip his bottom lip, tugging on it before letting go, and Steve moans into you. 

“Need you, need you right now.” You’re frantically murmuring against his lips.

“We don’t have to rush.” He pulls back, searching your features for any sign that something is off, but all he sees are your lust blown pupils. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but—”

You kiss him quickly before pushing him back against the pillows, shimmying down his body, kissing his scars with care along the way, continuing down until you reach the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Steve, quit being nice for, like, five minutes. Are you okay with this?”

With a gulp he nods, breathing heavily “I— I’m more than okay with this.”

“Thank fuck.” You tug his shorts down, almost drooling as you watch his length spring free, the rounded tip red with desire, leaking precum. “Steve, what the fuck.”

“You’re sending me so many mixed signals tonight, holy shit. Is that … is that good?”

You need to shut your mouth, mind too far in a cock-drunk daze to tease him with words. So, you run your tongue up the underside his cock, broadly, taking your time to reach the head, eyes on him the entire time. Steve yelps on contact, eyes screwing shut as his head falls against the pillow, but he pushes himself to look down at you, bucking against your tongue before you take him in completely.

“Jesus fucking Chri-iiiiiiiist,” He shudders out, hands tangling into your hair as you begin to bob up and down on him. “This… you… hhhhohmygod—”

You pull off with a pop that echoes off the walls, a sound Steve wishes he could’ve recorded to play when he gets off in the future, followed by the sight of you drooling onto his cock as it kicks with need.

“Tell me how you really feel, Steve,” You tease before taking him in again, but he holds your head in place, making you pout. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no, fuck no. Your mouth feels so fucking good, angel, but I need… I…”

“Take your time, babe, it’s okay.” You tease, making Steve groan, both with annoyance and a craving for you to get mouthy, just not now. 

“Fuck me, just need you to fuck me, please baby,” He’s babbling as he tugs you back up his body, hands on your hips as you hover above his cock. “Need to feel you, angel.”

You push your shorts down and throw them to the floor with your shirt. “Yeah?” You lightly rub your core against his cock, and he bucks with a desperate whine. 

“Yes, please, please—”

Words become nonexistent as you sink down onto him slowly, walls slowly stretching around him, adjusting to his size.

“Knew you w- were big, but not like… not like this.” You’re panting, overwhelmed by the slight pain from taking him to the hilt, but the pleasure is greater, rendering your brain useless. Not a damn thing on your mind except Steve and how fucking good he feels so deep inside of you.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Steve gasps, grip digging into your hips roughly, knowing he’s just adding to your bruises, but he’ll apologize later. “You’re so— never felt a pussy tighter than yours, angel. M’god, don’t fucking move.”

You giggle, and he glares at you. “Don’t— do not do that either, just… fucking sit there for a second, okay? I’m really not trying to blow my load this early.” You’re doing your best to keep stoic, nodding as you fold your hands and wait patiently. “Oh my god, why are you like this?”

Shrugging, you begin to reply, “Why n— oh!” Steve pulls you down to him roughly, kissing you as he begins to move, fucking you slowly from below. He guides you by the hold on your hips, bouncing you on his cock, causing your eyes to roll back as he moves a hand to the back of your head. Holding you tightly against him, your forehead rests against his as the two of you gasp and pant lewdly onto each other’s lips. You’re riding him like no one else has, to the high fucking heavens, and he swears he’s gonna die a happy man right here, underneath you.

“How often have you dreamt about this?” You shamelessly ask, sitting up and leaning back as you roll your hips, grinding down so he hits your sweet spot just right. Steve’s speechless, flexing up into you, jaw slack as your walls flutter around him. “You’re so pussy-drunk right now, huh?”

A strained “Mhm,” leaves him; he’s not even going to hide how he’s putty in your hands, right now, and as long as you’ll have him. Finally, he rasps, “Fuck, wish we did this sooner.”

“We got all the time in the world to make up for it, Stevie.” Your legs twitch and shake, signaling you’re not far off from your high, but they’re also sore still from days ago, and right now, you’re just making them hurt more. Great cause, of course, but it doesn’t dull the pain, so you’re beginning to slow down. “Fuck, my legs hurt.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Steve pulls you back down arms wrapped around your back, one hand gripping around his other wrist, keeping you stable as he plants his feet against the bed, fucking up into you with everything he’s got. “It’s okay, angel, I’ve got ya’.” He grunts, hammering into you with so much force, you can’t help but moan loudly, almost screaming, but you bury your face into his shoulder, biting down to muffle your noises as you flutter around him. “Fuck, didn’t think you were so vocal.” At this point, you are screaming, but the noise barely leaves you as you keep your mouth on his skin.

Steve’s hips are starting to stutter, and his cock twitches, needy for release. “Good girl, don’t wanna wake up the whole house, right?” That’s the final push over the edge for you; grabbing Steve’s face, you kiss him deeply to keep quiet. The faint, metallic taste of blood works its way onto your tongue, and you realize your semi-treated split lip is split once again. You pull back, trying to keep as quiet as possible, frantically whispering, “I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you—” Following you into bliss, Steve pulls you back onto his lips as he cums, filling you shamelessly as you still squeeze him, milking him for all he’s got as he’s moaning into you.

When the two of you come down, covered in a sticky sheen of sweat and hearts ready to beat out of your chests, the shame hits fast as he pulls back enough to murmur, “Fuck. I didn’t even ask—”

“Birth control is a beautiful thing, babe.” You smile down at him, breathless. Steve sighs relief, thankful for whoever the fuck created the pill. His eyes fall to your lip before thumb swiping the mess away.

“Shit, m’sorry.”

“Worth it. So fucking worth it.” You giggle before he kisses you softly. 

Pulling back, Steve reaches out to cup the side of your face, and you lean into his touch, giddy and exhausted all at once.

He’s admiring the view of you above him, softly replying to your confession, “I love you, too.” 

The two of you are basking in the afterglow of one another, beaming and holding each other tight, unable to move just yet. Steve doesn’t mind taking a second to catch his breath, but then a loud bang against his bedroom door startles the both of you.

“About fucking time!” Robin shouts from the other side before walking away. Faintly you hear her huff, “Noisy assholes.” Steve locks eyes with you, both of you stunned and embarrassed before bursting into a fit of laughter together.

“Still worth it?” Steve teases, and you shrug playfully.

you knew steve harrington for what felt like forever now. 

it all started back when dustin first dragged him into your orbit after the chaotic demodog incident. 

at first, steve was just your annoyingly popular friend; the former king of hawkins high who somehow ended up babysitting a bunch of kids and fighting monsters alongside them. 

but over time, that reluctant acquaintance changed into something much deeper.

steve became one of the most important people in your life. 

he was the person you called when you couldn’t sleep.

the one who remembered your favorite snacks after a rough day.

the only one who could make you laugh even when the weight of the upside down felt crushing. 

the two of you shared an effortless closeness that went far beyond normal friendship. 

you spent countless nights talking in his car, shoulders brushing, exchanging quiet confessions under dim streetlights. 

he knew your fears, your dreams, and the way you liked your drinks. 

you knew his insecurities, his regrets, and the parts of him he hid from the rest of the world.

and yet… you weren’t together. 

not officially.

there were no labels, no dates and no promises. 

just a deep, tender bond that everyone around you seemed to notice except the two of you. 

or at least, that’s what you told yourselves.

steve had been completely honest with you about nancy. 

one quiet evening, months after their breakup, he told you everything; the good moments. the painful fights, the way he had failed her, and how much it hurt when things ended. 

he spoke openly about his guilt and the lingering sadness, but he also made it clear that he had moved on. 

the feelings were no longer romantic; they were just memories now. 

still, he trusted you enough to lay it all bare, something he rarely did with anyone else. 

you listened without judgment, and that night only pulled you two closer.

robin, of course, found the whole thing endlessly entertaining. 

she never missed a chance to tease you both. 

whenever she caught steve staring at you a little too long or noticed how his hand instinctively rested on your lower back when you walked together.

“you two are so gone for each other it’s actually painful to watch.” she’d smirk and say.

she loved poking at steve specifically, grinning.

“just admit you like her. the way you look at her is embarrassing. even the kids have noticed.” 

steve would roll his eyes, cheeks slightly pink.

“shut up,” but he never actually denied it.

after that, you became close friends with nancy and Robin. 

or that’s what you thought.

one crisp afternoon, the three of you –you, nancy, and robin– were walking through the woods. you were supposed to be gathering information about some gates, but the conversation drifted into more personal territory.

steve was a little further ahead, scouting with eddie, but every so often he would glance back over his shoulder, his eyes finding you almost instinctively.

he’d give you that soft familiar half-smile before turning his attention back to the trail.

and nancy noticed it immediately. she let out a small bitter-sounding laugh as she pushed a branch out of her way.

‘’god, look at him. he can’t even go five minutes without checking on you.’’

you looked at her, thinking the words to talk.

‘’it’s actually kind of impressive how attentive he is… when he wants to be.’’ nancy continued.

robin raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, sensing the shit in tone. nancy continued again, her voice was sweet but laced with something sharper.

‘’must be nice having someone glued to you at these days.’’

you felt heat rise your cheeks. laughing nervously, you shook your head and tried to brush it off.

‘’oh, come on, nancy. it’s not like that,’’ you said quickly, forcing a smile. ‘’steve’s just… protective of everyone. he’s not that attentive with me specially. we’re just close friends, that’s all.’’

nancy turned her head to look at you, her expression unreadable but her smile thin.

‘’right,’’ she replied, the word dripping with disbelief. ‘’just friends. of course.’’

she looked forward again, eyes landing on steve’s distant figure as he once more glanced back toward your group.

towards you.

robin cleared her throat, trying to cut through the tension, but the damage was already done. 

you swallowed hard, heart racing, and kept walking in silence, painfully aware of steve’s eyes still lingering on you from afar.

that same evening at the wheeler house, the group was crowded around the large dining table covered in maps, newspapers clipping, and half-empty mugs of coffee. 

steve stood directly behind you, his tall frame leaning over your shoulder as he pointed at a particular route on the map.

his chest pressed warmly against your back, and one of his hands settled naturally on your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over the fabric oof your shirt.

the touch was innocent enough to anyone glancing over. but the way his thumb began to move –slow, deliberate circles against your side– was anything but.

you felt his breath ghost over the side of your neck when he spoke.

a low and intimate voice.

‘’right here,’’ he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear. ‘’this is where we need to be careful.’’

your breath hitched. without meaning to, you leaned back into him, your hips pressing subtly against his front.

steve’s grip tightened instantly, pulling you closer for just a second.

the heat between your bodies was undeniable.

his fingers flexed against your waist, and you could feel the tension in his arm, like he was fighting the urge to do more.

the air around you felt thick, charged with something heavy and unspoken.

steve’s other hand brushed against yours on the table, lingering far longer than necessary, his pinky slowly tracing the side of your hand.

you bit your lip, trying to focus on the map while your heart hammered in your chest.

from across the table, robin smirked but stayed quiet. 

nancy, however, watched the entire interaction with narrowed eyes, her pen frozen in her hand.

eddie, never one to hold back, groaned loudly and threw his head back in exaggerated disgust.

‘’oh my god, seriously? can you two stop eye-fucking each other for five minutes? we’re trying to plan how not to die and you’re over here practically dry-humping each other in front of everyone!’’ 

he waved his hands dramatically.

steve didn’t move away immediately. 

instead, he let out a low chuckle. his hand gave your waist one last possessive squeeze before he finally straightened up.

but the heated look he gave you over your shoulder made it very clever this moment was far from over.

you felt your cheeks burning as you avoided nancy’s sharp gaze. 

but she said nothing.

after the group finally finished planning their strategy to confront vecna, everyone slowly dispersed. 

leaving you and steve completely alone in the dining room.

the tension in the air was immediate and thick.

steve leaned back against the table, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched you with that cocky little smirk.

‘’so…’’ he started, giving you a low voice full of sarcasm. ‘’you gonna keep pretending in front of nancy that you aren’t completely obsessed with me? or are we still playing the game?’’

you turned to face him, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your heart was racing.

‘’you’re the one who can’t keep his hands off me in front of everyone,’’ you shot back, raising an eyebrown. ‘’real subtle, harrington.’’

steve let a low chuckle and pushed off the table, slowly stalking toward you.

‘’oh, i’m sorry. was i being too obvious when you were practically pushing your ass back against me earlier?’’ he stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. “don’t act like you didn’t love it.”

you rolled your eyes, even as heat crawled up your neck. 

“you’re so full of yourself.”

“and you,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingering on your jaw, “are a terrible liar.” 

his thumb brushed slowly over your cheek. 

‘’you’ve been looking at me the same way i’ve been looking at you all day. don’t think i didn’t notice.”

the tension between you was electric. 

steve’s eyes dropped to your lips.

then back up to your eyes.

he looked at you hungry.

‘’you drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured. “acting all innocent in front of the others while you know exactly what you do to me.”

your breath hitched. 

“maybe you just need better self-control.”

steve smirked, stepping even closer until your bodies were nearly touching. 

“or maybe you should stop pretending you don’t want me to lose it.”

for a second, you both just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken desire. 

then steve cupped your face with both hands and kissed you.

it was deep and urgent from the start. 

you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers sliding into his hair and tugging. 

steve groaned softly against your mouth, one hand dropping to your waist to pull you flush against him. 

the kiss grew hotter, tongues meeting, bodies pressed together against the table as weeks of hidden tension finally spilled over.

‘’fuck… i hate hiding this,” steve whispered with husky voice.

before you could respond, the door swung open.

“oh, for the love of god—” robin stood there, holding two mugs of coffee, eyes wide. “again?! i can’t leave you two alone for five minutes without you attacking each other!”

the next day, you, robin, and nancy spent the afternoon at the hawkins public library.

you three were tucked away in a quiet corner surrounded by stacks of old newspapers, town history books, and anything that might give you new information about vecna.

for a while, the conversation stayed focused on research. 

but eventually, nancy closed the book in front of her with a soft thud and looked directly at you.

“so… are you and steve actually together?” she asked, her voice calm but pointed.

you felt your stomach drop. 

robin glanced up from her notes but said nothing, choosing to stay silent for now.

nancy leaned forward slightly, continuing before you could answer. 

“because the tension between you two is impossible to ignore. it doesn’t look like friendship. it looks like something more.”

you shook your head quickly, forcing a nervous smile. 

“no, nancy. we’re not together. i promise. steve and i are just really close friends. that’s all.”

nancy let out a small sigh, tilting her head as she studied you. 

“look, i know steve. i dated him for a long time, remember? i know exactly how he acts when he’s into someone. it’s kind of his thing when he’s flirting.” she paused for a moment, then added, “and honestly? it’s fine. it doesn’t bother me. steve and i are friends now. i’ve moved on.”

you felt your cheeks heat up. you shook your head again, more firmly this time. 

“no, really. we’re not like that. we trust each other. there’s nothing romantic going on.”

nancy gave you a small, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“of course,” she said softly, her voice sweet but edged with something sharper. “you two are just… very close. i understand. it’s sweet, really.”

the comment hung in the air, light enough to seem innocent, but pointed enough to sting.

you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“nancy… are you jealous?”

the question slipped out before you could stop it. robin’s head snapped up from her notes, eyes widening slightly.

nancy blinked, clearly caught off guard, but she recovered quickly with a soft laugh. 

“jealous? no, i’m not—” 

before she could finish, robin cleared her throat loudly and interrupted.

“okay, ladies, as fun as this is, we should probably get back to investigating,” she said, tapping the newspaper in front of her. “vecna isn’t going to defeat himself, and we’re running out of daylight.”

nancy pressed her lips together for a second, then nodded. 

“you’re right,” she said, standing up and smoothing her sweater. “i’ll go check the history section on the second floor. maybe there’s something useful there.”

she gave you one last lingering look before walking away toward the stairs.

the moment nancy disappeared between the shelves, robin turned to you with a knowing smirk.

“alright. she’s gone,” robin said, leaning closer. “i know there’s something going on between you and steve. and before you try to deny it again — i’ve literally walked in on you two making out. twice.”

she raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“so… how long has this been going on?”

you let out a long sigh, glancing around to make sure nancy was still out of earshot. 

“a few weeks,” you admitted quietly. “it just… happened. we’re not officially together or anything. it’s kind of a mess, honestly.”

robin nodded slowly, a small smirk on her face. 

“i figured. you two have been acting weird for a while. it was only a matter of time. just be careful, okay?”

you smiled weakly. 

“yeah… i know.”

the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of research. 

when you finally got home that night, you were exhausted.  you had just changed into your pajamas when the phone rang. 

without thinking, you picked it up.

“hello?” a familiar low chuckle came through the line.

“hey, baby… it’s me.” you smiled, lying back on your bed. 

“steve. i didn’t know it was you.”

“yeah, i figured,” he said, voice warm. “how was the library? did you find anything useful, or was nancy giving you a hard time?”

you let out a soft laugh. 

“a bit of both. we found some old records that might help with vecna, but nancy kept pushing about us again. she’s convinced we’re together.”

steve hummed. 

“let her think what she wants.” hs tone shifted, becoming slower and deeper. then the quiet was made, until he talked again. “i miss you. been thinking about you nonstop since yesterday.”

“i miss you too,” you whispered.

steve’s voice dropped even lower. 

“yeah? i keep thinking about that kiss… how you pulled me closer. fuck, i wanted to lift you onto that table and take my time with you right there.”

your breath caught. heat spread through your body as you squeezed your thighs together instinctively. 

your free hand rested on your stomach, fingers twitching as you fought the urge to slide them lower.

“steve…” you breathed, voice shaky.

“i’ve been all day remembering how you sound when you’re turned on,” he continued, husky and teasing. “i want you so bad, baby. i want to kiss down your neck, push your legs apart and—”

your fingers hovered just at the waistband of your pajama shorts, heart racing, breath coming faster. 

you were so close to giving in—

“honey!” your big sister’s voice suddenly echoed from downstairs. “dinner’s ready! come down before it gets cold!”

you froze, letting out a frustrated sigh as you pulled your hand away.

“shit… i have to go,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “my sister’s calling me for dinner.”

steve groaned deeply on the other end. 

“worst timing ever. alright… go eat.” he paused, then added with a smirk in his voice, “but tomorrow i’m coming over early.”

the next afternoon, you had just stepped out of the shower, steam still filling your bathroom. 

you wrapped a towel tightly around your body and walked into your bedroom, hair damp and skin still warm. 

you were supposed to meet up with nancy, robin, eddie, and the rest of the group in less than an hour to go over the final details of the plan against vecna.

you were reaching for your clothes when you heard the familiar sound of your window sliding open.

you jumped, letting out a startled gasp as steve climbed through the window like he used to do back in the day. 

he landed quietly on your floor, brushing off his jeans with a smug little smirk.

“jesus christ, steve!” you whisper-yelled, one hand clutching the towel tightly against your chest. “you scared the hell out of me!”

he straightened up, eyes slowly dragging down your body, taking in the sight of you in nothing but a towel. 

his smirk deepened.

“sorry, baby,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “couldn’t wait until later.” he took a slow step closer, his eyes dark with heat. “and damn… this is a much better view than i imagined.”

you felt your face heat up as you took a small step back, still gripping the towel. 

“steve. i have to get ready. we’re meeting everyone soon and i’m not even dressed.”

he ignored your protest, closing the distance between you until he was right in front of you. 

his fingers lightly traced the edge of the towel near your collarbone, not pulling it, just teasing.

“you sure you don’t have five minutes?” he murmured, voice low and flirty. “because you look way too good in just this towel.’’

before you could answer, steve’s hands slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you flush against him. 

you didn’t resist. 

the second his lips met yours, you melted into the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck.

the kiss was hungry from the start. 

steve kissed you like he’d been waiting all day, tongue sliding against yours as one of his hands stayed firmly on your waist and the other cupped the back of your neck. 

you kissed him back just as eagerly, fingers threading into his hair and tugging lightly, exactly how he liked it.

“fuck, i missed this,” steve breathed against your lips between kisses. “missed tasting you… missed the way you sound when i kiss you like this.”

you let out a soft moan into his mouth as he deepened the kiss again, his tongue exploring yours with slow, heated strokes. 

your body pressed tighter against his, the thin towel the only thing between you.

steve walked backwards until he reached your bed and sat down on the edge, never breaking the kiss. 

with a gentle but firm tug, he pulled you onto his lap, straddling him. 

the towel rode up your thighs as you settled over him, and his hands immediately gripped your hips, holding you in place.

“steve…” you whispered breathlessly, forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath.

he smirked, eyes dark with want, and gave your hips a light squeeze.“What?” he teased, voice rough. 

“you said you had to get ready… but you’re not exactly pushing me away, baby.”

you laughed softly, still a little dizzy from the kiss, and leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time. 

steve groaned quietly into your mouth, one hand sliding up your back under the edge of the towel while the other stayed firmly on your thigh.

“we really don’t have time,” you murmured against his lips, even as you kissed him once more.

“i know,” he replied, nipping at your bottom lip. “but fuck… you make it really hard to care.”

you kept kissing him deeply, straddling his lap as the kiss grew hotter and messier. 

your hips rocked slowly against him without thinking, and steve’s grip on your thigh tightened, pulling you closer. 

his tongue moved against yours hungrily, one hand now fully under the towel, caressing the bare skin of your back and waist.

soon you felt him getting hard beneath you. 

his cock pressed against your core through his jeans. you smiled against his lips and rolled your hips deliberately, grinding down on the growing bulge.

“mmm… already?” you teased, voice breathy and playful. “i thought you were supposed to behave.”

steve let out a low, strained groan, his hips buckling up slightly to meet your movement. 

“you’re the one sitting on my lap in nothing but a towel,” he muttered with a rough arousal voice. “what did you expect?”

you smirked and leaned in, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck. 

you sucked lightly on the sensitive spot just below his ear, then gently bit down, earning another deep groan from him.

“fuck, baby…” steve hissed, tilting his head to give you better access. 

his hands gripped your ass under the towel, squeezing as you continued grinding against his now fully hard cock. 

“you’re gonna kill me.”

you kissed and licked along his neck, enjoying the way his breathing got heavier every time you rolled your hips. 

“maybe i should stop then…” you whispered teasingly against his skin, even as you pressed down harder against his erection.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, one hand sliding higher up your thigh, dangerously close to where you were both aching for contact.

steve pulled you even tighter against him and captured your mouth in a deep intense kiss. 

his hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers threaded into your damp hair as he held you in place, kissing you harder. 

his tongue slid against yours with hunger, dominating the kiss completely.

you moaned softly into his mouth and started rocking your hips, grinding slowly but firmly against the hard bulge in his jeans. the friction made you both breathless. 

steve groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips as he pushed his hips up to meet every roll of yours.

he kissed you like he was starving, focusing especially on your upper lip — sucking it into his mouth, licking it, biting it gently before soothing it with his tongue. 

he kept returning to it over and over, obsessed. 

he was pressed so close his nose kept brushing against your cheek and almost poking the corner of your eye with every tilt of his head, but neither of you cared enough to pull away.

“fuck, baby…” he panted between kisses with a rough voice. “you feel so good grinding on me like that.”

you answered by rolling your hips harder, dragging your covered pussy along his clothed cock in slow deliberate movements. 

steve’s grip on your neck tightened as he kissed you even deeper, sucking on your upper lip again while his other hand squeezed your ass under the towel, guiding your movements.

the dry humping became more urgent. 

the towel had ridden up completely around your waist, and only his jeans separated you now. 

every time you rocked forward, his hard length rubbed perfectly against your clit, making you whimper into his mouth.

steve’s nose pressed against the side of your eye again as he angled his head to kiss you even more desperately.

tongue sliding deep.

lips locked on your upper lip like he couldn’t get enough of it.

without warning, steve gripped your hips and flipped you onto your back on the bed. 

you gasped as he moved over you, settling his body between your spread legs. the towel had completely fallen open, barely covering anything anymore.

steve leaned down and kissed you hard again, then moved to your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin as he pressed his hard cock against your bare pussy through his jeans.

“fuck, you smell so good,” he groaned against your neck, inhaling deeply. “fresh out of the shower… all warm and soft. i could eat you up right now.”

you whimpered, arching your back and rolling your hips up against him. 

“steve… please…”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at you. 

“please what, baby? use your words. tell me what you want.”

“touch me… please. i need you or your fingers.” your cheeks burned, but the ache between your legs won. 

steve smirked, clearly pleased. 

“that’s my good girl.” he brought two fingers to your lips. “first, suck.”

you obediently opened your mouth and took his fingers in, sucking them slowly while looking up at him. you swirled your tongue around them, getting them nice and wet.

steve groaned at the sight, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck, look at you…” he muttered, voice thick. “sucking my fingers like you would my cock. so fucking pretty.”

after a few seconds he pulled them out with a wet pop and immediately slid them down between your legs. 

he rubbed your soaked pussy slowly, teasing your clit before pushing two thick fingers inside you.

you moaned loudly, back arching off the bed.

“shit, you’re so wet already,” steve breathed, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace. “this pussy is dripping for me. you’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”

“yes…” you gasped, hips moving to meet his fingers. “steve… faster, please.”

he leaned down to kiss you again, sucking on your upper lip while his fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.

“greedy girl,” he whispered hotly against your mouth. “you want more? want me to make you cum before i fuck you?”

you could only moan in response, nodding desperately as his fingers pumped faster, curling and rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you. 

steve kept kissing you deeply, occasionally breaking away to suck and bite your upper lip while his thumb circled your swollen clit.

“that’s it, baby,” he growled against your lips. “fuck my fingers like a good little slut. you’re so fucking wet… i can hear how much this pussy needs me.”

your hips bucked wildly against his hand. 

the pleasure built fast and intense until it finally crashed over you. 

you came hard around his fingers, back arching off the bed as you cried out his name. 

steve didn’t stop, working you through your orgasm with slow, deep strokes until you were trembling and breathless.

he finally pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean while staring down at you with dark eyes.

“delicious,” he murmured.

steve then tugged the towel completely off your body, tossing it aside. 

he started kissing down your neck, your collarbones, sucking on your tits and swirling his tongue around your nipples before continuing lower. 

he kissed and licked down your stomach, taking his time, until he settled between your legs. he looked up at you, eyes locked with yours as he spread your thighs wider. 

without warning, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your soaked pussy.

you arched sharply, a loud moan escaping your lips. steve groaned against you. 

“fuck, you taste even better than i remembered.” he buried his face deeper, nose pressing against your clit as he licked and sucked eagerly. 

his nose kept brushing and nudging against your sensitive bundle of nerves every time he moved, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

“look at me,” he demanded, glancing up at you while his tongue flicked rapidly over your clit. “i want to see your face while i eat this pretty pussy.”

you could barely keep your eyes open, but you tried, one hand gripping his hair tightly as he devoured you. 

steve sucked your clit into his mouth, humming in satisfaction, then pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose continued rubbing against your clit.

“you’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned between licks. “such a needy little thing… cum on my tongue, baby. i want to feel you falling apart again.”

the combination of his tongue inside you and his nose pressing rhythmically against your swollen clit quickly pushed you over the edge. your legs shook violently around his head as you came with a loud, broken moan, thighs clamping around him. 

steve kept licking you through it, savoring every drop until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess.

when he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were shiny.. 

you were still catching your breath when you pushed yourself up, moving onto your knees in front of him on the bed. 

your hands reached eagerly for his belt, fingers working quickly to undo it.

steve watched you with dark, hungry eyes, but just as you started to pull the belt open, he grabbed your wrists gently but firmly, stopping you.

“not yet,” he murmured.

he cupped your face with both hands, tilting your head up. 

then he leaned down and kissed you deeply, making sure you could taste yourself on his tongue. the kiss was slow, filthy, and possessive. 

you moaned into his mouth as you tasted your own wetness on his lips and tongue.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“go ahead, baby,” he whispered, voice rough. “now you can take it out.” he released your wrists, letting you continue. 

your hands immediately returned to his belt, unbuckling it with shaky fingers before working on the button and zipper of his jeans.

steve groaned deeply, hips twitching forward into your touch. 

“fuck… baby, please,” he rasped. “don’t tease me. i’ve been hard for you since i climbed through that window.”

you smiled up at him, continuing to stroke him slowly over the fabric, feeling him throb under your hand. 

steve let out a low desperate sound, his head falling back slightly.

“shit… your hand feels so good. please, just touch it already.”

encouraged by his begging, you finally slipped your hand inside his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his hard cock. 

he was hot, heavy, and hard. 

you stroked him a few times, your thumb brushing over the leaking tip.

steve moaned, louder this time. 

“that’s it… just like that. fuck, your hand—”

you didn’t wait any longer. 

you pulled his boxers down, freeing his cock. without hesitation, you leaned forward and took him into your mouth, sucking on the head before sliding down as far as you could.

“fuuuck—” steve groaned, his hand immediately going to the back of your head. “just like that, baby. good girl… sucking my cock so well.”

he gathered your damp hair into a makeshift ponytail, wrapping it around his fist.

you bobbed your head, taking him deeper, your tongue swirling around him as you sucked. 

steve’s grip on your hair tightened, guiding your movements as he gently fucked your mouth.

“look at me,” he breathed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “i love watching you with my dick in your mouth.”

his other hand caressed your cheek as you worked him, occasionally pushing a little deeper, making you gag softly around him. 

steve’s groans grew louder, his hips moving in shallow thrusts as he held your hair firmly in his fist.

you took him deeper, sucking harder, your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. 

steve’s breathing became ragged, his grip on your hair tightening.

“fuck— baby, i’m close,” he warned, voice strained. “gonna cum in that pretty mouth if you keep going like that…” you didn’t pull away. 

instead, you moaned around him and sucked harder, looking up at him with watery eyes. 

that was all it took. steve let out a deep, guttural groan as he came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling into your mouth. 

“swallow it,” he growled, still holding your hair. “all of it, baby. good girl…”

you swallowed every drop, looking up at him as you did. 

steve watched you with pure lust in his eyes, breathing heavily. he pulled you up and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue, before gently pushing you onto your back.

he settled between your spread legs, his still-hard cock resting heavy against your soaked pussy. 

he was very big —thick and long— and he knew it.

steve looked down at you, his eyes dark. 

“gonna go slow, okay baby? i don’t want to hurt you.”

he laced his fingers with yours, pinning your hand beside your head, and squeezed gently. then he slowly started pushing inside you.

you gasped as the thick head stretched you open. steve groaned deeply, forehead pressed against yours.

“fuck… so tight,” he breathed, his rough with pleasure voice. “look at you taking my cock so well. such a good girl for me.”

he pushed in another inch, slow and careful, watching your face the entire time. 

“that’s it… breathe for me, baby. you’re doing so fucking good. taking every inch like you were made for it.”

you whimpered as he kept sinking deeper, stretching you wide. steve kept whispering praises.

“so fucking pretty when you’re full of me… you feel that? feel how deep i am?” when he finally bottomed out, buried to the hilt inside you, he stayed still, letting you adjust. 

he squeezed your hand tighter, fingers still perfectly interlaced with yours.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, kissing your lips. “you’re so tight around me… gripping my cock so perfectly. i could stay like this forever.”

he started moving then — slow, deep thrusts, rolling his hips carefully as he kissed you again.

“such a good fucking girl,” he praised between thrusts. “taking all of me so well… i’m so proud of you, baby.”

steve kept your fingers tightly interlaced, squeezing your hand as he fucked you. 

at first his thrusts were slow and deep, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open. the wet sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked pussy filled the room.

“fuck, Steve…” you moaned, squeezing his hand back. “it feels so big… right there…”

“that’s it, baby,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “right there? you like it when i fuck you deep like this?”

he gradually picked up the pace, thrusting harder and faster. the bed started creaking beneath you. 

steve’s grip on your hand tightened as he drove into you with more intensity.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, voice rough. “this pussy was made for my cock. look at you taking every inch like a good little slut.”

without warning, steve pulled out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. 

he grabbed your thighs and easily lifted you up. you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you across the room and pressed you against the desk.

the wood creaked under the impact as he pinned you there. steve lined himself up and pushed back inside you in one slow, deep thrust, groaning loudly at how tight you felt.

“fuck… yes,” he growled against your neck.

he started fucking you against the dresser with slow, intense strokes. 

every thrust was powerful and deliberate, his hips rolling deeply into you. the dresser shook with each thrust, the mirror rattling softly behind you.

he started fucking you against the dresser with slow, intense strokes. 

every thrust was powerful and deliberate, his hips rolling deeply into you. the table shook with each thrust.

steve kept one hand under your thigh for support while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks. 

he buried his face in your neck, sucking and biting as he fucked you passionately.

“you feel so fucking good like this,” he groaned, voice low and rough. “pressed against the desk… taking my cock so deep. such a perfect little fucktoy for me.”

you moaned loudly, nails digging into his shoulders. 

“steve… oh god, it’s so deep—”

he growled in response and picked up the rhythm slightly, still keeping each thrust slow and intense, making sure you felt every single inch. 

the angle was perfect, his cock hitting that sensitive spot inside you with every roll of his hips.

“look at me, baby,” he demanded, forehead pressed against yours. “i want to see your face while i fuck you like this.”

you kept your eyes on his, moaning with every deep, powerful thrust. 

steve fucked you harder against the dresser, his hips snapping forward as he chased his pleasure. 

his grip on your thigh was almost bruising, the other hand still holding yours tightly.

“fuck, i’m so close,” he groaned, voice strained. “you’re gonna make me cum so hard, baby…”

you were both right on the edge when the bedroom door suddenly swung open.

nancy stood there, eyes wide with shock.

for a second, everything froze.

steve was buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist, both of you completely naked and sweaty. 

nancy’s mouth fell open.

“what the—?!” she gasped, her face turning bright red. “oh my god!” she immediately turned around and slammed the door shut behind her, but not before muttering a stunned “what the fuck…”

steve groaned in frustration, forehead dropping to your shoulder. 

“shit…”

you were both breathing hard, hearts racing. 

he slowly pulled out of you, setting you down on shaky legs. 

your knees nearly gave out, but he caught you, holding you against his chest for a moment.

“we have to get dressed,” you whispered urgently, still flushed and trembling. “they’re probably all waiting for us.”

steve nodded, kissing you quickly on the forehead. “yeah… fuck. bad timing.’’

you both rushed to get dressed — you throwing on whatever clothes you could find, steve pulling up his jeans and fixing his shirt. 

the air was thick with frustration and leftover arousal.

once you were both decent, you took a deep breath and opened the door. 

steve followed right behind you.

the moment you stepped into the hallway, the atmosphere shifted. 

nancy was standing a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

her face was still flushed with embarrassment, but now it was mixed with clear annoyance and discomfort.

she looked at both of you, her jaw tight.

“everyone’s waiting in the living room,” she said, her voice colder than usual. “we’ve been ready for twenty minutes.”

her eyes flicked between you and steve, lingering a second longer on him. 

steve cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. 

“yeah, sorry about that. we… got distracted.”

nancy let out a sharp humorless laugh. 

“distracted. right.” she looked at you again, her expression unreadable. “you might want to fix your hair before we go. it’s a mess.”

"No." He grins, and it's the same grin that made you laugh in the dive bar where you met two years ago - easy, crooked, like he knows something you don't. "You ask mean. That's the part I like."

You roll your eyes, but the warmth stays. It's been there since you crossed the German border, actually. This particular quiet between you, the kind that settles when you're alone and the tour falls away and it's just you in a room, or a tub, or a bed that isn't moving.

The water shifts as Joe adjusts, settling deeper. Steam curls between you. You watch the way it catches in his hair, beading on his lashes, and something in your chest loosens another notch.

"We should rob more Airbnbs," you say. "This is better than the last one."

"The one in Munich with the shared bathroom?"

"The one in Munich where we had to share the bathroom with Wes."

He groans. "Don't remind me. I still haven't forgiven him for the toothpaste incident."

"He said it was an accident."

"He squeezed from the middle, honey. That's not an accident. That's a lifestyle choice."

You laugh, and it comes out easy, surprised - the way it does when you're comfortable. The sound hangs in the steam between you. Joe's watching you. He does that. Watches you laugh like it's something he wants to remember.

"What?" you say.

"Nothing." Joe picks up one of the glasses and takes a sip. "Just glad we're here. That's all."

You know what he means. The tour has been a blur of cities and soundchecks and borrowed beds. Two nights max in any one place. Never enough time to breathe, let alone be together the way you're used to. The way you are when there's no bus idling outside, no call time in the morning, no gear to load.

You pick up the other glass. The wine is good - deep, earthy, a little sharp on the tongue. You let it sit in your mouth a moment before swallowing.

"I forgot what quiet sounded like," you say, more to yourself than him.

"Yeah." He's quiet a moment, thumb tracing the rim of his glass. "I forgot what you sounded like. Just you. Not the crowd, not the monitors. Just your voice in a room."

You look at him. The steam has softened the edges of his face, made him look younger somehow. Or maybe that's just the absence of the stage lights, the hours of travel, the weight of the road. Maybe this is who he is when no one's watching.

"We have the whole place until noon tomorrow," you say. "No checkout. No soundcheck. No anything."

"I know." Joe's voice drops, that raw edge slipping in. "I've been thinking about that since Prague."

"You've been thinking about the checkout time since Prague?"

"I've been thinking about what we could do with it."

The words settle between you, heavier than the steam. You take another sip of wine, let the warmth spread through your chest, and don't look away.

Joe sets his glass down on the stone edge. The clink echoes off the patio tiles. Then he shifts, the water rippling, and you feel it - his hand finding your ankle under the surface.

You don't flinch. You're waiting for it, maybe. The touch is warm, deliberate, his fingers curling around your ankle with an ease that speaks of practice. Of knowing your body's geography.

"Come here," he says. Not a question.

You let him pull your leg across his thigh, the water sliding warm against your skin. His thumb finds the arch of her foot and presses - slow, deep, the kind of pressure that knows exactly where to dig in. You exhale, a sound you don't mean to make, and your eyes flutter half-closed.

"That hurt?"

"That's the opposite of hurt."

His thumb works a slow circle into the arch, and you feel tension you didn't know you were holding release through your toes. Thirty-six shows into the tour, your feet are having the last laugh.

"You've been standing the whole set," Joe says, his voice quiet, his thumb pressing deeper. "Every night. Heels. Wooden floors."

"My boyfriend's in the band. Of course I'm gonna be on my feet the whole show. That's the deal."

"Doesn't mean you have to do it on your toes."

"It's the shoes. They make my calves look good."

He looks up at you, his hand stilling on your foot. "Your calves look good in everything. Including nothing."

The air between you thickens. Steam rises. The water laps at your thigh where your leg rests across his, and you can feel the solid warmth of him under the surface. His hand resumes its work, thumb finding a knot just below your heel, and you let your head fall back again, watching him through your lashes.

The lantern light catches the water beading on his chest. His shoulders are bare above the surface, and you watch the way his arm moves as he works your foot - muscle shifting under ink, tendons standing out. He's all lean lines and easy strength, and you know exactly what that body feels like over yours, under yours, beside you in the dark.

You finish the wine in one long swallow and set the glass on the edge. The stone is cool against your forearm as you lean forward, the water sloshing gently against your chest.

"You're allowed to do more than my foot," you say.

Joe's eyes meet yours. That same hunger you saw in that bar two years ago, the one that told you he wasn't just a charming musician. The one that told you he knew exactly what he wanted, and it wasn't just a night.

"I'm pacing myself," he says.

"Since when?"

"Since I realised we had until noon tomorrow." His thumb drags a slow line from your heel to the ball of your foot. "I'm not in a hurry."

The words land low in your belly. You hold his gaze, let the silence stretch, let the steam do its work. The jets rumble against your back, and the water laps at your ribs, and you feel every inch of the distance between you.

You could close it. You could slide across the tub, straddle his thighs, feel the stone at your knees and his hands on your hips. You could kiss the taste of Austrian wine from his mouth and let the night take whatever shape it wanted.

But Joe's waiting. His hand on your foot, his eyes on yours, the water dark between you. His other hand rests on the surface, palm open, fingers slightly spread.

Waiting for you to close the distance.

You watch his open palm. The water laps at his fingers, and a bead of condensation slides down the wine glass he set aside, catching the lantern light before it lands on the stone edge with a sound you barely hear.

The church bell again. Farther now, or maybe just softer through the steam. You stop counting after three.

Your foot is still in his hand. His thumb has stopped moving, just resting against the arch, and you can feel his pulse through the contact - or maybe that's yours, hard and slow in your throat. The heat of the water has settled into your bones, and the wine hums warm in your chest, and the space between you feels like a note held too long, trembling on the edge of release.

You don't move toward him.

You don't move away.

The steam curls between you, and you watch the way it catches in his hair, the way his chest rises and falls with breaths he's keeping slow. Deliberate. Like he's reading you the same way you're reading him.

Your thumb finds your silver ring again, turns it once. Twice. The motion is older than the tour, older than him - a habit from long before you knew each other

"Joe," you say. His name in the steam. Not a question. Not an answer. Just his name, the way it sounds when the rest of the sentence hasn't caught up yet.

"I'm here."

His voice is quiet. No edge. No hunger in it, not the way he said it before. Just presence. A statement of fact. He's here. He's not going anywhere.

The water shifts as you adjust your weight, and your leg slides an inch along his thigh. His hand tightens on your foot, just barely - a reflex, not a demand.

"I know," you say.

The silence settles around you again, but it's different now. Fuller. Like the space between you has weight, and you're both holding it.

You look past him, past the steam, past the patio railing. The city lights beyond are scattered and distant - a glow against the dark, not quite stars. Vienna. Or wherever this is. Somewhere with old stone and church bells and a bed that doesn't vibrate when the tour bus engine idles.

The night jasmine you noticed when you first arrived, climbing the trellis by the patio door, sends a faint sweetness through the chlorine and cedar. You breathe it in. Let it settle.

Then you look back at Joe.

His eyes haven't left your face.

You reach out. Not to take his hand - not yet. Your fingers find the waterline, trace a slow line through the steam, and rest on the stone edge beside his open palm. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Not touching.

His fingers don't move towards you. He's waiting. The same patience he had when he learned your body's rhythms - the way you like to be touched, the way you need to be held, the way you pull away before you get too close and come back when you're ready.

You remember that. The first time you slept together, in a hotel room with thin walls and a view of the parking lot. He'd waited then, too. Not rushed. Not pushed. Just waited, with that same open palm, that same steady gaze, until you closed the distance yourself.

The water laps at your fingers. His are still, just beside them.

You let your hand drift the last inch. Your fingertips brush his. Light. Barely there.

His breath catches. Just a fraction. Just enough for you to hear.

You don't pull away.

Your fingertip against his. The barest contact, skin to skin, and the water lapping at your hands like it's part of the conversation. You feel his pulse through that single point - or maybe that's wishful thinking, wanting to feel him the way you feel yourself, hard and slow and hungry in your chest.

He doesn't move. Doesn't curl his fingers around yours, doesn't pull you closer. Just waits, that open palm beside your hand, letting you decide how much of this distance you want to close.

You trace a line down his palm. Slow. Deliberate. Your fingertip follows the lifeline, then the heart line, and you feel the slight catch of callus at the base of his fingers - guitar callus, worn into his skin from years of strings and frets. You know the feel of those hands on your body. Knows what they can do.

"Baby." Joe's voice is low, barely above the rumble of the jets. "Look at me."

You do. His eyes are dark in the lantern light, the hazel swallowed by the pupil, and there's nothing easy in his face now. The charm is gone. What's left is raw, open, the same hunger you saw in that bar, but stripped of the grin that usually carries it.

"I've been wanting this," he says. "Since Berlin. Since Prague. Since the night we crossed the border and you fell asleep on my shoulder in the back of the van."

"You didn't say anything."

"You needed to sleep."

Something cracks open in your chest. Not painfully - the opposite. Like a door you didn't know was locked, swinging inward.

You slide your hand fully into his. His fingers close around yours, warm and sure, and he squeezes once - a question, not an answer.

You answer by pulling his hand towards you. Under the water, past your thigh, until his palm rests flat against your stomach, just below the surface.

Joe's breath catches.

Your skin is slick and hot from the water, and you watch his face as he feels you - the soft swell of your belly, the jut of your hipbone, the way your breath hitches when his thumb traces a slow circle just above the waistband of nothing. Because you're not wearing anything. Haven't been since you stepped into this water.

"You're sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure."

His hand slides lower.

You spread your legs under the water, a small shift that opens you to him, and his fingers find you wet - not from the tub. His knuckles brush the inside of your thigh as his palm cups you, and you exhale, long and slow, your head falling back.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're already-"

"I know."

His middle finger traces your slit, featherlight, barely there, and you jerk like you've been shocked. The water ripples around you, sloshing against the stone edge.

"Look at me," he says again. "I want to see your face when I touch you."

You force your eyes open. His are dark, fixed on yours, and his finger slides into you without resistance. One knuckle. Two. You're so slick he glides in like you were made for it, and the pressure - the fullness, the stretch, the way his finger curls inside you - draws a sound from your throat you didn't know you could make.

"Yeah," he says, low. "That's it. That's what I wanted to hear."

He works you slowly, his thumb finding your clit in a steady circle, his finger curling and pressing, and you grip the edge of the tub with your free hand, knuckles white against the stone. The water slaps against your chest as you breathe - short, shallow, your hips starting to roll against his hand.

"I've been thinking about this," he says, his voice rough, almost a whisper. "Every night in those shitty hotel rooms, you in the bunk across the aisle. Hearing you breathe. Wanting to touch you and not being able to."

"Joe-"

"I'd lie awake and imagine your hand on my cock. The way you look when you're on top of me. The sound you make when you come."

You whimper - actually whimper - and his thumb presses harder, his finger driving deeper, and you feel the edge approaching, that familiar coiling heat in your belly.

"Not yet," he says.

He pulls his hand away.

You make a sound of protest, raw and desperate, and he grins - that same crooked grin, but darker now, edged with something possessive.

"I said I'm pacing myself." He lifts his hand out of the water, brings his fingers to his mouth, and sucks you off them slowly. His eyes never leave yours. "And I want to taste you for real."

He shifts, turning in the water, and before you can process the movement, he's between your thighs, lifting you out of the water onto the stone, his hands on your knees, pushing them apart. The water sloshes against the stone, and you feel the rough edge of the wall at your back, the sky open above you, the steam curling around Joe's shoulders as he settles in front of you.

"Hold onto the edge," he says.

You do. Your fingers find the stone, wet and cool, and you grip it as he lowers his mouth to you.

His first lick is slow, flat-tongued, from your entrance to your clit, and you jerk so hard you almost lose your grip. He hums against you, a sound of approval, and does it again - slower this time, like he's savouring you, like the taste of you is something he's been craving.

"You taste," he says against you, "like everything I've been missing."

His tongue circles your clit, wet and precise, and you let your head fall back, your fingers slipping on the stone. The steam rises around you, the night air cool on your wet shoulders, and all you can feel is his mouth, his hands gripping your thighs, his tongue working you closer to the edge.

"Joe, I'm-"

"I know." He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue presses harder, faster, and you feel your hips buck against his face, and you're gone - falling apart in the hot water, a sound tearing out of your throat that carries across the patio, into the night, into the dark Austrian sky.

He rides you through it, his mouth gentling as you come down, his tongue soft and soothing against your oversensitive clit. You're trembling, your thighs shaking, your grip on the stone so tight your fingers ache.

He surfaces slowly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach as he rises out of the water. His face is wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes are dark and hungry.

"Scoot back," he says. "I want room."

You shift backwards in the tub, the stone seat pressing against your spine, and Joe follows, his body crowding yours. His chest presses against yours, the water warm between you, and his hand slides down your stomach, between your legs again.

"You're still so wet," he murmurs. "That's for me, isn't it?"

You nod, not trusting your voice.

His fingers find you again, sliding inside, and you're so sensitive from the orgasm that you gasp, your hips twitching.

"One more," he says, his lips against your ear. "I want you to come on my fingers before I fuck you."

You feel his cock against your thigh, hard and thick, and the thought of what's coming - of him inside you, of the stretch and the heat and the way he feels when he comes - sends a fresh wave of wetness through you.

Joe feels it. His fingers curl, his thumb pressing your clit, and he whispers in your ear - filthy, low, things he's been thinking about since Prague, since Berlin, since the night you fell asleep on his shoulder in the van. You can't make out all the words, just the shape of them, the way his voice drops on the dirty ones, and it's enough - his fingers, his voice, the water lapping at your legs - to push you over again.

You come with your face pressed into his shoulder, your teeth sinking into his skin to muffle the sound, your whole body clenching around his fingers.

He holds you through it, his other hand cradling the back of your head, his lips brushing your temple.

"That's it," he says, soft now. "That's my girl."

You lift your head, your eyes finding his. The steam has thickened around you, and the lanterns cast long shadows across the water. You reach down, your hand finding his cock under the surface - hard, hot, slick from the water and from you.

He hisses through his teeth.

You stroke him once, slow, your thumb tracing the head, and he shudders.

"I want you inside me," you say. "Now."

He doesn't argue. He wraps his arms around you, lifts you, and you feel the stone edge of the tub against your hips as he settles you on his thighs. The water laps at the small of your back as you straddle him, his cock pressing against your stomach, and you reach down to guide him.

The head catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.

His eyes meet yours. Dark. Waiting.

You sink down.

The stretch is everything - the slow burn of him filling you, inch by inch, the water warm around you, his hands gripping your hips as you take him deeper. You feel every ridge, every pulse, the way your body opens to accommodate him, and when he's fully inside you, seated to the hilt, you both exhale at the same time.

"Fuck," Joe breathes. "Honey."

You start to move. Slow at first, a gentle roll of your hips, the water sloshing around you. His hands find your waist, guiding you, and you set a rhythm that drags him out of you almost completely before you sink back down.

"Like that," he says, his voice strained. "Just like that."

You pick up speed, your hands braced on his shoulders, your nails digging in as you ride him. The water slaps against the stone edge, splashing onto the patio tiles, and the steam rises around you like a veil. You can feel the pressure building again, a third orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and the sound of your bodies meeting - wet, rhythmic, obscene - fills the night.

His hand moves between you, his thumb finding your clit, and you cry out, your rhythm faltering.

"Come for me," he says, his voice rough, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. "Let me feel you."

You do. Your body clenches around him, your back arching, a scream tearing out of your throat that echoes off the patio walls. He follows a second later, his hands gripping your hips so hard it will bruise, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a groan that sounds like your name, like a prayer, like something he's been holding in his chest since the day you met.

You stay like that, tangled together, the water slowly settling around you. Your forehead rests against his, and your breath mingles in the steam, ragged and warm.

After a long moment, Joe kisses you. Soft. Tender. A different kind of hunger.

"Noon tomorrow," he says against your lips.

"What about it?"

"We have to make it count." His hand slides up your spine, settling at the nape of your neck. "But first, I'm taking you inside. There's a bed in there, and I'm nowhere near done with you."

You laugh, breathless, still trembling in his arms. "That so?"

"That's so." He shifts beneath you, and you feel him still hard inside you, softening but not gone. The water has cooled around you, the steam thinning, and you're suddenly aware of the night air on your wet shoulders, the goosebumps rising on your arms.

"Inside sounds good," you say. "But I'm not sure my legs work."

He grins, that crooked grin, and wraps his arms around you. "Good thing I've got two."

Joe stands, lifting you with him, and you gasp as the water sluices off you both, the cold air hitting your skin where the water had been warm. His cock slips out of you, and you feel the loss - a hollow ache between your thighs, the slick evidence of him running down your leg. He carries you up the stone steps, water streaming off both of you, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck.

The patio tiles are cold under his bare feet, and you feel him shiver as you cross the stone. The glass door is still open, and the warm air from inside hits you as he carries you through, steam rising off your bodies in the room's sudden stillness.

The bedroom is dark, the curtains drawn, the only light a sliver of streetlamp filtering through a gap. He lays you on the bed, the sheets cool against your wet back, and you watch him as he stands over you, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders, his cock half-hard and glistening.

"You're beautiful," he says. "You know that?"

You reach for him, your hand finding his, pulling him down to you. He comes willingly, his body covering yours, his skin cool and damp against your warmth. You kiss him, deep and slow, tasting yourself on his lips, tasting the wine and the chlorine and the night.

His hand finds your thigh, slides up, settles at your hip. "Roll over," he says against your mouth.

You do, turning onto your stomach, and Joe moves behind you, his chest pressing against your back, his cock pressing against the cleft of your ass. He kisses your shoulder, your spine, the nape of your neck, and you shiver - not from cold.

"I want you like this," he says, his voice low, his hand sliding between your legs. You're still slick, still open, and his fingers find you easily. "I want to watch your back arch when I fuck you."

You push up onto your elbows, your knees spreading, and he positions himself behind you. The head of his cock presses at your entrance, and you feel the stretch again - different from before, deeper, the angle changing everything.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes."

He pushes in, slow, so slow you feel every inch of him filling you. You drop your forehead to the sheets, a sound escaping you that's half moan, half sob. He's so deep like this, hitting places he couldn't reach before, and you feel yourself clench around him, pulling him deeper.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel-" He stops, his hips pressing flush against you, and you feel him everywhere. "You feel like home."

He starts to move. Slow strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, each thrust a deliberate claim. You grip the sheets, your knuckles white, and let him set the rhythm. The bed creaks beneath you, a steady counterpoint to the wet sound of your bodies meeting, and you feel the heat building again, low and insistent.

His hand finds your hair, gathers the wet curls, pulls gently until your back arches and your head lifts. "I want to hear you," he says, his voice rough. "I want the whole neighbourhood to hear you."

You bite your lip, and Joe pulls harder - not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp.

"No," he says. "Let me hear you."

His next thrust is harder, deeper, and you cry out - a raw, broken sound that fills the room. He does it again and again, building a rhythm that drives the sound out of you with every stroke. Your thighs are shaking, your arms trembling, and you feel yourself climbing toward another peak, faster than you thought possible.

"That's it," he says, his voice strained. "I can feel you. You're so close."

His hand slides under you, finds your clit, and you break - shatter - your body convulsing around him, a scream tearing out of your throat that you can't control, can't contain. He keeps thrusting, riding you through it, and you feel him pulse inside you, feel him come with a groan that vibrates through his chest into your back.

You collapse together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and cooling water. Joe pulls out slowly, and you feel the warmth of him leaking out of you, pooling on the sheets beneath you. You don't care. You can't bring yourself to care about anything except the weight of him beside you, the sound of his breathing, the way his hand finds yours under the covers.

"Noon," you say, your voice hoarse. "That's still hours away."

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "I know."

"What are we going to do until then?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then his hand slides down your stomach, dips between your legs again, and you feel his fingers trace the evidence of what you've just done.

"I have a few ideas," he says.

dividers: saradika-graphics

“Sure,” the orderly said easily. “Deputy, I know you were supposed to have a private room down here, but unfortunately our hallways are overcrowded and it’s not safe to have so little room to maneuver, particularly with how busy we are tonight.”

“Ok?” Gator asked, already annoyed. You could hear it in his voice.

“We have another patient who will be in your room for a short time—she won’t take up much space. No bed, just a chair.”

There was a pause, during which you found yourself surprised that Gator was actually entertaining it, but then—

“Absolutely fuckin’ not. Hell you think this is?” Gator asked.

“It’s a hospital, sir. She needs to be out of the hallway, and she’ll be in and out.”

“I’ll show ‘er in and out,” Gator quipped, but before either he or you could protest, the orderly exited the room, took hold of the handles of your wheelchair, and pushed you into Gator’s room. The overhead lights were dark, but the light directly above Gator’s bed was on, and you saw him glaring over at you as you entered. “Mind hittin’ that light, Butch?” Gator asked the orderly, and as he left the room he flicked the light switch, bathing you both in cold fluorescent light from above as the door swung shut behind him. “Eh,” Gator intoned.

“Eh?” you repeated, frowning and crossing your arm (well, arm, since the other was basically immobile), squinting a little at the glare of the lights even as your eyes slowly adjusted.

“Ain’t nothin’ too special t’look at,” he said, eyeing you, sling and all. “Coulda left the lights off.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, standing up from the wheelchair and crossing over to turn the lights off again with your good arm. “There, you look a hell of a lot better in the dark too.”

But Gator only chuckled. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he muttered, and then went back to what he’d been doing when the orderly had interrupted him: A book of word search puzzles.

You stared long enough, standing in the middle of the room, that it was noticeable, and Gator looked up at you again, scratching the side of his nose with the pencil he was holding.

“What?”

Caught, you stumbled over your words. “Nothing, I just—I wouldn’t expect to see you doing word puzzles.”

Gator blinked at you, eyes narrowed. “We know each other’r somethin’?”

“Wh—No,” you said. “I just—I know of you.”

His face relaxed into a smirk. “You know of me? Fuck’s that mean?” He sounded amused.

“I mean—The sheriff… Sheriff Tillman. ‘A hard man for hard times.’” You forgot to keep the mocking edge from your voice, so you just spurred on. “You’re his son. Everyone in the county knows you.”

Gator kept his eyes on you, then hummed, noncommittal. “A’right.” He went back to his book.

You sat back down, mostly because you felt awkward standing in the middle of the room, and pushed yourself back and forth a little, rolling the wheelchair to and fro. It went on for a minute or so, probably, until Gator sighed heavily and looked over at you.

“So what happened t’yer arm?” he asked. “Some guy rough y’up?”

You snickered. “Not in the way you think.”

“Hell’s’at mean?”

“We were having a good time, until we weren’t.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he snickered. “So it’s a sex thing?” He laughed. “Damn, how’d you fuck up fuckin’ that bad that ya needed the hospital?”

“I dislocated my shoulder,” you said.

“You did?” Gator asked. “Or he did?”

“Ok, Deputy, relax.” You adjusted your arm a little in the sling. “Everyone was a consenting adult, I just—got the shit end of the stick.”

“So where’s yer guy?” Gator asked. “Bet he’d love knowin’ y’were in here w’me. Since everyone in the county knows me ‘nd all.”

“He—” you said, but cut yourself off. Where was he? Last you’d seen him he was in the drivers’ seat of his pickup, telling you you’d be fine but he had work in the AM so he couldn’t stick around, and if you needed anything, to just let him know. He’d driven away before you realized that he’d never given you his number, so. Where was he indeed. By now, he was probably home, beer drunk and cock jerked, sleeping like a baby before his shift in the morning. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

Gator laughed. “Cold.”

“Well, he left me here and blew me off, so.”

“A’right, that’s worse. ‘Nd after you blew him’n everything too. Damn.”

“Who said I blew him?” you asked, not quite believing you were entertaining this line of conversation.

“Ya look like the type,” Gator said, shrugging.

“Excuse me?” you asked, scowling at him, offended.

“What?” he asked, trying to hide his amusement, but you absolutely heard him snickering. “It’s a compliment.”

“How is that a compliment?”

“Means ya look… givin’. ‘Nd carin’, y’know. Generous and shit.”

“Pig,” you said, turning your wheelchair away from him and facing the door.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. I meant it. Ya seem like a real nice broad.” You turned to glare at him over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be in here with you just as much as you don’t want to be in here with me,” you said.

“So we’re even,” he said, then gestured at your arm. “That shit hurt?”

“Uh, yeah?” you said. “We can try to recreate what I was doing if you want to see for yourself.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Gator said, but he was chuckling to himself. He smiled over at you. “Fun as I’m sure it was.”

“So what happened to you?” you asked.

“Waitin’ on some stitches,” he said, then fell silent.

You waited for him to keep talking, but he didn’t. “What happened?”

“This,” Gator said, and curled his hand into the sheets on top of him, pulling them to the side to reveal his leg, thigh draped in the hospital gown. He tugged up the hem of the gown and you saw a thick pad of gauze, not quite bled through but a red sliver was making itself known.

“Um,” you said, because that didn’t quite answer your question in its entirety.

“Some fucker’ got me with a boxcutter,” he said.

“And it was big enough to need stitches?”

Gator fixed you with a look. “Wanna see it?”

“No, I’m good,” you said, but he started peeling the gauze away. “I said I’m good. Gator! I’m good!” 

He’d barely uncovered an inch of it, but you could see that the gash was larger, a decent slice dug into his thigh. “So yeah, need some stitches. Wasn’t too deep, it ain’t still bleedin’ too much or nothin’, but it’s long enough it needed, ah… medical attention.” He turned to look at you, and before you could react he continued. “Got something else long enough y’d need medical attention. ‘Nd as luck should have it we’re both already in the goddamn hospital.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said. “And just to knock you down another peg, you’re not nearly as attractive in a hospital gown as you think you are.”

“Not even with these on?” Gator asked, reaching to the tray table set off to the side. He grabbed something you couldn’t see, then slid his sunglasses onto his face. It was so unexpected and lighthearted that you laughed—genuinely.

“Sorry, no,” you said, shaking your head a little. Sure, you were both trapped in the same room off of the emergency department at the hospital, but Gator Tillman was fucking flirting with you. Badly, but still. Even if he was just doing it to pass the time, he was still coming on to you.

“So—y’know my name,” Gator said. “You gonna tell me yers or do I gotta bust out the badge and ask fer ID?”

“The badge is worse than the shades,” you said, and he lifted them off his eyes and furrowed his brow at you, like he was trying to gauge if you were serious or not. But before he could question you, you’d given him your name.

Gator marked his page in the puzzle book with the pencil, then held out his right hand toward you to shake, reaching out over his own body. You didn’t make a move to stand or wheel closer to him.

“Dammit woman, don’t leave me hangin’,” he said. “Tryna be, uh, upstandin’ here.”

“My arm’s in a sling,” you said, pointing to your right arm with your working left one. “Sorry.”

“Fuckin’ excuses,” he grumbled.

But he wasn’t such terrible company, really, not for the few short minutes you’d spent with him. At least he was entertaining, and he’d rolled with the punches you’d thrown back at him in response to his sexist BS. You stood up, took the two steps to his bedside, and placed your left hand in his, not quite shaking it but trying to, at least. His hand was cold in yours, the skin rough like you’d expected, but still softer than you’d thought it would be. Just as the thought crossed your mind, you pulled your hand away, because you didn’t want to linger and give him any ideas.

“You got any more puzzle books?” you asked, gesturing at the word search book.

“You can take this one,” Gator said. “Was in here already when they dumped my ass on this bed.” He proffered it to you. You took it.

“How long have you been in here?” you asked, sitting back down and opening the book to where he’d marked it. The word searches on the open pages were complete (left) and half-done (right). 

“Got here after you,” Gator said. “Y’said, what—you been here fer three hours?” 

You nodded, looking down at the word search he’d left unfinished. The theme was “Picnic.” You noticed that he did them the same way you did: alphabetically by the word list. That… surprised you. He’d left off at lemonade so you started searching for it, the pencil clutched in your left hand, the book balanced on your lap.

“Yeah, I got here ‘bout… midnight.”

“Surprised you’re still waiting,” you commented, trying to be flippant, but it definitely came out more bitter than you’d intended.

“Why’s’at?” Gator asked.

You circled lemonade in the word search, a little wobbly since you were balancing it on your legs and handling it with just one hand. Now you were looking for napkins. “The name Tillman carries weight around here. Didn’t you know?”

“‘Parently not enough,” Gator said. “Got my ass sittin’ in here with some chick who thinks she can just say whatever’s on her mind like I ain’t gonna take it personal.”

“That’s a fragile ego, Deputy,” you said. Napkins jumped out at you on the page, but when you went to circle it, you dropped the pencil, and when you leaned over to pick it up, the book fell off your lap. You sighed heavily and picked them up.

“Ain’t nothin’ fragile ‘bout me, sweetheart,” Gator said, derisively, watching you.

“Well, from where I’m sitting,” you said, hoisting yourself back into the wheelchair, book and pencil in hand, the puzzle page you were working on lost, “seems like there is.”

“Why? ‘Cause’a my leg? Fucker got the jump on me, ain’t nothin’ more to it.”

“No. Because you care what a chick you just met and probably never will again thinks about you.”

“Whoa. Now just wait a fuckin’ second, who said that?”

“You did,” you said, absently flipping through the pages of the puzzle book, looking for “Picnic” again.

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“Just now,” you said, looking up at him, tucking the pencil behind your ear so you had one less thing to balance while you were looking through the book. “If you’re taking what I’m saying personally, you’re giving it weight. And if me not being a badge bunny and knowing you throw your last name around like it’s an extra six inches is getting to you, then that ego of yours is made of fine china.”

He watched you, eyes narrowed just a little, as you found the page you’d left off on, then reached to untuck the pencil from your ear. As soon as you’d lifted your hand, the book fell to the floor again and you groaned, tossing your head back, and the pencil clattered to the floor behind you.

“God fucking—damn it,” you groaned, and Gator only chuckled.

“Gimme that fuckin’ book,” Gator said, ignoring—or, at the very least not acknowledging—what you’d said. 

“You said I could have it,” you said, mostly to be petulant.

“And they said you’d be ‘in’n’out’,” Gator said, mimicking the orderly’s voice. “‘Nd yet yer still fuckin’ here. Gimme that book, pick up the pencil, ‘nd get yer ass over here.”

As you watched, he reached his left hand out to lower the railing on the side of the bed, then shimmied a little to the side, like he was making room for you to sit beside him.

You shook your head, but stood up to grab the pencil from where it had fallen anyway, then looked at him again, confusion still etched on your face.

“I said git,” Gator said, palm slapping the mattress beside him.

“For what?”

“Only got three workin’ arms ’tween us,” he said. “You wanna do yer fuckin’ word search, you look for ‘em ‘nd I’ll cross ‘em off.”

It felt like a trap, almost. You weren’t the biggest busybody in Dickinson, but you heard everything that women said about the police in this town, especially the Tillmans. And yet, you were with Gator, getting firsthand, empirical evidence that he could, actually, behave himself. You were still more than an arm’s length away, though, so who knew how long that would last?

You picked up the fallen book, then handed it and the pencil to Gator. He took it, opened it, found “Picnic,” then looked at you expectantly, before angling his head toward the bed beside him, looking at it pointedly. You stepped over and climbed onto it beside him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Napkin,” Gator said, and you pointed with your good arm, because you still remembered where you’d seen it. “Fuckin’ crack shot, huh?”

You laughed, despite yourself. “Something like that.”

And after you’d found park and plates in quick succession, Gator shifted the book a little bit away from you.

“Yer too good at this,” he said. “I ain’t even gettin’ a chance t’look myself.”

You paused. “Is this a race?”

He paused too. “Yeah. Think it is.”

“Well you have to let me see it, then,” you said, unable to lean too close to him, your right arm already stiff and sore from being in the sling.

“You seen it enough,” Gator said. “Plus, yer too good, I should get a lil’ advantage.”

“You mean you should get to cheat,” you replied.

Gator turned to you, grinning all smug, and nodded. “Real glad we see eye t’eye on that. ‘Preciate it.” You watched as he circled the next word, which you could barely read due to the angle at which he was holding the book.

“You’re such a dick,” you said, and you just saw his cheek round up even more, his smile widening as he crossed the word off the bottom of the list.

“My dick is one’a the most notable things about me,” Gator said, and you were so used to his crass comments by now that you just sighed in exasperation and rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you.

“Just let me see the puzzle,” you said, shifting so that you were kneeling beside him on the bed, since you couldn’t lean into him with your arm as tender as it was. You leaned over him, taking extreme care not to actually let any part of your body touch his, and reached over with your left hand to try and grab the book. “We can do it together, just let me hold the book. You can keep the pencil.”

Gator switched the book to his right hand, holding it out of your reach before you even got close. “You wanna do it wi’me? Damn, ‘n I thought you were different. But I like ‘em a little mean sometimes.”

“You are such a—” you started to say, but stopped yourself, trying to think of a name to call him that he wouldn’t be able to turn into something sexual or make suggestive. And as you cycled through your choices, his smirk only grew, until he had bent his good leg at the knee, resting his elbow on it and balancing his chin on his hand, watching you with a bemused expression while your mind whirled through the various insults you knew. “Manchild.”

Gator guffawed at that, and you really had to work to suppress your own smile, moving back to sit beside him normally, no longer wanting to play his stupid games.

“First time I heard that one,” Gator said, moving to hold the puzzle book between the two of you, half on your lap, half on his.

“Color me shocked,” you snapped back, but there was no venom in it. “I would’ve guessed that was, like, your middle name.”

“So then what’s yers?” Gator asked. “Smartass?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” you said, and this time, when he laughed, you did too. You hadn’t ever wanted to cross paths with this guy, but being stuck in this room with him—willingly sharing space with him, so close your injured arm and his injured leg were almost brushing against each other—it wasn’t turning out to be the worst part of your night. That, amazingly, was still your shoulder. It wasn’t like you’d let him know he was making things bearable and the time pass quickly. You could keep your gratitude unspoken. And you would.

“You lookin’ or what?” Gator asked, shaking the book a little, and you looked over at him to find him staring at the side of your face, tapping the book with the pencil’s eraser. “I already fuckin found sandwich but I don’t wanna circle it if yer gonna chew me the fuck out about it.”

“Sandwich,” you said, letting your eyes rove over the puzzle. “There.” You pointed and he drew an elongated oval around the letters.

“Very good,” he said, condescendingly.

But instead of rising to it, you just decided to show him up. There were four words left: spring, tablecloth, wasps, and watermelon. You’d already found them—but sandwich had needed to be circled first—so you simply tapped the page in four spots, in order.

“There you go,” you said, repeating the taps so he knew you weren’t bullshitting and had found the remaining four words. “So, what do I win?”

“Win,” Gator repeated, circling each of the four words, then crossing them off the list. He stuck the pencil in the book and closed it. “Fuck makes you think you won somethin’?”

“You said it was a race,” you said. “I found the words faster than you. That means I get a prize.”

“Fuck kinda prize you think this place got? Hold on, lemme page the nurse ‘nd see if I can score ya some ice chips.”

You laughed, a true, hearty laugh, eyes closed and giggles bubbling bright out of your chest, and when you opened your eyes again and let your gaze fall on Gator, you didn’t miss the way he was looking at you, expression soft for the briefest moment, until he remembered himself, remembered who and what he was supposed to be under observation—a Tillman—and let the scowl creep back onto his features. A little too late; you wondered if he ever showed this part of himself to anyone else. Not that you were special—you knew you weren’t, not to Gator Tillman—but here he wasn’t supposed to be anyone, wasn’t beholden to his father or the department. He was just a guy waiting for stitches, messing around with a puzzle book and the woman they’d dumped on him by chance.

“So,” Gator said, clearing his throat a little as though he’d just realized now how close you were to him. “Ya wanna try ta explain how the hell ya dislocated yer arm mid-fuck?”

You sighed. “We weren’t actually… doing anything yet,” you said. “He was kinda—so he was behind me, and he had my arms behind my back.” You gestured, but Gator watched you, a half-smirk playing at his lips, one eyebrow quirked up. “He was holding them behind me, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m followin’,” Gator said, suppressing a grin.

“And I guess he just—I kinda… Twisted the wrong way from how he was moving, and next thing I knew I couldn’t really move my arm. It didn’t hurt that much when it popped out, but moving it back in front of me was really bad. And then add the emotional damage of him having to put my clothes back on...” You grimaced at Gator. “Maybe I lucked out that he just left me here.”

“Prob’ly,” Gator said, lifting his hand to bite at one of his cuticles, though he lowered his hand when you scrunched up your nose at him. “Nah, I’m just sayin’—guy like that ain’t gonna see shit through after he hurts ya? Scumbag.”

You blinked, shaking your head a little in disbelief. “What?” you asked, probably somewhat dumbly, because you hadn’t thought Gator could feel sympathy for the fairer sex.

“Guy fuckin’ dislocates yer damn arm and can’t even stick witcha at least through triage? That’s some lame ass shit.” He glanced over at you and realized you were looking at him like he had six heads. “What, you think I wouldn’t?”

“I mean—everything I’ve ever heard about you points to no, you wouldn’t.”

Gator cocked his head to the side. “‘Nd why’s that?”

You shrugged your good shoulder, but the movement still made you flinch a little. As though it were his fault, Gator moved away from you, like he’d nudged your arm and that was what made you shudder in pain.

“You’re not a… long haul kind of guy,” you said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Mm,” Gator hummed, then sucked his teeth. “Gotta say, this whole ‘you knowin’ of me’ thing fuckin’ sucks.”

“Sorry,” you said.

“No you ain’t,” Gator said, but he chuckled a little, darkly, unamused. “You came in here thinkin’ you knew all there was t’know about me and yer still just sayin’ it. Well, if your opinion holds so much weight like ya think I think it does, maybe try watchin’ yer mouth.” He looks over at you. “Or I’ll give ya somethin’ better t’do with it.”

You moved yourself a bit away from him to sit on the edge of the mattress, letting your left leg drape off of it, toes to the floor. “Ok, fair point. I don’t even know you, I shouldn’t judge you.” You looked over at him out of the corner of your eyes, assessing. You decided to be honest and press your luck. “You just don’t exactly give off the most… comforting aura.”

Gator turned to look blankly at you, his expression slowly morphing into disgust. “Don’t say shit like that t’me,” he said, then laughed. “I ain’t tryna be no one’s friend out here. I can’t be seen as… comforting. I’m the law.”

“Oh my god, you really say that? You really say that. I didn’t think—”

“I really say what?” he interrupted you.

You dropped your voice to match his. “‘I’m the law.’ You’re a real piece of work, you know that? ‘I’m the law,’ get the hell out of here.” You laughed and reached across your body with your left hand to shove at his left arm, playful and teasing.

“I don’t know why you think yer so cool, Miss Can’t-Even-Fuck-Right,” Gator said. “Promise ya if y’were with me, you wouldn’t’a dislocated nothin’. ‘Cept maybe yer—”

“Let me guess, my jaw?” you asked. “Because your dick’s so big? I get it, you’re packing. Can we move on?” But you were smiling. Despite yourself, despite his demeanor, you were starting to find the moments in between when he dropped the act actually… charming. Something else you’d keep to yourself, because if he found out you were actually enjoying his company, he’d be even more insufferable.

“Nah,” Gator said, stretching out his injured leg, wincing a little as he did. Surreptitiously, he lifted the hospital gown again, checking the gauze taped to his thigh. The little red sliver you’d seen before was just a touch wider, the wound still oozing. He covered it again quickly, but you’d still seen. “Got m’self.”

You almost didn’t register that he’d spoken, because it didn’t sound like he’d actually said words. “What?”

“With the boxcutter.” He cleared his throat. “I got m’self.”

“You—” you started to say, but stopped yourself. “Oh, my god.”

“Was a fuckin’ accident, a’right?” he said, huffy. “Breakin’ down some shit at the station, lost m’grip on the box, next thing ya know I’m bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

“That’s so embarrassing for you,” you said, and Gator lifted his left hand, flipping you off. You laughed, but were pleased to see he was smirking too.

“Ain’t no more embarrassing than twistin’ yer arm out of its socket when yer just tryna get it in.”

You nodded your head to the side, conceding the point. “Fair enough.” You paused. “Why… did you tell me that?” you asked.

Gator shrugged. “You told me ‘bout yours. Figure we’re even now.”

“We needed to be even?” you asked.

“Yeah, why not,” Gator said. “Yer cool.”

If it had been five minutes earlier, you’d have ribbed him for that, given him shit for it. But it had happened at exactly the right moment—you felt decent enough even though your shoulder still hurt, and he seemed to have loosened up enough that he could be real, or at least as real as a Tillman could be in these parts.

“You might be cool too,” you said, pulling your leg back up onto the bed, pushing yourself up closer beside him, your knees pressing into his hip as you tried to face him—and then promptly fell sideways into the upright part of the bed because your right arm was in a sling and you had no way to prop yourself up.

“I take it back,” Gator said, absolutely losing his shit at your awkward faceplant, your dislocated arm held in place by the sling. “Nothin’ fuckin’ cool aboutcha, my god, woman.” He reached back to help you up, wrapping his arm around you and holding you securely to his side. “Y’ok?”

When he asked it, his voice was quieter, lighter, brushing against your cheek like the touch of a lover, of someone who cared about you, even though he couldn’t and he didn’t.

“I’m fine,” you said, your cheek burning not only from the impact on the hospital mattress but also embarrassment. You glanced over at him, and noticed: He was a lot closer than you realized, even as he retracted his arm, which was dumb as hell, because you were practically sitting on his lap, and just might be if not for his cut leg and your immobile arm.

“That’s one word fer it,” Gator said, his hand moving over your knee, up your thigh, just enough for you to feel affected by it.

And you shouldn’t. This was Gator Tillman, fundamentally one of the worst people you could get involved with, and yet aside from some locker room talk and all of the rumors and conjecture you’d gathered from living in his vicinity, he hadn’t done anything to truly turn you off. It was the push and pull of flirting with a guy, the little barbs and pokes that made something new into something fun, something brimming with potential. So when his hand skimmed a little further up your thigh, you leaned in and just barely let your lips brush over his.

He kissed you back. Of course he did. You figured he was going to, because you were there and you were making it easy, but what you didn’t count on was how he would do it. With his fingers pressing just enough into your thigh that you could feel it, with his nose bumping against yours as he tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, with his lips closing around your cupid’s bow, keeping it simple and sweet before he pulled back. It was the perfect kind of kiss for the moment, and you never would have expected Gator to read the mood like that. You were starting to think you’d been wrong about him, or maybe everyone else had.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the door to the room opened and the orderly marched back in, stopping short when he saw you perched on Gator’s bed. You felt his hand move off of your thigh and instead to your lower back, holding you steady as you hurriedly stood up from the bed.

“Careful,” he muttered, as you slid your legs down over the lowered railing.

“Mr. Tillman,” the orderly said.

“Deputy,” Gator corrected him, and you smirked as you took your seat again.

“Deputy,” the orderly continued. “The doctor is about ready to see you, and since you have a… roommate, we’ll be bringing you to one of the exam rooms for the stitches.” You were wheeled over to the side, while the orderly unlocked the wheels of Gator’s bed and pushed him out of the room.

“See ya,” you said, lifting your good arm to wave.

Gator nodded his chin toward you as he passed by. “Ya just might.”

Except when he was brought back to the room to wait for his discharge paperwork, you were gone.

Steve moves towards you, messing with his hair on the way, but when he starts to sit beside you, you stop him with a hand on his arm.

Scooting backwards, you press yourself into the cushions and spread your legs to give him space to sit in front of you.

“Wha—right there?” he asks, blinking down at you, mussed hair haloed by the light of the TV. 

"Yes, right here.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head before turning around and collapsing into the makeshift seat you've provided. 

"This what you wanted?" he grunts, letting all his weight fall back onto you and press you into the couch. “You sure?” 

“Mmhhm,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around his hips, and your arms around his broad shoulders. He's so warm. You bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling the scents of fresh grass and humid summer air. “Where does it hurt today?” 

He sighs, absently watching the sitcom on the TV from under heavy lashes. “Everywhere.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder. The laugh track plays quietly through your house just as the first raindrop hits your window pane.  

Every time a storm rolls in, Steve gets this way. 

His old wounds have long since healed by now, but under intense shifts of barometric pressure, they come back to haunt him, driving a gnawing, clamping ache into his body that whisks away his concentration and make it hard for him to breathe. 

When the weather changes, he’ll say that bone in his nose aches, or that joint in his shoulder is killing him. But his side hurts the most. Those frayed nerve endings and hairline fractures in his ribs never got proper care thanks to his neglectful parents who never noticed their son was in pain.

Through the years, you’ve found a way to help him. Fill his mind with pleasure instead, and make him forget—even just for a minute. 

So, your hands start to roam. Traversing him in that way only lovers do—those who know someone else’s body better than their own. Curling over his forearm, brushing the hair there with your thumb. Caressing the rough knuckles on his hands. Trailing the bulge of his bicep, his capped shoulder, until finally skimming up the side of his head to plunge your fingers into this hair. 

Steve sinks further into you with a groan, but his shoulders tense when he hears you take a stuttering breath. 

His hands fly to hold yours still on his body. “Shit, ‘m not crushing you, am I?"

You shake your head, lips trailing the vein in his neck. “Relax, Steve. Let me make you feel good.”

You hear him swallow hard, hesitating. Then, finally, his hands fall away from yours, giving them permission to drift down to his waistband. He helps you out, undoing the button on his khakis for you. You shift behind him and reach down further until your fingers brush his cock, already straining against his boxers. 

Steve sighs, hips shifting as he chases your touch. “Baby, you know you don’t have to if you don’t wan—”

“I want to,” you say. “Let me fix it.”

His heavy palm comes down on your shin in his lap, warmth bleeding from his fingers. It’s a grounding, touch, not meant to stop you. Something to keep him centered while pleasure and pain war inside, threatening to pull him apart. 

You brush your fingers across his hard length, earning a soft groan of approval. Weighing the velvet steel in your hand, you wrap your fingers around him and squeeze at the base, just how he likes it. 

He curses, his head falling back against your shoulder just as thunder rolls in the distance. His lashes flutter shut, throat bared in the TV light, and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. 

You stroke him slowly. Languidly. The pleasure glides through his veins like silk, stealing the bite from his wounds, relieving the teeth digging into his ribs, before pooling into a different kind of pressure low in his abdomen. One that’s dull, and drugging, and promises relief. 

“Relax,” you whisper again against his ear.

Steve obeys, his body going a little more pliant. His thighs fall further apart, pinning you into the soft cushion. But his weight on you isn’t the only thing that steals the breath from your lungs. It’s the way he finds sanctuary in you. You love him like this. Open, and trusting, and wanting. Needing you, even when he’s in pain. Especially when he’s in pain. 

Your hand falls into the tempo he needs without him having to ask. It’s still slow, but steadily grows harder, grabbing that thread of need from inside his hips and pulling it tight. 

His back rises and falls with uneven breathes against your chest, but he stays still. He knows better than to buck up into your touch. If his hips lock up, your hand disappears. His shoulders tense, and your kisses stop. 

He has to be relaxed, pliant, and totally at your mercy for this pain relief to work.

Outside, the sky darkens further, turning that mottly shade of blue. The one you’ve seen bloom on his body time and time again over the years. The rain starts to fall steadily, tinking and plunking onto the glass pane.

Your knuckles rasp against his pants as you touch him, your forearm catching on his shirt with every stroke, and when your tongue darts out for a taste of his salty skin, and you’re rewarded with a moan that sends heat licking up your spine. 

He must really be hurting today. By this point, he’s usually trying to catch you by the ankle and pull you underneath him, pushing your legs apart and dragging his tongue through your pussy before you're done with him.

You shift underneath him, the heavy, slick weight of your arousal pooling in your panties, but you’ll deal with that later. Right now, you just want him pain free.  

His cock jerks in your hand, precum smearing across your fingers as his hand squeezes your shin, the other grasping uselessly at the couch cushion beside him. 

From this position—his head resting on your shoulder—you can only see the slope of his nose against the storm clouds, but his eyes are screwed shut, his brows furrowed even as little huffs leave his parted lips. 

You drop a sweet, reassuring kiss to one of the moles on his face. 

Steve’s always struggled with accepting care. It’s taken a long time to get him here. 

Hooking your ankle around his knee, you pull your leg towards you and spread his thighs even wider so your other hand can crawl underneath his arm and disappear into his shirt.

He turns his head and trails his lips across your cheek, your jaw, until finally you turn and capture his mouth with yours. His tongue dips into your mouth as your hand travels over his ribs, his scars, with soothing, sure touches that have him groaning into the kiss. 

But when his socks start to whisper against the carpeted floor as he tries to get leverage to shove his hips up into your touch, you break apart and pull your hand from his dick.

You’ve practiced edging Steve many times, so you don’t even have to say anything for him to get the picture. 

“Just feels so good,” Steve groans. “Sorry, I—yeah.” 

Rain pelts the window now, drowning out the distant laugh track on the TV, and Steve's heartbeat kicks up against your palm.

A hiss of pleasure escapes him when your touch resumes, but you tighten your grip, jerking him steadily until he swallows hard and relaxes again. 

You press gentle, openmouthed kisses along the column of his neck, his curls brushing your ear as his sounds grow breathier and louder. And when his cock thickens in your hand, you know he’s close. 

You bite your lip as his hips go stiff. Listening to him pant like this is really working you up. Finally, he groans, and jolts in your hold as hot ropes of come paint your knuckles. 

You slow to a stop, still kissing his neck to bring him down, making sure he's utterly relaxed before slipping your hand free. 

Steve tips his head back onto the couch and looks over at you, his eyes shining with love, but they darken swiftly as he watches your fingers disappear into your mouth, your pink tongue swirling around to catch every salty drop of him.

“You gonna let me take care of you, now?” he rasps, eyes on your mouth. 

You smile softly. “Steve, you’re hurting—”

“Not anymore.” 

His arm wraps around your waist, and then he shifts you lengthwise across the couch, his body following you down.

“You gave me my fix," he says, trailing a hand between your bodies, and your breath hitches as his long fingers disappear into your panties. “Now, let me give you yours.”

a/n: Woke up this morning to a thunderstorm and plans to write something completely different. But, when I put pen to paper, this is what happened instead. It's been a minute since I've written something completely new and not from my drafts, so I'm not complaining. (It’s probably also due to the fact that I'm still thinking about Steve and reader from Truce)

steve masterlist | banner from @cursed-carmine

At the time, it felt like the end of the world. Saying goodbye to all of your friends, leaving behind your favourite ice cream parlour, having to leave the swim team despite there being pools in Indiana, too. Being twelve, it felt like the rug had been dragged from beneath you and life would never be the same again, that you’d never be as happy as you were in Maryland. 

Hawkins felt small at first, it was the kind of town where everybody knew everybody. You’d go to the store in the town square with your mother and be surrounded by conversation and laughter, a sense of community that you’d never experienced at home before. 

You arrived in Hawkins not long after you finished seventh grade, your parents wanting you to be settled in before the school year rolled around in September. A lot of your first few weeks were spent riding your bike around, familiarising yourself with the streets local to your house. Going into town with your mother, going to the pool with your father, anything to distract yourself from knowing all your friends were having fun without you at home. 

Somehow, something that twelve year old you found very strange, your mother was making friends quicker than you were. 

Now when you’d go out to get groceries, or she’d take you to the library on a Thursday afternoon, she’d be part of the conversation in the streets. Both of your heads spinning at the sound of someone calling her name, welcoming smiles and waggling fingers waving the two of you over to join their nattering. 

As your mother stood talking to the women that beckoned you both over, you began to grow tired listening to whatever it was they were talking about now. Their husbands at the bar too late after work, Mr and Mrs Murphy’s divorce and his controversially young new girlfriend, any raunchy gossip that was breaking news in a small town like this. 

Your eyes wandered over each of the women, taking in conversations that probably weren’t suitable for a twelve year old to be hearing, or to be having in the middle of the sidewalk. 

As your arms folded over your chest, your gaze landed on a boy around your age leant against the door of the car that one of the women your mother was talking to had just dipped out from. 

The first thing you noticed about him was his red t-shirt. Under the glaring August sun, it was so bright that you almost had to squint when your eyes landed on him. He had a pair of shorts on, cutting above his knee that had a nasty graze cutting against the curve to his shin. 

His expression read bored, his eyes practically glued to the back of his head with the way they kept rolling with each of the women’s enthusiastic gasps at the gossip that you were certain they’d be passing on. His sneakers kicked against the sidewalk, tips of his toes catching on the gravel as his arms swayed by his side. His skin was sunkissed, it looked as if he’d burnt a few weeks ago and it was finally fading away. 

For some reason unbeknownst to you, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him. Maybe it was because this was the longest you’d been around anyone your own age in at least a month and a half, or maybe something else entirely. 

And just when you were finally about to pull your eyes away to tug on your mothers arm, the boy shifted under your gaze as if he could feel you looking. His chin peeked upward, his eyes glancing at your yellow sandals before they followed up to your face. 

His expression was blank for a moment. But then you noticed the corner of his lip turn upward, offering you a small smile as if he was asking you if you were just as bored as he was. You felt your skin warm, and it could’ve been from the sun blazing down on you but something was telling you that it wasn’t. 

Just as you began to return his smile, your mother finally pulled from her conversation. Her hand landed on your shoulder, her spare waving goodbye to her new friends as she began guiding you toward the store you already should’ve been in. 

“Sorry, honey,” She spoke gently once she was out of earshot, her hand moving from your shoulder to push a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know those ladies, they love to chat.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” You returned with a small smile, quickly stealing a glance over your shoulder to catch one last look at the boy in the red t-shirt, who was looking straight back at you. “Glad you’re making friends.”

A small laugh fell past her lips, her arm slipping around your shoulder to pull you against her side. “You’ll make friends too, hon. I know it’s hard, leaving your friends and all, but you can still write to them. Would you like that? We can get some stamps at the post office.”

Your gaze fell to the sidewalk, watching your feet as you strode along with your mother. You took in a sharp breath before answering, “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Your mother knew that you found it hard to leave your friends back home, and she could tell that you were feeling lonely in this new town where it seemed like everyone knew each other’s name except for yours. 

“One of those ladies, Mrs. Harrington,” Your mother began as she held open the door for you to walk through, a happy sigh passing your lips as the air conditioned breeze hit you. “She’s got a son around your age. They invited us around for dinner next week, so maybe you can make your first friend then.” 

A small laugh snorted past your lips, grabbing a basket between your fingers as you followed your mother toward the produce section. “Yeah, maybe.” 

You didn’t see the boy in the red t-shirt when you went to the library the next day, or at the park when you cycled over there with your father. You didn’t see him when you returned to the store on Wednesday with your mother to get wine for your dinner at the Harringtons’ that night either. 

“We’re leaving in five minutes, okay?” Your mother called out to you from her own room. You could hear her frantically readying herself, mumblings through the wall of her asking your father which outfit looked better. 

You however, hadn’t given your outfit a second thought. The first t-shirt you grabbed, a striped top and your favourite pair of overalls would do just fine. You pulled on your well loved sneakers and made your way into the hallway, met with a short gasp from your mother. 

“Wh– Honey, you can’t wear overalls to dinner,” She scoffed lightheartedly as she fiddled with fastening her earrings, her hands falling to flatten her mid length skirt before looking back over at you. “Come on, I’ll help you find a nice skirt–”

“Martha, sweetheart,” Your father spoke from behind, his hand landing on your mother’s shoulder. He offered you a small smile, before turning his attention to your mother. “If she wants to wear the overalls, let her. Who cares what she wears, hm? She looks fantastic.” 

You grinned under your fathers defense, thankful that he was there to defend your styling choices. He also knew about your struggle to adjusting, and that you’d be much more comfortable in your favourite outfit than a dress that you’d feel out of place in. 

A small huff passed your mothers lips, but she crossed the distance between you and pressed a kiss to your hairline. Her fingers squeezing your shoulder gently as she spoke, “Come on then, we don’t want to be late, do we?”

The drive to the Harrington residence wasn’t long at all, you probably could’ve walked it in all honesty. But you took the time to gaze out the window, listening to your mother update your father on all of the things not to mention, like Mr. Murphy’s new girlfriend, and to remember his manners at the dinner table. 

When the car pulled to a stop and you let yourself out of the car, you were taken aback by the sight before you. Mrs Harrington’s house was huge, it even had a bumpout that was probably bigger than your old house in Maryland. The driveway was long, the grass well kept and green as the three of you made your way to the front door. 

The doorbell sang a welcoming theme as your mother pressed into it. You couldn’t help but feel nervous as you waited, and subconsciously your posture straightened as you heard a pair of footsteps nearing the door in front of you. 

It swung open, and you were met with one of the women from the other day, Mrs. Harrington. You recognised her as the one with the big hair. 

“Hello, hello! Come on in, please.” She beamed, stepping aside to welcome you into her home. Your mother inched you forward gently, and you smiled up at Mrs. Harrington as you stepped into her home. 

And God, it was even bigger on the inside. There was a massive wooden staircase to the right, that led up to a balcony – a balcony – overlooking the open plan of the house. Large artwork laid against the wall up the stairs, and to the left there was a large living room that your first thought was that it would be a great place to sit and watch Superman. 

Mrs. Harrington’s hand found your shoulder after you’d toed your shoes off, leaving them by the front door. “I think Steve’s around here somewhere, one moment.” She passed you, her hand pressed to the banister as she called up for her son. 

You don’t know why you felt nervous. You didn’t have anything to be nervous about. It was just some kid that would be in your class next year, maybe he’d be nice. Maybe you could ride your bike with him instead of your father sometimes. 

Your neck twisted as you heard a door slam from upstairs, looking up to the balcony to wait for Steve to come and say hello to you. It felt a bit embarrassing, like you’d been set up by your parents to make friends with some kid, who if he was a reflection of the size of house or his prim and proper mother, you weren’t sure you’d even get on with. 

Footsteps drew closer down the hallway, and a satisfied Mrs. Harrington hurried your parents into the kitchen, asking which kind of wine they drank. Your gaze fell to your feet, shoving your hands in your pockets as you waited. 

“Hey.” A voice called from the balcony, and the first thing you saw when you craned your neck was that red t-shirt. The boy from town the other day, who you’d been looking for around town, was smiling down at you. 

“Hi.” You offered him a smile, watching as his hands braced around the wooden banister of the balcony as he leaned over it slightly. 

He cleared his throat gently, the corner of his mouth turning upward as he tilted his head down the hallway to where he’d just emerged from. “Wanna come play Space Invaders?”

After that night, you and Steve were pretty much joint at the hip. That was the first time you’d played Space Invaders, and somehow you managed to win almost every game, and Steve always denied that he let you win. 

As the two of you grew closer, so did your mothers. So when your mother would go to the Harringtons’ for a glass of wine on a Saturday night, you were there too. Watching a movie in the living room, or playing in the pool for hours until you’d practically pruned over. 

Steve even introduced you to a few of his other friends, Tommy and Carol. They were nice, but you still always enjoyed it when it was just you and Steve hanging out. The two of you would ride your bikes out to the lake and wade around all afternoon, sometimes you’d even hang out at the library. Steve wouldn’t read, though, just try and distract you from your book until you reluctantly gave in and went to the comic book section instead. 

You spent practically every minute of the summer together, but one night when you were sitting in your room reading, you were missing your friends from home a little more than usual. 

You dug through your drawers, finding the stamps that your mother had bought for you that day you first saw Steve. You found a pen, and paper, and got to work. 

Dear Destiny, 

Hey! My mom got me some stamps a few weeks ago and I just found them in my drawer, so I thought I’d write you a letter and say hi. Hi! How are you? How’s home? I miss home, and you all so much, what have you guys been up to this summer? 

I’ve been spending a lot of time at the park and at the pool, I’m thinking of joining the swim team at my new school so I want to be on my A game. I’ve been reading lots too, if you want I’ll write some good books I’ve read and maybe you can read them too!

And I’ve actually made a friend! His name is Steve, he’s super funny and he’s got a massive pool that I think I like more than him! Kidding. But he’s nice, I think you guys would get on too. Maybe you can come visit over Thanksgiving!

I miss you lots, please write back soon!!!

Xoxo

June, 1985

The summer that you and Steve graduated high school, Starcourt Mall had its grand opening on Memorial Day weekend and was met with mixed opinions from the residents of Hawkins. Some claimed it would be good for the economy, creating new jobs and opportunities whereas others argued its presence, going so far as boycotting it entirely. 

Although you’d come to love the small town hustle and bustle of Hawkins and was taken aback by the speed it took to build the mall and the sheer size of it, it ultimately became a great opportunity for you to make a bit of money to take off with you to college in September. 

Jazzercise was a colourful and bright purple store that caught your eye when the two of you went on the opening weekend, bustling with music and legwarmers. Your friend, Amanda, had just been hired there and a few weeks in she introduced you to her manager, and you had a job there too by the next Monday. 

Despite your best efforts of helping him study, Steve unfortunately didn’t make the grades to get into college. His father made him get a job that summer, and the two of you made your way around every store in the mall handing in his resume to anywhere that would accept it. The only place that returned his call was Scoops Ahoy, a nautical themed ice cream parlour with cheesy uniforms. 

Surprisingly, you loved working at Jazzercise. You and Steve mostly had the same shift patterns, working days throughout the week and every Saturday, so a ride to and from work was always guaranteed. And after a few weeks of getting into the rhythm of work, you’d even managed to schedule your breaks to the same hour. 

Scoops was located on the lower level of the mall, but if you went up the escalator and made a right you could see straight into Jazzercise. A small detail that you’d never noticed when you were walking through the mall on your way to work, you were focused entirely on the routine you had to perform six times today. But Steve, he definitely noticed. 

For the height of summer, it was a pretty slow Wednesday afternoon. Steve had told Robin Buckley, his colleague at Scoops, that he was taking ten minutes out of his break now. He knew that you had fifteen minutes between classes at three, so he tossed his hat behind the counter and made his way out of the store. 

When he’d reached the top of the elevator and rounded the corner toward Jazzercise, his eyes landed on the store as he wandered toward it, and they landed straight on you. You were almost at the end of your class, standing confidently at the front of the group dressed in a pale blue leotard with pink tights underneath. 

Steve was caught in his tracks from a few metres away, his eyes glued to the way you guided the class with ease. He didn’t realise that he’d taken a few steps to the right, hidden from direct view behind a strategically placed tree to gauge a better look at you in the store. 

A smile cracked at the corner of his mouth as he swore he could hear your laugh over the soundtrack of Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Want To Have Fun. A small laugh huffed through his nose as the curls in your ponytail bounced along with each high kick of your leg, each small jump. 

But his jaw fell open when you were assisting one of your students, showing them how to properly and safely stretch. His eyes glued to you as your hands hit the mat beneath you, folding yourself over with ease and then manoeuvring yourself into a lunge. 

And just as the song changed, and you began to demonstrate how to properly high kick, stretching your leg upward and holding it up next to your head. Steve felt his throat hitch, his heart stammering as he swallowed thickly. 

But he was broken out of his trance by a group of boys not much younger than the two of you were, muttering about how hot the instructor was. Commenting on the curve of your waist, how good your ass looked in that leotard. He even heard them say if you were that good at stretching your leg over your head, you must be good at –

“Hey, perverts,” Steve called out as he made his way out from behind the tree that he was hiding between to hurry along the three boys from the middle of the walkway. “Get the fuck out of here. She’s not a Goddamn animal, scram.”

The boys swore under their breath as Steve hurried them away, watching as the teenagers ran in the opposite direction. Steve’s head span on its shoulders, looking back into the store to see you continuing with your high leg kicks like nothing had happened. He took his own advice, retreating back to Scoops. 

What assholes, he thought as he held onto the escalator taking him back downstairs. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins at the thought of them staring, ogling and panting like dogs as you were just doing your job. The thought of anyone who was passing being able to just look in and see you was enough for him to almost forget to step off at the bottom of the escalator. 

As Steve made his way back into Scoops, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He always thought about you, actually, more recently than ever. But he couldn’t get the image of you in that damn leotard out of his head. Couldn’t get the idea of other guys being able to see you out of his head. 

But you were his best friend, and he’d never cared about guys staring at you before. He’d had no problem with guys asking him if you were single, had no problem when you’d tell him about a date that you’d been on that week. 

It was playing on his mind for the rest of his shift. Each time the bell rang with someone entering the store, he’d almost snap his neck with how fast he’d be turning to see if it was you. Which is what he did everyday, excitedly anticipating your arrival, but now there was a feeling in his stomach which he didn’t recognise. 

Steve was busy working in the break room, and by working he was sitting on one of the uncomfortable chairs with his feet up whilst flipping through a magazine that Robin had left in there on her break. He was busy reading an article, How To Know If He Likes You Back, when he heard a familiar laugh filtering through the wall. 

He was up in a flash, instantly scrambling from his chair as the magazine dropped onto the table with a clutter. He was quick to cross the room and push through the door, to see you leaning over the counter resting on your elbows. 

“Hey, Steve!” You spoke through a laugh, flashing him your biggest and brightest smile that made his knees feel weak. You were still in your uniform, a slight sheen of sweat across your skin that made you look like you were glowing. 

“Worm,” Steve breathed gently as he casually dropped his hands to his hips. He glanced over at Robin, who was looking at him with a small smirk as she rested against the counter on her palms. Steve’s voice was tight, gritting through his teeth slightly as he spoke. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me, Robin?” 

Robin’s eyebrow raised gently as she pulled her gaze from Steve to look back at you over the counter. “She just came in like, three minutes ago.” 

“I actually come bearing gifts,” You said as you lifted your bag from the floor by your feet and up onto the counter, humming gently as your hands rummaged through it and pulled out a brown paper bag. “I bought you lunch.” 

Steve felt his heart booming against his ribs, certain you and Robin would be able to hear it. His eyes darted from your hands holding the bag out to him and back up to your face. “Wh– For me?” 

You nodded softly, a small laugh passing your lips as you pushed the bag further toward him, urging him to take it. “Figured you wouldn’t have packed anything, so I picked something up for you. Take it.” 

He reached out to take the bag, his breath catching in his throat as his fingers brushed your own. God, what the hell is going on? It must be the outfit. That has to be it. He obviously recognised that you were pretty – beautiful, even. But he’d been around you pretty much every day for the last six years, bar a few months last year, but he’d never felt a shiver down the back of his spine when you looked at him like you were right now. 

“Right. Thanks, Worm.” He smiled easily, pulling his eyes from yours as he peeked into the paper bag. A red apple, a Bopper and a turkey and cheese sandwich. You knew him too well. 

“I’ve got to get going, get ready for my next class.” You said with a small sigh, like you didn’t want to leave Robin and Steve. Which you didn’t, you always loved hanging out with them at Scoops and kind of wished you were working there with them. Mainly so you’d get to look at Steve in that annoyingly cute hat all day long. 

“Are we still on for later?” Steve chirped as you hauled your bag back over your shoulder, taking the short few seconds that you were distracted by the sweater tied around your waist to take one last look at you in your leotard.

“Yeah, of course. We’re going to the movies if you wanna come along, Robin, around nine?” You spoke as you took a few steps backward, tilting your head at Robin whilst awaiting her answer. 

“Oh. Yeah, sure. I’d love to.” She flashed you a bright smile, one that you returned without thinking before lifting up your hand to wave at the two of them before making your way out of the store entirely. 

The two of them stood there in silence for a moment. Steve was totally not watching the way you moved as you left, his eyes on you as the blue of your outfit disappeared into the crowd of people. 

Robin cleared her throat from beside Steve, pulling him out of his trance completely. When he glanced down at her, she had that damn smirk across her lips that she always seemed to be wearing whenever you left. 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows gently, grabbing onto the box of cherries that didn’t need to be moved but he needed something to do with his hands. He placed them a couple inches to the left, but could still feel Robin’s eyes on him. 

“What?” He asked through his teeth, not looking up at her but sensing that she had something to say. 

“No, nothing,” She said with a small shrug, turning herself to lean her back against the counter as her arms snaked across her chest. “Your girlfriend is real cute, bringing you lunch at work.”

Steve’s head snapped up to glare at her, his lips moving but no words coming out. He laughed a little, almost delirious as he attempted to come down from the high that you’d just given him. “Please. Worm is most definitely not my girlfriend, Robin. Get a grip.” 

“Hey Steve,” you greet him that evening, your tone causal as you slip by him lounging on the couch on your way to the kitchen.

“Hey, you. Wanna order some—wow.”

You try not to smile as open one of the cupboards and you lean up to grab a glass. Your body stretches as you stand on the tips of your toes, which exposes a peak of your ass cheeks for him to view. You hum to yourself, turning around just in time to catch the look on his face when he notices that you weren’t just wearing some too short denim shorts but you were also wearing a cherry red gingham bikini top. One that made your tits looked fantastic, hugging your breasts just right.

Steve’s mouth suddenly felt awfully dry, eyes on your tits as you turn on the tap and fill up your glass with cold water.

“Order, what?” You ask him, head tilting to the side as you wait for his response, your stomach coiling at the sight of his wet, parted lips, at his eyes on you.

“Um,” Steve looks as though he’s forgotten how to string a sentence together, as though he’s forgotten how to even speak English as he looks you. “I was thinking um, Chinese or—”

But once again words fail him as you spill a tiny amount of water down your chest.

“Oops,” you say with a small smile as you smear the cold liquid over your cleavage in a poor attempt to wipe it away. “Sorry, what were you saying, Steve?”

Steve feels his cock thicken beneath his shorts as he shamelessly watches your tits jiggle when you attempt to wipe away the water. The moment he realises that his shorts were suddenly a little too tight, Steve grabbed a nearby pillow and tried his very best to act natural.

Not now, not now—

“I um,” Steve begins, his throat feeling tight as he notices how the spilled water had made your cleavage all wet, mixing with the sweat already collected there. The sight made him feel even more horny than he already was. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He was getting hard over a bit of water and your sweat now?

All he wanted to do was lick between your breasts, pull that stupid fucking bikini top down and let his tongue play with one of your taunt nipples that he could see quite clearly through the material. Maybe then he’d slip his hand beneath your shorts too, see how fucking wet you were for him. The thought of plunging his fingers deep inside of you, of how fucking warm you’d be makes Steve press his hips upwards, seeking some friction from the sofa cushion like some fucking desperate teenager. “Ju—just um—just that I—think we should—get some Chinese food for—for dinner.”

The amount of effort it had taken him to string that sentence together had been great, especially as you leaned over the counter and Steve got another incredible view of your ass cheeks. His cock twitches as he can’t help but imagine the sounds his balls wound make slapping against your ass as he fucked you over the kitchen counter, imagined the noises you would make when he reached down and circled your clit with his—

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

Steve was dazed, genuinely. He had been so lost in his thoughts about you that he hadn’t even noticed you had been talking to him.

“Sorry, I just—I think this heat is really getting to me. What did you say?”

You smile kindly and Steve swears he gets even harder because you were so fucking sweet and yet so fucking hot that your kindness just made him lose his fucking mind.

“I said I’d love a Chinese,” you tell him, setting down your glass of water and grabbing the takeout menu from one of your kitchen drawers. “Same as usual?”

Steve swallows and nods, adjusting the pillow over his lap so that you didn’t see just how hard those little shorts and the fucking bikini top you were wearing had made him.

“Yeah, same as usual.”

You smile again and walk towards the phone, patting his arm as you pass by and making Steve nearly moan at the contact.

Fuck. You were going to be the death of him.

dividers by me 🌺

taglist | masterlist | requests page

.✦ ݁˖ rec account: @moonstone-recommends .✦ ݁˖