Cat

It was common for you to treat them like this, being so sweet to them, doting and taking everything they offered up for you and more. An unspoken agreement, passing you between them, no tricky sticky strings attached! It was needed. For you to have both of them that was. Sam was soft, appreciative with words and touches, fucking you tenderly on his impossibly thick length - You needed Sebastian’s mean bites, his rough fucks and heavy spanks, all the gross and dirty words he had for you, all bark and bite to add. You needed them both.

There had been a few close calls so to speak. Nearly being interrupted by the other man. Like when your pretty hand was wrapped nice and sweet around Sebastian’s cock, tugging him off under the saloon table while Sam left for the bathroom. He urges you with a chuckle. Belt buckle unclasped, waistband pulled down just enough to reveal the curve of his cock and plush of his balls, your hand milking just under his tip. Sticky and loud, dirty, dirty noises from the drooly pre and hot spit he’d told you to dribble on him, schluck, schluck, schluck only hidden by the chatter of the bar. You tell him you don’t have time-! “He’ll be back-” You urgently murmur. 

“So? Gonna make me cum or what? Can’t keep your filthy hands off of me- Uh-uh. Don’t stop now, Princess.”

Or when Sam had lost track of time, his face buried into your sweet cunt, lapping and kissing away, large palms splayed over your thighs while he shook his head, dragging his tongue on your clit. He had you in his bed, pressed into his mattress by his hands, tongue fucking your cunt feverishly, lovingly, whiny groans of appreciations muffled against you. Slick and sweet, messy on his tongue, feeding him with cries of his name like a mantra “Sam.. Sam~ Saaam..” ringing in his ears while your fingers twirl into his hair. It’s especially messy when he hears the shuck of shoes on the gravel path, the spicy, smoky smell of cigarette wafting through the crack of his window- Yoba, you pair didn’t have long at all, Sebastian surely, nearly at his front door.

“Cum f’me.. C’mon- cum, cummm, gotta hurry - fuck - cum on my tongue.”

Sharing you had come easy enough, especially with the fleeting comments and spice-filled touches the two men shared themselves. Awkward teenage first kisses leaving budding hard-ons straining in ripped jeans. Sweet parallel play handjobs with needy blue and green eyes fluttering over the other away from the porno playing on the laptop in front of them, hoping to catch a glimpse without the other seeing. Feverish frotting of their cocks deep into the night, whatever cheesy horror film forgotten in the background. Soft thrusts, rough fucks, frustrations taken out on each other’s bodies- Adding you into their separate rosters made everything sweeter.

But all of that was about to change. Whether you or they meant for it to or not.

They couldn’t help but entertain the idea. Not when you basically threw out the opportunity to them. Countless times each man had caught you whining the other’s name, a sweet and silly amalgamation of “S-Sambastian~!” tumbling from your pretty, kiss-bitten lips at least a handful of times. It wasn’t like they fully meant to have you like this, but Yoba, did it come easy.

It was a normal game of Solarian Chronicles, well, as normal as it was for Sebastian to have two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, finger fucking you with wet pressing curls, all while Sam went off doing Yoba knows what- Neither of you were really listening all that much, far too enveloped in the sweet, budding tension zapping between you. It was hard enough to focus on the game alone, the threesome feeling a blanket of sticky lust, unspoken but all-knowing, laying thick over the corners of the tabletop map. It breaks the second the blonde closes the door, legs spreading, ring-clad fingers getting soaked in cream and slick, careful and whiny breaths huffing into Sebastian’s neck when he presses himself into you. 

You were fun, good fun. Sweet and easy fun at arm’s length - Literally. Easy for Sebastian to snatch right up and enjoy.

“Fuck.. Look at you.” Sebastian urges, allowing his other hand to pinch your jaw, tugging you from the safety of his neck, urging you to look at the mess between your legs. Milky fingers squelching in the depths of your cunt, hugged by your tight hole- Yoba, he loved stretching you like this, scissoring his fingers in you, bullying into you. Another.. Just one more- Three long and dexterous digits lodged up in your heat, dripping with slick, palm rubbing into your clit with each rolling curl. The grip on your jaw was dizzying, fingertips squeezing just the right pressure points, making your head spin, leaving all the focus and feeling on the squelch of your pussy. Sebastian was good. An expert with his fingers, pretty, milky and veiny born out of the vigorous dance across his keyboard day in and day out, curling into that spongy spot inside of you, with the heel of his hand palming at your clit. 

“S-Seb..I.. I’m-” your voice can’t help but stutter, breathless and bordering on a keening whine.

“..’You.. You’- You what, huh?” The man mocks. There's a huff of a laugh teetering on the edge of his tone, amused with your babbling, perhaps even endeared by it. Whatever it was, it has him hyper-focusing his attention on your puffy clit, grinding his palm into that swollen little thing, fingers moving to curl rather than fuck. Closer, closer came the sweet release he had been building for you, tensions running high, both of your gazes flickering to the closed door he had you facing. Whether out of worry or anticipation, the thick tensions between the two of you and that door were electrifying. “Gotta cum soon, hmm? What would Sam think? Seeing you like this.” You and he both knew that the blonde wouldn't be all too upset, but Yoba, does Sebastian still feel the wet clench of your cunt on his knuckles.

“Oh? Heh. Kissin’ on my fingers? Maybe you should moan louder- Get Sammy’s attention since you’re squeezin’ on me thinking about him.” He was a bully, but God did it work on you- Every. Single. Time. 

Your throat dares to ripple a mewl, falling past the sink of your teeth in your bottom lip, the poor bitten thing coming undone with a soft pop as your mouth falls open. You’re not sure if that did it, or if it was just a coincidence, but a steady set of footsteps make their way down the staircase to Sebastian’s room, thump, thump, thump, coming closer and closer- Just like you were. With your cunt wrapped around Sebastian's fingers teetering right on the edge.

“Takin’ so long it's like you want him t’see you like this. Is that it?” He lets his teeth scrape a drag over the supple skin of your neck as he speaks, “Gonna cum before he comes in? Hmm..? Or are you going to embarrass yourself.” You’re sure the squelch of your cunt is more than noticeable, rhythmic with Sebastian’s pace, wet and messy at the spiking anticipation of seeing that doorknob twist.

“Seb..-” It's an attempt at a warning, as if either of you were going to stop now. Your eyes lock hard on to that door, your body squirming in Sebastian’s lap, hips humping back into the heel of his palm pressing into your clit, feverishly chasing that sweet release. The man chuckles into your ear, spreading his fingers apart, putting on a messy show- Three digits deep, down to the knuckle, purposely messing up your supple hole, feeling you clench and squeeze in protest. 

You knew you were too loud, mewls fighting past your lips, huffy and breathless out into the open air of the basement, certainly seeping under the crack of the door. But you truly couldn't help yourself. Right there. Sebastian was right where you needed him, his fingers mashing into that supple little spot inside of you, into the spongy swell of your g-spot. How could you hide now? Keep down those noises when he had his palm grinding into your clit? So much- Too much even. 

Your fingers curl around Sebastian's arm, your soft palm feeling the bump of his wrist bone press into it, greedily pushing him into you while your hips hump back on his digits. Your head tilts back, eyes threatening to flutter on closed, but Yoba it’s impossible - With the pressure of Samson opening up that door, you keep one eye diligently squinted open.

“Gonna- gonna, S-Seb-!” Voice absolutely breathless, a whimpered whisper right at the top of your throat, cut off with a choking hiccup of a moan. “Please- pleaseplease m’so close~”

“Cum then. Cum all’ver my fingers c’mon- Fuck, that's it, thaaats fucking it.” Sebastian's voice was like syrup, smooth and honey glazed, practiced in that tone that had you babbling for more. Words like that were dangerous, they had you begging and affirming- cried out ‘Yes. Yes. Yesses’ for him, had your brain going mush, pleading and begging so sweetly, so kindly.

Knock, knock, knock came a rasp of knuckles on the door, a tentative sound, nearly unsure from the owner. Despite the begs and pleas Sebastian had you tumbling off of your tongue, you're quick to fall right back from it. Your blood pressure surely spikes, prickly anxiety and a twinge of adrenaline rushing through your veins, a babbled protest barely making its way from your lips as you try to squirm; “Waitwaitwait- Seb-!” You try, you really try.

“S’ Open!” The man betrays you, a grin in his voice, fingers relentless with their fucking. You sob out a mortified sound, all shaken and whimpered as if you were a warbling little pet left outside in the cold. It comes with that feeling of your pulse, rapidly thumping in your ears, ringing them with a flush when the doorknob makes that squeaky metallic twist. You watch on in near horror, hearing the creak of the door through the wet, juicy mess of Sebastian's fingers rapidly grinding into your pussy. Sam pushes through, tentatively peeking out from behind the wood, his own freckled cheeks dusted over in pink, teeth sunken into the peachy plump of his bottom lip.

Just the reveal of Sam's face had you guiltily gushing over Sebastian's fingers with an incessant whine, both embarrassed and invigorated at the man's presence.

It's wet, and so fucking messy. Practically squirting over yourself and Sebastian, drenching his hand with your juices, all drippy and sputtering all for Sam to see.

Your thighs snap closed around Sebastian’s wrist in an attempt to soothe the sharp ache of your orgasm, head throwing back over his shoulder while you dribble out the sweetest apologies; “Sam- S-am m’Sorry- sorrysorry S-Sammy! M’sorry~!” You sob out with a whiny cry, hiccuping any air you can manage back into your lungs before you’re babbling off again. 

You can’t help the sweet shake of your knees, twitching with your release, body squirmy in Sebastian’s lap in a pitiful attempt to both chase the high and hide away from the poor blonde. Sebastian doesn't let up either, finger still mushing into you, palm milking out the clenching release of your cunt - Heck, his other palm wraps around your shaky knee, his skin warm and tacky as his fingers dig into you, making a mean attempt to part your legs back open.

“N-noo.. Seb.. Sammy.. m’sorry-” Despite your protests, Sebastian manages to part your leg from the other, showing off the mess between your legs to the man at the door.

“S’pretty, hmm? Hah..” Sebastian teases with a huffy chuckle, spreading those three digits apart, covered in cream and sticky slick, enough to have you showing off the supple pink of your inner walls. The post-orgasm clarity has your brain fogged, swirly with humiliation and embarrassment, mingled with that fuzzy twinge of satisfaction in your chest- The little noises from your throat don’t stop, eyes blinking shut, forcing out bubbly little tears born out of hot humiliation.

Yoba, you don’t stop. Weakly voice crying out Sam's name in hushed and choked out sighs, soft apologies babble off of your tongue, voice jolting when Sebastian’s fingers dare to curl and press.

Until Sam shuts you up.

Soon the man was kneeling to the floor, dropping down to the hardwood with a hearty and unhealthy thud, sure to be horrid for the durability of his knees. He was wordless, cogs working in his skull as he was watching from the door, eyes widened and chest completely void of breath- God he still doesn't say anything, only cupping the tear-stained apples of your cheeks before capturing your lips into a sloppy, mouth watering kiss.

Sam was eager. Soft and velvety pink tongue swirling over your own, taking every opportune sobby hiccup you make to suckle and kiss into your mouth. A creak of a groan manages past his lips, muffled as soon as you lock together again, each exhale coming from his throat tainted with a supple tune of his voice. You can’t help but cling to him, arms throwing themselves around his neck, taking his kisses earnestly, your own little mewls piping up from your chest.

“Fuck.” It’s all Sebastian says, his breath hot on your neck, locking eyes with Sam’s greeny-blues, unbeknownst to you- An eyebrow raises, a quirk of a thing, and a soft, longing groan from Sam follows, giving a final loving suckle to your tongue. A rough drag of Sebastian's canines along your neck builds up into a suckling kiss of his own Just like that, a new dynamic flourished between you.

It felt like something out of a pornographic film, so wound in fantasy that the very idea hadn’t ever rolled over your brain - A girl could truly dream, right?

And yet here you are, sandwiched snugly between the two men, somehow having made it into Sebastian's bed. It was a bit of a tangle, limbs trying to situate themselves between the trio, attempting to come to a comfortable point. Clothes were gone, scattered across the room, thrown and strewn haphazardly between hot kisses and bites, through gropes and caresses- Skin touches skin, already becoming tacky with heat, wet with spit and the warm flush of blushes.

You sit nicely, straddled on Sam's lap, supported by the thick of his thighs, his thick and weighty cock pressing lovingly against the skin of your tummy, dribbly, drooly with sticky pre while his tongue shoves its way down your throat. Sebastian was more than close by, daring to drape himself over your back, his lips nipping and kissing into the groove of your neck, back into that little spot his teeth seemed to favour. Your hands travel up and down Sam’s chest, cupping under the blonde’s jaw, desperately holding on to him as you kiss. Your throat moans little staccato noises into Sam’s mouth, in time with each quick and rhythmic curl of his fingers, squishing into your cunt this time. 

You can’t help but hump into him, riding your clit against his palm as those thick, calloused guitar fingers spread you open for- Yoba, the blessing between his legs he called a cock. He had you cupped in his hand, palm twisted upside down while his middle and ring fingers beckon in your cunt, sweet little ‘come to me, come to me’s!’ over and over. His thumb even graces your lower tummy with a few soft caresses, loving and a little scratchy with the roughness of his thumbprint.

“Nawh.” Sebastian tuts a mocking, pitiful noise, smirking into a chuckle against your kiss bitten skin. His hand comes to lay over your tummy, caressing down, down, reaching the leaky tip of Sam’s cock before he wraps his palm around it. Sam himself stifles a whine into your mouth, a slurred attempt at Sebastian’s name, nearly chastising the man. Yoba, it's a good idea, you can’t help but join in, snaking a hand back down Sam’s chest, joining Sebastian in his grip, threading fingers as he pumps away at the blonde’s girthy length. You’re not precise, Yoba no, but God does he feel good in your hand, guided by Sebastian’s rhythm, letting you bump and grind into Sam’s palm with all the focus in the world.

“Sooo cute, Sammy. Hmm?” Sebastian teases, truthfully, you're not sure if he meant you or Sam-

“Mmph- f..fuhck up-” The blonde murmurs into your lips. Well, there's your answer.

Sam doesn't stay mad for long, moaning openly into your mouth, working his fingers into you with gusto despite the milking squeeze of yours and Sebastian’s shared hands wrapped snugly around his length.

“Hahh.. Mean it, both look cute like this.” As if on cue, you both breathe a shared whine- Blood rushes up the length of Sam’s cock with a hearty gush, flexing under the grip of your fingers, just as your cunt dares to flutter a kissing squeeze on the blondes juice soaked knuckles. Sam swears, giving a few mean and quick curls of his fingers, making you cry a few more whimpers on his tongue. 

“Hnnmm.. Fuck- Squeezin’ me when he-” He pulls away enough to speak, free hand pressing to the skin of your neck, large, warm palm radiating a sweet heat as he cups under your jaw. He keeps up those mean, jutting curls, his head tilting like a curious puppy, blue eyes soft and doe, brow pitched in concentration as he finger fucks your supple heat. He watches your own eyes roll, breath leaking out from your chest as your head does its best to lull with the sudden spiky pleasure. “Feels good? Hmm??” The man sounds desperate, fishing for praise, almost sounding..

“Jealous, Sammy?” Sebastian pipes up, caressing his lips over your skin with a grin, eyes sharp and dangerous as they watch the blonde. “..’Can both make her feel good, y’know?” 

Sebastian’s free hand dips under the swell of your ass, easily finding the squishy wrap of your pussy, snug and suckling on Sam’s fingers. Sam feels you flex and flutter as Sebastian’s fingertip traces gentle, genuinely near tantalizing circles around his knuckles, gracing your gooey cunt hole as he does. You whimper, thighs twitching, hips still letting your clit kiss Sam’s palm in little craning humps, seeking out friction to soothe the ache of your arousal. 

“Or are you intimidated? Think I’ll one up you?” Sebastian was certainly one to tease. Both with words and his actions. Those fingers of his threaten to ease into your wetness, grazing against your hole, sticky and creamy from the arousal that Sam had coaxed out of you.

“As. If. You. Could.” Those words spoken by Sam were punctuated with a rough fuck of his fingers, curling to emphasize his point at your expense, making you peep out again.

“Guys- hmmn~..” You honestly nearly begged.

“Nawh..” Sebastian tuts, kissing his teeth with the point of his tongue. “What do you think, Princess?” His voice drops uncharacteristically soft, supple and sweet despite being in the presence of Sam, almost a mock of a coddle. “Wanna have a turn with each of us? Hmm?” That finger ever so carefully pushes past the tight ring of your pussy, “Or d’ya wanna take us both.” He doesn't even frame it as a question.

“Hey wait-” Sam pipes up before his throat cuts him off with a whine, silenced by the flick of Sebastian's wrist, the hand holding on to the girth of the blonde’s cock giving several rough pumps, “F..Fuhck-” his chin juts up with a clumsy swallow, clicky as his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Think he needs some help, huh?” You can hear the grin in Sebastian’s voice, the man leans over your back, sinking his teeth into your neck, his own fingers sliding their way in, against Sam's thick digits. Ohh it's a new feeling, stretched on two sets of fingers moving in their own way, sliding up against one another in the confines of your walls. 

“Shit..” Sam pipes up, bewildered with the lack of words on his tongue, feeling Sebastian slide against his knuckles, fighting the urge to intertwine fingers inside of you. 

“What's it gonna be?” Sebastian makes it hard to concentrate, the warm ring in your ears blinding out your senses, the hot squelch of your pussy on their fingers being the prevalent topic in your mind. 

Yoba, fooling around with the pair separately for the time you had been was a rush- This? You were high on them, on the words and touches from either man, the mingle and twist of them working together all while they bicker and veer off. They were unpredictable, but it was addicting. 

“Wanna.. Wanna take us together..?” Sam was breathless, cock being milked by Sebastian's mean hand, your own palm loosely held on for the ride. The blonde looks at you with those puppy-dog-blues, playing the nice one out of the good cop bad cop routine Sebastian had put upon you. You managed to huff an endeared sound, God how could you say no to him?

“Yes- y-yes..” Your free can cradles the Blonde's cheek while your head tilts back to rub against Sebastian's temple. 

“Pretty girl wants to take us together? We’re gonna have to stretch you out then, huh?” You hear the snicker in Sebastian's voice and feel the grin of his lips stretch over your skin while his fingers jam their way into your cunt with a newfound vigour. “Why just share you around like a little whore when we can fuck that little cunt at the same time?” Hey give the man credit, he sounded convincing to you, with your brain gone all mush and your pussy kissing a squeeze against both of their knuckles.

The pair finger you open, dirty words and praises dripping off of their tongues while you whimper and keen, humping into Sam’s flat palm, wiggling your hips to meet Sebastian’s finger-fucking. Sam kisses your lips, drooly and sloppy, riddled with his own moans thanks to Sebastian’s multitasking, mewling those noises into your mouth while his cock gets stroked. You’re not sure if Sebastian’s teeth ever even left your neck, teeth-filled kisses sinking up and down the curve of your shoulder.

God, you were messy- Thanks to the wet orgasm Sebastian had pulled out of you just minutes before helping the entangled fingers work together to stretch your supple hole. It's not long before Sebastian makes the first move, popping off of your neck and slowing down his mean fingers, urging you up on your knees while he fists Sam’s cock towards your finger-stuffed cunt.

“Hmmn.. Think you can take Sammy? Start off slow?” The man teases, knowing too well that Sam’s cock was thick, girthy and heavy- Dare to say even bigger than Sebastian himself. You’re sure he knew it, felt it even, right in the palm of his hand. Sam hisses through his teeth, feeling the weepy pudge of his head kiss and slide through the sticky plush of your folds. He slips his fingers from your heat, giving your clit a soothing, even loving rub before his tip replaces them, tapping and grinding on your tender bud with the help of Sebastian.

The blonde was mostly speechless, watching on with bewildered eyes, his brain seeming as if it was still not completely up to date with the current happenings. Oh, but when he slides into the warmth depths of your pussy- Squeezed by your creamy, velvety walls, hugging on his girth, twitching on his veins. Sam’s throat dares to choke a whimper, his lips wrapping into a wordless string of profanities. You look down at him with a blush on your face, a wobble on the edge of your lips, straddled on his lap with his cock tummy deep, pretty chest on display and all.

He can’t help a few rocks of his hips, sweet little humping fucks into your cunt, feeling the kiss of your creamy folds on his base, wettening him up. It doesn’t take long for you to realise the fact that Sebastian’s fingers still lay nestled in your walls, pressed up against the thrumming vein of Sam’s length, even teasing the underside of his tip with the tops of his digits. 

“Hmmn.. Sam… S-Seb..” You call for them softly, giving your own experimental wiggle, biting into your bottom lip, neck craning to look at the darker-haired man behind you.

You honestly don’t catch his gaze, sharp eyes all the more focused and interested in the creamy mess on his fingers, the stretch of the soft ring of your cunt. With his hand now free, it goes straight to the plush of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to get a better look.

“So pretty like this.. How’s it feel? Sitting on a cock in front of another man?” More mean teases. And yet it makes you twitch. “What's one more? Hmm? Heh.” He gives a few mean, quick scissors of his fingers, mocking a moan with your own when your chest ripples with noise. You’re sure you feel Sam twitch with you- But Yoba, you can honestly barely tell. 

“F-Fuck.. Seb-” Sam bites into his lip, uttering your name on the end of his tongue, after spewing out the other man’s. His hips squirm a little, chasing the friction of Sebastian's fingers, those digits rubbing and pressing into the swell of the underside of his head, his sensitive glans getting stroked and brushed.

“Nawh, look at him.” Sebastian’s voice is right in your ear, breath tickling your neck. Your elbows twitch, flexing to keep you held up, eyes fluttering at the pulse of arousal in your core. Sebastian’s fingers spread hard, scissoring apart, forcing a matching mewl out of both yours and Sam’s lips.

Oh, you feel it. The blunt, velvet tip of Sebastian's cock, daring to press against your cock-filled hole, by the stretch of his fingers making room in your gushy little thing.

“Fuck- Sebastian.. I- don’t t-think..” You whimper, throwing your head back to look at him, eyes doll and worried, showing off the swirly nervousness happening in your brain. For a moment the man’s eyes soften, dropping to a little look, a quirk to his upper lip and a careful pout to add. The moment is gone as soon as it comes. Sebastian’s tongue lodging itself down your throat, the pudgy tip of his dick making its way into your entrance, his mouth eating up the yelp you cry. One hand balances on Sam’s chest, nails digging into the supple softness, seeking out comfort against the stretch the raven-haired man had to offer up.

Yoba. It's like Heaven and Hell. Feeling so full right up to the brim, tummy bulging with cock, cunt wrapping around two gorgeously thick lengths. The sting is there, achy with the bullying stretch, feeling like you're going to split apart-! But God does the squish of their tips feel so wonderful against the mush of your cervix. Those pulsing girths flexing and drooling against each other, throbby vein to vein, sensitive tips kissing each other inside your wet pussy. You mewl for them, each and every breath you make tainted with your voice, throaty and needy little noises while you tilt and crane your hips.

You pop off of Sebastian’s lips, back arching down, a sweet curve right down the middle of your spine while your head tilts back to let a mewl out.

“Holy Fuck.” What. A. Sight. Pussy on display for Sebastian to see, stretched pretty and stuffed full of cock. Dribbly with slick cream, running down the length of him like a weepy teardrop, mixing with the dark wiry hairs on his base as if your cunt was crying out.

Yoba, he flexes inside of you, urging Sam’s thick and pudgy tip to dribble with a flushing throb of his own. Sebastian nuzzles back into the sanctity of your neck, teeth grazing as his sharp eyes catch a glimpse at the blonde; freckled cheeks all pink, plump lips bitten as he eyes the kiss of your pussy on his base, raking them up to meet the piercing gaze of Sebastian.

“Sh..Shit-” It's all the blonde can manage.

It starts with a hump. You’re not sure who starts moving- Fuck, no one really cares.

The trio moves in tandem; Your palms flat on the mattress dug into the sheets on either side of Sam’s ears, letting your tits bounce in front of him while he spears you down on his length. His large, warm palms rest on your hips, thumbs pushing pressure into the swell of your tummy, against the bump of his and Sebastian’s cocks, feeling their lengths from the outside. Sebastian’s own hands dare to rest on top of Sam’s, crudely intertwined as his hips snap into your ass, making the flesh jiggle with each grinding hump. His movements are unlike Sam’s rougher, harder, quicker- breaking up the pattern the blonde sets for you, keeping you on your toes, forcing out breathy surprised whines and mewls, pretty little juts of your voice each time he hits a new spot. 

You were tight- so, so tight for them, thanks to the thick of each man’s cock. Your skin burnt with hot pleasure, taking over any ounce of staging pain you may have felt from the thick stretch, it was like your blood was on fire. It was like a high, a thick wave of desire blanketing over you, making your hips rock and squirm, fucking into Sam’s lap, grinding back on Sebastian’s cock, squelchy and slick, drooly, drooly mess.

“Ughh take that- Fuhck, take those cocks- That's it. Ohh You’re such a slut for cock aren’t you?” Sebastian breathes, growly and behind his teeth, grit tight. You can barely speak, humming an airy “Mmhm~” as your answer.

“Love takin’ our cocks yeah? Pretty Pussy’s jus’ suckin’ us in!” Sam joins in on the word fun, fingers tight on your hips, manhandling you down, watching that pudgy bulge in your tummy greet him with each hump of his hips. 

Sebastian growls another laugh. You feel his hand flatten on your upper back, fingers hooking around the back of your neck with a squeeze before he pushes you down.

This was a new angle. Good for him to fuck, face down and ass up, cunt fully on show now, the poor ring of your hole surely stingy and bruised. You cry out, a whiny choking hiccup, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Be.. Nice t’herrr-” Sam was there to comfort. He wraps his arms around you, locking behind your back, shoving his way between you and Sebastian, squishing you close to his chest as he lays back, draping your body over his front. Your tits squish into his chest, head moving to nuzzle into the safe, warm crook of his neck, inhaling the smell of some kind of classic men’s body spray- boyish and cute, making you sigh from your lips, hips wiggling in his lap. Sam plants his feet nice and firm on the mattress for leverage, using the bouncy thing to fuck up into you with a lot more ease. 

“She likes it- hahh.. Dontcha?” The Raven haired man hums out a moan of his own, snarky, sharp eyes squinting at Sam. “I can be nice,” he assures, weaseling his hand between the soft of Sam’s lower tummy, over the sticky little thing between your legs, that bud of a clit all for him to rub and caress. You mewl into Sam’s ear, spitty and wet as your lips part, ending the pitiful little noise with a pleading pepper of kisses to his jaw. One of his hands slides up your back, tangling into your hair, petting as best he could considering he was positioning his hips into the depths of your weepy cunt.

Sebastian lets up, slowing down his movements to a more.. Tender grind of his hips. He leans down, draping himself over your back, chest sweaty, skin all tacky.

“Nice enough?” He smirks at Sam, planting a lingering kiss to your hair, even managing to connect with Sam’s hand. The Blonde’s hips slow as well, coming into a rolling push, pressing himself deeper, deeper, deeper- Tip poking into your cervix. The walls of your cunt squelch on them, all juicy-wet from their mean and fast fucks, slippery with slick, your own essence used as lube.

Noises tumble from lips, soft groans, huffed and choked up at the back of the throat, deep and guttural with each push and pull. One cock presses in, the other pulls out. Rubbing, frotting inside the squeeze of your pussy, tip to tip, weepy and drooly making a mess over themselves and painting your cunt with their own beads of pearlescent slick. You sigh so sweet, all nuzzles into Sam’s neck, grinding back the best you can on both of their dicks.

Sam’s paw of a hand captures Sebastian’s jaw, cradling him from the kisses he gives your hair, swallowing down his saliva with a thick gulp. The plush of Sebastian’s cock was getting to him, feeling so sweet as it rubs up on him, pulsing veins, sensitive undersides gliding against each other.

“Jealous, Sammy?” Those sharp eyes glint at him, hips rolling hard with purpose, Sebastian’s hand still working hard at your clit. Sam’s cock gives a hearty pulse at his quip, forcing another whine out of each of you. 

The blonde doesn’t even respond, opting to pull Sebastian by the jaw, fingers squishing the man's cheeks, pursing his lips into a pucker before Sam laps his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Yoba, This was something. Now, not something unfamiliar to the men, oh ho no- but the sight of them, the slick and popping sounds of their lips kissing and suckling against each other had your cunt squeezing, drooling more sweet cream for them, hips craning to meet their movement. Their own fucks never falter, heck, they grind harder, breathing into each other's lips with a smack, pulling apart for barely a moan before the other shoves his tongue down and the cycle runs again.

This was intense- More than quick fucks and feverish bucking, slower, harder, dicks kissing your core, tummy full and swollen with their lengths, skin warm with the press of either man, Sebastian’s hand circling your clit in tandem with their passionate fucks.

“Hmmph Fuckk~ so good..” Sam whines, keeping his grip on Sebastian tight. His other hand comes up your back, tickling at the edge of your hairline, his own affections while he slobbers on the other’s tongue. You don’t help at all, lips suckling bruises into Sam’s neck, kisses and licks up to his ear where you mewl and praise. The dark haired man lets out a nasty groan, sinking his teeth into Sam’s tongue, lapping and licking up his saliva, hips rolling against your ass, drilling his dick in your wetness. 

“Shit-” Sebastian slurs on Sam’s tongue, hips stuttering, hand still flat and mean pressing on your back. Sam hums an affirmative noise, a sweet “Mhmm!” in agreeance, feeling that build in his gut.

“I- ahh.. Hahh. m’gonna cum~ gonna make m-me-!” You’re the first to announce it, pussy clenching in anticipation.

Just hearing those words had Sam blowing ropey spurts into your cunt, dick flexing every time he blew another pool of salty-sticky nut into your guts. He mewls sweetly, pulse, pulse, pulse against your walls, flexing on Sebastian’s dick, muffled, tongue blabbering sounds clumsily called into the other man’s lips. His hand tightens in your hair, twirled and twisted, pushing you over the edge with the sweet sting- and with the help of his sweet, sweet orgasm.

You squeak your own noise, waily and hiccuped in Sam’s neck, hips wiggling against his pulsy dick, grinding into Sebastian’s fingers, chasing that sweet climax. You twitch and squirm when you cream on their cocks, adding to the wonderful mess between your legs, squeezing on their length, cunt kisses flexing with each pulse. Your toes curl and fidget, sweet cries of each of their names tumbling off of your lips; “Sammyyy~ Seb- Seb, please-!” Grinding back on him, desperately wanting to get the man off too.

Of course, it works.

A hot flex of his orgasm, popping off of Sam’s lips with a long, drawn-out groan, nosing into the tacky, sweaty skin of your neck, mouthy kisses back on your shoulder, just adding to the bitey kiss marks he’d left on you already. He spurts his own creamy mess, filling up your cunt to the absolute brim, coating your insides, sticky over Sam’s twitchy head, painted nice and white with his cum.

It's all swears and profanity, twitchy grinds, hiccuped breaths each time an extra sensitive spot is touched. God, do they separate? Absolutely not. Rather, hot and wet kisses over skin, praises and squishes, coming down from the intensities, bewildered eyes with huffy half laughs. A clicky swallow here, a soft ask of “You okay..?” directed at Yoba knows who, mean persona’s dropped off. A talk was surely in order. But not right now. Let’s just.. Lay here a while.

→ Kinktober Masterlist & Taglist ←

A rare extra long fic from Risa <3

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any thoughts please let me know! I'd love to hear them <3 your words spur my heart on!

Property of : SashiAvi

TagList

You had no idea how long you'd been curled up in the corner of your room.

Time didn’t feel real when your body felt like it was tearing itself apart. Your cramps had been getting worse throughout the day, dull, sharp, then dull again, like some cruel rhythm only your body understood. You'd tried breathing through it and tried pressing a heating pad to your lower stomach, but today wasn't just about physical pain.

You hated how your body felt. You hated how fragile your thoughts were. You hated that you wanted comfort and didn’t know how to ask for it without sounding pathetic.

So you didn’t ask. You curled under your blanket, pressed the heating pad tight against your belly, and waited for the world to leave you alone.

But it didn’t.

There was a knock, soft, like whoever it was didn’t want to startle you.

“… Can I come in?”

The voice was familiar. Gentle, Bob.

You didn’t respond. Not out of anger or shame, just too tired. The kind of tired that lives in the bones. A breath passed. The door opened anyway.

He stepped in like he was afraid to make a sound. Tall, broad, otherworldly in presence… and somehow still so incredibly careful around you. Like even with all the power inside him, he knew when to move slowly.

“I brought tea,” he said quietly, nodding to the mug he placed on your nightstand. “Chamomile. I read it helps.”

You turned your face toward him, the blanket still tucked up to your chin. “You read about periods?”

“I read about what people need when they’re in pain,” he answered. “Yours felt… different today. Heavier.”

You blinked, brow creasing. “You felt it?”

He gave a small nod, lips tilting in a shy smile. “You always feel a little warm to me. Today you were quiet, but… the kind of quiet that hurts.”

A pause stretched between you. The room felt small and safe.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you said softly. “Didn’t want to seem dramatic. It’s just… My body hates me, and my emotions are all over the place. And everything feels like too much.”

Bob didn’t speak right away. Just walked over to the edge of your bed and sat slowly, hands resting on his thighs.

“You’re allowed to have days like this,” he said. “And you don’t have to go through them alone.”

You stared at the blanket. “I feel stupid.”

“You’re not.”

“I feel like crying for no reason.”

“Then cry,” he said gently. “I’ll be here.”

Your throat tightened, and just like that — your body betrayed you again. The tears came hot and fast, and you tried to hide your face, but Bob leaned in, hand brushing softly against your arm.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

You nodded, choking back a breath. “Please.”

He moved without hesitation this time. Crawled under the blanket, careful not to jostle your heating pad, and wrapped an arm slowly, carefully around you. His body radiated with warmth, the kind that wasn’t just physical but comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

The world didn’t stop hurting, but it got quieter.

You pressed closer, your face tucked beneath his jaw, one arm draped across his chest. He adjusted slightly so that your legs tangled and your entire body rested against his, held with such gentle stillness it nearly broke you open again.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted into your hair. “But I care. About you. More than I know how to explain.”

Your fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re doing perfectly,” you whispered.

His hand moved in slow, drawing circles along your back. Not to fix you, just to ground you. One breath at a time. The rhythm of his chest rose and fell beneath you, calm and steady. You focused on that instead of the pain. Instead of the voices in your head that told you you were too much, too messy, and too emotional.

With him, none of those things felt true.

“You don’t have to talk,” he murmured. “Or smile. Or be okay. You can just… exist. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to thank him. Say something real. But your voice stayed stuck somewhere behind your heart. So instead, you reached up and let your fingers curl around the edge of his sleeve, holding tight. He got the message.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

You found yourself drifting, not fully asleep, but not fully awake either. Somewhere in between, safe and warm, cocooned in the stillness of his arms.

“Do you want me to stay longer?” he asked softly, voice barely audible.

You nodded again, eyes closed.

“I’ll stay all night if you want. All week.”

A tiny smile pulled at your lips.

“You’re kind of perfect,” you whispered.

His breath hitched, just a little. Then his arms tightened around you, lips pressing lightly against the crown of your head.

“You’re not the only one who needs this,” he murmured. “You quiet the noise in my head, too.”

That was the moment you realised something had changed. Not everything. Not all at once. But the weight you’d been carrying didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

Not when someone was helping you hold it.

His breathing slowed as yours did, both of you sinking deeper beneath the blanket and the silence that had become your sanctuary. No loud promises, no overcomplicated words — just presence. His chest rose and fell with a steady calm, and your fingers stayed curled gently against his shirt, as if afraid he might disappear if you let go.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

Ever so often, his hand would shift, brushing your back, tucking a loose strand of hair away, giving the softest squeeze against your waist, like a reminder that you weren’t alone. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

The pain hadn’t disappeared, but the sharp edges had dulled. And in place of the spiral that usually followed — the guilt, the shame, the isolation — there was something new. Something warmer.

You let out a quiet breath against his chest, voice soft and tired.

“Thank you.”

He hummed, a low, soothing sound that vibrated against your cheek.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he whispered. “Just let me be here. With you.”

And you did.

The warmth of his arms. The safety of the silence. The way he never once made you feel like you had to apologise for being human.

It was enough.

You weren’t sure when sleep came. Maybe it had been creeping in for a while. All you knew was that you drifted off wrapped in something stronger than comfort. Something gentler than love, but just as real.

You had been unravelling.

And he held every piece together.

By all accounts though, you should’ve been halfway back to the designated safehouse by now.

But something about the sky felt…Wrong.

It had started subtly. A dimming, a stillness. There was a strange, syrupy kind of quiet that made your ears ring with absence. Like nature was somehow bracing itself, or holding its breath for whatever was on the horizon. The sunlight had dulled beneath a high smear of cloud cover, every colour was sucked dry and replaced with a steely, metallic wash. Now, hours later, the sky looked bruised and bloated–slate-grey clouds rippling over one another like storm-tossed waves. Every so often, a faint green undertone pulsed beneath the layers–the telltale sickly hue that spelled trouble for anyone in the vicinity.

You had the windows rolled halfway down despite the rising wind. The air was warm and charged, dense with the heavy smell of petrichor–that earthy blend of cracked soil, wet stone, and ozone that bubbled just before the rain. You could taste it on your tongue: something electric, staticy, and alive, like the sky was sharpening its teeth.

The road ahead stretched endlessly through the prairie, bordered by fields that rippled like dark water. Your fingers tapped restlessly against the wheel, eyes flicking toward the horizon where the clouds folded in on themselves like something breathing.

Beside you, Bob sat in rigid silence. Still clad in the Sentry suit, he looked completely out of place in the dark mundane interior of the SUV. The gleaming, golden thread work of the suit caught what little light filtered through the cloud-choked sky, glittering in quiet pulses. But there was no trace of the Golden God in the passenger seat–not right now at least. No glowing eyes. No radiant, godlike posturing. Just Bob.

He sat hunched forward slightly, hands resting on his thighs, scratching absently at the thick woven fabric stretched over them–nails dragging over the reinforced material like he was trying to ground himself with the friction. His cape was bunched awkwardly beneath him, stiff from whatever synthetic weave it was made from. He shifted with a quiet grunt, trying to adjust it without drawing attention to himself. He looked uncomfortable. Too big for the seat, and too tense to melt into the silence.

And it was indeed silent. It was the strained wound-tight hush that often came after missions, when the adrenaline hadn’t quite drained from his system yet. You had learned early on that Bob didn’t speak much on post-op rides. He needed time to come down from whatever elevated state his powers put him in–to shrink back down to Bob Reynolds after playing Sun God. And you respected that. You always had.

So you didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. You just let the quietness flood over the both of you.

But then the radio cut out mid-song. A piercing tone snapping through the car–sharp and jarring, vibrating through your bones. Instinctively, you reached toward the dial and turned it up.

”This is the National Weather Service with an emergency alert. A tornado warning has been issued for Comanche County and surrounding areas until further notice. Seek shelter immediately. Conditions are rapidly deteriorating…” You barely breathed. You just stared ahead as the voice crackled on, going through protocols, and giving advice. Your foot eased off the gas as the SUV began to slow. Bob shifted beside you, his brows drawing together in worry.

”Ho-How much further do you think we’ve got till we make it back to the rest of the team?” His voice was quiet but hoarse, like it scraped through his throat. His eyes flicked up to the sky through the windshield, narrowing slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp. You looked over at your phone and squinted at the navigation map, your thumb sliding along the cracked screen where a blue route line blinked steadily.

“An hour,” You replied, before clenching your jaw and adding, “Maybe more if the weather keeps turning.” There was a beat of silence, and Bob glanced over at you again. You rolled up the windows just as rain started to pelt the windshield in uneven spats–like the sky couldn’t decide if it was going to drizzle or drown the both of you. The wind had picked up, rattling the side mirrors. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled low and deep like it was pacing the edge of the Earth, waiting for you to speed up again so it could act up.

”We…Should de-detour,” He suggested, more sure this time, “Find a place to stay for the night. I…I don’t think it’s safe to be driving right now.” He added, his blue eyes scanning you to see if you were going to put up any protest–you didn’t argue. You just flicked your signal light and veered toward the first exit ramp you saw, tires splashing through a shallow puddle already forming near the shoulder.

As you guided the vehicle off the main highway and onto a side road fringed with gnarled trees and open farmland, you reached for your phone, tugging it from the magnetic mount on the dash.

”Message the rest of the team,” You instructed, offering it to him without glancing over, keeping your eyes glued to the road, “Let them know we’re gonna wait out the tornado until it passes. Then look up motels nearby.” He took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing yours–a light graze that would’ve been nothing under normal circumstances. But with the air so charged, heavy with static, it felt like a spark. A little jolt of electricity zipping through your fingertips, and rushing up your arm, leaving the fine hairs on your skin standing on edge. You blinked a few times, flexing your fingers on the wheel, before clearing your throat and refocusing.

The silence returned again. The only sound was the erratic drumming of rain against the roof, sharp like rocks pelting sheet metal and the soft scratch-scratch of Bob’s nails dragging across the seam of his suit while he worked on the screen. You caught a glimpse of his brows drawn in quiet focus, lips parted just slightly, breath fogging faintly near the window–scratch, tap tap, slide, it was rhythmic.

”Do you have a change of clothes?" You asked suddenly, voice cutting through the tension like a blade through mist. You rolled your shoulders back, trying to work out the knots gathering there from driving too long in high-alert mode. He glanced over at you, a faint flush already blooming across his cheekbones. The dimmed light caught on his profile–his jaw looked tight, and his ears had gone pink.

”Yeah…It’s in my du-duffel. In the trunk.” You snorted softly, letting out a dry little laugh that caught in your throat.

”Great…It’s gonna be fun seeing the look on the motel owner’s face when you walk in looking like Helios’ second cousin.” Bob scratched the back of his neck, his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it under the awkwardness.

”It’s not like I knew there was going to be a to-tornado…” He muttered, “I would’ve changed if I knew.” You smirked and tightened your grip on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing against the leather as you merged onto a smaller road, the tires hissing over slick asphalt. The windshield wipers squealed with effort as they tried to keep up.

”There’s a Downtown Motel just five minutes from here,” He said after a moment, his voice steadier now, “Hopefully they’ve got vacancies.” You shot him a pointed glare.

”Don’t jinx it, Bob.”

His lips parted like he was going to defend himself, but all that came out was a sheepish, breathless little, “Sorry.” Then he pressed the directions and clicked the map into navigation mode, returning your phone to its mount with a soft click. The automated voice chimed in with turn-by-turn instructions as he settled back into his seat, thumb fidgeting again at the inside seam of his suit sleeve this time.

The rain was getting heavier now, coming down in slanted sheets. The wind buffeted the sides of the car, making the frame creak faintly, and outside, the fields were nearly invisible behind a curtain of water. It was like driving through a painting left out in the storm–everything blurred and streaked, colors bleeding into one another.

Your fingers curled tighter on the wheel as you slowed into the turnoff, gravel crunching beneath your tires.

The Downtown Motel emerged from the curtain of rain like a relic from another time. Tucked off the main road and almost swallowed by overgrown hedges and a rusted wire fence, it looked like the kind of place that had been forgotten by everyone but the storms. A narrow L-shaped strip of rooms hugged the edge of the gravel lot, their wooden shutters long since warped from years of Oklahoma humidity. The trim was painted a faded, sun-bleached turquoise that flaked around the windows and doorframes like peeling wallpaper.

But somehow, the place didn’t feel dead.

There were fresh planters tucked beneath a few windows–half-drowned petunias struggling bravely against the wind. The “Check-In” sign painted above the office door looked like it had been touched up recently. And the glowing bright red VACANCY sign buzzed steadily in the stormlight, casting everything in a warm, artificial hue that shimmered on the wet pavement.

It was hokey. Quaint, even.

One of those motels no one would ever notice unless they were desperate. Unless they’d run out of road or choices or daylight. A forgotten square of safety buried between farmland and nothingness–only visible when you were at the mercy of something greater–like a tornado warning perhaps.

You pulled the SUV as close to the overhang in front of the office as you could, tires crunching over the uneven gravel, cutting the engine. The rain was coming down in relentless sheets, streaking across the windshield like paint, and the wind had turned your side mirror nearly on its edge. You exhaled slowly, blinking at the glowing door ahead.

Then you looked down at yourself.

No jacket. No hood. Your tactical gear was soaked through from the damp cabin air alone. Your lips curled in a resigned grimace.

”I’m going to get soaked.” Bob turned toward you, his eyes darting down to your gear as he took in the lack of weather protection. A beat passed before he spoke–soft, almost tentative.

”I…I can get out first,” He offered, voice barely a whisper, “Come around to your side so you can use my ca-cape to cover your head…” You blinked, surprised by the gentleness of the offer. You turned your face toward him fully. His brows were pinched with concern, his jaw tight with worry that he might’ve overstepped–but his eyes never wavered from yours.

”That would be nice,” You said quietly, dripping with sincerity, “I’d really appreciate it. Thank you.” Something flickered in his expression–like a flicker of golden light through overcast blue. Then he nodded, almost like it was a relief to be able to do something. To be useful. He took a breath and reached for the door handle.

”Ha-Hang tight.” Then he stepped out into the storm without hesitation. Immediately, the wind tore at his cape, sending it flapping like a flag behind him. Rain slapped against his back and shoulders, soaking the suit almost instantly, the gold fabric darkening into a mustard yellow in streaks while droplets ran in rivulets down the sculpted lines of his arms. The gold shimmer dulled under the downpour, but didn’t disappear–it glinted faintly in the flashes of distant lightning, like a low-burning ember refusing to go out.

He jogged around the front of the SUV, boots kicking up spray as he rounded your side. When he reached the door, he tugged it open and crouched slightly, his broad form blocking most of the wind as you slid out.

Without a word, he reached for the edges of his cape and lifted it, draping the heavy fabric over your head and shoulders like a makeshift shield. It was warm from his body heat, saturated along the hem but still thick enough to repel most of the rain. The scent of him–clean, ozone–tinged sweat and the faint burn of lightning–wrapped around you like a second skin. Your shoulder brushed against his chest as you adjusted beneath the covering, and he didn’t move.

You looked up at him and yelled over the rain, “Ready?” He gave a tiny nod, droplets of water falling from the tips of his light brown hair, as the both of you sprinted the short distance to the office.

The storm swallowed you instantly.

Rain pelted your boots, sprayed up your legs, turned gravel to mud. Bob’s arm pressed lightly against your back as you both ducked under the awning and burst through the front door of the motel office, slamming it shut behind you. For a second, it was just breath and thunder. You panted in the entryway, water dripping from your gear, his cape clinging to your shoulders.

The motel office was small–maybe the size of a single bedroom–and smelled faintly of old lavender cleaner, wet carpet, and something sweet that seemed like it had just been heated in a microwave. The storm outside still howled through the doorframe, pressing against the windows in gusts, but here, everything felt oddly insulated. Like time had slowed down.

The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting a warm golden glow over the linoleum floors and wood-paneled walls. A small, ancient television perched on a shelf behind the desk crackled with static every few seconds as a soap opera played on low volume. Some hospital drama. A woman with overdone mascara was mid-meltdown, clutching an obviously fake baby while a man in scrubs looked anguished in the corner.

Behind the counter sat an elderly woman, perched comfortably in a vinyl swivel chair. Her hair was curled and pinned up in tight silver spirals, and a pair of oversized glasses teetered on the edge of her nose. A crocheted blanket–half finished–rested in her lap, needle hooked through a swirl of mustard and teal yarn. She was hooking it absentmindedly while watching the screen, mouthing along with the characters–like she had watched the same episode thousands of times.

She didn’t look over at first. Just flicked her gaze toward the door when it slammed shut behind you.

Then she paused. Squinting at the image in front of her, setting her crocheted piece down off to the side.

You and Bob stood just inside the threshold, dripping. The floor beneath your boots puddled instantly. Bob reached up to ruffle his hair, sending a fresh spray of water down the back of his neck and across the floor in your direction. His cape still hung damp and heavy over your shoulders, and you were pretty sure your left sock was already soaked through. The woman leaned forward in her chair, her eyes tracking the curve of Bob’s chest beneath the clingy, waterlogged Sentry suit. Her brow quirked slightly–it definitely wasn’t something she had seen around these parts.

You blinked the rain from your lashes and approached the desk, slowly removing the cape from your shoulders, letting it fall back against Bob's frame as he lingered behind you, sheepish, like he was your reluctant security guard of sorts.

”Evening,” You greeted with forced calmness, trying to sound like this wasn’t the weirdest check-in this woman was going to have, “We need a room, just for the night. The tornado warning got us a little rerouted.” The woman nodded, her red lips pursing slightly.

”You just missed a truck full of linemen who checked in. We only ‘ave one room left.” You gave her a small smile, wiping a few stray droplets of water off your cheek.

”We’ll take it if you don’t mind.” She slid a clip board toward you across the counter, flipping open a small binder of forms and handing you one with shaky hands. You took one of the spare pens between your fingers and started filling in the blanks.

That’s when you noticed her staring behind you, at Bob. Her eyes had gone glassy with curiosity and something that might have been amusement. Bob shifted behind you awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to flatten his hair. It only made it worse. A fresh droplet trailed down his temple. The gold thread of his suit shimmered faintly in the fluorescent light, as little streams of steam flowed out of the little breathable holes in the fabric–his body’s way of warming him up quickly.

You glanced up at her, then back at Bob, then returned your eyes to the form and said–deadpan, without missing a beat:

“He does kids’ birthday parties. They wanted Superman. This was the best we could do.” Bob made a choked sound behind you, half-cough, half-mortified laugh, and immediately turned away, looking outside the office entryway again. His shoulders twitched as he tried not to react, one hand coming up to scrub at his burning face. The woman blinked, a bit shocked by the fake anecdote, and then laughed–a full-bodied, delighted little chuckle that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

”Well,” She started, patting her curls, “He’s very handsome. Knockoff Superman or not.” You smirked, finishing up the last blank with your signature before handing the clipboard back to her, and sliding the emergency Watchtower-issued credit card out of your back pocket and across the counter toward her.

”We really appreciate this,” You said watching as she ran the card, “We’ll be out by morning, weather permitting of course.” She nodded, still watching Bob out of the corner of her eye as he leaned in towards one of the framed photos that was nailed to the wall.

”You’re in Room Six,” She informed, handing you the golden key, “It’s the corner unit, so the Wi-Fi’s a bit spotty, ‘specially with the weather, but the heater works, and there’s a coffeemaker you can use free of charge. Nice large television, and a queen-sized bed with fresh sheets–I just changed ‘em myself.” Your eyebrows immediately raised at her and you could hear Bob’s boots squeak as the mentioning of the sleeping arrangements hit his ears. You gulped down a bit of saliva and cleared your throat.

”One bed?” You echoed, and she nodded.

”Only one left, sweetheart, told you all those linemen came through, they took all the doubles.” She explained, smiling warmly, almost like she kind of knew what she was doing–like she was trying to gauge how awkward the both of you would get in front of her so she could calculate whether or not you and Bob were in a relationship, “It’s a very cozy mattress though. Amazing for waiting out storms.” She added. You hummed quietly and turned toward Bob, holding the key aloft. He glanced at you, his blue eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

”I’ll…I’ll go grab the bags and meet you at the ro-room.” He said quickly, rushing out of the motel office. You let out a soft huff of laughter, the kind that curled dryly at the corner of your lips, and shook a bit more rain from your sleeves. The woman smiled wider, clearly enamoured with the awkwardness of Bob, and the mysteriousness of you.

”Y’all enjoy your stay now.” You glanced back over your shoulder, catching the flickering glow of the soap opera behind her.

”Thanks,” You replied with a faint smirk, “Stay safe during the storm…And enjoy your soap operas.” You added, moving towards the door of the office.

“Oh, honey,” She called as you opened the door again, “They’re just gettin’ to the good part.” You slipped out into the storm once more, squinting as the wind whipped cold droplets against your cheeks. Thankfully, the walkway outside the rooms was covered–just a narrow overhang, but enough to spare you from getting drenched again. The stairs creaked beneath your boots as you climbed quickly, rain rattling against the tin awning overhead like fingers drumming along a snare.

Room Six was easy to find. Tucked at the corner just as the woman said, a scuffed brass number barely clung to the turquoise-painted doorframe. You slipped the key into the lock, turned it with a soft click, and pushed the door open.

Warmth met you first.

Then the soft scent of clean linen and something faintly citrusy–like a generic air freshener trying its best to be pleasant.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you but not locking it, knowing Bob would be just a minute behind. With a flick of the switch, the overhead light blinked on, casting a warm, buttery glow across the room.

It was…Nicer than you expected.

Not glamorous, but tidy. Lived-in, but clean. The kind of motel room that clearly had been cared for, even if it was dated. The carpet was a faded brown that had probably once been beige, and the walls were lined with dull wallpaper patterned in a vague floral motif that almost matched the bedspread.

The bed itself was centered against the far wall–a queen, just as promised. Crisp white sheets were tucked tightly beneath a worn but freshly laundered duvet in pale blue, the corners folded hotel-style with a precision that made you think the woman downstairs probably took a lot of pride in her work. Two identical wooden nightstands flanked either side of the bed, each topped with a simple ceramic lamp, their shades trimmed with yellowing fringe.

The pillows looked plush, like they’d sink under your head and never let go.

The television was mounted on a corner shelf, not large, but clean. The screen gleamed slightly in the dim light, recently wiped down. A laminated channel list sat neatly on the dresser beside it, tucked next to the remote and a small bowl of packaged mints wrapped in see-through red foil, and the coffee maker.

There was a single wooden chair in the corner, its legs uneven and one arm slightly splintered, like it wouldn’t last five seconds in a windstorm. It wobbled just from you walking past it.

A window, half-covered by heavy beige curtains, let in a dull sliver of stormlight. The glass rattled faintly in the wind, but the view was blurred with rain. You could barely make out the far edge of the lot, where the overgrown fence swayed gently, silhouetted against the bruise-colored sky.

You let out a slow breath and shrugged off your outer gear, letting it fall in a damp heap by the door. The room was quiet except for the hum of the heater beneath the window and the ever-present backdrop of the storm–a distant growl, a restless howl pressing against the world just beyond the thin walls.

You turned your head slightly as you heard the footsteps approaching. The squeak of a boot on wet cement.

The doorknob gave a quiet turn, and then Bob stepped inside, shoulders hunched slightly against the last slap of wind. His boots thudded softly over the carpet as he crossed the threshold, two duffel bags hanging off either shoulder. One was yours. The other, presumably, held the long-awaited change of clothes he’d mentioned earlier.

He let out a long sigh–more exhale than sound–and lowered both bags with a muted plop onto the carpet just inside the door. You watched him from your place near the window, your fingers idly playing with the hem of your damp shirt.

Bob’s eyes did a slow sweep of the room.

You could practically see him clocking the queen-sized bed, the lamps, the single rickety chair that could barely support a towel, let alone a grown man.

But his gaze lingered on the bed for just a moment too long before he swallowed thickly and said, almost too brightly, “Ve-Very nice ro-room.” You nodded, letting a quiet breath out through your nose.

“Yeah…Nicer than I thought it’d be.” Bob stepped forward and reached for the neck of his suit, fingers tugging awkwardly at the fabric. His cape was already half-draped down his back, heavy with rain and wrinkled from where it had been thrown over your shoulders. You could see steam still faintly rising from his skin where moisture met heat.

“I–uh,” He started, voice low and bashful, “Do you mind unzipping this for me?” You blinked, caught off guard–not by the request, but by the way he asked it. So soft. So casual. But intimate, too, in a way that hit somewhere low in your belly. He turned around and gathered his cap in one hand, tugging it aside to expose the long zipper that stretched from the top of his neck to the small of his back, just above the belt he had around his waist. You stepped around him slowly, your footsteps soundless over the worn carpet.

”Sure,” You murmured. Your fingers found the zipper, slick against the wet fabric, and pulled it downward–slowly, carefully. The sound of it unzipping was loud in the quiet room, the metallic rasp cutting through the soft hum of the heater.

The suit parted to reveal the skin beneath: pale, dusted with golden freckles that spilled down his shoulders and spine like they’d been painted by hand. Your breath caught slightly as it ghosted across his skin–dampend from the rain but warm underneath. He tensed, just barely, at the sensation. Not from discomfort, but from awareness.

You didn’t let your eyes linger. Didn’t trace the shape of the muscles along his back or the soft ridge of his shoulder blades. But still–you felt the way the air thickened around you. Felt him inhale sharply when your knuckles brushed the curve of his lower back, right before you let go of the zipper and took a step back.

You cleared your throat, reaching for your own duffel bag.

“I’ll go change in the washroom. Just…Tell me when you’re done, okay?” You explained. Bob turned his head slightly, not meeting your eyes.

”No pr-problem.” You kicked off your boots and padded toward the door tucked near the far side of the room. The bathroom. The only space left for a moment of privacy. You stepped inside, turned on the bright white light, and closed the door behind you with a soft click.

The bathroom was small, but surprisingly well-stocked.

The overhead light buzzed faintly as it flickered to life, revealing soft cream-colored tile on the floor and pale peach walls that looked freshly painted, though a little uneven in spots. The mirror above the sink was wide and slightly fogged at the corners, the kind that curved outward a little and distorted just enough to make your face feel unfamiliar for a second.

A neat stack of towels–white, slightly worn at the edges but clean–rested on a wooden shelf above the toilet. Three large bath towels, two hand towels, and three rolled washcloths were all stacked with careful attention.

Beside the sink sat a small basket stocked with amenities: four wrapped mini bars of soap, two travel-sized bottles of generic shampoo and conditioner, a plastic comb, and a disposable razor still in its packaging. Another bar of soap sat perched on the porcelain ledge of the shower, its wrapper already peeled back like it had been placed there earlier, ready for someone to use.

The shower curtain was plastic but clean, printed with blue and green seagulls flying over cartoon waves–cheesy but oddly charming. It gave the room a strange little personality, like someone tried to make it feel cheerful even in the middle of nowhere.

You let out a small sigh, settling the duffel bag down onto the tiled floor with a muted thud. The heater rattled softly through the vent near your feet, pushing dry warmth into the space that curled along your ankles and did its best to undo the chill of the storm. You didn’t bother turning on the fan–just let the silence hold, broken only by the occasional groan of wind pushing at the window behind the drawn curtain.

One by one, you peeled off your tactical gear–wet straps loosened with practiced fingers, each buckle and plate unfastened with a soft metallic click that echoed against the tile. Your shirt was soaked through beneath the armor, sticking to your skin as you pulled it over your head and dropped it in a soggy pile atop your pants. Cool air prickled against your bare shoulders. You unclasped your bra and set it aside with a little shiver, pausing only when the reflection in the mirror caught your eye.

You stared for a moment.

Not just at your own reflection, but at the glint of your dog tags–still hanging against your sternum, metal dulled with condensation and warmth. You lifted them slowly, letting them rest against your palm. Pressed your thumb along the etched letters of your name, feeling the edges of each character beneath your skin. It was grounding. Tangible. A reminder of who you were in all this.

You let the chain fall back against your chest with a faint clink.

Then you crouched and unzipped the duffel bag. Inside, everything was neatly folded the way you’d packed it–dry and waiting. You reached for the oversized white t-shirt you usually wore to bed, soft from a hundred washes. It was old, stolen from Bucky during a post-mission stopover a few months ago, and still smelled faintly like cedarwood and something colder, sharper–something distinctly him. You pulled it over your head, the fabric falling low over your thighs. It clung slightly to your still-damp skin before settling loose.

You swapped your wet underwear for your sleep shorts–simple, black cotton, the waistband resting snugly on your hips. A little frayed at the seams. Comfortable. Familiar.

You rubbed your arms absently and stared at yourself one last time. You made sure the hem of your shirt covered enough—tugging it once or twice just to be sure—before stepping toward the door. Your fingers hovered over the handle for a moment.

“Bob?” you called softly. “I’m done. Am I allowed to come out?”

There was a pause, some soft shuffling on the carpet–maybe him adjusting something, or making absolutely sure he was decent. Then his voice, low and a little hoarse: “Ye-Yeah. You’re all good.”

You clicked off the bathroom light and stepped into the main room, blinking slightly at the shift in lighting. The overhead lamps had been turned off, and in their place, the flickering blue light of the television washed across the walls in pale pulses. A news station was on–static fuzzed lightly at the edges of the screen, the newscaster’s voice steady and grave as he outlined the tornado’s predicted path. The banner across the bottom read SEVERE WEATHER WARNING – TORNADO TRACKING ACROSS SOUTHERN COUNTIES.

Bob was sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in a grey long sleeved training shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, remote resting lightly in his palm, thumb hovering over the volume. He looked up when you entered.

And then he looked away just as fast.

His eyes had flicked to the hem of your borrowed white shirt–the one that hung halfway down your thighs and swayed slightly as you padded barefoot across the carpet. There was a flicker of something in his expression before he dragged his gaze quickly back to your face, cheeks flushing as he fumbled to stand.

“I’ll…” He started, clearing his throat, “I’ll take the wooden chair for the night.”

You blinked at him, then let your eyes flick to the chair in question–splintered, wobbling, barely stable enough to support your duffel bag let alone a six-foot man built like a solar-powered linebacker. It tilted when he brushed past it earlier, like even acknowledging its presence too strongly might send it crashing sideways.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure it’s on its last legs, Bob.”

He looked at you, sheepish.

You crossed your arms, letting your weight settle in one hip, voice calm and clear. “You can share the bed with me. I really don’t mind.”

He hesitated–of course he did. Bob always hesitated when it came to his own comfort. He looked at the bed, where the duvet still held the faint crease of where he’d sat just minutes before. You saw his throat work as he swallowed.

Then, after a beat, he nodded once. “…Okay.” You tried not to exhale too obviously, not to let on just how much that single word–quiet, cautious, hopeful–landed in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

He stepped back toward the bed, placing the remote gently on the nightstand before tugging back the covers on one side. The sheets rustled softly, and when he sat again, he did so gingerly, like the mattress might give way if he put his full weight on it. You watched as he reached back, rubbing the back of his neck–nervous habit, the kind you’d learned to spot over the past few months of being sent out on missions with him. You tried not to exhale too obviously, not to let on just how much that single word–quiet, cautious, hopeful–landed in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

You moved across the room and slid into the other side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. The fabric was cool at first, but it warmed quickly as your body settled in. The blanket was scratchy polyester on top, but soft underneath. You tugged it higher over your lap.

Bob adjusted slightly, pulling his legs up and resting his back against the headboard. His arms folded over his stomach. A few inches separated your bodies, enough for modesty, but not enough to erase the knowledge that it wouldn’t take much–a shift, a sigh, the tilt of a shoulder–for your limbs to brush. For your legs to tangle.

“I can turn off the TV,” He murmured, glancing sideways.

“No,” You replied gently. “Leave it on. Just…keep the volume low. It’s kinda nice, having the sound.” He nodded.

”Ba-Background noise.”

“Exactly.”

Outside, the storm was still raging. You could hear the whistle of wind threading through the seams of the motel’s structure, the faint rattle of a windowpane, the deep, distant rumble of thunder rolling across the prairie like a restless god.

The room, despite its creaks and imperfections, felt oddly safe. The kind of temporary shelter that, just for one night, could hold the weight of two very tired people pretending they weren’t utterly aware of each other’s presence.

Bob shifted again. You felt the mattress move beneath you, felt the blanket pull slightly where it had been tucked. You let your eyes drift to the ceiling, where a water stain shaped vaguely like a rabbit marred the corner.

“You warm enough?” He asked quietly.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already looking at you, his blue eyes scanning over your face slowly. Your breath caught–just slightly–but you gave a faint smile and nodded.

“Yeah. You?” He nodded once, then looked away again, glancing at the television.

”Of course I am…Ru-Running hot has its perks I guess.” You let out a small laugh, huddling into the sheets a little more.

”Definitely.”

————————

At some point during the quiet drone of weather reports and low-lit motel stillness, you and Bob had drifted off. You didn’t remember when. You remembered shifting your legs beneath the sheets, blinking slowly at the static-blurred television screen, letting your gaze fall out of focus while the storm whispered its lullaby against the window.

But now…Now you were warm. Too warm.

And there was something–someone–pressed against you.

Your eyes cracked open, the dim blue light from the TV still flickering faintly across the motel room walls. The storm outside had ramped up again–low, thunderous growls rolling over the landscape in waves, a chorus of wind and rain lashing at the siding. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that should’ve been the thing waking you.

But it wasn’t.

It was the weight. The pressure. The body molded against yours with such intimacy, such unabashed familiarity, that your heart kicked hard against your ribs as the full sensation landed in your chest like a dropped anchor.

You were on your side, curled slightly toward the wall, and he was spooned tightly against you, arm slung low and heavy across your waist, and his hand was splayed across your chest, fingers relaxed but firm, the heel of his palm nestled against the curve of your breast.

His legs were tangled with yours beneath the blankets. One of his thighs slotted between yours, the other pressed flush to the back of your own. His chest was warm and solid against your spine, his breath fanning in hot, steady pulses against the crook of your neck. His nose was pressed lightly to your shoulder, right against the collar of Bucky’s borrowed t-shirt.

You didn’t dare move at first. Just stayed still, blinking slowly at the darkened edge of the room as your brain tried to catch up with your body. Because your body was already reacting–tingling beneath his palm, heat blooming low in your stomach, your skin prickling where he touched you. You could feel the slick warmth slowly gathering between your thighs, not from the oppressive heat of Bob’s sun-forged body.

But from this.

From him.

You swallowed thickly, barely breathing, unsure whether to move away or press back into him. You could feel his heartbeat against your spine–fast, but steady. Not panicked. Not aware.

He was still asleep.

Of course he was.

Because Bob would never–could never–consciously do something this bold without overthinking himself into a stroke first. You knew that. Knew the shape of his hesitation by now. Knew how his kindness could sometimes mask how afraid he was of taking up too much space. Of wanting too much.

But he wanted this.

At least in sleep, he did. He had reached for you. Held you like you were his tether.

And god…It felt good. Even with the heat. Even with your breath catching in your throat and your thighs squeezing tight around the leg pressed between them just to keep from squirming. You let your eyes flutter closed again for a moment, lips parting as you tried to steady your breathing. It didn’t help that his fingers twitched slightly–just a small unconscious flex–pressing more firmly into your chest before relaxing again. His hips shifted subtly, and for the briefest second, you felt the unmistakable press of him against the curve of your ass, hot and hard beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

Your fingers hovered over his wrist, breath shallow in your throat.

You shouldn’t feel this turned on. Not from something accidental. Not from a moment that had bloomed in his sleep, unintentional and unaware. But your body didn’t care about what your brain was trying to guilt-trip it for. Not when he felt this good against you. Not when you’d spent so many nights replaying every small glance, every brush of fingers, every breathless shared silence on missions and wondering what it would be like to be touched like this on purpose.

To be wanted by him. Openly.

Your thighs squeezed tighter around the one he’d slotted between yours, and you felt your shorts dampen as a little bit of slick slipped out of you in response to the tension building under your skin. It was stupid, it was selfish–but it was real. And when his fingers flexed again–gripping your breast softly, like his dream was guiding him through some fantasy you didn’t know he had–it stole the breath from your lungs.

Then came the quiet sound. A small whimper. Barely audible, like it cracked through him without permission. His nose nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck, lips brushing the skin there with a feather-light touch. His arm tightened around your middle as he unconsciously rutted against you again, the hard line of his cock pressing more insistently into the curve of your ass.

You let out a broken sigh. Your body was burning. Your nipples tightened beneath the thin cotton of your sleep shirt, hypersensitive and aching from the way his hand lingered against them. Your breath came in soft, uneven little puffs. And your hand–trembling, traitorous–slid over his where it clung to your chest. You curled your fingers gently around his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him in place.

You needed to know.

You needed to wake him.

You weren’t going to let it be something he regretted later.

“Bob…” You whispered, your voice barely louder than the static hum of the TV. “Bob, wake up…” A small noise escaped him again, this time closer to a groan. His nose shifted against your neck, lips parting against your skin as his body went tense–like he was being pulled out of something warm and sweet and sudden.

His hand twitched.

Then stilled.

Another beat of silence passed before you felt his whole body freeze behind you. His breath hitched. His palm lifted slightly from your chest.

“…Fuck.”

It was barely a sound. Just breath, shaped around a single syllable of panic.

You squeezed his wrist gently. “Bob,” You murmured again, softer now. “It’s okay. You were asleep.” He slowly peeled his arm back like it had been caught in a bear trap, like he didn’t trust it not to ruin everything. He shifted slightly, trying to put space between you, his leg drawing back under the sheets even as the heat of him remained.

“I…I didn’t mean to–I was–shit, I didn’t know…I wouldn’t–“ His voice cracked mid-sentence, strained with shame, and his forehead pressed into your shoulder like he could somehow bury the guilt. “I didn’t know I was doing that, I swear…I didn’t mean to touch you like that–”

”Bob,” You interrupted gently, “Stop…It’s okay.” He froze, his mouth parting slightly, an apology dying on his tongue–half-formed, half-falling apart–and for one raw, unguarded second, he just stared at you like he couldn’t quite make sense of the forgiveness in your voice. Of the lack of anger. The lack of fear. Like maybe you were a trick of the storm. A hallucination conjured by lightning and longing.

And then you whispered, “…I…I liked it.”

The confession shattered the air between you like a cracked pane of glass finally giving way. You felt a tremor run down his arm–his pulse lurching beneath your fingers where they were still pressed to his wrist. He went completely still, not breathing for a moment, until you heard the thick, audible gulp in his throat.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to let his eyes meet yours, and with a trembling hand on your hip, he gently coaxed you to roll onto your back–guiding you until you were settled against the pillow, The cool fabric brushing your cheek as the warmth of his body hovered just inches above you. His breath came shallow now. Nervous. Disbelieving. His blue eyes were wide and vulnerable in the TV light, scanning every inch of your face like it might lie to him where your mouth wouldn’t.

“You what?” He rasped, voice barely holding together. Your hand found his cheek. Warm. Damp from the sweat that was forming in your palm. You cupped it gently, thumb brushing along the light stubble that formed on his chin.

”I liked it, Bob…” You whispered again, firmer now. Clear. He shook his head like he couldn’t accept it, like it didn’t fit anywhere in the fragile framework of reality he had built for himself.

”You’re just saying that…” He replied softly, pained, his eyes flicking down and away, “So I’m not em-embarrassed…About what I did…” Your heart ached at the shame in his voice. At the self-doubt, the fear of crossing a line he didn’t even know he’d toed. So you moved your hand again–down his jaw, along the curve of his lips–and gently, you traced your thumb across the soft swell of his lower one, watching the way his breath hitched as you did it, the way his eyes closed at the sensation.

“I’m not just saying that…” You breathed, your voice thick with the weight of it. Of truth. Of the burning need that coiled in your body and erupted through your veins, “I’ve been wanting you to make a move…For so fucking long, Bob.” The words escaped before you could soften them, even though deep down inside you didn’t want to do that at all. You needed him to know. To feel it. Because it wasn’t just want anymore. It was craving. You felt like your body was vibrating–like every nerve ending had tuned itself to the frequency of him and refused to shut off.

Bob’s breath stuttered. His cheeks flushed deeper than before–scarlet creeping beneath his skin. He looked overwhelmed. Like he was caught in some slow-motion free fall between shock and pure carnal hunger.

His hand lifted from the sheets, trembling slightly.

And then he touched you. His fingertips ghosted over your skin, before cradling the side of your neck with his palm like you were something precious, unreal. His thumb rested just below your jaw, feeling the pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin.

”You swear you mean it?” He asked quietly, “You promise you’re not ly-lying to me?” You nodded, not trusting your voice at first. Then you leaned up slightly, your nose brushing his, your lips close enough that the next breath you let out ghosted over his mouth.

”I swear,” You whispered, “I wouldn’t lie about this. Not to you.” There was a beat of silence. One breath. Then another. Nothing but the low murmur of the newscaster on the television filled the space around you–something about wind speeds, projected trajectories. But it all blurred, receded, drowned beneath the pounding of your heart and the shallow, stunned rhythm of Bob’s breath. His thumb stroked once against your jaw…And then he leaned in.

His lips met yours like a secret being told for the first time–soft, hesitant at the edges but bursting with everything he hadn’t said until now. A kiss not of hunger, not yet, but of relief. Of surrender. Of two people who had been circling each other so long that this first contact felt like a homecoming of sorts. Like the truth had finally been spoken into the space between you, and now…There was nowhere left to run.

You hummed against his mouth, something tender and breathless, and your hand slipped from his cheek, immediately burying itself in the soft waves of his light brown hair. You curled your fingers gently at first–then tugged. Just enough to pull him deeper into the kiss, to tell him you wanted more.

Bob gasped.

It was small, a little stutter of air that escaped against your mouth like he’d been caught off guard by the desire that burned through you and seeped into him. His body responded instantly. You felt the tremor run through him, felt his chest press closer to yours, his hand still firm at your neck like a tether, like he was grounding himself in the feel of your skin beneath his palm. And then his other hand slid down slowly, his fingers skimming the soft cotton of your shirt, moving lower until they found your waist, then your hip. His touch settled there, firm and warm, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of your bike shorts with a pressure that made your pulse stutter. He squeezed, just once–possessive and unsure all at the same time.

Your thighs shifted involuntarily at the contact. You exhaled a soft sound into his mouth that wasn’t quite a moan, but close. It made him breathe harder, made his fingers dig in a little tighter. And then–so slowly you almost didn’t realize it at first–he moved. His weight shifted over you, inch by inch, careful and deliberate, until his chest was fully pressed against yours, aligning your heart beats. The blankets shifted with him in the process, the mattress dipping as he braced his forearm beside your head. His knee nudged between yours again, slotting perfectly against your thigh. And when you opened your legs just enough to accommodate the movement, he froze for half a heartbeat–just long enough to murmur your name like a prayer against your lips.

“Bob…Please.” You whispered, pulling slightly on the waves of hair that you had clutched between your fingers. He caressed your neck gently, leaned in again. He licked your lips softly, wetting them before returning his mouth to yours, kissing you–hotter this time, messier.

His tongue slipped past the seam of your lips like it was instinct, like he’d stopped thinking and just let the need take the wheel. His hips dipped low, settling snug in the cradle of your thighs as he shifted on top of you, arms bracketing either side of your head now. The duvet bunched around his knees, the mattress sagging beneath his weight as he adjusted. Then you felt it again–his cock, thick and hard through the soft cotton of his sweatpants, pressing up against your core, right against the heat pooling there.

A whimper escaped your throat at the contact.

He groaned into your mouth, rolling his hips in a slow grind, letting you feel him through the thin barriers of clothing. His lips parted wider against yours as your mouths collided again and again, kissing like you were both drowning in it–teeth clashing a little, spit slicking the corners of your mouths, breathing in ragged exhales through your noses. He kissed you like it was something he had dreamt about a million times and finally got permission to crave out loud.

Your hands moved without thought–grabbing at his sides, his hips, his shoulders. His back. You racked your nails down the soft cotton of his shirt as his tongue tangled with yours, kissing you so deeply you felt your head spin. Your other hand slipped to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he moaned when you sucked gently on his tongue before letting it go with a wet, spit filled pop.

Bob gasped–a sound so raw and broken it felt like your chest caved in from how hot it sounded when it hit your ears–and ducked down to kiss along your jaw, panting against your skin as his hips ground into yours again. He clung to your thigh, bringing it up so it was firm against his torso, his thumb stroking mindlessly along the outside like he needed to keep touching you. His other hand cradled your jaw, keeping you close, and guiding your head back as he kissed lower.

”You’re so…So fucking pr-pretty.” He whispered raggedly, his mouth brushing just below your ear, his voice cracking on the compliment, “You smell so good, and you’re so warm, and you…Fuck…You’re an an-angel.” Your breath hitched and you pulled at his shirt again–hard this time, clutching the fabric in both fists, dragging it upwards like you couldn’t stand the feeling of it separating you anymore.

He got the message immediately, and leaned back just far enough to strip it off–one swift motion, lifting it over his head and throwing it to the side with a quiet thud. The second the shift hit the floor, you sat up slightly, propped on your elbows, so you can drink him in like someone dying of thirst.

He was beautiful.

He wasn’t chiseled like some sculpted super-soldier body builder or genetic prototype, but he didn’t need to be. Bob looked real. Like a man forged by gravity and radiation and heart. His chest was broad and freckled. His skin pale with a warm flush that faded across it. A smattering of faint brown freckles dusted his collarbones and shoulders, trailing down his body like someone had splattered him in flicks of them. There were old scars too–faint silvery marks scattered across his ribs and sides, like faint reminders of what he had gone through before the team found him. Before you found him.

Your hand moved to touch him before you even realized it, dragging your fingertips across his chest slowly–tracing the lines of his pecs, brushing over his sternum, down the shallow dip between his ribs. He shuddered under your touch, swallowing hard as your fingers brushed a sensitive spot near his side. His breath hitched when you swept your palm over one of his nipples watching it harden slightly beneath your touch.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long,” You admitted, voice trembling with awe and arousal, “God, Bob…You’re…You’re amazing.” His eyes snapped shut at that, jaw clenching like the words physically wrecked him. He leaned forward again, crashing into your mouth like he didn’t know how else to respond. You moaned against his lips, your hand fisting into his hair, while the other one settled on his lower back pressing against it to make him roll his hips into you again–harder this time. You moaned into the kiss, and dug your nails into his skin, pulling back a bit.

“Sit up…” You whispered, your voice cracked and breathless, your lips damp from kissing him, “I need to take my shirt off…I-I need to feel you.” Bob let out a shaky exhale that fanned warm over your cheek, his body pulsing with restraint even as his hips pressed forward again, grinding against the heat of your core. His eyes flicked to yours, glassy and stunned, then down to where your fingers were already pulling at the hem of your oversized shirt, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the cotton.

“Okay.” He murmured, his voice rough with need, as he shifted back slightly giving you room to move, and sit up completely. His hands came up, hovering for just a second, before gently curling around the fabric at your hips, helping you pull the shirt over your head. The hem caught for half a second on your dampened skin before sliding you free, and he bundled it up carefully in his hands–pausing for the briefest moment as the soft clink of your dog tags echoed in the small room. He stared at the chain as it settled back against your chest, right between the swell of your breasts, then slowly placed the top on the ground with his own, before returning his gaze back to your body.

HIs eyes roamed over every inch of you, taking in the gentle rise of your chest, the curve of your waist, the faint sheen of sweat across your collarbones. His breath stuttered out of him, enamored by your skin, by your body.

“God…” His voice cracked, eyes locking on your breasts, “You’re so…Be-Beautiful.” You could feel the heat trailing up your skin, your cheek burning with warmth, but you didn’t look away. Not when he was taking you in like this.

He reached for you. His big, calloused hands coming up and settling against your chest, resting just above your breasts, thumbs brushing over the cool metal of your dog tags. He stared at them–like he was grounding himself with the proof of your name–before he leaned in against and kissed you.

This one was all tongue and heat and panting mouths as he pressed you back down into the mattress with the weight of his body. His hands stayed against your chest, not squeezing, not groping–just resting there. Feeling your heart beating beneath one palm while holding you with the other.

But then he broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw, breath heaving against your cheek, panting through the intensity of the moment.

”I’ve thought about this…” He whispered, as he kissed down your neck, teeth grazing the skin just below your ear, “Dreamed about this…About touching you. Fe-Feeling you under me like this.” You whimpered softly as he sucked at your pulse point, dragging his mouth lower–kissing and nibbling a path across your neck, down to the base of your throat, his tongue flicking over the hollow there before continuing. He nosed the chain of your tags aside with his mouth and licked just beneath it, then sucked gently at the curve of your breast. Your back arched immediately, your breath hitching.

“Bob…” You gasped, your fingers tangling into his hair again. He groaned low and wet against your skin, his voice muffled by your chest.

“God, such a perfect no-noise.” He muttered, wrecked, and then his mouth closed around one of your nipples, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure. His tongue laved over the peak, teasing and circling, drawing more breathless sounds from your throat. One of his hands slid beneath your breast, cupping and lifting it while his thumb stroked along the underside. You moaned, your hips canting up into his.

”Fuck…Bob, that feels so good.” He pulled off with a wet pop, dragging his mouth across your chest to your other breast.

“I want to make you feel good,” He replied raggedly, “I’ve been thinking about how soft you’d be, how you’d so-sound if I got to touch you like this…And all I want is to know I’m doing a good job.” He sucked on your nipple again, harder this time, groaning as you whined beneath him. His hips rutted slowly against you–small, hungry thrusts, his cock thick and hot through his sweatpants as he ground into your soaked shorts. You could feel the wet patch spreading between you, could feel how it smeared against his fabric, the friction making you dizzy.

”You’re perfect. So goddamn perfect.” He whispered, teeth grazing the sensitive underside of your breast, biting gently before licking over it and blowing against it slowly, “I want to do this…Fo-Forever.” You moaned helplessly, your thighs falling further apart, your body aching for more.

”Please, Bob…Keep going.” You begged. He whimpered against your skin, then began kissing lower–down your sternum, your stomach, his tongue dragging along the skin just beneath your ribs, the tips of his hair trailing behind, raising goosebumps on your skin.

“I love the way you taste…” He breathed, dropping a slow, open-mouthed kiss beside your belly button, drool coating your skin, “Like heat and sweat and sw-sweetness–fuck, I want more…I want it all.” His hands found your waist, gripping tight, and he looked up at you, flushed and panting, hair curling against his temples from the heat. His lips were pink, wet and puffy from his ministrations, and his voice was shaking when he spoke.

”Can I keep going?” He asked, his thumb tracing along the waistband of your shorts, hooking into the fabric gently, “I want to taste all of you…” You nodded immediately, and writhed beneath him.

”Please…Take what you want from me.” You whimpered. His lips quirked into a slow smile against your stomach, the curve of it warm and intimate as he licked around your navel–trailing drool in lazy, shimmering arcs like he was branding you before his teeth grazed the skin just above your waistband. You twitched beneath him at the contact, your fingers clenching in the sheets, feeling him pull away just enough to give the both of you a bit of space.

Then his hands slid lower, gripping the waistband of your shorts with a gentleness that made your heart ache, thumbs brushing over your hips as he began to peel them down inch by inch. You lifted your butt to help, watching the way his eyes stayed locked to the exposed skin. He rolled the fabric down your thighs slowly, like he didn’t want to miss a single detail of what he was unveiling. When the shorts reached your knees, you helped him kick them off the rest of the way with a soft rustle of movement with him holding them between his hands, and suddenly he felt heat wash over him, like he was going to suffocate. He then pushed the covers off the both of you with a little laugh, letting the duvet tumble to the foot of the bed.

”I don’t want to accidentally pass out from ov-overheating,” He murmured with a crooked grin, his voice cracking just slightly. You let out a small laugh, the tension in your chest unraveling with the sound, seeing him toss your shorts off the bed in one motion before turning his attention back to you.

His large hands settled against your knees, the pads of his fingers brushing over your skin, tickling the sensitive flesh before he spread your thighs open. Guiding your knees apart with shaking hands until you were laid out beneath him in the dimmed light–glistening, soft and slick and already trembling for him.

”Christ.” He whispered.

His eyes locked onto your folds, and you swore he stopped breathing. You watched his pupils dilate, swallowing the blue until they looked nearly black with lust. His mouth parted, and his brows twitched like he didn’t quite know how to process what he was seeing. He looked hypnotized. Like your body had short-circuited whatever part of his brain was still capable of coherent thought.

“You’re…You’re so wet,” He breathed, voice thin and trembling with awe. His hand moved without thought, fingers dragging down your stomach in a slow, reverent trail. Every inch of contact sent a ripple through your muscles. He traced your navel, brushed over your pubic bone, then–finally–his fingers slipped lower. The pads of them grazed through your soaked folds, feather-light at first. And then again, just a little firmer. Your hips jolted as his fingers passed over you again. Your body trembling with tension, need coiling tight in your belly. But just as you tried to roll your hips against his touch, desperate for friction, for fullness, for anything–his other hand flattened against your lower stomach and gently pinned you down.

“Easy, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice cracked with heat and restraint. The heel of his palm held you still with slight control, and it only made the ache between your thighs burn hotter. You whimpered, a fragile, breathless sound that escaped before you could swallow it.

Then he pulled his fingers away, causing you to whine instinctively, hips attempting to lit in protest before falling back to the bed in frustration. But your attention shifted the second you caught the glint of wetness in the dim light–your arousal glistening on his fingers as he brought them to his lips. He moaned low and broken as he sucked them into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring something divine. His cheeks hollowed as he cleaned them slowly, letting his fingers drag across his tongue before pulling them free with a lewd pop.

“I fear I’m going to ma-make a mess,” He murmured hoarsely, his voice laced with a mix of awe and filthy reverence. “You taste so fucking good.”

“Bob…” Your voice was wrecked with desperation, your hand flying to his, the one still pressing down gently on your belly. You laced your fingers with his and squeezed, grounding yourself in the heat of his palm as you whimpered, “Bob, I’m begging you…Please. I need your mouth.”

He nodded, his pupils blown wide with lust. His lips were swollen, slick, glistening in the TV light. He kissed the inside of your thigh once–then again–and rasped, “Okay…I’ll give it to you.”

And god, did he ever.

He shifted down the bed and adjusted your legs, guiding them with both hands until the backs of your thighs rested on his freckled shoulders. You felt the reverence in his grip. The way his thumbs brushed over your skin as if worshiping the weight of you. He breathed you in–nose brushing your mound as he exhaled a groan so low and guttural it rattled through your bones.

Then came the kisses.

Soft at first. Pressed gently to the inside of one thigh, then the other. His tongue flicked out to taste the skin just beneath your hip, leaving a wet streak behind. Then he mouthed at your flesh, suckled at it gently until it marked. Until your hands fisted the sheets. You were so close to pleading, to sobbing from how badly you needed him–then his mouth finally reached your core. Trailing a long wet lick. Then another. Slow, thick, dragging. His tongue flattened and moved up the length of your folds, collecting everything–spit and slick and heat. He groaned, deep and rough, as he buried his face in you like he was starving.

”Absolutely sw-sweet, addicting. Christ…Is there anything about you that isn’t perfect?” You moaned, your hips bucking in response before his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you open just a little bit more.

”Please, Bob…Don’t stop,” You gasped, “Please keep going.” He licked into you like he was memorizing every inch–alternating between messy, open-mouthed licks and tight, focused ones that circled your clit until your legs were shaking. His lips sealed around you, sucking gently, then harder–until your hips arched off the bed, your hands gripping at his hair like lifelines.

He moaned into you when you tugged, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. Then you felt it–his fingers again. Two thick, reverent digits sliding through your folds, finding your entrance with practiced ease. He pushed in slowly, curling them just right, pressing into the spot that made your back arch and your breath catch in your throat.

“God, yes…Right there, fuck, Bob,” You cried, grinding down against his face, “You’re so good, you’re doing so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“Keep talking,” He begged, voice muffled against your core, spit dripping down his chin, “Tell me…Tell me how good it feels, Y/N. Need to know I’m ma-making you feel good, please–“

“You are…Jesus Christ you are,” You cried out, “No one’s ever–fuck, Bob, no one’s ever made me feel this good b-before…” He growled against you, vibrating over your wetness. His tongue lashed your clit in firm, spit coated flicks as his fingers curled and pumped, hitting that devastating spot again and again, the sound of it slick and filthy and loud in the quiet motel room. Your thighs were quivering now, the pleasure rising in a tidal wave you couldn’t stop–except he did.

He pulled back.

“W-Wait…Bob…Why did you–” Your voice cracked, near sobbing. Your hips searched for his mouth, for his fingers, for anything to fill the terrible, unbearable emptiness. But he just rested his cheek on your thigh, eyes glazed and lips slick with your arousal.

“You were about to come,” He rasped, “I could feel it… And I want to make it last. I want to see you fall apart for me, slowly.”

You nearly started to cry

“Bob, please,” You whispered, your voice trembling, “Please let me come, I need it so bad. I’m so close, I feel like I’ll start crying if I don’t finish…Please Bob…I need this…And I need you.” Your begging was the thing that undid him.

“Fuck, okay…Okay, I’ve got you, I’m…I’m sorry for doing th-that,” He said, kissing your inner thigh before diving back in like a man possessed. His fingers returned, pumping faster now, and his mouth sucked at your clit like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. The pressure was relentless. His tongue circled tight and fast while his fingers curled deep. Every sound you made, he chased. Every twitch of your body, he answered.

You writhed against him, helpless and aching, your hips grinding desperately into his face as he groaned and followed your every motion–chasing the heat, matching your rhythm with maddening precision. His mouth was everywhere: lips, tongue, breath, spit. It was unrelenting, overwhelming, and devastatingly beautiful.

“Fuck,” You gasped, your voice ragged and raw as your back arched and you reached down, fingers tangling in his hair with a fierce tug. He moaned at that, the sound vibrating through your core as his free hand pressed firmly down against your stomach. Your other hand reached for him blindly, finding the one that held you down and gripping it hard–squeezing as if it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“You feel that?” he panted against your soaked folds, the words hot and filthy as his tongue circled your clit in tight, devastating strokes, “Feel how close you are? God, you’re dripping all over the pl-place.” You let out a strangled cry, a sob of pure pleasure tearing out of you as your hips bucked violently. Your thighs clamped around his head and your whole body trembled like a live wire.

“Bob…Fuck, fuck, I–!” You broke off into a series of desperate gasps as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through your core and sending shockwaves down your spine. You came hard, pulsing around his fingers and soaking his mouth, your hips jerking and grinding as you rode it out.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. He groaned loudly as he felt you unravel, pulling his fingers out slowly only to bury his face directly between your thighs, licking up everything you gave him with messy, greedy strokes. His tongue swept through your folds again and again, catching every drop of your release, slurping it up like he was addicted. His nose pressed to your mound, his lips dragging through your slick, moaning like it was better than anything he’d ever tasted. He reached up and slid his soaked hand around your wrist, holding it as he moaned into you like a man who had been fully sanctified within you.

Only when your legs began to twitch uncontrollably and your hips flinched from the intensity did he finally ease back, his lips sucking softly on your overstimulated clit before releasing it with one last reverent kiss.

Then he looked up at you. His cheeks glistened with your arousal, his nose slick, his lips swollen and cherry-red, puffed from the effort, his chin streaked with spit and slick. His eyes were wild–blown wide with lust and worship, dark with something desperate and unspoken.

You were gasping for breath, twitching beneath him, your thighs still trembling as you reached for him blindly. Your hand caught his wrist and pulled.

“Come here…” You rasped, your voice shaky and ruined, “Come kiss me…” He moved instantly, sliding your thighs off his shoulders, before crawling up your body, his hair now damp from sweat and sticking up every which way because of your fingers pulling and yanking at the strands.

He kissed your stomach first–slow and worshipful–letting his lips drag across the curve of your navel, pausing just to breathe against your skin. You felt the warmth of his breath, the weight of it sinking deeper into you than it should’ve, like every exhale stitched another piece of him into your chest. He mouthed at your ribs, trailing upward, tongue flicking lightly over salt-slick skin before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your breast, then dragged his lips up over your sternum.

When he reached your collarbone, he nipped at it gently–just enough to make you gasp, just enough to let you feel the quiet ache of teeth without pain. His hair brushed your jaw as he lingered there, then slowly, slowly lifted his head. He hovered over you for a moment, looking down at your face like he was memorizing it.

You were flushed, wrecked–still trembling faintly from your orgasm, lips parted as you panted for breath, chest heaving beneath your dog tags. Your brow glistened with sweat, your hair damp at the roots. Your mouth opened just a little more, the edges trembling with anticipation–and he smiled.

It was small at first. Soft. But then it widened, blooming into something radiant and slightly disbelieving, a crooked, reverent grin spreading across his face. His nose brushed yours, breath catching as he hovered inches from your mouth.

And then you surged forward and kissed him.

It was messy.

Sloppy in the most devastatingly intimate way. Your lips crashed into his with a wet sound, and you immediately moaned into the kiss–because you could taste yourself on him. Sweetness clung to his tongue. A faint, earthy tang from your own arousal mixed with the salt of sweat that glistened on his upper lip. His mouth was warm, open, and pliant beneath yours–desperate in the way it moved.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him down–dragged your nails down the muscles along his back, slow and rough, leaving faint red lines in your wake. He groaned softly into your mouth at the sensation, his hips twitching reflexively against you. His tongue tangled with yours again, slick and insistent, licking into you like he needed to taste every corner of your mouth to survive. He pulled back slightly, panting, his forehead resting against yours, eyes dazed.

“Do you need a br-break?” He whispered, voice low and wrecked, his breath coming hot against your cheek.

You shook your head immediately, gaze locked on his. “No…Do you?” He shook his head too–more like a tremble than a full motion, his hair bouncing slightly from the movement.

“All I want is you right now,” He said, voice cracking under the weight of the words. “It’s all I can think of…It’s what my bo-body craves because I’ve been holding myself back from you for…For so long.” You smiled, and kissed his lips again–soft and quick, brushing your nose against his.

”You don’t have to do that anymore,” You whispered. He let out a small huff of a laugh, half-disbelieving, half-overcome, and gave you a toothy, radiant smile that nearly undid you. His eyes shone in the flickering blue light of the TV as he looked down at you like you were the center of his universe.

Then his fingers rose, dragging lightly along the chain resting between your breasts, fingertips brushing over the cool metal of your dog tags. He watched the way they gleamed with moisture–your sweat, his spit–and his lips curved into something equal parts shy and sinful.

“I’ve been picturing this moment for a long time,” He admitted sheepishly, voice low, like the words had to squeeze past the remnants of disbelief still clinging to the edges of his breath. Your hands slid up the curve of his back, thumbs brushing against the soft ridges of muscle there, until they found their place at the sides of his neck. Your fingers cradled the base of his skull, brushing through the damp waves of his hair, grounding him.

“Me too,” You whispered, your voice just as unsteady, just as full. The silence that followed was thick–but not awkward. Not unsure. It was full of breath. Full of you and him. Full of a thousand unsaid things finally allowed to exist between your bodies, between the press of your bare chests and the whispering storm outside.

Bob’s forehead pressed to yours. You felt his lips graze the tip of your nose, then your cheek, and then he kissed you again–slowly, the kind of kiss that made time go quiet. That made the storm feel far away. His body shifted against yours with a little grunt, hips tilting, pressing up against the soft mess between your thighs again.

You gasped into his mouth.

And without a word, your hand trailed downward–skimming over the warm skin of his torso, tracing the gentle rise and fall of his stomach. You reached the waistband of his sweatpants and paused, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

He nodded.

That was all the permission you needed.

Your hand slipped beneath the soft cotton, fingers brushing through the trimmed curls at his base before they wrapped around him fully. Your breath hitched. He was heavy in your palm, hot and thick, the skin silky as you curled your hand around his cock. The tip was damp–already leaking, already aching–and you gave a slow, testing stroke from base to crown.

Bob let out a groan against your lips, his whole body twitching. His hips jerked up slightly, like he couldn’t help it. Like your hand alone was short-circuiting every nerve in his body.

“Jesus, Y/N…” He moaned, mouth open against your cheek now, breath warm and shaking. You stroked him slowly–long, fluid motions that twisted slightly at the top, smearing the bead of precum across the tip and stroking. He pulsed in your grip, his cock thickening further with every movement. His hips rocked gently, chasing the rhythm you set, and his moans started to deepen–quiet at first, just breathy exhales and broken sighs, but quickly growing rougher. His hand rose to your waist, gripping there as if he needed an anchor. His other arm braced beside your head, but it trembled beneath the strain of holding back. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he gasped through gritted teeth, and you pressed kisses to the crown of his hair. His hand clenched the pillow beside your head, fingers digging into the fabric like he was holding on for dear life. His breath was ragged, mouth parted in a helpless moan that barely made it past his throat.

“Y-You have to stop,” He gasped, his voice cracking around the edges. “Or else I’m going to cum in my pa-pants.” You slowed your strokes, teasing him now–your grip softening just slightly as you dragged your hand upward, watching his face twist in pleasure.

“Isn’t that the point?” You murmured, voice thick with heat and amusement. But he shook his head fiercely, the words catching in his throat as he groaned again, his hips twitching with restraint.

”No,” He replied, breathing shallow and desperate. “I want to be inside you when I fi-finish… I don’t want to do it in my pants.” He was flushed to his ears now, brows drawn together like it physically pained him to say it—like the need had overtaken every shred of logic in his body and all that remained was longing.

You grinned, slow and dangerous.

“Alright,” You said softly, dragging your hand up his length one final time before releasing him, his cock twitching at the loss of contact, “Take off your sweatpants and lay on your back.” He didn’t hesitate. He pulled away from you just long enough to lift his hips and shove the waistband down–clumsy, desperate movements, hands scrambling at the fabric, fumbling with the tightness around his thighs. You laughed breathlessly as you reached to help, fingers hooking into the waistband to tug them over his hips while he cursed under his breath.

“Fuck…Sorry, they’re sticking cause I’m all sweaty,” He muttered, wriggling like a man possessed. You giggled as the two of you fought the damp cotton together, breathless with heat and amusement until he finally kicked the sweatpants off the edge of the bed with a frustrated groan, before laying on his back in all his glory.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Touching him had given you a hint–but seeing him?

Seeing his cock flushed and hard and glistening, resting against the soft curve of his stomach, the tip red and leaking–dripping so steadily that a few drops of precum had pooled on his skin?

It made your mouth go dry.

He was big. Thick and long, so much so it made your thighs twitch just by looking at him. A vein curved along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the heavy swell of the head gleamed in the light.

”Jesus, Bob…” You whispered, eyes wide, a small disbelieving laugh escaping your throat, “You’re huge.” He gave a weak embarrassed chuckle, one hand covering his face for a second before sliding it back through his hair.

”Surprise,” He muttered sheepishly, watching as you crawled on top of him, your thighs moving over to straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Your hands smoothed over his chest–solid and warm beneath your palms–as you shifted your weight.

“We still okay?’ You asked, seeing the way his blue eyes ran over the image of you on top of him, and he nodded, watching you reach back to wrap your hand around his cock once more. His hands came up immediately settling on your hips like magnets, fingers digging in with barely restrained urgency. You could feel how tightly he held himself back–how every muscle in his body trembled under your touch. His throat bobbed with a thick swallow as you stroked him once, guiding his tip to your entrance, adjusting yourself above him before lowering yourself down.

The tip of his cock pressed against your folds, sliding through the soaked heat before catching just right–right at the center of you. And when you finally began to sink, slowly, achingly slow, it was like your whole body lit up with fire.

Your walls stretched, burning in the most perfect way, as the thick crown of him breached you. You both cried out–your voice high and shaking, his low and guttural.

“Fu-Fuck…” Bob gasped, his head dropping back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh my God.” You panted, breath catching with every inch you took. The stretch was intense.

He filled you slowly, steadily–inch by inch, forcing your body to open for him, to welcome the heat and the pressure of his cock as it pushed deeper. You could feel everything–the weight of him, the slick glide, the twitch of his thighs beneath you, the low moan rumbling from his chest.

Your fingers dug into the hard lines of his pecs as you breathed through it, your thighs trembling from the effort to keep control.

“Shit, Bob,” You started, eyes fluttering shut as your hips tilted forward, easing yourself further down, “You’re so…Fucking big.” He whimpered at that, hips twitching beneath you, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“I’m so-sorry…Do you need to stop?” He gasped, but you shook your head immediately, your jaw slack, sweat pearling at your temples.

“No,” You whispered, “No…I need all of you. I want all of you.” You added, bracing yourself as you sank down another inch. You felt the stretch deepen–felt your walls clench and flutter around him, adjusting, aching in the most perfect, devastating way. Bob’s mouth dropped open, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/N…You’re taking me so well…Je-Jesus Christ…” He moaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his nails digging into the supple flesh, his eyes never leaving your face once. You whimpered, lifting yourself just slightly before sinking down again, taking more of him. The pressure made your vision blur, and your pulse roar in your ears, but finally you had taken him in fully–his cock buried deep, the base of him pressing right against your clit. You dragged your nails along his chest, closing your eyes as you leaned forward, the cool metal of your dog tags resting against him.

The both of you were gasping, breathing each other in like oxygen. You were full–so full it was hard to think. Your walls stretched tight around him, holding him in a vice that made your whole body sing. You could feel every vein, every twitch, every pulse, and Bob looked like he was unraveling by the second.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy as they drank you in. His lips parted, and his brow was slick with sweat, his jaw slack with awe. His hand rose slowly–trembling just slightly with the effort to hold it together–and he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your flushed skin with reverence.

“Are you ok-okay?” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm still raging outside the walls. You nodded, your smile blooming slow and reverent, leaning into his touch like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“Just overwhelmed,” You murmured, your voice soft and breathless, “But I’m feeling pure ecstasy. You feel so right…Like you were built to fit inside me.” Your words hit him like a holy thing–his pupils blew wide, his lips parting, and a choked sound escaped his throat, like he was trying not to cry or come or both. He pulled you down to him, gentle as anything, and kissed you–slow, sensual, all lips and breath and trembling warmth. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was grounding. Deep. Lips brushing and parting in quiet rhythm while your walls fluttered around his cock, your body still adjusting to the fullness. He held you close as you pulsed around him, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

You stayed like that–connected, trembling, just breathing together. Letting the heat build low and slow, like kindling under a fire.

Then, finally, you started to move.

It was just a shallow grind at first, more of a gentle roll of your hips than a thrust–your clit catching deliciously against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, your thighs tightening around him as you lifted just slightly and eased back down again. Bob gasped, his hands flying to your hips, steadying you

“Y/N…” He breathed, voice cracking as he bit down on a moan, “You’re so tight.” His fingers flexed against your skin, thumbs stroking the swell of your hips as you moved again–another slow lift and descent, friction building where your clit dragged over the base of him, wet and aching and hot. You leaned down, lips brushing his cheek.

”You were made for me, Bob…” You trembled. His eyes rolled back. Hips twitching upward, meeting your next slow grind.

”Say that ag-again.” You smiled.

”I said…You were made for me…Made to fill every inch, to touch me so deeply that only you could do it.” You whispered, your lips grazing his earlobe. A ragged groan tore from his chest. Then he moved–his fingers sliding up your stomach, catching on the chain of your dog tags, brushing them aside as they swung forward. And then, with a desperate, shaky inhale, he leaned up–opened his mouth–and caught the tags between his teeth. His lips curled around them slightly, jaw clenched just enough to keep them still. The sight of it–your dog tags between his teeth while his cock stretched you open–shot straight to your core.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and you groaned. “Fuck, Bob, that’s…Shit, that’s hot. You holding my name in your mouth like that.” He moaned around the tags, his voice muffled, the sound guttural and raw.

Then he sat up fully.

The motion pressed your bare chest against his, the heat between your bodies magnified, the wet slide of skin to skin making you both gasp. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you flush to him as he began to guide your hips with slow, steady force–rocking you on his cock in lazy, deep rolls. The pressure of your clit grinding against the base of him with each movement was unbearable. You whimpered, your forehead pressed to his, as your hands slid down to grip his shoulders. He growled, releasing the dog tags from his teeth with a low clink as they fell against your chest again–then he licked a stripe along your jaw, tasting the sweat on your skin.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” He rasped, “So soft…So tight ar-around me, I don’t wanna leave. Ever.” He kissed you again, hot and messy, biting your bottom lip and pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

“Don’t then…Just keep guiding me…” He groaned and thrust up into you–shallow but sharp, hitting that sweet spot that made your nails dig into his shoulders.

“God, yes, right there…Fuck–” You moaned, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace just slightly, guiding your hips faster, harder. Your clit was grinding against the base of him with every stroke now, each one sending shocks of pleasure through your spine.

“You look so beautiful like this,” He gritted out, “The way you grind yourself on my co-cock like it’s yours…Like you own it.”

”I do,” You gasped, your body trembling as you moved faster, need sharpening with every thrust, “I fucking do.” He moaned–loud, filthy–his mouth latching onto your throat as he sucked a mark just below your jaw.

“Tell me how I feel,” He begged, his voice rough and breathless against your skin.

“Perfect. Stretching me open. Reaching so deep,” You cried out, your rhythm faltering slightly as your orgasm began to build again, “You feel so fucking good inside me, Bob. You’re the only person that’s ever made me feel this good…” He shuddered beneath you, his hips starting to meet yours with more force, his thrusts deeper now, more desperate.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that,” He groaned, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, I wa-wanna feel you come on me again. Please, Y/N…Let me feel it.” You pressed your fingers into the back of his neck.

”Guide me,” You whispered, your breath breaking with each roll of your hips, “Make me come. I’m so close, Bob, I’m so close–” His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that made your hips jerk. The angle, the pressure, the sound of his voice in your ear telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how wet–how perfect you looked above him–it was everything.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice shaking as your rhythm stuttered, “Come on my cock…Wanna feel you sq-squeeze me…Wanna watch you fall apart for me.” He begged,

With a loud, broken moan, you clung to him as the orgasm slammed into you, your whole body convulsing, walls tightening around him in fluttering waves. You buried your face in his neck, your lips parting against his shoulder as you sobbed through it, breath caught and trembling.

Bob let out a raw moan, his hips jerking up hard as he held you tight–his cock twitching–then he gasped, voice cracking open on a grunt.

”Fuck…I’m coming…” He buried himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like pure reverence. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you to him as he trembled through the release, the warmth of him flooding into you as you both rode the aftershocks together, panting in each other’s arms.

Your bodies trembled in tandem, hearts thudding in irregular sync like they were struggling to return to baseline, still recalibrating from the intensity of what had just passed between you. Bob’s skin was warm and slick, his chest rising and falling beneath yours in heavy, trembling waves, each breath brushing against your collarbone. You hadn’t moved yet. Neither of you had. You were still wrapped around him, your thighs cradling his hips, his softening cock still tucked inside you, pulsing gently in the afterglow.

He didn’t seem in any rush to leave the space between your bodies either.

The storm beyond the thin walls still growled and whispered, pressing wetly against the windows. But inside Room Six, everything had fallen quiet again–save for the sound of shared breathing and the occasional creak of the mattress beneath your shifting limbs.

Bob’s lips trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat, slow and unhurried, like he was trying to memorize the taste of your skin. His tongue flicked gently against the sweat-slick dip just beneath your jaw, then sucked there lightly until you whimpered. He smiled–small, breathless, utterly wrecked.

You could feel it when he moved again, the twitch of him still inside you, the ripple of muscle beneath your palms. His hand ran along the side of your thigh, thumb brushing the underside of it, and then he nosed up your cheek with the barest graze of stubble and found your lips again. He kissed you–softer now, less desperate. A grateful kiss. A little dazed. A little dizzy. Full of everything he couldn’t say yet.

When he pulled back to breathe, you reached up and cradled his face in both hands. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair a mess, and his lips were red and puffy and slick from everything you’d done to each other. His eyes–those impossibly blue eyes–shimmered like twin oceans under stormlight as he looked at you, so full of something raw and real it almost hurt to hold his gaze.

Then he leaned into your palms, tilted his head slightly, and kissed them. One. Then the other. Lingering, reverent. Your fingers twitched at the touch, brushing along the curve of his jaw, and he closed his eyes for a second like it calmed something inside him.

“That was am-amazing,” Bob whispered, his voice cracked and soft, the barest tremble of awe still threading through it. Your fingers twitched against his cheeks in response, stroking gently as you smiled.

“If it wasn’t for the fact I’m already feeling sore,” You murmured, your voice husky with afterglow, “I’d be asking for a round two.” That earned a small, breathless laugh from him.

“We have pl-plenty of time for a round two…We have all night actually,” He said, voice low and teasing as his thumbs brushed along your waist, “Or at least until the storm clears out.” You hummed, your smile deepening as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“Forgot that the Sentry serum gives you unlimited stamina,” You commented with a sly grin. He smirked, cheeks still flushed, lips damp with your kisses.

“You’re the first person I’ve sl-slept with since getting it, actually…” He admitted, shy but proud, “So we may have to test that stamina theory out to see if it’s truly unlimited.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh and brushed your nose against his.

“Well…Now I feel very special.” He pulled back just far enough to look you fully in the eye, his expression turning earnest.

“You’ve always been sp-special to me.” He said.

There was a beat–a soft, swelling pause, where those words settled in your chest like a warm weight. Then you leaned in again and kissed him–slow, tender, lips brushing his with a reverence that made both your hearts ache. A small moan vibrated against your mouth as he returned it, needy and sweet, before you pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’ve always been special to me too, Bob.”

The corners of his mouth tilted up into a smile that could’ve melted the storm outside. He leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time, full of that kind of quiet joy that only ever bloomed in the wake of something long-denied finally earned.

Then he let out a small groan, forehead resting against yours.

“As much as I’d like to stay inside you all night…” He murmured, brushing a thumb over your hip with a soft sigh, “We should get cl-cleaned up… You lay back. I’ll grab a wet cloth.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. “Okay…”

Carefully, you braced a hand against his chest and began to shift, letting out a sharp gasp as you slowly lifted your hips and pulled off of him. The stretch as you separated made your muscles tremble and your breath catch–it was raw and tender, but not painful. Just… Sore. In that good, lingering way that reminded you how deeply he’d filled you. How fully you’d come undone together.

His hands steadied you as you moved, the warmth radiating into your skin. When you finally eased off of him and rolled onto your back, the cool pillow met your flushed skin like a balm, and your breath stuttered with the shift in temperature.

Bob sat up a little straighter, legs a little wobbly, as his softened cock glistened with your shared arousal. He looked dazed and flushed, a mess of tousled hair, sweat-slicked skin, and pink cheeks as he moved to the edge of the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” He whispered, dropping a kiss to your knee as he rose. You watched him pad toward the bathroom, completely bare, the muscles of his back and buttocks flexing slightly as he moved. The sight alone made your core flutter again. Even spent and shaking, your body still reacted to him like he was a living prayer.

You sank deeper into the mattress, limbs heavy with satisfaction, the scent of him and sex still clinging to your skin. You let out a long sigh, listening to the sink turn on for a couple of seconds, then a few moments later, Bob returned, holding a damp cloth and a clean hand towel, moving with surprising grace for someone who’d just been thoroughly wrecked. He gave you a gentle smile, his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like devotion, and knelt beside you again on the mattress again

“Let me take care of you,” He said softly. You slowly opened your legs for him, a soft sigh slipping past your lips at the sensitivity. Bob shifted instinctively, positioning himself between your thighs without hesitation, moving with that same quiet gentleness that had been present all night. His palm rested gently on your inner thigh, grounding and warm, while the other brought the damp cloth to your swollen, slick center.

The moment it touched you, your body flinched slightly–a reflexive twitch from overstimulation–and he paused instantly, eyes flicking up to your face in concern. His brow furrowed with quiet worry as he took in the way your body trembled.

“You look really sore…” He murmured softly, voice laced with guilt and reverence. “You sure you’re ok-okay?” You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair off his flushed forehead.

“I’m positive…Thank you for doing this.” Your voice was hushed, tender. “You really didn’t have to.”

Bob’s eyes softened. He gave your knee a small, wet kiss, lips lingering against your skin for a second longer than necessary–like he needed the contact. When he looked back up at you, his cheeks were tinged with the same pink you’d grown to love so much, his voice cracking slightly as he replied:

“I’m not one to avoid providing my pa-partners with aftercare…I like doing it.” You smiled, the corner of your mouth curling softly as you tilted your head on the pillow, watching him.

“It’s very intimate,” You pointed out softly, your tone more thoughtful than teasing. That earned you a breathy, flustered laugh. His ears went red again as he carefully wiped the tender skin between your legs, slow and meticulous, cleaning away the slickness and the soft trails of his release. He was careful not to press too hard, his touch barely more than a whisper against the ache he’d left behind.

“It’s a nice way to show how much I ap-appreciate you,” He murmured. “And how much this…You…Mean to me.” He finished with a few more gentle strokes, then set the used cloth aside and grabbed the dry towel, patting the area down delicately. His fingers were warm and steady, the towel soft and barely abrasive against your already-sensitive skin. You whimpered quietly at the final press of the cloth and reached for him instinctively, wanting him close again.

He moved both towels off the bed without a word, then turned and grabbed the blankets. You shifted to make space, and he pulled the covers up and over the both of you, cocooning you in the warmth. The moment the duvet settled, you turned onto your side to face him–and without hesitation, Bob did the same.

Your legs tangled first. Then your arms.

His hand found your waist, tucking you closer, while yours slid under his jaw and rested just behind his neck. His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it. Into you.

Your foreheads touched. His eyes fluttered closed.

You exhaled, and he mirrored it–like your lungs were syncing again after the chaos. After the heat. After everything.

And in that quiet moment, with your limbs wrapped around each other and the storm humming like a lullaby against the motel windows, he whispered:

“Wh-What are we going to do tomorrow morning?”

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, your voice firm but soft as you replied:

There was something of a Holiday Party occurring - A new tradition since the Community Centre had been cleaned up, spacious for the entirety of the town to attend, freely mingling and dancing away with a few pocket groups chatting on the sidelines. The more “Adult-Adults” - The Parents of many young people of the Valley - Congregated by the fire, letting the flicking warmth absorb into their skin, soothed from the chilling bite of the outside with their own fire burning up in their guts, born out of the little treat of alcohol they sipped at. Others mingled elsewhere, spread across the varying rooms, even the children ran and played in the crafts room, welcomed now that festivities didn't have to take place in the depths of the Saloon or the frosty outside of the Town Square.

You were with your usual gaggle of friends; Samson, Abigail and Sebastian, tucked away by the storage pantry, sat on crates and barrels filled to the brim with bits and bobs. You giggle airily at Sam and his usual antics, nursing your cup of eggnog while you shift on your makeshift box-seat, careful to avoid lodging a splinter in Yoba knows where. The vibe was cozy, wrapped in a glowy warm as you look between your friends, a buzz in your tummy leaving your head a little light, lips a tad looser than before.

Your eyes land on Sebastian, propped up on his own crate, chin tilted up high enough to reach the crack of an open window, blowing hot nicotine smoke from his lips into the brisk chill outside. He drags his cigarette hard, the end firing to life with a burn of hot orange, ashes flecking off of the edge before it dies away, smoke carried into his lungs to settle before he blows out once again. He was methodical, practiced in the movements as if he’d sneaked a puff of tobacco before, pierced tongue wetting over his lips, spit surely warm enough to battle the cold kiss of night air reddening his mouth with a blush.

You can’t help but watch him, eyes soft with puppy-love, attention easily slipping away from the present conversation. It was a known fact that you harboured a few feelings for the dark and mysterious man - To you and your other friends at least - Having Samson and Abigail on your back about just asking Sebastian on some sort of date, heck, they’d even offered to set the entire thing up! But there was something that nibbled at your subconscious, a whisper chanting doubts into your thoughts like an earworm, suck on repeat as if it were a bad but catchy song. They assured you, swore up and down that he totally felt the same! But you couldn't let yourself believe it, stuck in a loop of pitiful pining, drooling like a dog with its favourite treat just out of reach, dangled above your head like the sweetest forbidden fruit.

You're snapped out of your trance with a soft kick to your shin, Abigail’s boot tip connecting with the bone enough to jump a startle out of you. She was snickering, and so was Sam, eyebrows raised with a soft mocking cat call, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ whistled slyly under their breaths lest the other man notice. You pout at them, hiding the expression behind another sip of spiked eggnog, eyes squinted enough to show off your unamusement and potential embarrassment. 

The thick brandy-laced custard slides down your throat with a swallow, adding to the warmth flushing inside your tummy, aided with the bashful sear brought on by Sam’s continued pokes. The alcohol leaves a subtle burn on your tongue, a bubbling in your stomach, turning the sweet and giddy fizz of a crush into something thick and near nauseating. You smack your lips, letting them pout into a small frown, tongue poking past in a childish manner before you let yourself giggle again.

Abigail hops up, sauntering to Sebastian to bum a cigarette off of him, joining by the slight crack of the window on the other side of the room, out of earshot for the next few babbles Sam had for you.

“He looks good tonight, doesn’t he?” Samson ever the lightweight dares to slur your way, cheekily taunting at the crush he knew you harboured for the other man. At first it was all comforts and sweet reassurances, repeating the same lines over and over- Of course you're pretty, of course you're his type, he looks at you too you know? - Until it morphed into not-so-subtle teases and jabs, Sam and Abigail growing tired at the same song and dance of reassurances, opting to wiggle their eyebrows and wink with a coo every time they caught you even glancing at Sebastian. They cared still, obviously, soothed away at the sharp stabs of insecurity that wriggled it’s way past the wall of your inner thoughts and out to them, these days the comforts presented themselves in a sly glance and a knock on your back forcing you to bump into the dark-haired man.

It was true that he did look good tonight; Hoodie swapped for a fitted black button down, coat forgotten at the door with the swallow of warmth inside the building. Piercings all matched with a dark silver sheen with rings to pair on a few of his fingers, bracelets and necklaces tied everything together, sheening behind his unbuttoned collar and rolled up sleeves.

You always hung out with the man in a group, surrounded by the others as a social buffer. Of course you had settled down in Abigail's room many nights past, eating snacks and playing video games until the ranch rooster crowed and the sun kissed its way up and over the horizon. Heck, you'd even spend afternoons with Sam, walking him home from work and staying until dinner, brainstorming music and chatting general nothingness until his mother had politely asked you to head home. 

But Sebastian was another story. How could you invade his sacred space for your own amusement? You could barely open the door to his home for his mother's services without biting your bottom lip and looking at each nail in the floorboards for a distraction, heart tingling at the idea of just seeing him in his natural habitat. A group meant safety, in numbers and outlets, avenues to sprint down in case of an emergency - The emergency being your hopeless and stumbly feelings for him.

Of course you talked to him, chatting away at your interests and his alike, walking drinks from the bar to the pool table with your eyes locked all doe on his face. You had a fair amount in common as well, but that darn bubble in your stomach often kept your feet glued to one spot, a half smile directed towards him in acknowledgement to whatever he would say.

– “You reckon that ring’s new? Looks kinda new…” Sam continues, pondering his astute observation, prying his way past the protective wall you had meticulously crafted surrounding your social body, urging for a comment.

“Maybe..” Your reply is short, safely guarded behind the fear of alcohol loosening your tongue. Sam hums, tilting his head, not at all hiding the fact that he was analysing the man by the window, smoking his way through a conversation, puffs of thick nicotine coming with the replies he had for Abigail before he sticks his head out of the window to blow again. You try not to stare, missing the way Abigail points your way, beaded bracelets on her wrist giving a clacking jingle, her own teasing comments falling off of her tongue with a steady drip of amusement.

“Should ask him.” Sam’s voice chirps again. Subtle teases, as always, trying to push the pair of you together like a girl does with her dolls, announcing the prophet of “Now Kiss!” while smushing their plastic faces together. It had happened once; Sam convinced you to go against him at the pool table, clumsily cracking the triangle of billiard balls with his pool cue, unmanaging to sink either solids or stripes. You admitted you hadn't a clue about how to play, and you were sure you were off the hook until the sunshine boy beams that cheeky, toothy smile at you.

“Sebastian will help!” he had exclaimed, failing to hide his grin when the raven-haired man shrugged and stood from the worn-out Saloon armchair he had been resting in. Though a little initially shy, Sebastian was one to open up with a little push.

That night was something of a struggle. Feeling the warmth of Sebastian's chest laying over your back, lengthy, nimble fingers drowning your own as he guided the pool cue, digits wrapping around the thrumming artery that pulsed in your wrist with a squeeze, just enough to have your head reeling. Click and clack went the sheeny resin balls, sinking into the holes of the pool table with an easy thrust of the cue thanks to Sebastian’s assistance, practically babying you through the process. His cologne stuck to you that night, soft and spicy and barely a hint of sweetness, bled into the threads of your top- Yoba, you’d never properly admit it but you didn’t wash the poor thing for far too long, not until the thick stain had properly lost its essence. The imprint of his body was something unforgettable, towering over your back, chin tucked by your ear, breaths slow and careful, full of focus as he whispered instructions with every turn, guiding your body as if you were his puppet. 

Ever since, it seemed to be Samson’s mischievous mission to pin the two of you together.

There were countless attempts only ending in hot embarrassment, the need to recreate a one off moment only becoming a tangled mess with its execution, like a failed flash mob two counts out of time. But you couldn’t be mad at Sam, in the end he was only trying (and mostly failing) to be your wingman. You squint at him, watching the blonde obnoxiously play with the bar lodged in his tongue, leaned back upon a box from his spot on the floor, eyes fuzzed out of focus in deep thought. Well, as deep as Samson could manage with the clear wash of tipsiness leaking from his body language. He huffs a sigh and chuckles, a goofy, lopsided grin leaning your way before it's hidden by his own sip of his drink, his pierced eyebrow raising as if to dismiss the curious thoughts you had swirling around behind your forehead. 

Sam hops up, a sway in his movement, humming under his breath as he explores a nearby storage closet, spewing out Christmas decor used to add Holiday Charm around the rooms. Ever so nonchalant. He rifles loudly, snickering to himself when he finds a dusty Santa hat, putting the wretched thing over his mane of hair before he continues on. The other pair make their way back over, the window now fully shut, locking in the warmth of the Community Centre, any remnants of the bristly chill snuffed out with a warm wash. Sam’s antics were loud, hands roughly exploring the space, pulling things out that surely shouldn’t be touched - At least not by him of all people. Sebastian and Abigail sit either side of you, the male opting to share a corner of the wooden pallet crate you had situated yourself on, very nearly pressing his bicep into your own as he watches Sam.

“Duuuude..” The blonde calls with a hiccuped laugh, practically jumping into a box to nab at something. Sebastian tilts his head, an amused quirk of a smile plastered on his pierced lips, the point of a double vertical labret (Not snakebites as Sam always annoyingly calls them) lifting with the action.

“That can’t be good.” Sebastian’s voice cracks soft, tone low enough for only you to hear, like a hidden inside joke. Of course, you giggle, top teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stifle the noise, your brain letting you laugh so effortlessly, as if you were a crushing school girl - Yoba it felt silly, and yet your body strives to work against you.

“I’m scared..” You mock a wobbly tone, a fake frown on your face which easily turns upwards as Sam yelps, coming up with his lucky-dip mystery prize he’d yanked up from the box. 

“Ooho..” The blonde calls, lifting up the very thing he had practically dived for; A stringy and sad looking worn-out piece of plastic mistletoe, decorated with a gnarly bright red ribbon in the beginnings of the end of its life, fraying right at the edges in wispy fabric feathers. His grin turns shit-eating, eyes darkening in your direction, dangling the sad plastic plant as if it were poison ivy, ready to rash anything it touched. “Ohh, Sebby-Webs~” He teases, making a wet, spit-filled kissy face at the other man. 

Sebastian rolls his eyes with a huff, pulling out his lighter and flicking the flame to life with a hearty click, a silent threat against the very existence of the sad excuse of mistletoe. Sam makes a show of pouting, sniffling faux snot up his nose in defeat before his attentions turn to you.

“He’s so mean, right?” He keeps up his pout, fake tears in his eyes. “You’ll smooch me, right?” He looked like a kicked puppy, bottom lip wobbling as he neared you, holding the plastic piece above your head. He looks to Sebastian, a glint in his eyes and a near smirk daring to twitch on his lip, stirring the pot, so to say. You fake a gag, looking to Sebastian to spout a joke but the man looked.. Well, tense. Brow furrowed just enough, body stiff in his spot beside you compared to the lucid and wobbled movements of Sam. “Just oneeee~” The blonde begs, teasing at you, making another puckered kissy face as he dramatically leans in.

Another one of his forced proximity plans perhaps-

A lean hand smushes into Sam’s lips, ring clad fingers squishing his cheeks, firmly but gently shaking his head. Oh, it was on now. A roughhousing play fight between the two men, giggles and fake insults, Sam and his mistletoe with pucker kissing noises now directed back to Sebastian. “Kiss meeee, kiss me- You know you want to~” Sam would sing, only to be refuted by Sebastian calling him some sort of choice word. You and Abigail can only look to one another, a stifled smile as the boys go at each other- Until an unhealthy crashing tumble occurs.

Sebastian yelps a swear, falling back on a box within the closet space, saved by the crinkle of tinsel rather than any sharp and nasty decorations. You don’t think, jumping to your feet, eggnog forgotten as you spring to help him.

“Seb-! Are you alright?” You reach him, lending your arm for him to use you as leverage, doing your best to pull him free. You get him up and standing, faced with his collarbones with his height compared to your own, closer than you initially had thought you'd be, the space tighter than it seemed with all the storage boxes-

A chuckle comes from the door, Sam with a teeth-filled and lopsided grin, one hand on the frame and the other tossing the sad little plastic mistletoe right at you before the door comes to a hearty, thunking close. Boisterous laughter is muffled, taunts of “Behaving” going nearly unheard as crates scrape against the hardwood floors, only logically being pressed against the door, successfully locking yourself and Sebastian inside of the tiny storage closet.

This felt juvenile, as if you were thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, the door un-opening as you try your best to push - No luck. 

A hand rests snugly on your waist as Sebastian leans over, trying his luck at pushing the door to get it moving along its hinges, palm and fingers spread flat over the wood. It's a futile attempt. He chokes around a pant as he tries again, breath straining with a soft whine right at the back of his throat with his pushing, forming into a weak and disheartened groan of a sigh when he fails again. He swallows, breathing huffed, squared to catch himself before he braces to try again.

“Seb-” Your voice calls with a crack, your hand daring to reach for his bicep, giving him a soft squeeze, heavy with your touch thanks to the soft swirl of alcohol in your stomach. “Hey..” You try again before he relents, face snapping to yours in the dimmed-down closet, barely illuminated by the crack under the door. His breaths huff against your lips, hot and laced with tobacco and a wash of mint in a feeble attempt to mask the smell. He had managed to work up a small sweat with his attempts, smoker lungs surely fiery behind his ribs, puffs coming to an easy slow, air still coming from past his lips, brushing into yours like a faux kiss.

His hand on your waist doesn't move, plastered stuck right in place before the other joins, holding you right there - Closer than arm's length. You hear him swallow, see the bare brush of his tongue swiping over his lips, wetting them with saliva, piercings glinting with the bare shine of light. “Fuck..” Comes his voice, barely above a whisper, more rounded with the shape of his mouth and that harsh digraph sound nestled at the back of his throat.

It's quiet - So, so quiet. Save for the shake of your breaths, coming into a rhythm, forced into tandem as you try to make out Sebastian’s face in the dim. Your pulse thrums in your ears, thumping like a ball in your throat, gushing red-hot anxious blood to your head, already washy and tipsy drunk off of that damned eggnog- The air between you seared, hot tension rising as you come to terms with exactly what just happened, a heavy weight of mortification washing down your shoulders and to your toes, curdling the contents of your stomach into something bubbly-sick. It was as if a kettlebell fell down on your head right as you’d jumped down from high up, a spiking shock running up your legs and down your shoulders, meeting up in the middle. Your hand moves to come off of his bicep, the squeeze of your fingers off from his flesh-

One slender hand moves up, cupping at your ribs as if to stop you, accompanied by a short and startled disapproving hum, rumbled from Sebastian’s throat. You stare at him, he stares back, eyes searching left, right, left, right, flicking and unknowing of where exactly to look- Until he sighs, air punched from his gut before his head drops, carefully landing on your shoulder, face turned into your neck. His piercings barely press a graze to your sensitive skin, poking dully on your pulse, scraping as he speaks right under your ear.

“Sorry.. C-Can..” Your body sparks a shiver. “Can I..?” He asks, such an open-ended question had your brain searching all the ‘what ifs’. You mouth his name with a whisper, a questioning tone pitched up before he hums a long sound from his chest. “I can’t take it anymore- Really.. Fuck- Can I just..” He huffs another breath, a thick swallow following down his throat. His lips graze a trail up, pressed right by your ear as he asks; “Please-” exacerbation and frustration, it oozes off of him, “Tell me I can kiss you- Yoba I can’t...” 

Was this an eggnog induced hallucination? Was your sick pining something mutual? No more clawing through the six feet of thick insecurity to grasp at measly straws or long over the reassurances Sam and Abigail had gifted you? It was your turn to beg a short please of your own before your lips were captured in a desperate lock - All teeth and tongue, clumsy in movement, heads turning to find the perfect fit. Sebastian's hands wander, caressing up and down your sides, to the small of your back, letting them dive further to cup the fat of your ass as his tongue moves to take over your mouth. It swirls lovingly over your own, the ball of his tongue bar rolling and lapping, tastebuds dragging rough against each other, sloppy with spit and tipsiness, each and every breath of his tainted with a moan that cracked its way up his throat. His piercings poke against your lips, kissing them raw with every move of his mouth on your own until he lets your bottom lip thread through his teeth with a needy bite.

He pecks you hard, capturing your lips in a short frenzy before he's back on you again, deep and needy, pulling your body towards his own, soft in comparison to his lean build. You throw your arms around his neck, fingers twirling girlishly into the back of his hair, giving him a sweet tug with every few kisses you give back. His tongue is on you again, lips parting with a groan as he licks into your mouth, the mixed taste of whiskey tainted custard-cream and spiced smoked tobacco swaps with your spit. The air around you thickens, noses huffing against each others cheeks as you try to catch your breath, unwilling to part from the sloppy lock of your lips - Curse the need to breathe, Sebastian pops off with a wet puckered sound, a line of spit still connecting you together. His arms tighten, fingers turning into a claw to grab at you, anything he could get his hands on, his lungs huffed up choked breaths, head shaking in some form of disbelief.

“Fuck.. Yoba-” His lowered voice calls. Your response is barely a squeak before he's on you again, capturing your lips between his in a hot and heavy manner, pulling you into his body, pressing himself against you, the finality of having you in his arms coursing a magma-hot sear through his blood. His knee rests between your legs, an arm caged around your upper back, caressing and rubbing in a feverish frenzy, bundling the fabric of your clothes into desperate fists while the other rubs circles into your hip, tugging right at the waist of your pants. You feel it, the hot pulse of something down below, the strain of his cock pressing up against the seam of his jeans and by proxy, poking against your own body. “I.. Fucken’... Need you.” It’s said between kisses, slurred against your lips, “F’So… Long.. Too fucken’.. Shit-.. Too, mmph.. pussy to say-” That's when you cut him off, a sweet tug to his hair with one hand and a cup to his chin with the other, tippy-toeing your way to press against him, kissing up, chasing his mouth.

“Shh..” You soothe, your own desperation showing as your palms come down to massage his shoulders, caressing up and down his chest over the sheeny smooth fabric of his button down. Your fingers trace against his collar, dipping past the edge of his shirt, already slightly unbuttoned from the top to show off the silver chain of his necklace. Another swear comes from his pierced lips, hands leaving your body for barely a moment for him to tug at the strip of fabric housing the plastic buttons, pulling the poor placket open with a needy tug, losing at least one rounded badge with a snap, the poor little thing landing on the floor with a bounce before it was forgotten completely. His chest was exposed, milky skin bright enough to see in the dim light, sparsely dotted moles dancing over his otherwise clear skin. It's warm against your touch, tacky with the rise of sweet arousal, in the beginning stages of working up a heated sweat.

His hands are back on your body, reaching for the hem of the ‘ugly sweater’ you’d picked out for the night, decorated with kitschy Holiday motifs sewn into the knit. It was one of your last layers you wore to the party that night, a warm and cuddly jumper and scarf left to sit in a neat pile. Off it came with a tug over your head before his bare hands were on your skin, forcing sweet shivers in every spot he touched, sparking like needle pricks with every squeeze and brush. His lips brush into your neck with open mouthed kisses, bites and bruises peppered into your skin- Your nails dig into his shoulder, dragging down his front before your palms flatten, taking in the feeling of his body against your fingertips. “Sebastian~.. Mmnn..” Your head tilts back with a sweet chirpy moan, giving the man all the access he could ever want to your body, thoughts swirling behind your closed eyes, dizzy with the slur of alcohol inebriating your finer thinking ability. Yoba, you didn’t care- Couldn't care less towards the fact.

Sebastian bites against the strap of your bra, the elastic snapping against your shoulder before he mouths at your collar bone, sinking down to the valley of your breasts, bent over to press tender kisses and love bites into the once untouched and hidden skin. You reach back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, picking at the stubborn latch to free your tits, feeling the wet spit of his kisses linger coolly with the huff of his breath.

“Hahh.. Shit..” His voice pipes up again. Kisses come back up, arms wrapping snug around your body to squeeze you into him, tits squishing into his nude chest all soft and pretty, the rougher poke of his necklace making an imprint into your skin. His hands are grabby, arms flexing to hug and pull at you, teeth sinking into your neck, over your collarbones, wet kisses smothered up your jaw to your awaiting lips.

“S-Seb-!” He only groans in response, head nodding as if to say ‘I Know,’ pierced lips dragging into your skin with the movement. Your hands grab his face, cupping his jaw on either side, thumbs caressing in rough swipes, feeling the subtle grain of his shaved face under the pads of them. You grab back at him, palm sliding down his neck, massaging into the bob of his Adam’s apple, against the slope of his shoulder into that tender trap muscle, skin soft with peach fuzz until you move to his chest, feeling the slightest wiry rough of chest hair, barely enough to frame his torso. You rub the expanse of his chest, hands between your pressed bodies, kissing hot and sloppy, tongues swirling, lips fully parting to moan into his mouth as your thumb brushes over his bare nipple, feeling the hard metal of a piercing. It sends a thick course of arousal to your core, throbbing behind the press of your pants. 

You squirm, rubbing your thighs together for a sweet release, anything to feel the sticky heat of friction against your budding arousal- Yoba you don’t have to chase it though. 

It's like he reads your mind, his hand allowing itself to press between your legs, long and dexterous ring-clad fingers pushing against your mound in a caress, palm pressing richly hot pressure against your clit. Your lips part in another moan, eyes rolling softly, allowing your lashes to flutter into a dreamy close, body melting as if you were moulded out of thick molasses. Things were getting hotter - Heavier - Pleasures beginning to spark under fingers and they soothe and caress, as Sebastian’s palm grounds rough at the seam of your pants, fingertips pressing their pads against your clothed fluttering hole. Your lips part from his with a breathy gasp, his name hot on your tongue, barely whispered, those syllables rounded as you suck air into your starving lungs. Yoba, it's all you can say - A mantra of his name over and over with every few seconds, spewing from your lips as if you knew nothing else. 

He breathes your own name back to you, rasped off of his pierced tongue before his kisses are on your throat, nose nuzzling in slow shakes of his head. His hand comes up, swiping the button to your pants with his thumb and forefinger, zipping down the fly enough for him to connect closer - His fingers dip behind your panties, the taught elastic band surely digging into the back of his hand as he glides his digits over your drooly folds. He outwardly groans, another ‘Fuck’ grit through his teeth. You whimper, head leaning into him for comfort, thighs squishing around his teasing hand. Ohhh that was it- The sweet dip of his long middle finger sinking into your wetness, past the weepy ring of your cunt, coated in sweet drool as he dares to curl. You bite into your bottom lip, a long and keened hum following his actions.

“God- Yoba..” He stains, his finger working its magic, curling sweet caresses, a beckoning of ‘come here, come here!’ over and over again. “You’re so.. Fuck- so wet..” He says in bewilderment, tongue running over his kiss-bitten lips, past the metal pierced through them. You nod, an ‘All f’you’ about to drip off of your tongue if it weren't for the grind of his palm sparking a delicious pressure against your clit- Instead you moan, a pathetic affirmation of a noise whining out. One became two, the slip of his ring finger clad with a ring, in fact, easily being stained with the sweet and creamy nectar of your cunt.

Oh, how he works them into you. Cupping your pussy with his lean hand, lengthy fingers rolling sweet curls against the gummy little spot inside of you, giving you his palm to grind back on, lips kissing at the top of your head, huffing an enamoured chuckle each time you clench your squishy thighs against the bone of his wrist and the dig of his bracelets. Yoba, it forces him to be rougher with you, a game to push past the tight trap of your thighs, free himself from the confines all so he could fuck into you. You look up at him, eyes glassy from the abuse of his fingers, pressing right where you needed him. You flutter a blink, bubbles of tears threatening to fall past your bottom lash, doe and unfocused with a pouty bite to your lip.

“Hohhh.. Fuck, that's it.” He holds you into him as your legs go jelly-soft, a hot wash of ditzy dizziness creeping up your knees as his fingers fuck and curl. He stares right at you, brows furrowed in an upward pinch, a tug of a frown born out of hot arousal and focus appearing right at the corner of his lip. Your breaths hitch, rapid, in pace with a sinful hiccup tainting any feeble attempt at speaking-

“Seb.. ast-tian~” It's almost like a warning, sharp with arousal and stuttered in pleasure, breathed inward as you gasp, hands fisting into the fabric of his open button-down like a lifeline.

“Hmmn?” He hums with a nod - Right there. Sebastian was right where you needed him, his fingers mashing into that supple little spot inside of you, that sweet and spongy swell that had your brain all foggy. “What is it, Princess..?” The name alone had you melting further than you thought was possible, your entire body rippling with a sensation that felt as though you were on fire. Your fingers tighten on the fabric of his shirt, chin tilting up in a desperate plea, lip bitten raw and in need of more kisses.

Of course, he obliges, hearing your begs despite the lack of a peep chirped from your throat - Slow and deep - That's how he kisses you. Capturing your lips with a sweet bite of teeth, tongue caressing your own with a loving lick, out of time with the hot and feverish way his fingers fuck your cunt. The juxtaposition only adds to the wobble in your body, coming closer and closer to the very edge, moans drunk up by his lips, swallowed with a happy humming in his throat. One hand comes off of his shirt collar, fingers curling around Sebastian's arm, your soft palm feeling the bump of his wrist bone press into it, greedily pushing him into you while your hips hump back on his digits.

“I..- I’m.!” You can barely formulate your sentences, whipped thicker than cream under his spell, the sinful caress of his fingers beckoning in your cunt.

“Fuckk, Babe.. S’okay- I gotcha’..” Sebastian promises. You cling to him for dear life, your body leaning its weight against him, pushing him further into the wedge of shelves supporting the both of you. You feel it, that spark right at the bottom of your tummy, twisting and turning, firing into ignition as your thighs clench and squirm. So close- So, so close!

Any attempt at a legible sentence is easily cut with a gaspy whimper, crying out as you cream over his knuckles, properly messing up the fabric of your panties with gushy slick, bleeding pat and surely leaving a messy wet spot on your pants. Even with the taut press of your waistband limiting the man’s movements, he doesn't let up, curing those lengthy fingers through the rush of your orgasm, feeling the clenchy release lovingly pulse on his knuckles. He works you through it, eyes wide and enamoured with the way he had you, closer than arm's length, the sole reason for the sweet bliss that rushed through your body - “Shit- That's it.. Thaaat’s it- Fuck.. Look at me.. Look at me-” You obey, fucked out eyes flicking up to his, seeing the wash of arousal pool and swirl behind his dark lashes, his lip bitten bruised as he focuses on you, enamoured. “Feels good? Hmmn?” He nearly begs for reassurance, huffing a relieved laugh when you nod, your body twitching with each sweet pulse.

His lips attack yours, hungry and hot, throat groaning up a delicious noise you couldn’t help but eat up, body on fire with the way his palm rides you through the remnants of your hot burst of arousal. 

“Fuck..” His hand softens its press, fingers giving a last curl before he carefully pulls them from the confines of your pants. They're drenched and sticky, dribbles of arousal sticking to his fingers like a lattice, spider webbing with a sinful drip that had you clenching your thighs once again. It drips over his rings, cream and slick mixing with the precious metal, soaked knuckles curling as his lips part, tongue lapping a lick before they’re suckled into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is near animalistic, needy and punched from the depths of his lungs, his own arousal going painfully unnoticed only pressing harder and stricter against the seam of his jeans. The man murmurs, words raspy-hot on his tongue; “Need more of’ya-”

It felt almost comical to describe the next moments as a blur, but the post-orgasm airiness lingering in your boozed tipsy brain had your perception flicking with a whack of whiplash. Turned from your position, the skin of your naked back now pressing into a collection of forgotten Holiday decorations, a slight itch thanks to the plastic of a faux wreath. Your pants are tugged down, eager fingers hooking into your waistband and stripping you of your bottoms, it's a short fumble, hot and clumsy, the air within the closet turned stuffy with breath and sweet arousal-induced sweat. 

Hands are on you, flat palms squishing into the flesh of your bare thighs, fingers still slick, pressing their pads into the sensitive, rarely caressed skin - Thumbs daring to dig just enough to have you squirming. His lips are next, sharp with the bud of his piercings and the nips of his teeth, daring to suckle a bruising kiss against your inner thigh, piping up a squeak from your throat, another call of his name. You search for Sebastian in the dim, eyes focusing on the milk of his skin reflecting off of the crack of light, his being nestled comfortably between your legs. His dark hair parts with an affectionate caress of your fingers, looping themselves through his locks to pat him. He hums against your flesh, warm on your skin, breath moist with humidity born out of the hot and tacky stick of arousal leaching into the air from your bodies.

He smacks his lips on the skin of your thighs, itching up and up, further into the centre of your heat, nails digging loving crescent marks into your skin with every eager grope. He kisses against your bikini line, right by the taut elastic hugging at your upper leg, hiding away the sweetness of your cunt behind a wall of silky pantie fabric. He nuzzles his nose into the crevice connecting your thigh to torso, the point of it dragging over your clothed cunt with an affectionate press accompanied by a shameless inhale. Sebastian sighs something dreamy, lips peppering kisses that had your breath hitching, right over the mound of your heat - So pretty and accentuated with the tight and taught pull of your panties, outlining the swell of your pussy. Yoba, he swallows thick, gulping down saliva that dared to pool under his pierced tongue. 

Your arousal sticks to his lips, pooling a clear wet spot in your panties, a target for him to kiss at, to tentatively lick at, feeling the slick remnants of your previous orgasm wet on his tongue. He groans- More of that taste on his tongue, eyes heavy as they look up at you, washed over with need. Your fingers twitch, straining against his scalp, tugging his dark strands enough to have him diving right in.

His lips latch to your clothed cunt, impatient to get more of you on his tongue. The soft prick of his lip piercings press a spiky pressure on your sensitive mound, a reminder harsher than the eager lap of his tongue- Yoba.. Fuck- His tongue, strong and flat, licking between your pantie clad folds, adding his own drooly spit to the mess staining the poor fabric. His lips purse against your pussy as he indulges, eyes fluttered shut, thick, dark brows creased into an affectionate scrunch, full of focus.

“O-Ohhh.. Seb… I’m.. I need..” You breathe past the burn of your lungs, panting with jolty huffs each time his lips and tongue brush over the fabric covering the sensitive bud of your clit.

“Hmm.. Mhmmn-” He hums, smacking a harsh kiss before he pulls off, “Need to- Fuck, need my tongue on you. Gotta-” He shakes his head, kissing at his teeth with a ‘tut’ before his thumb dares to leave your thigh, hooking at the fabric of your panties in a motion to pull them aside. He looks to you, a thick gulp down his throat as he watches your head bob- Nod, nod, nod goes your head, almost in desperation to just feel him again, fingers curling in his hair, clenched with arousal and the budding frustration to just make him take you already. Yoba, he was sweet, though, the sentiment of him asking such things, checking in with a silent ask for consent, making your back teeth grit in hot enamourment.

Sebastian takes it, your gifting nod, and eagerly yanks your underwear to the side. His thumb pulls your panties taut, shifted aside to show off the wet glisten of your folds, gushy with your last orgasm, puffy and swollen thanks to the prior abuse of his fingers, good enough to kiss-

Obviously, he does. Planting a wet and obnoxious open-mouthed kiss to your budding clit, lips smacking together before he properly dives into you, selfishly savouring all the sweetly creamed arousal you had for him. You gasp, fingers tightening in the twirls of his hair, surely enough to leave a harsh sting but Yoba- It doesn't seem like he cares. If anything it spurs the man on, a hot groan erupting from his chest, lips parting, the prick of his piercings digging a delicious pressure into your cunt. He’s messy with you, hungry slurps uncaring of the vulgar noise - The sharp and uncomfortable itch of the Holiday wreath biting at your skin was incomparable to the searing hot pleasure ripped from your pussy, stinging with overstimulation, forcing an endless string of whines from your lips.

Your throat hiccups, panting hot swears and the syllables of his name, rounded easily from your lips as he takes to you. It's easy for another orgasm to threaten your body, the feeling eager to roll from your cunt, twisting sweet and stabby like a suckled on candy cane, licked into a pin-thin spike poking at your gut- Especially with the works of Sebastian's tongue, swirly with his movements, tongue fat and flat as the metal ball of his piercing kisses at the bud of your clit in his rhythmic laps. He’s vocal with you, only spurring you on; Sweet hums tainting each breath he sucked in, feeble attempts to get oxygen in his lungs. You’re not sure he cares, not with the hearty mash of his lips against your mound, pursed with a stingy-sweet suckle directed right against your clit, teeth grazing at the supple soft swell of your pussy. 

You can’t help the hot babble, the filthy cry you speak next, steadily rushing to the very edge- Wanting to just take him- Damn any refractory period, you needed to feel the pulsy stab of his length drilling you over the edge. 

“Fuck me- Please- please, please Sebby just- Ahhnn..~” You whine, fingers giving his hair some grace, opting to feverishly pet him, clumsy affection in your fingers as you work them in a soothe. “Want you- Want you so, so bad- Y’know? F’so long-” You don't have to convince him.

He pops off of your cunt- Not without leaving several plants of hot kisses, pecking hotly on your clit before he tugs your panties down. His cock comes free with the jangle of a belt buckle, the leather sliding from his belt loops with a zip, metal buckle daring to clank on the floor before he’s working at the button and zip of his fly. His lips kiss at yours, the taste of your cunt on his tongue, sweetly salty and drenched in arousal, twinged with the last remnants of spicy nicotine and cream-sweet eggnog, swapped with the swirly spitty lap of your tongues mingling together in a hot collide.

It feels like a hot blur, motions moving quickly, Sebastian's arm jutting as he fists his free cock- Weepy dribbly tip all swollen and pink, finally free from the tight seam of his jeans. You squirm, lips clumsy on his own, arousal knocking you into an instinct-driven motion, oh so needy, “Seb..- Please.. Fuck… Fuck me~” You beg, muted between hot kisses, words slurred with the lick of his tongue, cutting you off with his mouth.

You move in tandem, arms throwing themselves around his neck as he grips the squish of your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his lean hip, hooking you into him as he lines himself up. He pops off of your lips enough to breathe, murmuring filthy things against them, coated in hot spit and your sweet arousal; “M’gonna fuck you- Promise, God- Yoba I promise, Princess-” He throws more sweet pet names your way, “Wanted me? Hmm? Wanted- Fuck.. Wanted you f’so long..” He promises. You feel the pudge of his cock press to your cunt, sparking a drooly clench of your drippy hole. He grinds on you, hips rolling, tip weeping as if it were crying, dribbling its milky pre over your puffy clit, pathetically kissing against your folds as his hips rut.

“Fuuuuckkk..” The ring of your cunt hugs his tip, suckling him in as he finally makes an effort to press in, he groans out a moan, matching the supple whine of your throat as you take him. Slow and sweet was something that could surely come later- The pressing itch of desperation easily taking over between you. Heavy rolls turn into needy fucks, hips jutting, pudgy cock tip making love to your cervix, kissing hot and lovingly hard pecks against the sweet mush in the depths of your pussy.

It's easy for his hips to roll into you, the base of his cock pounding against your mound, grinding the wiry curls that decorated him into the sensitive bud of your clit. Plap, plap, plap goes his hips on yours, skin to skin, sticky and sweat sheened, tacky to the touch as your bodies collide. You brace one arm on a shelf behind you, swiping off any stray decorations with a clamouring clutter, mystery items bouncing off into the depths of the closet, rolling on the floor. Your other arm hangs loosely on his neck, doe eyes fucked out and glossed as they look up at him, lips parted sweetly, kiss bitten and spit-shined, captured in a heated tongue and teeth-filled kiss before Sebastian groans. 

“Everythin’ I fucken’ dreamed of-” It's said between gritted teeth, his gaze snapping from your wet eyes to your drooling cunt, huffing an arousal filled chuckled laced up in disbelief, seeing that drooly ring of cream coat over his length, making a mess between yourselves. “So fucking perfect- Fuhhhck m’not gonna last long- Hahh.” You nod in agreement, eyes closing, that bubble of tears falling down your cheeks with a streak. Closer and closer came the tight twist of your next orgasm, your poor and abused pussy clenching loving squeezes on his cock, spurred on with the hot sting of overstimulation- Your thigh cramped, spread over his hip for him, tits bouncing with every thrust, lungs stuck in a sweet burn.

Your skin sweats, lips drool, eyes blink all glossy and dumb, brain firing off every time you have the pleasure of looking at him- Closer, closer - Your clit throbs, hips pathetically humping back into his fucks, chasing the hot high that threatened to gush!

There's sudden laughter, slurred and obnoxious, rasped from an all-too-happy voice. It leaks from beneath the crack in the door, the outside world leaching into your little space, a phantom chill washing over your body as if the door has swung open to the fresh fall of snow that blanketed the street. A crash occurs, a feminine voice scolding someone, furniture scraping against the wood floor of the outside. You hadn't noticed your attention had wandered, not until Sebastian grips your chin, turning you back to lock into another searing kiss-

“Oiii-” A fist bashes against the door, rattling the thing on its hinges. Sebastian’s hand moves, coming between your legs to rub at your poor bud- The fiery thrill of a threat- A burning fear of being caught by a drunken Sam had your body twitching. Sebastian seemed to feel the same, making something of a challenge to get you off before the blonde had the audacity to finally clear the doorway. “Ha- ‘ave you kissed yet?” Yoba knows you’ve done so much more.

Sebastian presses you harder into the shelves, hips snapping rough, filthy words spat into your ears as his hand worked overtime on your poor clit- His hips roll sloppily, breathes coming into a hard and slow pant, huffing in your ear- “Fuck.. M’ Gonna fucken’ cum- Yeah? G-Gonna take it? Hmmn? Look so pretty like this-” he babbles, tone heavy in his throat. “Gonna make it up t’you- Yeah? Promise.. Hnng fuck- P-Promise..” His fucks turn snappy, jut, jut, jutting- Punching at your poor cervix, cunt mashing against the base of his cock.

“Seb- As.. Tian~” You choke, head lulling back with an eye roll, teeth biting into your lips as you finally gush again, wetting his cock with a weepy clench of your pussy, filthily kissing at his length, adding to the wonderful mess between your legs. So sweet and squeezy, your velvety walls massage the length of his cock as you cum, pussy suckling him in, inviting the hot pulse of his own orgasm with a loving hug.

His hips snap in sharp staccatos, throat stuck in a perpetual growl with each lingering fuck as he spurts. He creams into you, hot and ropey filling up the depths of your sweetness, milked off by your squeezing. His sweaty forehead comes to rest in the crook of your neck, fingers holding your thigh up squeezing a grab, a stingy dig of his nails leaving desperate crescent marks behind. He rasps a drawn-out groan, nosing into the tacky, sweaty skin of your neck, mouthy kisses back on your shoulder, just adding to the bitey kiss marks he’d left on you already.

You jolt when another knock rasps against the door, sloppy and full, thunks formed by a fist connecting to the wood. “Alright, you guys, you've definitely been in there long-e-fucking-nough." Sam’s voice calls with a snort, a failed attempt at stifling his laughter. “Don’ make me open this door~” He sings.