Bunny

Mike Wheeler believed himself to be a very lucky man. As luck went, it seemed like he'd consistently received more than his fair share, yet somehow, there was always more to go around.

In his fruitful luck, Mike had miraculously aided in saving the world, defying all odds and somehow living to tell the tale. He'd also been able to snag a last minute seat in his freshman Introduction to Publishing class, where he'd luckily met the son of the most influential publisher in the North East, who was luckily very interested in Mike's authorship.

His most recent bout of luck had come the first week of winter break. He'd come back home to Hawkins, excited to see his friends and ready to catch up on lost time. His parents were on a trip to Florida for Holly's dance competition, luckily set to return a couple days after Mike had arrived, leaving Mike home alone.

The rest of the party wouldn't arrive in Hawkins until around the same time, but ever so luckily, you'd arrived first.

So in the spirit of luck, fate, and the Holy Powers That Be, Mike, desperate to finally have something to show for the three years he'd wasted pining timorously after you, cashed in the remainder of his luck and invited you to spend the night at his house, just like old times.

Luckily, you'd said yes.

But what Mike didn't realize, in his present luck-induced euphoria, was that his luck would eventually run out. There, in the dimly lit basement of his childhood home, surrounded by a pizza box, chip bags, and the light smell of underground mildew, with your pajama-clad body spread out peacefully on the opposite side of his couch.

There was a reason he'd allowed himself to pine after you for all these years- he couldn't get himself to talk to you without sounding like a complete idiot. He often couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth, really, and so, he'd decided it was better to yearn in secret. Poor guy.

Mike was usually (keyword there) very outgoing. He'd been the leader of the party, the Dungeon Master, the one everyone depended on to call the shots. But when it came to you and your beautiful eyes, kind features, and bold personality, Mike found himself regressing.

He became shy around you, unsure, not wanting to trip over his words in fear of ruining any shot he had with you. He'd known you’d never hold that against him, but you were just so beautiful, so perfect, and you reverted him to a meek puddle of the man he could be whenever you were near. Pitiful really, but Mike never said he was unhappy.

So there, in his basement, with a mindless sitcom playing in the background, laugh track rudely interrupting Mike's precious brainstorm for conversation starters, Mike realized that his luck had finally run dry.

You both were so close, in an empty house with no responsibilities, but Mike couldn't think of a single appropriate thing to say in order to take the night in the direction he wanted it to go.

He'd thought his luck would grant him a couple of good pick-up lines, or maybe just enough confidence to slide up next to you, anything. So far, everything you both had spoken about had been completely, utterly, and entirely mundane.

It's not that Mike didn't care about how college had gone for you, nor you for him. On the contrary, he'd drunk up every word you'd said with genuine interest.

The issue lay with your sheer cotton long-sleeve and no bra, which had your nipples pebbling deliciously in the cool December night. Mike had noticed them immediately, and for the entirety of the night, his brain had been plagued by insufficiently effective ideas on how to address the problem at hand.

He wanted something more like his problem in your hand.

And he'd been absolutely losing his mind about it.

You’d been watching Mike for a while- not in a creepy way, just in that unmistakable you’re being observed and I know you know way.

He cleared his throat. Again.

“You keep doing that,” he said.

“Doing what?” you asked, innocently in the most fake way possible.

“That,” he said, gesturing vaguely at you. “The looking.”

You grinned. “I’m allowed to look at you. You’re my best friend.”

“That feels like a loophole.”

You shrugged. “I think unprompted looking is allowed in Clause C, Section 2 of our friendship code. ”

He laughed despite himself, then immediately realized that laughing was a mistake because now you’re smiling wider, eyes bright like you’d just unlocked a new achievement.

Mike shifted, the couch creaking traitorously.

You tilted your head. “You okay there, Wheeler?”

He groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “You are doing this on purpose.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, adjusting yourself so that you were laying facing him. "You're acting weird, and I'm going to keep staring at you until I figure out why." You squinted your eyes in his direction.

"I am not acting weird," he huffed, reaching for a slice of pizza. Maybe he could conceal his internal battles by shoving his face.

"You are so acting weird. I've known you forever. You're acting all skittish, like," you paused to make a motion with your hands, "like a mangy cat."

“You’re sho kin’,” he said, speaking through a mouth full of pizza.

You pursed your lips knowingly, shooting him a look that read more "I know all your secrets," rather than "I am a kind and loving friend! Trust me!".

"Mike, c'mon. Are you worried about school? I thought all your classes were going well?"

He shook his head as he chewed, "It's not school, I'm fi-"

"Is it girls?" You cut him off.

Mike began to choke on his pizza.

Your eyes lit up in delight. "Gotcha!"

You shimmied yourself over to him, offering two friendly pats to his back to help the choking subside.

Mike was very outgoing, yes, but his fatal flaw had always been that he wore his heart out on his sleeve. In your years of friendship, you'd learned to read him like a book. Mike wore his emotions on his face and through his actions. He would practically reek of feelings, his vibe shifting outwardly to match whichever sensation most plagued him.

"It's, n-no-, fuck, it's not that," he finally breathed out once his attack died down, placing the slice back in the box.

"Mike," you shot him another knowing look. "You can talk to me. Wouldn't it be nice, to y'know, talk about your girl troubles with a girl? I could have valuable insight!"

"Dude, no way you're a girl?" he joked, eyes wide in fake surprise. You slapped him in the arm, his laugh light.

"I'm serious, you ass!" You nudged him lightly with your leg, both of you sinking into the side of the basement couch. You weren't terribly close, but enough to touch each other without having to reach much.

Mike sighed, ultimately cornered under your watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing, really, I don’t know,” he shook his head in exasperation, “I just need to stop getting so, like, nervous all the time.”

You looked at him with understanding, warm eyes urging him to continue. “What do you mean by nervous?”

“Shit, like, I see a girl, okay right, she’s attractive,” he spoke animatedly, “and I know what I want to say, but then I speak and it all comes out wrong and I end up sounding like a fucking idiot and she looks at me weird and runs away!”

You hummed, nodding your head slowly. “Why do you think it’s hard for you to talk to them?”

Mike had finally caught on to what you were doing. “Are you doing your therapist shit on me right now?”

You glared at him. You were a third year psychology student at NYU, studying hard in hopes of one day earning a PhD. You’d done two years of dual enrollment at Hawkins Community College, so you were fast-tracked to enter your master’s program in a couple years. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but let your education seep into your friendships, seeking always to provide the tools to assist them with whatever it was that troubled them.

“Yes I am, now answer the question. It could help!”

He rolled his eyes at you, pulling a throw pillow onto his lap for comfort.

“I’ve never been confident when it comes to girls, you know this. Girls usually don’t like guys who aren’t athletic or don’t work out or whatever. I’m- I’m a freak to them most of the time, and it’s hard to get past that first impression. I guess I get scared that I’ll say the wrong thing before I even say anything, and then it goes downhill from there.”

“That’s not necessarily true, Mike. Lots of girls would be delighted to be with you,” you offered.

“Yeah, maybe. I just wish I could wake up one day, y’know, and be different. I wish I had the confidence to say what I needed to without sounding stupid.”

You thought for a second before an idea came to you. “What if you didn’t need to be different? There’s exercises you could do to bypass that, maybe. We just learned about some.”

He looked at you with wary eyes. “Exercises?”

Okay, maybe not necessarily exercises. More like experiments. You had a feeling, a hypothesis if you will, that if Mike paired his communication issues with a high-stress environment, his cognitive output would become distracted, ultimately overwhelming himself and releasing his ‘tongue-tie.’ Once he did that, he’d subconsciously realize that it was okay and normal to say whatever it was he needed to say, and boom, he’d be cured. Maybe. Possibly.

You nodded, “you gotta stay with me here okay. You’d need to simulate a high-stress environment, um, somewhere you’d feel like, uncomfortable or nervous. But it needs to make you feel substantially more nervous than talking to a girl would. It has to override that feeling, sorta.

“Then, I’d ask you questions that would simulate a conversation with a girl. Since you’d be focusing on two things at once, the goal would be that the greater stressor, situation one, would overpower the minor stressor, the communication issues, and you would basically distract yourself into forgetting about how you can’t talk to girls because you’ll be caught up in the major stressor. Does that make sense?”

Mike was confused as to the details, but understood the general principle. You were basically trying to distract the nervousness out of him, and it seemed plausible. He just didn’t know what kind of environment you both could simulate to get the desired outcome, but it was worth a shot.

“O-okay, sure, yeah.” He agreed, gripping the pillow a tad tighter.

Your face lit up with joy, excited to get your exercise on its way.

You cleared your throat as you settled in next to him, using your hands to put emphasis on your words, “so we would need to brainstorm. Think of stuff that would stress you out, but be realistic. No skydiving, or failing a math test, or whatever.”

Mike nodded, gears churning in his brain.

“Well, for one, girls-“

“We can’t do that, the variables would be too similar. Next one.”

“Okay, uhhh, haunted houses?”

“Mike,” you warned, “you’ve literally fought real-life monsters and you’re stressed out by haunted houses?”

He shrugged, “fine, um, let me think.”

You both sat in silence for a while, TV still playing mindlessly in the background. Mike was deep in thought, committed to finding something that would work well for the exercise.

“Sex.” He finally spoke, eyes shifty and nervous, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Oo-kay,” you sing-songed, “sex. Right. Actually, it's a pretty normal choice, statistically speaking.”

“But, like, how do we, y'know, use that for the exercise?” He brought a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing oddly for comfort.

“Well,” you swallowed, wracking your brain for any uses you could think of. “I don’t think it would be fruitful to simulate sex itself, but maybe like a part of it?”

“A part of it,” Mike repeated, heart starting to beat a bit faster.

“Yeah, a part of it. Sometimes most experiments and exercises don’t require a subject’s full exposure to the variable. Sometimes, a partial exposure works just as well.”

“So what, you want me to have partial sex?” His voice squeaked.

“No, silly, just like, something sexual? I think it would distract you just like you need it to.”

Mike opened and closed his mouth a couple times, searching for the appropriate thing to say. He felt like a fish out of water.

Feeling his apprehension, you began to backtrack. “It’s okay, you don’t have to. It might be a bit strange. We can think of another way,” you offered, looking to avoid a Michael Wheeler panic attack.

He shook his head, much to your surprise. “No, no, I…I think you’re right. This could help. It’s just, wow, um, I could, maybe, touch myself? Would that work?”

“Yeah, yeah it could, but I don’t want to freak you out with anything, so really, we don’t have to.” You offered him a small smile, finally meeting his gaze. He looked unsure, and you hoped he wasn’t doing this for the sake of not shutting down your idea.

“I want to, yeah. Let’s do it.” Mike didn’t even know why he was agreeing to this. He was having a hard time grappling with the fact that he’d need to be naked and touching himself in front of you before he’d even confessed his feelings. It seemed like he was skipping a few steps there.

But this small part of him, a tiny minuscule part hidden under the nerves and anxiety, was grateful for the opportunity. If this exercise failed at getting him over his tongue-tie, he hoped it would change something between you both. While you were being exceptionally clinical about it all, which he partially appreciated, deep down, he wanted you to feel some sort of way about this- about him doing this in front of you.

“Okay. Cool. I really think this will work. Just, get situated, and I’ll ask you questions. It’s gonna feel super uncomfortable at first, but just remember that it’s for the greater good, and you can stop at any time.”

He removed the pillow from his lap, awkwardly wiping his clammy hands on his thighs.

You scooted closer- just enough that your knee brushed his thigh. Deadly casual.

“You’re very cute when you’re flustered,” you told him.

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Mmhmm. And thinking very loudly.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” you said. “I can practically hear the gears churning in there,” you gestured to his head.

He exhaled and looked at you- really looked at you now. His cheeks were pink and his eyes a little too focused, like he’d been deciding whether he’s brave enough to jump off this cliff.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said.

You hummed. “Maybe.”

There’s a beat. Then another.

He shifted again, slower this time, like he’s finally given up pretending nothing’s happening.

“You’re not gonna make fun of me,” he said.

You softened just a touch. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted with a smile. “But only affectionately,” you said with a wink.

He laughed, breathy, shaking his head. “God, you’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you said, leaning in just enough to lower your voice, “you haven’t told me to stop.”

That does it.

He swallowed. His eyes flicked down, then back up to your face, like he’d been checking the exit signs one last time before deciding to stay seated.

“…You’re not gonna look away?” he asks.

“Nope.”

He let out a long breath, a half-laugh. “You’re evil.”

“Correct.”

Another pause. This one was heavier, but still playful, buzzing with the type of tension that felt slightly ridiculous and extremely charged.

He finally nodded, just once. “Okay. But if I die from embarrassment, that’s on you.”

“I’ll put it on your headstone,” you say. “Died for science.”

That earned you a snort, which somehow made the moment better instead of ruining it.

He settled back against the couch, shoulders loosening as he realized- oh. It wasn’t scary. It was just… vulnerable. And you were right there, watching him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your chin propped in your hand, eyes warm and unmistakably interested. You were curled up next to him, your warm legs burning a hole into the side of his thigh.

His hands started towards his zipper, but hesitated slightly once they reached the button.

“Wow,” you said after a moment, thoughtful. “You really do overthink everything.”

He groaned. “Please don’t narrate.”

“Fine,” you said. “But just so you know-”

He sent you a hard glance.

You smile, slow and unapologetic. “You’re doing great.”

He returned his gaze down towards his cock, now slightly inflated in his pants. He was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that maybe he did like this, you watching him. It felt dirty, taboo even, and definitely unlike anything he’d ever thought about while touching himself.

Well, you were always there, of course, in every dirty fantasy of his. But when he touched himself at night, he more so imagined being the one taking on the leadership role, caring for you- guiding you. Instead, Mike was discovering how much he liked when you led him.

Mike bit his lip, refusing to meet your eyes, focused instead on his growing erection that seemed to spur itself on the more he thought of you watching him. Tentatively, his hand came to rest directly atop his erection, pushing down slightly with a soft roll of his hips.

He looked good enough to fucking eat. His pale skin was slightly flushed, and his hips were rolling in on themselves softly, but still desperate enough that you could tell he was holding himself back. You loved Mike like this, completely nervous and raw. You loved knowing that you made him like this, and that he would kiss the ground you walked on if you’d let him.

“How’s that?” You asked softly, eyes trained on the way he groped himself.

“N-not bad, yeah,” he responded breathily, voice cracking a bit.

You practically melted at the vulnerability in his voice. If you were a better woman, you’d let him be. You’d let him forget all about the deal you made earlier and just let him enjoy the moment. You wished you were better, really, but you had waited a long time to see Mike like this, and you were going to milk it for all it was worth.

“Do you like it,” you paused, “when I watch you?”

It was an innocent enough question. Nothing outwardly dirty or provocative- a basic understanding of what was happening would be enough to answer. Mike, however, who would become red in the face if you accidentally touched his hand, almost choked on the spit in the back of his throat as blood rushed to his cock.

Unable to trust his voice around you, he chose to nod quickly, hand gripping harder around his full erection. He had practically forgotten the second part of this exercise, arguably the most important part. He couldn’t think of what to say to you even if he’d wanted to, focused deeply on how he’d let you do absolutely anything you wanted to him at any point, forever.

You tsked in disapproval. “C’mon now Mike, we agreed on words.” You dragged your blunt nails over his knees for emphasis, reminding him of his purpose.

Shame shot through Mike at your touch, feeling his cock jerking in his hand. He was filled with this overwhelming sense to please you, to be good for you. He wanted to show you that he was capable of stringing together two fucking words in front of a hot girl. Most importantly, he wanted you to be proud of him for doing it.

Your touch lingered on his knee, fingers now rubbing soft, small circles overtop his jeans, slowly acclimating Mike to your touch.

“I- I do, I like every-, everything y’do,” Mike spilled out, chest starting to heave a little from exertion.

What in the everloving fuck was that. If he had half a mind right now, he would slap himself in the face and leave his own damn house. Not only did Mike basically admit to having a crush on you, but he didn’t even care. He was in this odd sort of headspace, aiming only to please, and somehow, he felt like the best way to achieve that was indeed to sound like a submissive virgin while he touched himself in front of you.

Luckily for Mike, his admission had your legs squeezing together like they were connected by magnets, pussy fluttering at his honesty. It was becoming quite hard to keep yourself together for him.

Instead, you returned to your role, your voice dripping honey. “Aw, that’s sweet, Mike, really. I think you deserve something special for how sweet you’re being, what do you think?”

He nodded lightly, hips coming to a stop in preparation for your next instructions. “Yeah, y-yeah, whatever you want.”

“Look at me,” you demanded, having adjusted yourself slightly so that your covered nipples were unobscured by your arms. Immediately, his eyes locked on yours. He was so easy for you, questioning nothing. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Take your cock out, Mikey,” you hummed lightly, following with a small giggle, “I wanna watch you for real.”

His mouth dropped open slightly at your request, eyes not breaking contact with yours. Nervously and with much incoordination, Mike managed to pull his zipper down, slip his pants off, and place his hand back on his cock while only breaking eye contact thrice. Small wins.

Once he realized what he did, his face flushed even redder, so incredibly nervous to be sitting like this before you. He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched you watching his cock, waiting for you to say something before he started again. The longer you stared, the more freaked out he became. Was he too much of a nervous wreck? Were you having second thoughts? Did you not want to do this with him?

One by one, evil thoughts began to plague his brain, and in true Mike Wheeler fashion, they began to show all over his face.

You were mesmerized by him, tall and proud, leaking small pearlescent beads of precum from the top of his red, leaky tip. It was so long, long enough to reach the back of your throat with more to spare, delicious and lengthy. It looked so soft, almost velvet to the touch, with one long vein running down the bottom of the shaft, begging for you to run your tongue along it.

You licked your lips hypnotically, caught in your own fantasies of Mike and blissfully unaware of the emotional wreck he was becoming beside you.

A small, frustrated groan pulled you from your reverie, a tiny pout marring your face in disappointment. Your features softened substantially once you realized the look on Mike’s face, once again so nervous that he seemed ready to bolt from the couch. You warmed slightly at his demeanor, finding his anxiety rather charming.

“What’s wrong?” you hummed, knowing rather well what he could be feeling.

Mike’s hand was no longer on his cock, instead balled into a fist at his sides. His nerves did nothing to discourage his length, however, which thrived in the novelty of the situation. Mike still didn’t know what to think. He knew he was highstrung, closer to a full blown crashout than he’d probably ever been, but not because he didn’t want to be here. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Simply, Mike was having a hard time adjusting to his role, not fully understanding that his shy, nervous attitude could act as an attractant instead of a repellent.

“What are you thinking?” He asked in response, desperate for your opinion to soothe his perpetual worries.

You thought about it for a second, choosing your words carefully. Mike’s heart was pounding in his chest the longer you took, preparing himself for a vicious rejection.

“I think,” you started, slowly rising from the couch, “that you look too good to not get a better view.” Slyly, you slipped onto the floor, in between his spread legs, now face to face with his angry cock, bringing your head to rest lightly on his knee. You could see his face perfectly, full of emotion and surprise. An absolutely perfect seat.

Mike was about to throw up. He felt like he was in a dream. Like he’d just taken a ride on the longest rollercoaster in America. Like he’d gone to Blockbuster and snagged the last copy of The Lost Boys with a box of M&M’s. He was absolutely out of his element, with you watching him expectantly between his legs. He silently blessed whoever had been looking out for him, and he’d come to the conclusion that he fully, totally, and wholly lucked out.

“How do you feel?” You spoke softly from the floor.

“Good, y-yeah, real good.” He spoke, just a bit rushed.

“Tell me more. You agreed, remember? Talk to me,” you added lightly, wrapping your hand around the back of his ankle lovingly, rubbing the cotton material of his crew sock lightly with your thumb.

He swallowed and looked up at the ceiling before settling in back on you.

“Well, fuck, ummmm, y’know, good’nstuff,” he mumbled, red in the face.

You huffed out a laugh, “good and stuff? Sweetheart, this is supposed to help you communicate in high stress situations. You do have to help yourself, though.”

He scoffed, as if it wasn’t a completely reasonable expectation to be nervous in a situation like this.

“It’s a bit hard to judge when you’re not the one naked and hard,” he said matter-of-factly, your name rolling off his tongue at the end.

“Would it help?” You countered. “If I took my shirt off?”

Mike may have been a loser, but he wasn’t an idiot. That would fucking rule.

But he had to play it cool. This was an exercise, after all.

“Only if you want to. I think I’ll be okay.”

You didn’t like that answer. You wanted feelings, real thoughts. Not what he thought you’d want to hear.

“No,” you shook your head, “Tell me straight. Do you want my shirt off?” Your eyes bore into his, tempting him to lie again.

He knew the act was up. Again, he was filled with that overwhelming urge to please you, to open up the deepest parts of himself and lay them out for you on a silver platter.

“Please,” he whispered, eyes closed for a brief moment, “take it off. I- I want to see you.”

Pressing a kiss to his knee, you voiced him a quick praise, lifting your shirt up from the hem, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

Mike sucked in a breath, his shaky hand subconsciously returning to his cock. You looked so good, carefree and calm, like you weren’t rocking his world with one simple action.

You leaned back against the coffee table, chest in full display before him. While it was supposed to ease his nerves, the sight of your bare torso made him a bit dizzier, in actuality.

“Better?”

“Yes, yeah, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled at him lightly. Now that he was settled, you urged him to continue.

“You can, y’know, start, if you want.”

He nodded in understanding, remembering again what was supposed to be happening. He watched you watch him, confidently sitting back between his legs, gorgeous tits taking up his field of vision. Soon, the throb in his cock got to be too much, and he began to alleviate himself with slow, shaky strokes.

He huffed a breath through his nose at the sensation, brows furrowed ever so slightly. He liked this, a lot more than he wanted to admit, and you hadn’t even begun asking him questions. It was different from his expectations for sex. He’d always believed that sex had to be this thing, an act that required set-up and commitment to follow through. But this was so casual, so free, and Mike was excited to be a part of it.

You squirmed a bit as you watched him touch himself, huffing out little gasps of pleasure, bottom lip catching between his teeth. You were so entranced by his movements, you forgot that you were supposed to be asking him questions. Unfortunately, you’d have to push your feelings to the side for a moment. For, uh, science.

“I’m gonna ask you stuff now, okay? The questions are supposed to elicit a, um, reaction. But try your best to answer truthfully and coherently. I’ll start off easy.”

You tried your best to not sound clinical, but there was no way to explain the parameters of the exercise without sounding like you’d need a labcoat and a legal pad.

He nodded in understanding, his hand still moving slowly.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You started. That was easy enough. He’d basically admitted his crush on you earlier, so you didn’t believe it to be too egregious of a start.

The pleasure in Mike’s groin was starting to build, if ever so slightly, meaning he was growing exponentially more disheveled as the time passed. He knew that his answers would lose coherence accordingly.

“Y-yeah, so pretty. Prettiest-ngh, girl I’ve ever seen.” He broke eye contact halfway through, choosing to sacrifice his gaze for comprehension. He didn’t think he’d be able to fully comply just yet.

You were tempted to praise him again, but you wanted this to feel as normal of a conversation as possible. “I think you’re pretty, too. Painfully handsome, actually.”

“Oh fuck, really?” His hand stuttered a bit as he registered what you said, ultimately gripping himself a little harder once he realized your comment.

“Yeah, I do. So, so handsome. I think about you sometimes. Do you think of me?”

He threw his head back at your admission, his hand moving a bit quicker, small drops of precum leaking out of his tip, spread slickly by his thumb.

“What the fuck,” he groaned out your name, his brain completely unprepared to deal with this. He was actually going to die. You thought of him? He hoped it was like this, dirty thoughts. Thoughts that matched his of you in the middle of the night.

Giggling, your hand grazed his knee in gentle reassurance, urging him to continue.

“Y-yes, all the-shit, all the time.” His hips started rolling softly again.

“What do you think about?”

You were unsure if you even wanted to know the answer. Mike was pent up, sure, but at least he got to put his hands on his cock to alleviate some of the surely building pressure. You were stuck squeezing your legs together in response to what was possibly the sexiest thing you’d ever see in your entire life, unsatisfied and forced to stay calm. You had to keep reminding yourself that you were doing this for him, not for you.

Mike used the little resolve he had left to wracked his brain for an appropriate answer, but ultimately came up short. He decided to just put his faith in the exercise, trusting himself to say the right things. In reality, he could only focus on two things at once, choosing those to be his cock and your tits.

“I think about you, ohgod, how fuckin’ p-perfect you are. So smart, funny, fuck-brave” he got cut off with a light groan, “think about us, sometimes, too. Alone.”

You leaned away from the coffee table, arranging your position so that you were seated on your knees. “And what do you think about, when you’re alone?” A kiss on his knee again.

“Fuck, I don’t k- stuff like this?” He was crumbling ever so slowly, his hand moving faster against himself.

“What’s ‘stuff like this’?” You hummed against his knee, trying to pry it out of him.

A pained groan left his mouth, “sexual s-shit, like this. I think about it with you.”

“Good job, that wasn’t that hard, hm? Do you think you’d like doing it with me?”

He nodded immediately, “Fuck yes, always yes, wan-wanted you…so fucking long,” his breath hitched at the end, almost whimpering. You had no idea what you were doing to him, so fucking innocently, like you were unaware of how hard he was trying to keep it together. Something about you, treating him like you almost didn’t care, was so unbelievably attractive. It surprised him that he’d even lasted this long.

“I’ve wanted you too, Mike. I want to do things with you, nasty fucking things,” you kissed both his thighs between words, “can I show you something?”

He expressed his agreement in a rather aggressive jerk of his head. You leaned closer to him, face mere inches away from his throbbing, red, beautiful cock, and took his wrist in your hand. His hand was dry, and you knew despite the desperation, it could always feel better. Without warning, you brought your lips to brush the head of his cock, so delicately. You parted your lips, and a fat, warm, dollop of spit landed right on the side of his cock, trailing slowly down towards the base.

Mike thought he was dead. Rest in fucking peace.

He was destroyed. Demolished. Annihilated. Obliterated. Mike had been fucked for every other girl for the rest of his life, because he would only ever be able to think of this moment. He’d think of it until he was blue in the balls. He’d think of it until he memorized every single detail.

Once you pulled away, a small string of spit connecting your lips to his cock, you noticed his chest heaving, eyes locked in on yours with his jaw slack. Beautiful and utterly fucked.

“Go on,” you prompted, back to your position on your knees, resting your ass on your heels.

“Holy fu-uck,” he spread your spit over himself, pumping with little resistance. He gripped his hand tighter around himself, desperate to come.

“Tell me what you think of,” you asked, head returning to his knee. You were so wet. You could feel your juices seeping through the cotton of your pajama pants, the wet spot growing to cover the tops of your inner thighs.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He’d tell you everything. Every dark fantasy, every secret thought, he didn’t care. He’d let the words flow, his need overcoming his nerves and shyness, both of those carelessly thrown halfway out the window.

“I think about your mouth, fuck, so warm…and w-wet,” it sounded more like a question, but he was too fucked to care, “wanna fuck you, y-yeah, all the fu-fucking time. Wanna make you feel so good, shit-like this. Let you- whatever you want, anything.”

You closed your eyes and let out a shallow breath as he continued. “Think about your tits, holy fuck, and wonder if you’d let me…let me come on them, sometimes. ”

He was so close, it wouldn’t take long at all. His brain was swarming with thoughts of you. You knew that it was probably the best time to keep asking him questions- he’d be raw and unfiltered, exactly what you think he’d need to get over his tongue-tied affliction. However, the room was about ten degrees hotter, and you were also beginning to lose your ability to think clearly.

“Y’gonna come, Mike?” You asked softly.

He nodded, hand working diligently to get him over the edge. All you could hear was the slick sound of his pumps harmonized with his heavy breaths.

“Can I help you?” You tried to stay strong, you really did, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Fucking shit, please,” he grunted out, knowing he wouldn’t need much.

You were at the point of ferality, and sure, you could’ve moved his hand and pumped him the rest of the way, or maybe suckled on his tip so that he came into your inviting mouth. But no. You wanted him to feel things, things he’d probably never felt. So you dipped your head, your warm, wet mouth coming to suckle softly on the center of his balls. They were heavy on your tongue, but the moan Mike let out was enough to make you hum with content.

He grabbed onto the back of your head by instinct, keeping you right where he wanted you. Before the back of his head even hit the couch, he was coming. His legs trembled while you sucked, running your tongue around the loose skin and savoring his salty taste.

He moaned your name loudly, pumping roped of cum onto his torso. He felt shattered, almost like he couldn’t remember where he was off the comedown. He was buzzing down to his toes, his whole body in a floaty state of euphoria.

You pulled off him with a pop, glassy eyes watching as Mike covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths, cum splayed over his clothed stomach.

After giving him some time to recharge, you spoke, weary voice splitting the silence.

“Try now,” you said.

“Hmmph?” He mumbled quizzically from beneath his hands, chest taking slow, deep breaths.

“I want to see if the exercise worked. Tell me something that would’ve made you nervous before.”

He removed his hands from his face and shot you a deadpanned look. “You couldn’t wait, I don’t know, until I wiped the cum off my shirt?”

You scrunched your nose, “No actually, Mike, I am a woman of science. I must know now. And also change your fucking shirt. Don’t just wipe.”

He rolled his eyes, lifting the shirt off his head, momentarily stark naked. He gathered up all his clothes, piling them in his hands while you put on your shirt.

“What would be considered a success? Based on the exercise,” he asked, walking up the basement stairs to dispose of his clothes in the hamper and put on pajamas.

“I don’t know,” you called, settling back down on the couch, “something you wouldn’t normally say without getting flustered. To a girl!”

Mike went up to his room pensively, thinking about what you’d said. As he shuffled through his drawers for a t-shirt and sweatpants, he realized that he didn’t physically feel any different than he did before you worked your psychological voodoo on him. Mentally, however, he felt like things between the both of you had shifted. The confessions from just a view minutes before were not lost to him, and he wondered if knowing that you felt the same about him made the idea of talking to you about his deepest thoughts easier to digest.

He’d made up his mind by the time he met you back in the basement. Running a hand through his tussled hair, he plopped down next to you and kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

You looked at him expectantly, patiently awaiting the results of your experiment. In all fairness, it was self-serving. Lucas had told you months ago how Mike felt about you, and you’d truthfully run out of patience with him to make a move. Luckily for Mike, you’d just finished a Sexual Psychology class at NYU, and you were more than happy to kickstart the beginning of your relationship for him.

Much to your satisfaction, Mike turned to face you, hand coming to cup your cheek. His eyes met yours and found acceptance, tenderness, and a hint of something else. Adoration, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. But he knew he’d wasted too much time with you already.

“I like you. A lot. I,” he sighed, “I wasn’t kidding…before. I have for a long time,” he ran his thumb delicately across your cheek. “And, I think about you, all the fucking time. I want to be with you, and fuck, that was so hot- you’re so hot. And truthfully, I think I like when you tell me what to do.”

You smiled into his palm at his confession. “I know.”

Now that caught him off guard. You could see the emotions flickering through his features, ultimately landing on confusion.

“Lucas told me in June, before we left,” another sheepish smile.

He took a minute to process the information, before letting out a shocked laugh.

“For the record though, Mike, I wasn’t lying either, earlier. I like you too. Lots. I wouldn’t mind thinking of you more.”

He dropped his head to your shoulder with a groan, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Then why didn’t you say anything? You knew I’d never be able to.”

You ran your hands through the back of his hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. Was that fucking Fabergé Organics? Whatever, you’d bug him another time for that.

“Actually, the exercise worked exceptionally well, I think. From your confession, and lack of intense stuttering, I can deduce that you’ve overcome your fear of talking to pretty girls.”

He pulled away, locking eyes with you, “you’re a genius, Doctor,” he joked, leaning in slightly to the point where your foreheads were touching.

You reciprocated, tangling your hands in his hair, brushing your lips with his, and whispered with a laugh, “I think gonna win a fucking Nobel prize.”

The Phoenix girls were out for drinks.

Well, not exactly out. The five of you lounged in your shared apartment with Courtney, or everyone knew as Inivisigal, wearing your most comfortable pajamas while snacking on junk food and bottles of cold cider.

The plan had been set from last week from a clean streak of dispatch work. Your Dispatcher, Robert Robertson, finally managed to get a hang of his gig and was able to efficiently guide your calls without any struggles. Although there were still mishaps here and there, a little brawl between the guys over their lack of synergy and one too many close calls, Z-team still came out unscathed and successful.

Now, the boys were out on their own thing. Most likely bar hopping in all villain spots on all sides of Torrance. You have no doubt in mind they dragged Robert into their shenanigans, and if they can manage to get him wasted by the end of the night, you owe them a lot of money.

Meanwhile, the girls were here in your apartment.

It's funny to think that all of you, former villains, gathered here today for a casual sleepover. The last sleepover you had was like—What? Ten years ago when you were in middle school.

It didn't take long for you to convince Visi to have them come here and spend the night. You figured, why not? It could be fun to be the host of this sleepover. Plus, the girls all brought their own food and drinks to share.

Malevola brought the cold ciders, opening a portal while carrying two trays. Her pajamas consisted of her usual tank top, and loose flannel pajama pants—comfy, yet efficient.

Prism brought all sorts of snacks, ranging from cheese crackers, twinkies, and spicy chips. You didn't ask where she got those, but you knew damn well a vending machine from the office would be mysteriously empty the next time you clock in.

And Coupé brought board games. Three to be exact, much to everyone's surprise. Not only was she a book enthusiast, you discovered she was fond of collecting board games as well.

After three hours of chaos, cheating, competitiveness, all three games were played and now you five were on the exciting part of the sleepover.

Gossip. Tea. Juice. Beef.

You name it.

SDN never ran out of it.

If your program was a mess, you were surprised to find out the others were just as crazy as your group. If not, way more hectic. Those guys were just better at hiding their drama than all of you.

The talk continued for another hour, until the topic gradually shifted into something else.

“Alright!” Prism raised her bottle to the air, sitting on the floor in her black tank and pink shorts. “It’s time for the juiciest part. Ladies, villainesses, hot bad bitches in the house! It's time for the mandatory game of fuck, marry, kill. Phoenix Program edition!”

Malevola sat up instantly. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Coupé hummed, her silky black pajama set gleaming against the lamplight. “Very well, I'd say kill for almost all of you. But I'm kinda tipsy, so we'll see if I changed my mind.”

You chuckled, elbowing Vis beside you on the couch. “You're so gonna get exposed, Vis.”

The dark-haired woman narrowed her eyes at you. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Taking a sip of your cider, you tossed her a knowing wink. “Sure you don't.”

Coupé looked at you. “Night, be a dear and pass me those cookies.”

Smiling, you tossed her the pack of cookies laying beside you. “Catch.”

Your villain name, Midnight, was a lazy attempt to sound cool and edgy because of your powers. Being able to blend in and disappear into shadows gives you an advantage of infiltrating the most secured hideouts, banks, and buildings. In the shadows, you were undetected. Not only that, controlling someone else's shadow was the fun part of it—sort of manipulating them like a puppeteer forcing their puppet to dance.

Or in your case, do unspeakable things.

Prism stood up, resting a hand on her hip.

“Rules are simple. Wanna fuck ‘em? Jerk the bottle. Marry? Raise those bitches! Kill ‘em off? Take a sip. Clear, ladies?”

“Crystal,” You smiled at her. “Who's up first?”

“First contender!” Prism snapped her finger, grinning widely. “He's hot. He's fiery. All flames and skin-tight V-neck glory. Flambae!”

Immediately, you took a small swig from your bottle. “Hard pass. Bastard still owes me ten bucks to this day. And he burned my sandwich.”

Beside you, Vis copied your action. “I bet he doesn't even know where or what a clit is, but insists he does. Anyone else have a feeling he's gay?”

On the floor, Malevola shrugged and shamelessly jerked the bottle. “Eh, what if he is? But you'd have to give me at least ten shots before I tap that ass.”

Coupé stayed silent for a while, then took a slow sip of her cider. “Too intense. I'm worried he'd accidentally burn me during sex.”

Unsurprisingly, Prism jerked her bottle. Then, with a wave of her hand, she simpered.

“Ain't that the fun part, girl? Who doesn't want a little heat in the climax? I know I do!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at your roommate. “You ever experienced that before? Go ghost when you're about to come?”

She blinked at you, her eyes widening in realization, before punching your arm.

“Fucking shut up, Night.”

“I'll take that as a yes.”

“You're a fucking bitch.”

“You love me.”

Prism opened her arm to the side in a dramatic flourish. “Second contender! Half genius, half pervert. All batty freak. Sonar!”

Malevola snorted, jerking her bottle again. “Been there, done that.”

Coupé, to your surprise, did the same motion hesitantly. “His disposition makes me curious.”

Prism shook her head, sipping her cider. “I'mma have to pass that. No judgement to you though, ladies!”

You laughed, already done with your sip. “Same here. But really, do you think he squeaks when he's close?”

Another snort escaped from Malevola, her golden scleras glinting. “He definitely does.”

Laughing, you slapped the couch repeatedly. “I fucking knew it!”

Your roommate groaned, another swig was down her throat. “Hey, I'm a freak. But not that much. Kinda scares me he'll turn batshit crazy in the middle of fucking. Hah, get it?”

“But that makes it all more exciting,” The demon countered, shivering in delight. “Plus, it was just a one time thing. He helped me realize I liked women more after that.”

The rest of the round went by in a blur.

Punch Up: Coupé jerked her bottle, the rest of you took a sip. He was sort of like an uncle of the group, and you cannot see him in any other way.

Golem: All bottles raised. The guy was a sweetheart, very marriage material.

Robert: All of you took a sip, but you did give Vis a side glance when she silently (and slowly) took a suspicious sip of her cider—to which she glared at you to keep quiet.

Prism even included all of you, and you were surprised when they all jerked their bottle once your name was mentioned. The scene made you double over in laughter, while Vis pretended to take a sip before raising it into the air.

“Aw, you'd marry me?” You batted your lashes at her.

She gave you an unimpressed look, though there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “You cook better than me. You'd be the perfect trophy wife.”

“Okay, fuck you.”

All of you laughed, before Prism took the floor again.

“For the final contender,” Her voice lowered, holding her bottle as if it were a mic. “He's new. He's nervous. But most importantly, he's wet. Our very own walking bidet. Waterboy!”

Oh, fuck.

Silence filled the room.

Not even a snort from Malevola, or a hum from Coupé. Meanwhile, you raised an eyebrow at all of them when they proceeded to drink in unison.

Your jaw dropped, bewildered. “Aw, what? He's cute, though. None of you are interested?”

Both Malevola and Coupé shrugged, while Vis and Prism grimaced.

“Well, he's cute.” The latter coughed, sounding completely otherwise. “Except for the fact he pukes the same water he cleans our office with. Yeah, hard pass.”

Pouting, you leaned back on the couch. “I think that's charming. Seriously? You don't think he's adorable?”

Coupé shot you a look of suspicion and curiosity. “Do you have opposing beliefs, then?”

Vis snickered, rolling her eyes. “Oh, you don't know? Night wants to fuck him.”

Gasps resounded from the three women, who all snapped their heads to look at you in question.

Well, there goes my secret. So much for not revealing anything, Vis.

Sighing, you held up your hands. “Guilty as charged. You know what they say about the tall, skinny ones? Yeah, I'm willing to bet he's one of those who's secretly has a–”

“Okay, pause.” Prism shook her hands around, before she pointed at you with her bottle. “You?”

“Me.”

“Would fuck him?”

“Yes.”

“Waterboy? The former janitor? The guy who squirts water from his mouth? That guy?”

“Yes,” You groaned, half in frustration and half in amusement. “I would. No hesitation. No shots. Just me, him, in my bed. Or his. Okay, maybe not his. He lives with his grandma. Not planning to traumatize the old woman.”

Then, the three of them turned to your roommate for more answers.

Vis sighed, very much exasperated being a victim of your hopeless crush. “Hey, I have no fucking clue too. As far as I know, Night likes someone she can order around and likes it back. I already kink shamed her on that.”

You clutched your chest, feigning hurt. “Hey, I didn't shame you when you had that dream with–”

She quickly slapped a hand on your mouth, muffling your voice as you tried to free yourself.

Malevola produced a low whistle, seeming impressed and disturbed at the same time. “Well, to each their own. Have you fucked him yet?”

Finally tearing yourself from her hold, you leaned your head back against the couch.

“Nope.”

“Are you planning to?”

“Yup.”

“When?”

“Dunno. Haven't found the right time yet.”

Prism huffed out a laugh, her dark teal shades catching the light as she appraised you.

“Oh, girl. You can do that whenever you want. You're one hot bitch! Seriously, I heard the others talkin’ ‘bout you and that ass. Saw them lookin’ too. Waterboy will fold if you come up to him with that thang shakin’.”

“But that's the problem,” You raised your hand, gesturing wildly in the air. “I can't talk to him. I mean, I can. Tried a bunch of times. But he just walks away! Doesn't even look at me. Doesn't wanna be in the same vicinity as I am. He talks to you, guys. But to me, it's like I'm holding a gun in my hand and he fucking dips. What gives, huh?”

No one answered you, causing your cheeks to heat in embarrassment from the lengthy ramble.

For a while, you just wanted to be swallowed up by the floor and disappear forever. You almost did. The shadows can reclaim you into the darkness, so you can slip away from their sight and vanish until the next morning.

When you lifted your head, you saw all of them wearing the same expression.

Amusement. Disbelief. And one obvious “What the fuck?” look from your roommate.

It was Prism who broke the tension, hiding a massive smile behind her manicured hands.

“Oh, honey.” Her tone dripped with faux concern and pity. “You're as blind as a mouse, it's honestly cute.”

Blinking, you stared at her in confusion. “What the fuck do you mean?”

Coupé sighed softly. “Do you wonder why he acts so differently around you?”

“Yeah, like, all the time.”

“And you never wondered why he does?”

“I just told you.”

“You didn't wonder enough, it seemed.”

You were about to defend yourself, when Malevola cut in. “Respectfully, I agree with Coupé. The guy is definitely into you, Night. Why else would he actively try to avoid you?”

“Maybe he hates me?” You stated the obvious, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I've done something to give him the ick. Or maybe I'm not his type at all.”

“Bitch, you're everyone's type.” Prism rolled her eyes back at you. “And trust me, girl. You're not the only one who wanna hit! So make your fucking move. You only live once, so go fuck him while you have the chance!”

The rest of them said their agreement, even your roommate gave you a thumbs up as she finished her drink.

Somehow, that comforted you.

Until Malevola decided to ruin the peace.

“Make a tape while you're at it.”

You flipped her off, the heat in your cheeks returning.

At the side, Prism shrugged. “Ain’t gonna lie, I'd watch that.”

You flipped her off as well.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

A week has passed since that night, and you still haven't done anything to make a move.

Like his name itself, Waterboy was one slippery fucker who always left the room before you could even step foot inside. Whenever you had missions together, somehow Robert mysteriously started to pair you up more often, you did most of the talking while he nodded and followed your commands silently—all the while responding immediately to Robert as soon as he talked in his earpiece.

When you tried to strike small talk with him, he'd keep his answers short and curt. Stammering still, but never longer than five words. He avoided looking at you in the eye, stood at least five feet away, and flinched whenever you congratulated him with a simple pat on his arm.

Yeah, you were starting to think he really disliked your guts for some reason.

Well, whatever. Can't please anyone.

You sipped on your spiked punch, hanging at the far back of the office while everyone mingled and celebrated.

Blonde Blazer decided to throw a small celebratory party at your floor level after a month of continuous successful dispatch calls. Chase had his team joined in, as well as the other dispatchers and their respective program members. Beef was freely walking around the place, often getting cuddled by a few people. All the cubicles have been cleared to the side, making space for the table filled with snacks and drinks. Couches at every corner, laughter resounding in every group.

Robert hung around Blonde Blazer, of course he would, and you couldn't help but smile at your roommate’s barely concealed scowl. Even when she tried to hide it, Invisigal was more expressive than she realized. And right now, Blonde Blazer should be fucking buried six feet deep with how how lethal her glare looked.

“You know you can do that discreetly,” You voiced out, elbowing her. “Like don't stare directly at them. Do it every minute or so. They're definitely gonna notice.”

Vis finally tore her eyes from the pair, but the glare was now directed towards you. “Don't you have a wet hose to crack, Boogeyman?”

Snickering, you lightly punched her arm. “Oh, fuck off. I can't crack what I can't fucking touch. The guy's too slippery for me to even hold.”

She made a noise of disgust. “Maybe that's another power of his. Avoiding people who disappear into the shadows. Specifically just those kinds.”

“So, just me?”

“Who else?”

“That kinda breaks my heart, Vis.”

Your roommate flashed you a teasing grin, something glinted in her eyes. “I could get him for you if you want.”

As much as you wanted to accept the help, you really wanted to do this on your own. God knows how many times you tried to befriend the man. You can't even talk to him in the break room without him stammering intensely or sprinting away muttering some sort of excuse. At the start of the party, you greeted everyone on the floor including him. But of course, all you received was a crooked smile and hasty nod before he darted towards Robert.

Any attempts that followed always ended horribly. The Phoenix girls could see you trying and failing every time, even Blonde Blazer caught on. At the end of the hour, you decided to give up. You may be a former villain, but you won’t stoop that low chasing a man around for his attention.

You released a sigh, shaking your head at the offer. “Thanks, Vis. But at this point, I don't wanna fuck him anymore. Well, I still do. But I just wanna know why he doesn't want to do anything with me.”

She spared you a brief look of pity, until something caught her attention past you.

You heard her gasp, felt her finger poke your side, before she whispered low in your ear.

“Don't look but he's giving you these eyes.”

Refraining from looking over your shoulder, you focused on her. “Who? What eyes?”

The dark-haired woman whispered even lower. “Who else? Your future water bed. He has these fuck me eyes when I caught him staring at you. Gross.”

“Stop feeding my delusions,” You stepped back, fixing her an unamused look. “It's bad enough I wanna believe you, and maybe you've had too many of those drinks.”

Vis groaned, throwing her empty red cup to a bin next to her. “But seriously, he’s still giving you those fuck me eyes.”

A battle raged within you, desire clashing with logic.

Whether to turn and see for yourself or rationalize with yourself that he must be looking at someone else. Plus, you knew Vis and her jokes. It’s not the first time she baited you into something like this. At this point, you were too frustrated to fall for it. Weeks, almost a month since he joined, and your stupid little crush worsened every time she gave you an inkling of hope.

Part of you was desperate to look over, but you knew damn well you’re not about to chase the man again. Especially someone who’d run away the minute you show up. So, you chose to sip your drink and set your gaze forward.

“That’s it,” You huffed, glaring at Flambae in particular. He was in your line of sight, pretty convenient to do so. “I’m done chasing after him.”

Your roommate raised an eyebrow, amused and catching on. “You got a plan?”

Flashing her an impish smirk, you winked. “Let’s see how long it takes for him to do something if I ignore him this time.”

She slapped your butt as you made your way back to the center. “You got this!”

With the plan in mind, you regrouped with the party and focused on having fun rather than moping in a corner.

You hung around Prism and Malevola, who were recording themselves in the popstar’s phone while singing. You even participated in beer pong with the guys, playing against Sonar who flipped you off every time you made him drink a cup. Next up was Golem, who was surprisingly good and made you down more cups than you can count. Punch Up was in an arm wrestling contest with another hero, while Coupé watched from the side with her own drink in hand.

And to get her riled up, you casually flirted with Robert while smiling in Vis’ direction, which made her march right up and steal him away after you walked off laughing. You finally talked to Flambae, who handed you your two-week due ten bucks, and you stuck with him ever since.

The party has calmed, and the rest were invested in their own conversations.

Flambae was unexpectedly a pretty good conversationalist. At least, when he wasn’t brooding and being an asshole. You supposed the beer helped with it. Nevertheless, you found yourself enjoying your talk with him. You got to learn where he came from, why he became a villain, why he decided to join SDN.

In turn, you shared some parts of your own story.

In the middle of your conversation, Flambae nudged your arm.

“So, what’s up with you and waterbitch?” He asked, laying his arms behind the couch. “You two have a thing going on?”

Sputtering, you stared at him with wide eyes. “Fuck, you noticed?”

The Flame villain scoffed in amusement, shaking his head. “Anyone with a pair of good eyes would notice. You’ve been running after him since the start of the party. Wanna fuck him that badly, huh?”

“You automatically assume I wanna fuck him?” You tilted your head, he only gave you a deadpanned stare. “Okay, fine. Well, you’re not innocent yourself. I see the way you stare at Rob’s ass when he’s not looking.”

Flambae spat out his drink, coughing and putting his chest in shock. “Woah, woah, woah. Hey! I don’t do that shit. I don’t wanna fuck him. He’s fucking Mecha Man. He burnt my eyebrows. And my pride! I'm banned from Crypto Night because of him, that was my favorite place to drink! Honestly, why do people think that I–”

While he was busy defending himself, you didn’t miss his accent thickening and the prominent hue coating the tips of his ears. And you knew damn well it wasn’t because of the beer. The more words he spat out, the more his voice softened.

It got to the point he realized he was rambling, causing him to snap his mouth shut and glare at you.

“You think this is funny?’

“I wasn’t even laughing.”

“I could see you smiling.”

“Not laughing.”

He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. You’re fucking crazy.”

That brought a laugh out of you, punching his arm lightly. “Aw, come on. I think it’s cute! I mean, you’re certainly not the only one with a crush on him. Blazer’s been batting her lashes, Vis hovers around him. Some people in other programs are interested. You gonna make a move, fireboy?”

A grimace invaded his features, his gaze briefly flickering towards Robert’s direction.

“How about you?” He deflected the question, regarding you now with a quirk of his half-burnt eyebrow. “Not to feed your delusional ass, but the sprinkler’s been staring at you this whole time. Kinda freaks me out.”

Your heart stuttered, but you forced yourself to remain impassive.

Sighing, you waved him off dismissively.

“Don't even start. Vis already said that earlier, and I'm not in the mood to–”

Flambae leaned towards you, his upper body almost covering yours while he neared his face beside your ear. To anyone, it would seem he was kissing you. You could feel his scruff grazing your cheek, and you involuntarily shivered at the sensation.

“Why not make him jealous?” His rough voice made your breath hitch. “I can see the bastard from here. He's shaking in his fucking wetsuit.”

You maintained a steady voice, though it was too weak. “What else?”

The Flame hero hummed, low and gruff, you pressed your thighs together. Fuck, it's been a long time since you had anyone this close. You might need to jerk the bottle next time you have a sleepover with the girls.

“Fuck me,” You heard him chuckle, you almost considered to. “Never knew he could glare like that. If he can shoot lasers from those goggles, I'd be fucking dead.”

Then, he slowly removed himself from you.

The air in your lungs finally escaped, coming out in light pants as you stared at him in bewilderment.

All you could see was a smug smirk, mischief glinting in his amber irises, and a wink from Flambae.

“Good luck, bitch.”

You offered him a small smile, nodding your thanks, before you stood up from the couch and walked away.

You could feel eyes on you while you sauntered towards the comfort rooms.

When you finally looked over your shoulder, you met gazes with the very man who tried to avoid them. But this time, he stared right back. You didn't miss the way he gulped, the way he clutched his cup tighter to his chest, and how his eyes widened when he realized you caught him looking.

Smirking, you tossed him a wink, before melting into the shadows in a smoky wisp.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

You hummed softly to yourself, fixing your hair and adjusting your clothes as you assessed your appearance in the mirror.

It was already past nine, the party started two hours ago, but there were more people coming in from different programs. You decided this was the best time to take a breather from them, and hopefully, your plan would finally work.

You really hoped he took the bait.

After fixing everything, you smiled in satisfaction and made your way out the comfort room.

Just when you opened the door, a tall figure jumped back in shock on the other side. You knew those yellow and blue colors, and lanky limbs anywhere.

Looking up, you locked gazes again with the object of your attraction.

Waterboy blinked, as if surprised to see you coming out of the women's restroom. His cheeks reddened, clearing his throat repeatedly as he tried to regain his footing. A loud squelch squished under his feet, his wetsuit caught a few trails of water from the light behind you.

He coughed again, shifting his eyes aside.

“Ah, sorry about that! I didn't know it was the women's rest– restroom. I was about to knock on the door. Sorry, didn't see the– uh, sign there.”

Knock on the women's restroom?

You raised an eyebrow, smiling softly at his adorable stammers. “No worries, Waterboy. It’s kinda dark in this hall. Honestly, I’d make the same mistake.”

The Water hero nodded, still not looking at you.

His thumbs twiddled together, and you caught him whispering something under his breath. Something that sounded like your alias, a few unintelligible lines, before he finally released a long breath and straightened himself.

“I was wondering,” The goggled hero inhaled, peering down at you in concern. “If you were okay? You didn't talk to– I mean, you looked like you were having fun– lots of fun out there. But you suddenly left.”

Leaning against the doorway, you smirked at him. “Why? Missed me already?”

“Yes,” He responded quickly, before he realized what he said. “I mean no– No, the others miss you. They were looking for you– where you went. I was sent here to– to look. And yeah! Here you. . . are.”

“Here I am,” You pushed yourself off the doorway, taking slow steps towards him. “So, need me for something?”

He stumbled backwards, you only followed.

“Were they looking for me?”

His back met the wall, and you stopped when you were standing right in front of him.

“Or were you?”

A shaky exhale escaped him, instinctively searching for an exit from your presence.

But you were tired of him running away.

So, you blocked his path with an arm to the wall and leaned up to his face real close. The blush tinting his cheeks deepened. His breathing became more labored, coming out in nervous pants. You searched his expression for any sign of discomfort. It was evident, yes, but the way his pupils dilated didn't miss your attention.

“Tell me something,” Your voice lowered, lashes fluttering. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

He exhaled again, whimpering softly. “I wasn't trying to. I just thought that– that you were. . . intimidating.”

Seriously?

Scoffing, you glared at him. “Intimidating? I've tried to befriend you multiple times, Waterboy. What exactly in me do you find intimidating?”

For a moment, he didn't answer you.

Instead, his eyes dropped to your lips.

You saw him losing focus momentarily, lashes fluttering, posture slouching. He didn't realize that he was slowly inching down, until your noses almost brushed. Until his breath, tainted with the same juice punch you drank, tangled with yours. Until there was only a breadth of space between your lips—only then he paused at the realization.

But before he could pull away, jet black smoke emitted from your palm. When you clenched your hand, his whole body froze. His body tried to resist your power, struggling against your shadow hold.

Your glare sharpened, your power preventing him from physically moving. Oh, he thought he could get away that easily? Oh, fat chance. He won't escape this time.

Not when you finally had him in your grasp.

“Answer me,” Your voice dripped in both a sensual lilt and a dangerous threat. “Or I won't let you leave.”

You didn’t expect a small sound from him to answer, like a whine almost. But fuck, did it spark a wild thought in your mind. You wondered what else you could pull out of him. What kinds of other noises. It was one of the reasons that drew you to him—to find out if he'd be the type to beg and cry for more.

When you tightened your fist, he made another noise from the back of his throat.

“Well?”

“It's– It's because I. . .”

“Go on, baby.”

“S-Shit,” He exhaled, then gasped. “Sorry, I didn't mean to curse. I-I mean– I don't curse. Much. I don't curse much. It's just– That was unexpected.”

Your smirk resurfaced, gaze gleaming. “You like me calling you baby?”

His cheeks deepened in color. “Y-Yes.”

“You like me controlling you?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna get out of here?”

He nodded, as if under a hypnotic trance.

One word escaped him—a single syllable—whispered so softly you almost didn't hear it over the distant music playing from the end of the hall.

“Please.”

Your teasing smirk turned into a victorious grin, immediately releasing your hold over his shadow. When he stumbled forward, your palm caught his cheek—moist and smooth—and your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

“Good boy.”

And the whimper he produced brought a dark chuckle out of you.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

“Oh, fuck.”

You tossed your head back, one hand gripping the edge of the desk. The other threaded against damp brunette strands between your legs. A ravenous tongue devoured your slick cunt, needy moans vibrating your core, causing you to shudder in delight.

Waterboy was far from perfect, but the way his enthusiasm showed through his hunger made up for the lack of experience. And fuck, he ate you out like a starved man who never had the chance to eat anything in his life.

“Fuck,” You groaned, pushing your hips out core more, to which he greedily accepted. “Fuck, that's it. Good boy.”

He moaned, shameless and loud, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the praise.

How did your night escalate to this exactly?

Well, one moment you were leading him to an empty room—God knows whose office it was—and the next, you were pulling him inside and locking the door behind him. Before he could protest, your lips covered his in a searing kiss. Starved and frustrated. After a month of running around, you were done playing these games.

You needed to have him.

Now.

And so, you walked backwards.

He chased after your mouth, gloved hands weakly clutching your hips as you both stumbled in the dark.

When something bumped against your behind, you didn't hesitate to sit on the desk and pull him closer. He settled there, thin hips between your thighs, still kissing you with equal desperation and need. It was a little clumsy, you could tell he didn't have a lot of experience with this sort of stuff.

So, you took the lead and slipped your tongue past his lips.

The gasp he let out allowed you to mold your tongue against his, guiding him to a deeper kiss.

He sighed shakily, whimpering into your mouth as the rush from earlier turned languid. He copied your movements, tilting his head and opening his mouth a little wider. Like you expected, he was a verbal kisser. Moaned into the kiss, whined when you pulled away just a little, and sighed when you tug on his bottom lip. You knew he learned quickly, obeyed without complaints, and that knowledge would be used to your advantage and his pleasure.

You parted briefly, kissing his cheek. “Ever kissed anyone like this before?”

Waterboy shook his head, and that made your heart ache for him. “No. I've never– Never been lucky with anyone. Because, y'know, I'm not that– um, ideal for them.”

You cupped his cheeks, gently stroking his high cheekbones, before you turned his face to look at yours.

“No girlfriend?”

“None– No. No one.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Still no– none.”

The only source of light was the silver streak of moonlight coming from the window behind you, but it was enough for you to see the hesitance and insecurity displayed on his features. If no one wanted him like you do, that meant you could have him all to yourself. You could show him so many things he missed out on. Spoil him real good, and shower him with the endless amount of affection he deserved.

“Too bad for them,” Your voice lowered into a sly quip, lips brushing along his ear. He shivered, and you laughed. “I'll have you all to myself. I'll take real good care of you.”

Your fingers played with the zipper at his collar, lightly tugging it down until his neck was exposed.

Then, you trailed your kisses along his jaw.

Starting under his ear, where his pulse raced, and down his jawline. You heard him gulp, feel his throat moving, and you didn't hesitate to kiss him there. Slow, purposeful, teasing. Your tongue darted out, flat on his Adam's apple, licking a long stripe up underneath his chin before nipping on the flushed skin.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers came up behind his head, nails lightly scratching his scalp.

His breath stuttered, hips rutting against your clothed center. “Oh, f-fu– That feels so– Good. Feels so good.”

You nipped the skin above his pulse, leaving your mark on him. “You like this, baby?”

He nodded, shivering. “Yes, please. M-More.”

More?

Your smirk widened, tugging on his damp strands until his head was tipped back. A high-pitched whine tore from his throat, helplessly bucking into you.

“You want more?”

“Yes. Please. I want– need more.”

“Then, you better earn it.”

You released your hold on him, and he immediately snapped his gaze to stare at you incredulously. Disappointment and hurt swam in his eyes, your heart melted at the sight of him looking so pathetic like that. Oh, he thought you were done with him? After making you chase after his sorry ass all those weeks? You needed to make things clear—he needed to earn it.

With a devilish grin, you caressed his cheek. “Oh, don't be sad, baby. I'm not done with you yet.”

Hope replaced the disappointment, glimmering bright behind his goggles. “Really? Oh. Then, uh, what do you want to– to do now?”

The hand of his cheek trailed up, settling on his head, before you applied enough force for him to bow slightly.

Like you expected, he seemed to understand the action and proceeded to sink to his knees. When he finally knelt, you gazed down at him in amusement and dark satisfaction. Fuck, he looked absolutely good on his knees like that. Between your legs. Wearing that adorable confusion on his sweet face. You could just eat him right up at that moment.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, round in disbelief. “You want me to do– to please you? Here? In– In the office?”

“I said you wanted to earn more, right?” Your hand trailed down your stomach, and relished the sight of his jaw dropping. “Start with here.”

The rest that followed was a blur.

Your pants were taken off within a minute, alongside your underwear. You vaguely remembered him parting your knees. Kissing your inner thighs. Sighing into your skin. A long tongue licking up towards your exposed cunt. A cool breath pressing against your folds. You remembered him looking up at you, pleading and asking for permission. You nodded once, only once, before he dove in and stole the air from your lungs.

And now, here you were.

With him ravaging you like he's going to die if he didn't.

Waterboy didn't relent. Didn't even pause to take a breather or to rest his tongue. It must've been aching now. Still, he continued his pursuit to earn more. More praises. More access. More rewards from you. And who were you to deny such a sweet boy?

“Circle your tongue on that area,” You coached him, and he obeyed with a slow swirl of his tongue around your clit. “Shit. Fuck. That's it, baby. Doing so good for me.”

The praise fueled him even more, tugging you closer to the edge of the desk as he repeated the motion fervently.

In no time, your breathing picked up.

“Fuck. Don't stop, baby. Keep going.”

He nodded, eager to please, pressing himself even deeper into you. His hands, freed from his gloves, glided over your hips and thighs. There was a little moisture from them, damp from his power, but somehow it triggered another shiver down your spine from the cool sensation.

It contrasted the simmering heat coursing in your veins, blood running hot at the impending peak of your climax. Your thighs began to tremble, but his hands were there to soothe the tremors. The sounds he made were absolutely obscene—the lewd slurps, the needy whines, the tiny little mumbles of please and more.

The shadows in the room shifted, some flaring out like flames from the walls. Dark tendrils manifested beneath him, dancing and caressing his body in light touches. Your power didn't seem to bother him, already seeing it beforehand during your synergy battles. He only grew more persistent, bringing one hand to stroke your entrance before two lithe fingers entered you in deliberate, shy curls.

Your back arched, gasping into the air. “Ah, shit. Fuck, fuck– m’so close.”

His fingers reached that spot within you, repetitively brushing against the area as he dragged them out and pushed back in. He switched to sucking on your clit, causing you to squirm against his mouth and on the desk. The darkness behind your eyelids exploded into a hot white flash. Your toes curled, your chest rose and fell at the surge of your release. Even when your thighs clamped around his head, he still didn't falter.

If anything, he moaned loudly.

Your climax washed over your body in intense waves, and Waterboy drew the tides longer the more he greedily drank from you. After the light vanishes behind your eyelids, fluttering them open to adjust in the darkness, you let your thighs fall away from his head. Your arm almost gave out behind you, but you forced yourself upright.

“Fuck,” It was the only word you could think of, mind still trapped in a foggy daze. “Oh, fuck.”

Between your legs, you felt him finally part from your soaked cunt. He was breathing hard, fast, like he had run a marathon from the office and back. His fingers slipped out of you, drawing another moan out your lips, and you heard him suck on the slick release with a relieved whine.

Your gaze dropped to him, surprised to find his eyes already pinned on you.

Is he crying?

You brought the hand on his hand to cup his cheek, and he immediately leaned against your touch.

“Was I– was that okay?” Waterboy stared at you, half-lidded and teary-eyed, and a tired smile broke out of your features.

Your thumb swept across his glistening bottom lip, before pushing it into his mouth. The whimper he released was needy, sucking on your thumb without breaking eye contact.

“You did perfect,” You praised, still out of breath. “So perfect, baby. You even pulled a trick up your sleeve in the end. Where d’you learn that?”

Waterboy flushed deeper, caught. “Oh, uh. . . Well, I just thought of it during– I just wanted to do it. Try it. See if it works.”

You gave him a knowing smirk, chuckling at his embarrassment. “Did a little research, huh?”

He nodded, avoiding your stare. “You could say that.”

Cute.

Once the feeling returned to your legs, you patted his cheek.

“Up.”

He quickly rose to his feet, a little out of balance, but he towered over you easily. Even sitting on a desk, his looming height shadowed yours. If he didn't hunch most of the time, he would appear much taller than he was. You'd love to help him with that confidence issue, his potential was too great to ignore.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him down for another kiss as a reward for his effort.

With the practice earlier, Waterboy was able to match you in equal fervor. Still clumsy, but so much better. His hands were moist—from his sweat or power, you didn't care which one—gripping your hips as you began to unzip the front of his wetsuit.

But he quickly stopped you before you could.

“My power is not– I can't control it well. Especially when I'm– We should just leave it like this.”

“Hey, it’s fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“But you could get we– soaked.”

Raising an eyebrow, you smirked at him. “Aren’t I already?”

You saw his throat bob at your crude joke. “I suppose that’s– Yeah, that makes sense. I guess we could. . .”

“Shhh,” You pressed a finger to his lips, slipping off of the desk. “I said I’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head. Okay, baby?”

Waterboy nodded, dazed from the small compliment. “You– You think I’m pretty?”

You kissed his cheek, “I think you're cute, pretty boy.”

Without warning, you shoved him aside to an empty chair.

He flopped down, letting out a surprised yelp. Whoever's chair this belonged to, you hoped they wouldn't mind a little mess next time they clock in. But you don’t it would be a problem, not when you have someone who can clean up after you guys are done.

You didn't give him a chance to speak, quickly straddling him down with your legs beside his and your cunt directly against the prominent bulge beneath his wetsuit. Fuck, judging by the hardness of it, you could tell he was definitely hiding a lot more inches to him. Just imagining it brought an ache between your legs, and you wanted to skip this to the main course.

However, it wasn't fair that only he got to have a taste.

Now, it’s time to have yours.

“You said you find me intimidating?” Your fingers returned to his zipper. “I'd really like to know why. Is it because you hated me?”

He shook his head furiously. “N-No– No! I don't hate you. I never ha–hated you.”

You tugged it open, slowly, your gaze following the tab as it descended to reveal unblemished skin.

Stopping just below his belly button, your fingers glided upwards, his stomach tensing underneath your touch. Random patterns were drawn, fingertips dancing along soft dips and flat muscles—no battle scars, and no unhealed wounds—untouched in more ways than one.

“So, what was it? You liked having me chase you around? Wanted me to look like a fucking idiot with a schoolgirl crush?”

Again, Waterboy shook his head. “That's– That's not it– not what it was. I-I’m sorry if it seemed like that–”

You silenced him with another kiss, both hands now on his chest. He did nothing but accept it, whimpering into your mouth, leaning back against the chair as you pushed deeper, rougher, hungrier.

He didn't push you away, instead he did something you'd never expect.

His hands fell to your thighs, before he shyly rolled his hips up to grind to meet yours.

In a small voice, he whispered. “I liked you– like you. I was just scared the others were– they put you up with this. But– haaa, I like you too.”

Fuck.

Momentarily losing focus, you grinded back on him. Your clit caught the end of his zipper, tearing a ragged mouth from you. He took that as a sign to be a little bolder. He still let you lead the kiss, control the pace how you liked, while meeting every roll with his own small thrusts. But as much as you wanted to give in, you still had a plan to follow.

So, you wrapped your hand around his throat and tore yourself away from him. His breath hitched, dilated eyes round in disbelief. His chest quickly rose and fell, throat moving under your palm. But what caught your attention the most was the feeling of him twitching beneath you. Just as you thought, he liked this shit just as much as you did.

Grinning, you squeezed his throat harder.

And his eyes rolled back, rutting against you more desperately.

“More,” He exhaled shakily, whining louder now. “Please. I'll be good– So good. Just want more. Please.”

Oh, poor thing's so touch-starved.

Not that you minded. This was exactly why you had your eye on him.

Sweet, charming, pathetic Waterboy.

Letting go of his throat, you only caught a glimpse of the disappointment on his face before you were sliding off of him and down to your knees.

His gaze followed you, widening even more if that was possible. “O-Oh, mother of– Are you going to– What are you going to do?”

Your attention flitted between his stunned expression and back down to the visible strain on his wetsuit. Fuck, he was long. Even through the layers, you could almost see the length of him. You already knew this was going to be both a treat and a challenge for the both of you.

“Just want to return the favor.”

You tugged his zipper, dragging it slowly over his crotch until it stopped at the end. Of course, his underwear was speedos. Blue ones, no less—practical, yet still ridiculous.

“Fu– Favor?” His words stuttered, a hiss fell past his lips at the contact of your hand on him. “Ah, that’s– Okay. Yeah, you can reta– return the favor.”

Due to his power, you were able to stroke him easily. Enough slickness, easier movements. He twitched in your hand, eyes glazing over in drunken lust. The head of his cock peaked from his waistband, flushed pink, and you couldn't wait to see all of him—all pretty, all begging, and all yours.

You flashed him a coy smirk, eyes glinting in dark delight. “Just sit there and look pretty for me. Okay, baby?”

Waterboy nodded, shifting his hips outwards. “Y-Yeah, I can. I will. Whatever you want.”

“Good boy,” You kissed his hard length. “Now, keep quiet. We don't want the others to hear.”

Your fingers hooked over his waistband, then in a single flourish you freed him. Your mouth parted, and he covered his face with both of his hands.

Fuck.

The girls were gonna have a field day because you were fucking right. Tall, skinny guys definitely pack more. He's long, you didn't need to think about the exact digits because fuck he was, with a slight upward curve and one prominent vein underlining the base. The tip of his cock was flushed pink, almost red if you squint hard enough, precum already leaking out. Oh, the poor boy was so deprived.

Wrapping a hand around him, he immediately throbbed in your touch. Warm, hard, and eager. You gave an experimental jerk, and a loud whimper escaped him, throbbing again as you started a slow work over his length.

“Just like I thought,” You hummed, low and teasing, fixing him with a dangerous look. “So fucking pretty.”

Waterboy peeked through his fingers, goggles slightly skewed. “Th–Thanks. Oh, fu-fuck–”

His sentence never finished, because your lips were on his tip. Kissing him softly. Letting your tongue drag over his slit. Tasting him, and just as you expected, clean and bittersweet. Oh, this was just getting better and better for you. Hopefully, it was the same for him, because you're planning to make him remember this night every time he passes this hall and sees this office.

Without waiting any further, you swirled your tongue around his tip and sucked.

His whole body jolted, almost flying off of the chair. But you held him down with your other hand on his hip. Fortunately, he seemed to get the message from your glare. A warning. If he moved again, you weren't afraid to use your shadows to restrain him. So, he grasped the armchairs instead, giving you a small nod and a pleading look.

Patting his hip, you kissed his tip again.

Before you flattened your tongue beneath him, and took him deep. Nice and slow. The reward you received blessed your ears with his ragged breathing, muffled cries, and broken syllables. His breathing turned heavy, as if he had just resurfaced from the ocean. You could see the sheen on his skin, not sweat, definitely his power.

You breathed through your nose, hollowing your cheeks, before sucking him back up. Then, you did it again. Take him in slow. Suck him back fast. Again and again, until your throat relaxed to the sensation and you were able to take more. And when he tried to talk, you moaned around him and let the words die in his throat.

Meanwhile, his body constantly twitched and flinched every time. Tiny whimpers became desperate mewls. Ragged breathing turned into shortened breaths. His hands were knuckle white, gripping the armchair so hard moisture started to gather.

Still, Waterboy kept his hips still. Even when you felt him squirming, he didn't move.

So, you let him go and decided to reward him.

Kissing his hip, marking on his skin, while your hand continued to work him faster.

“Doing so good for me, baby.”

“Sound so pretty.”

“Look at you, sweet boy. Taking this so well.”

“Might keep you all to myself.”

The flooded praises produced more sounds from him. All equally needy and broken. His breathing quickened, and in time, he was writhing on the chair. When your mouth returned to him, focusing on his tip while your hand didn't falter. You didn't stop even when he was sobbing, your mouth and hand worked in sync until he was gasping for air and one of his hands flew to his mouth to muffle himself.

By the way his noises grew behind his hand, and the way his cock throbbed in yours, it wouldn't be long until he reached his peak.

Waterboy sobbed, goggles too fogged to let you see the tears behind them. “A-Ah, wait. Oh, please. Please, don't sta– stop. Don't stop.”

“What if I do?”

“N-No! Please, don't–”

“You think you deserve to come?”

“But I’ve been go– I'm good. You sa– said I've been good.”

You hummed, kissing him again with mischief swimming in your gaze. “I changed my mind. Maybe I won't let you finish yet.”

Then, you stood up—leaving him aching and throbbing in his seat.

He stared at you, weak frustration evident on his flushed features, but he made no move to follow. Good, he learned fast. You walked backwards, returning to the desk earlier. While you slid on it, your gaze wandered over his body hungrily. From his heaving chest, his smooth stomach, down to his still hard and deeply red length glistening for attention.

You were tempted to walk right over and take him right there on the chair. Straddle him down, keep his mouth quiet, while you chase your pleasure and have him beg. But that would mean you'd do all the work.

No, he needed to work for it.

With a flick of your finger, you gestured for him to stand. “Come here.”

He shot up from his seat, stumbling towards you with lanky limbs and clumsy footing. You quickly removed his goggles, and felt the hot tears finally stream down his cheeks as you cupped his face. How could his skin feel so warm and cool at the same time? You didn't think much about it, bringing him down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss.

A high moan met your tongue, two trembling hands settled on your waist. He pushed himself into you, his stiff length rubbing on your inner thigh. Fingernails raked against a damp scalp. Chests pressed together. The kiss turned breathless and hurried. You didn't mind the clumsiness anymore, all you wanted was to make him lose himself into the pleasure—corrupt him in more ways than one.

When you parted, it was to whisper in his ear.

“Since you want to be good for me, go and work for it.”

He didn't say anything. The nod he gave you told you enough he knew what he was supposed to do. Wordlessly, he took himself in hand—groaning quietly as he pumped himself twice—before lining the head of his cock to your entrance. You shifted your hips, grinding back against him and cursing when his tip brushed your clit.

“Go on, baby.” You kissed his jaw, relishing the tiny whimper he made. “You can take it.”

Waterboy buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. Then, with a shaky exhale, he pushed himself into you—slowly, carefully, finally.

“O-Oh, fuck.”

Your lungs constricted on itself, struggling to take in air from the fullness deliberately inching further and further into your walls. Your arms came up around his neck, clinging onto him, while he entered his remaining length. When he stopped, fully sheathed inside your walls, you both released a long, stuttering breath.

Fuck.

Holy fucking fuck.

You should've known he was dangerous. You should've not underestimated him. That fucking curve of his could make you come in that moment, and he hasn't even started to move. Already he reached that spot within you that no other person in the past has easily done. At least, not while they were keeping still. And here he was, restraining himself from moving too much, yet you were struggling not to clench around him.

If you did, he might come on the spot.

Hot tears dropped on your shoulder, his breathing was uneven and you feared he might collapse from the sensation.

“Can I?” Waterboy whispered, hugging you tighter. “Can I start– Can I move? Please, let me. Want to– Need to move, please.”

You nodded, equally dazed. “Go on, baby.”

He sobbed, whether from relief or pain, pulling his hips back before thrusting into you again.

“Thank you. Oh, tha–thank you.”

The first thrust tore a curse of you, the second made your head swim. The following ultimately erased all thoughts in your head. His rhythm was unsteady, unpracticed, but it made it all the more promising. It meant you could do this again so he could get the hang of it. Even when his thrusts were sloppy, you still found yourself enjoying it.

You supposed this was really for him, rather than yourself. Not out of pity, but because you wanted him to feel what he's been missing for all the months you've been chasing him. Now that he's got a taste of it, he'd be addicted for more. Until that addiction turns into a crave—and you'll give him everything he wants as long as he'll come running back to you.

He started picking up speed, desperately rolling his hips. All that left his mouth were the slurred and broken syllables of the words.

Please. Thank you. So good. More.

And occasionally, breathy curses.

You were right, he was even more vocal when he's into it. He kept on babbling the same words, sobbing louder on your shoulder.

His hands were everywhere. One on your waist, running up and down to your thigh. The other managed to slip inside your shirt, and underneath your bra. Yours were in his hair, tugging his head back to kiss him again to silence his noises.

Anyone can just walk down this hall and hear what's going on inside the office. As much as the thrill excited you, you weren't sure if it would be the same case to him. So, you kept his mouth busy while he eagerly returned the kiss—hot, messy, starved.

You were surprised he hasn't accidentally activated his power yet. Maybe he has more control over it than you previously thought. Or maybe the hero training with Blonde Blazer paid off. Good, you didn't plan on drowning from kissing him.

You transferred your kisses down his neck, leaving more marks so others can know who placed them there.

In return, he gasped and tilted his head to give you access.

“I’m g-gonna–” He let out a strangled sound, pace faltering for a moment. “Close. I'm so– Sorry. I'm sorry. It's too much–”

That was quick.

You hushed him, kissing the darkening bruises on his skin. “Let go, baby. It's okay. You earned it.”

“Can I? Where do I– do you want me?”

“Anywhere you want, hon.”

“Oh, fu– Ahh, really?”

“Okay,” Waterboy sniffled, and this time, he was the one who kissed you. “Thank you. Thank you.”

When you felt him throb violently inside you, you knew it wouldn't take long. You kissed him deeper, clenching around him and he moaned your name against your lips.

Your name.

Not Midnight.

The one you told all of them that night outside the Taco store after the bar brawl in Sardine.

You clenched around him again, feeling your own climax drawing nearer. “Again. Say my name again.”

He said it again—louder, needier—and your blood burned molten heat at the sound. Your name echoed around the room, you didn't care anymore if anyone heard outside the door. All you could focus on was him. The addictive drag of his length in and out of your walls. His tip continuously hit that sensitive spot. The pathetic sounds he made. The sobs of your name. And the unmistakable twitch of his cock.

Finally, after giving him one last squeeze, he slammed himself into you and spilled his release inside. At the same time, there was a cool gush of water streaming from his fingertips, soaking your skin and shirt.

You shivered, coming undone after him with a bite on his shoulder.

Suddenly, you felt like you were being drowned under harsh waves of pleasure. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. You couldn't swim away from it even if you tried. All you could feel was him, slick against your body, shivering just as the same. Hear him gasping for air, like he was drowning with you. Smell his scent, clear and distinct like the ocean.

When the waves finally calmed, you swam back to the surface and opened your eyes to see darkness.

The shadows in the room swirled like smoke, melting back into the corners as you attempted to gather your bearings.

Meanwhile, you felt the desk beneath you drenched in water. And something else.

Fuck, we really did that.

You couldn't help it, laughter tumbled out of your lips before you could stop it.

We broke so many rules.

The reality hit Waterboy as well like a splash, and he immediately pulled out of you with a soft curse.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry– So sorry! I didn't mean to come inside– in there. Here, I'll clean you up. I made a mess. Ju–Just wait here.”

After he clumsily redressed himself, he frantically searched for something around the room before darting away.

You only had a dazed grin on your face, blinking away the awe and disbelief.

Of all things, he's worried about coming inside me?

When he returned, there was a rag—you only hoped it was unused—in his gloved hand. He must've worn it immediately, as well as his goggles which he picked up from the floor. And for the next few minutes, he proceeded to wipe you down. Starting from the water on your skin, and to the mixed spend between your thighs. After that, he wiped the desk after you hopped off and redressed into your underwear and pants.

And fuck, were you stumbling?

Yeah, you were.

Waterboy can definitely make a girl wet and come.

“There, all finished!”

You glanced at the desk, grimacing at the evident traces of water and. . . Well, you just hoped whoever that desk belonged to wouldn't be too mad the next morning.

When the tall hero turned to face you, he gasped in shock when you pulled him down for another kiss. This time, it was softer. Gentler. Sweeter. The kind that melted the both of you into submission. Into acceptance. The rag dropped to the floor, and his hands were back on your waist. The sigh he released into your mouth was heavenly, and you tasted cloud nine.

After a while, you both parted and gazed into each other's eyes.

You grinned up at him, coy and playful. “Definitely an HR violation.”

The smile he gave you was boyish, crooked, and it made your heart flutter. “Definitely.”

Then, his lips were back on yours.