dacre is a bean

He’s never done it sober.

His hands are anchored to you like he’s afraid that if they aren’t, you’re going to escape, slip away. Like you’re just a figure of smoke that is going to curl around his fingers to eventually fade out and away and leave him to an empty room where he will have to face himself.

He had warned you. He said it like he meant it to be a warning, at least. Had told you he didn’t know how to do this the normal way. Displayed his vulnerability, looking at you like this could possibly ruin something between you. 

You don’t see it that way. It makes it all the more special. Intimate.

His hand cups your face as his tongue slides back into your mouth, exploring it like he wants to swallow and savor every breath you have to give. A low hum tears from the back of his throat to vibrate into your own when you let your hand slip under his shirt, fingers briefly grazing against his stomach before he stops you, covering your hand with his own to lace your fingers together.

“Let me–”

He doesn’t complete and closes the gap between you again. You’re not entirely sure what he means, but you can’t seem to linger on the thought when you feel his hands settle at your hips; they’re a bit clumsy and tentative as he holds back from letting them roam along your sides in fear he will come across as too greedy, and his hesitation is a stark contrast to the way he had backed you up against that wall in the first place. 

Bob is not quite sure how much is too much, how to handle things without the chemical confidence and buzz that used to make him chase that potent urge – it had only ever been a matter of satiating his needs any way he could, as quickly as he could. 

It had always been a rush to satisfy his own drug addled lust.

It all feels different now, more anchored, more palpable. He draws every action out, savors each of those, gets you impatient, pulls the focus back to you when you try to take care of him and put him first. And you would say something if you weren’t trying to indulge him and let him take what he wants – it’s the first time he gets to take his time, and he’s too eager to discover what it’s like for you to just take that away from him. 

You’re convinced some part of you would feel cruel for rushing it and not letting it play the way he wants it to, even if it involved putting him and his pleasure first.

His hesitation and restraint is obvious and gets you to pull back from the kiss to take a look at his face. His gaze follows when your hands frame it gently, fingers gently brushing back the strands of hair falling over his face. “Don’t overthink it” you whisper, thumb lingering against his cheek. His lips pinch slightly before he nods half confidently, hand cupping your jaw as he presses his mouth against yours once again. 

It flips a switch, sort of. His hand presses against your lower back to pull you closer to his own body as he leads you with him towards his bed, steps blind and clumsy as he walks backwards – he hums into the kiss in startlement when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and force him to sit if he doesn’t want to fall all the way and bring you down with him. You can only breathe out a laugh and climb onto his lap after that.

He forces his hands to settle at your hips and stop faltering, eyelids softly fluttering as he looks up at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. His teeth lightly sink into his bottom lip, gaze roaming along your face when your hands rest at the sides of his neck. 

“I can’t believe you dodged Mario Party night with Joaquin for this” you smile as you let your fingers gently trace along his face – his own busy themselves by lightly fiddling with the hem of your shirt, playing with the soft fabric.

He grins playfully. “A last minute change of schedule isn’t so bad sometimes” he says with a shrug, hands slipping under the garment to find the soft heat of your body – his thumb lightly strokes your bare skin, rubbing small circles under your shirt. You hum contemplatively, hands holding his face.

“What’d you even tell him?” you ask, brushing away a stray strand of his hair.

He sucks in a contemplative breath before he shrugs again. “Just… something about wanting to go to bed early, y’know” he grins.

Your head shakes, a chuckle escaping your lips. “You liar.”

“I didn’t lie,” he counters, defending himself. “Going to bed early doesn’t necessarily mean sleeping” he teases, moving to nuzzle along your cheek, arms wrapping and tightening around your waist.

“Yeah okay,” your hands find the back of his head, fingers sinking in his hair that’s already messy from playing with it while you were making out. You can feel his breath where his mouth gently brushes at the ticklish skin under your jaw, can hear his low, quiet whimper when you grind against his sweatpants as he presses you closer to his own body, can feel the heat of him through the layers of clothes. “Bob” his face lifts to meet your gaze, a questioning hum quietly vibrating between you. “Take your shirt off and lie back.”

His eyebrows raise in startlement, mouth slightly parting before he snaps out of it and eventually nods fervently, fingers already grabbing at the hem of his shirt to lift it over his head and toss over the floor before his back meets the mattress with a quiet grunt. 

“Holy shit Bob,” you gasp, astounded. His throat bulges as he swallows in nervousness when your gaze rakes along his bare torso. “Why’d you hide those from me?” you ask, barely able to contain the awed smile growing over your face as the tip of your fingers brush against his muscled stomach in fascination.

“Oh,” his face is slowly turning red, body growing hotter than he even thought possible under the look in your eyes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “I uh, I trained this afternoon so they’re–”

“God, this is so sexy.”

A small, choked sound catches in his throat, something between a flustered chuckle and a desperate groan when your fingers teasingly trail down the hard plane of his stomach, muscles softly tensing under your touch. His lips pinch as his gaze follows your hand, trying his best to remain quiet under the feeling of the graze of your fingertips, throat tight with anticipation when they progressively get lower and lower.

His breath catches again, breathing growing thicker when you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, one finger hooking there. You catch sight of the way his brows are knitted in focus when you look up at him before it goes further. “You okay?” you ask, eyebrows raised, hand stilling to give him room to tell you if it’s too much, too fast. 

He nods almost immediately. “Yeah– yeah” he gives you a reassuring smile, momentarily brought back to his senses. He lets out a small chuckle, slightly shifting his position under you to get more comfortable – it’s not easy when it feels like he’s growing harder each second because you’re straddling him and because your hands are teasing so close to where he needs you.

Bob props himself up on his elbows when you pull your shirt over your head and toss it to join his on the floor, not saying anything, just looking, eyes unapologetically roaming along your figure, mouth parting slightly.

“What?” you ask, voice quiet, suddenly a little shy under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head with a sincere smile. “You just– you look so pretty.” he barely has time to catch a glimpse of the smile over your face before you grab his and lunge in to kiss him, his back pressing against the bed again. 

His hand instinctively slides to the small of your back, warm and obvious like he’s burning from the inside out. It travels up your spine, slow and careful like he wants to remember the feeling, wants to remember the soft hitch of your breath when his thumb traces along your ribcage and the way your body leans into his touch like it’s only natural for you to – which it probably is, but he wouldn’t know of since he’s never taken the time to linger with anyone else before, to notice such slight reactions beyond the overwhelming fog of the drugs.

Your body shifts above him to the side when your hand snakes between your bodies, trailing back down his abs, mouth ever so slightly pulling away from his own when you feel you’ve reached the thick material of the band of his sweatpants. “Can I…?” you murmur quietly, breath warm against his kiss swollen lips, fingers grazing the waistband.

Bob nods, and it comes with a breathless affirmative spilling out right after, his voice hoarse and unsteady in anticipation. A barely audible sound escapes his mouth when your hand slips under the layers of his clothes, eyes down to follow, make sure this isn’t just a dream or hallucination – the sight alone of your hand buried down there could have been enough to drive him crazy, but the thought escapes his mind when your hand closes around his hard cock, a small exhale leaving his mouth when you start moving, start gently stroking him like you have all the time in the world and all that matters is right there.

“That feel good?” you ask, a proud grin tugging at your lips from how expressively wrecked he gets, that quickly, not from much.

“Yes– Yeah,” he nods, head sinking back against the mattress.

“It’s real tight in there” you joke, voice soft but gently teasing. He lets out something between a chuckle and a groan, his arm flinging over his face to hide the heat creeping up his cheeks and attempt to chase the embarrassment away. You laugh at his reaction, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Don’t hide, this is sweet” you whisper, nose nudging against his arm, hand still wrapped around him, pumping slowly. “You’re all tense”

He’s so hard it’s almost painful, your palm gliding along his length, thumb sweeping over the sensitive tip, smearing the precum around just to watch him shudder and hiss through clenched teeth. “Shit– Don’t make fun of me, it’s all your fault”

“Well you look so good like this,” you breathe as you drag your lips along the edge of his jaw, your hand still working him beneath the fabric, not that easily from the lack of space there. “Already wrecked while I’ve barely even really started yet”

He moans, the noise quiet but broken, his arm uncovering his face to grab at the sheets, his hips lightly twitching up into your palm like he can’t help himself anymore. “Please sweetheart,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut.

“Yes baby,” you whisper as your free hand hooks in his clothes to grant him more comfort, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the sensitive spot just under his ear. “Let me take care of you”

It feels like less of a torture once you free him of the prison of his own clothes, and he progressively eases into it as you take your time with him, take the time to observe every little shift in his face, every ragged breath that escapes his mouth, every time his lips part as he’s about to say something but the pleasure steals his words.

His fingers dig into your flesh as he clings to your arm, eyes dark and completely gone from the way you’re touching him and the way you’re looking at him – like he’s so much more than the trembling mess beneath your palm, more than just a body desperate for release, like he’s truly wanted for once in his life. 

He’s never had this like this before, never had it slow, intentional, a bit tentative, not just about finishing.

Bob’s hand shifts to slide up to the back of your neck and guide your face back to his, a low hum tearing from your throat when you sense his fingers working at the button of your pants; it's a bit hurried and clumsy as he struggles, and you're forced to pull away just long enough to rid yourself of the rest of your clothes faster. 

He kisses you again like he’s starving for it once you’re back over him again, deeper, needier, body pressing up against yours like the brief moment you've been apart has been unbearable.

Your forehead remains pressed up against his, breath thick with anticipation, skin burning up with desire. “Are you clean or do we need to–”

“The serum cleared me of anything” he nods, fingers brushing along your face, nose gently nudging your own.

“Okay that’s great– okay.”

Your name leaves his lips in a shaky breath when you roll your hips against his, slick and aching, the head of his cock catching right where you’re warmest. His hand digs into your waist, holding you there as his forehead presses against your shoulder. “Fuck– please,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wavering with need. “Stop teasing, I need–”

“You're acting so impatient for someone who wants to take it easy,” you chuckle softly, reaching between the two of you again to guide him where you want him. 

The moment he feels himself start to slide inside, he lets out a small grunt that joins your own exhale. “Jesus, you’re–” his hands tremble on your hips as you work to take all of him in, inch by inch, until your thighs are pressed flush to his. You pause there, letting the both of you adjust, brushing your fingers along the nape of his neck while your breathing evens out. “Are you okay?” he asks, warm hands settling at your thighs, lightly squeezing in reassurance. You nod, steadying yourself, palms resting against his abdomen to brace yourself, hips leisurely starting to move. 

You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been in this position before, if it’s ever been serious enough to really mean something to him, if it feels as any good without the chemical alteration – if being that close to him in that context used to really meant being that close, if being that intimate really meant being that intimate, if it used to have any more depth than just the physical connection.

His head sinks back into the soft fabric of his bedding with a faint sigh of your name, broad hands firm at your sides, a hushed cussword quietly slipping from his mouth as you ride him slowly. 

“I’ve dreamed of this before” he admits in a murmur. 

Your movements still just slightly, head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Yeah?”

“Not in a weird way. I mean– dreaming about it is probably weird either way” he adds quickly, brows pulling in embarrassment as his lips twist into a self-deprecating smile. “But I’ve thought about you like this for a while” 

You feel your heart thrumming faster with the way his breath catches every time you rock against him, the way his fingers twitch against your skin when you clench around him, the way he holds your gaze like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Knowing that he’s been thinking about this before, has been wanting you like this for a while and trusts you enough to admit it could make you crumble faster than you even expected. 

You kiss him again, deeper this time, like you're trying to indulge in the way he initially wanted this to be unhurried, body pressed up against his. 

“That’s more sweet than weird but– you can’t say this and expect me to last a while” you chuckle once you pull away, breath hitching in your throat when his hips tilt upwards to meet the slow grind of your body. 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing” he grins, lips dragging against your bare shoulder, the tip of his fingers running up along your spine.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you say, unable to help the soft gasp that follows, cheeks burning as your face buries into his neck when Bob clutches onto your waist to thrust up into you.

“I do. But it's nice knowing I can make you feel good” he grunts, muffled and short of breath, fingers digging deeper into your flesh, eyes squeezing shut when he realizes what he’s capable of when he’s not numbed by something synthetic, when it’s just him and not him and that painful itch to scratch driven by the drugs.

You keep moving together like that for a while, slow, gentle, but desperate. He lets his hands wander, less hesitant than before, sliding up your back and down again to grip your ass and guide your rhythm, groaning softly into your shoulder with each shift of your hips. There’s a desperation in his hold like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even for just a second you might disappear, like this entire moment could be a dream he might wake from too soon like it has been before. 

And when he leans back, eyes filled with desire as he murmurs, “Can I– let me get on top, yeah? Let me do this,” the uncertainty is so obvious across his face, like he’s afraid you’ll say no, that your heart tightens in your chest before you nod, cupping his cheek.

His lips twitch into a faint, grateful smile before he rolls you onto your back like it requires no effort at all – you sometimes forget about the serum and its effects that in some cases turn out to be great perks – you never thought of how useful it could be in that kind of situation, but the thought of how much more it could get to your advantage sparks even more excitement within you.

When he settles between your legs, it’s with a tenderness that almost shatters your soul. He doesn’t push back in right away, he just hovers there, his chest pressed to yours and his hands sliding under your thighs as if to remind himself you’re still real. His lips brush the corner of your mouth as he kisses you, his breath shivering against your cheek like he’s afraid he might ruin this if he moves too fast.

And then he’s inside you again, filling you up with a slow thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. It's deeper this time, his eyes squeezing shut as a shudder rips through him, soft moans escaping your mouths at each gentle drag of his cock. 

His pace starts slow, his thrusts calculated, a hand planted beside your head to hold himself up as his teeth bite into his bottom lip in focus. “You feel so good sweetheart” he murmurs, voice low with desire. His words somehow make you feel as good as his body does, unconsciously clenching around him when you feel them reverberate in the pit of your stomach. 

It doesn’t take long before he picks up on the pace, hips rolling harder against yours like he can’t hold back anymore. Soft gasps and whimpers escape you, nails grazing over the muscles of his back as he fucks you, but it’s only when you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of his face that you realize that he’s crying. 

Not dramatically weeping, not full on sobbing, and he probably thinks that it’s not enough to be noticeable and he can probably get away with it.

“Bob,” you whisper, hands coming to hold his face, fingers instantly brushing along his temple, panic and worry filling your voice as your gaze searches his. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop? We can stop–”

“No– no,” he breathes, voice breaking, head shaking. “I don’t wanna stop” he swallows hard, his body trembling above you, gaze dropping in shame. “It’s just– It feels real and that’s– don’t worry, just– let’s just keep going, please” he nods, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, head turning to the side like he wants to hide any way he can, face flushed and damp.

Your hand cups his cheek, gently turning him back to face you. His tears are warm against your fingertips as you swipe them away, your heart breaking for him when you see his gaze reflecting the overload of conflicted thoughts inside his head when his eyes finally meet yours. “Are you sure? We can take five if you want,” you offer, the tone of your voice poisoned with worry, watching intently when his head shakes and he swiftly wipes the few of the rest of his tears away.

“I’m okay,” he insists with a firm and resilient nod though his voice remains quiet and wavering. “I promise.”

You lean up just enough to press a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. “I know you don’t believe it, but you’re allowed to have nice things, you know,” you murmur against his mouth. 

His breath shudders out again, hand gripping your waist just a little tighter. “Yeah,” he says, almost like he’s still trying to convince himself of it, lips curling into a small, genuine smile when your hand slides down to the juncture between his neck and shoulder to soothingly rub there.

You feel the shift in him after that. It takes some time before the rhythm and confidence build up again, but Bob catches up on his pace, and soon, the momentary disruption is long forgotten, his thrusts growing bolder, surer, still tender but with more intent now, like he’s actively trying to believe that he deserves it, all of it, and has to make the most of it. 

Your lids fall shut at Bob’s quiet gasps of your name breathed into your ear when you tell him how good he’s doing, coupled with his hand snaking between your bodies to touch you, gently trying to coax it out of you, begging you like you’re not already going liquid beneath him. “Come on baby, please give it to me” 

Your fingers curl against his back, legs wrapping tighter around his waist and pulling him in even deeper. "Bob," you gasp as you arch into him, chasing after his touch. You’re so close it hurts, every desperate drag of his cock inside you feeling just right, every graze of his fingers sending sparks up your spine and heat pooling low in your belly.

"Please," he whispers again, like he's begging for more than just your orgasm, like he's asking for everything he’s ever wanted from you; your trust, your faith, your forgiveness for everything he's ever done and felt shameful for before he got here, right here with you beneath him. 

And you give it to him, you give all of it, you want him to have it all.

Your body tightens around him with a strangled gasp, hand clinging onto his bicep and nails digging into his skin as you let go beneath him, moaning his name as you tremble in his arms, melting into the mattress as it overtakes you.

He’s not far behind. The way your body pulses around him and the broken sounds you make in his ear get him right here. He lets out a groan, hips stuttering when you meet his eyes, the dim light of the room making them appear darker than they are – yet you could swear that for the matter of half a second, you can see a golden glint shine through his irises that disappears just as fast as it went, and then he’s spilling into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

His whole body trembles with the force of it, the muscles in his neck tensing under your fingers when your hands slide up to bury into his hair.

“You’re all sweaty,” you tease breathlessly once he starts to come down, fingers threading into his damp hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

His lips curve against your skin, his chuckle low and warm, vibrating through your feverish body. “So are you,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your jaw before looking at you again, gaze heavy with affection and something deeper that makes your stomach twist.

You lie like this for a while, tangled limbs buzzing with that funny feeling, your breathing evening as you hold each other, your thumb idly moving back and forth against his cheek.

Bob takes in a breath before he eventually breaks the comfortable silence. ”Sorry about earlier. When I… Y’know,” his voice drops, gets quieter. “Cried” your head shakes, brows pulling, and he speaks again before you can even begin to tell him he shouldn’t have to feel like he has to apologize for that. “It’s just that... I didn’t know it could feel this good,” he admits like it's some embarrassing confession, not even sure it’s something he would be saying out loud in any other context, not sure it would be something worth admitting. “Not just the sex, I mean. You. All of this.” he murmurs. “The… emotional connection”

He shifts, readjusting his position so that he’s lying beside you, still close, giving you space so he’s not smothering you with the overwhelming heat of his body, but most of all so he can face you. 

“It’s always been so quick and insignificant before” your head tilts to the side as you listen intently, quietly brushing away the damp strands of hair falling over his face, silently encouraging him to go on. “And besides the physical reactions it used to be so… numb.” he frowns. You can practically see the gears turning inside his head as he looks for his words, how to express it properly. “Not-special”

You nod, lips pinching into a small smile that wordlessly tells him that you get what he’s trying to say.

“I feel at ease when I'm with you” he eventually admits quietly, tiredly blinking as he looks at you like you’ve been giving him anything he’s ever wanted and needed.

You don’t say anything, maybe from fear that it wouldn’t even begin to compare to the preciousness of his words, so you just kiss him.

“I would want it to last forever if we could handle it. Being like this with you” he says once he pulls away, and he looks like he might almost cry again despite the grin over his face.

You chuckle, your fingertips lightly tracing the edges of his face. “We can always try” you tease playfully.

He snorts a laugh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he breathes out like a weight has been lifted off his chest. The exhaustion is obvious over his face, like he’s been drained of all energy, blinking the sleepiness away as he tries to fight it, holding on just to not give up on you like this.

You let your hand run through his hair again. “You can rest. I’ll be there when you wake up tomorrow, I’m not going anywhere”

His eyes roam along your face before he nods, not looking to argue, and he smiles, eyes closing in contentment when you kiss his face.

He had never done it sober, but now he has.

—

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But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W–What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

Sometimes, Bob woke up before everyone else in the tower. He'd grab his keys and go out to a local coffee shop just to get her something. By the time Bob got back, he would find her hunched over the kitchen island, reading a debrief file, and enjoying a donut.

He was nervous to approach her; something about her made him not really know how to act around her. He timidly set down the special drink he ordered for her, sliding it closer to her and retracting his hand quickly as if he feared she'd bite him like a wild animal.

Very slowly, Y/n tore her gaze away from the file in front of her and to the plastic to-go cup of coffee in front of her. Her eyes drifted upwards until they found the socially awkward boy standing in front of her.

“Did you get up early just to bring me this?” She knew. Of course she knew. She always knows.

“I was already up,” Bob mumbled, which was a lie. A huge lie. He’d set three alarms.

Accepting the drink, Y/n kept her gaze locked on him and was curious if he'd break under the pressure. “That right?”

He nodded too quickly and avoided her eyes as if they were burning. “Yeah. I— uh— I like walking in the morning.”

She hummed and glanced back down at the file. She brought the drink to her lips. “You didn’t poison this, did you?” she asked casually, as if it were a normal thing to say before sunrise.

Bob shook his head innocently.

"Good," Y/n smiled at him appreciatively. The look alone caused him to blush and his heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“I—It’s a caramel macchiato!” Bob blurted, louder than he meant to. He was just desperate to keep her attention on him. She looked back up at him with the tiniest smile on her face. He faltered under her watch. "W—With an extra shot...of...espresso."

"Is it just a coincidence that you know my coffee order?" Y/n wondered curiously.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. “You… mentioned it once.”

That got a smile out of her—a small one, but a real one. One that made his heart leap so high.

She eventually redirected her attention back down to the file like nothing serious happened. Bob could feel the heat rising in his face. He wanted to say something else, anything, but his mind was just white noise. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck—a nervous habit, one he was sure she’d noticed by now. Then Bucky entered the room.

“There he is,” Bucky announced with an all knowing smirk, swiftly moving through the kitchen. “You're up early today. Out fetching coffee again?”

Bob groaned softly and backed away from the counter.

“You fetch hers too?” Bucky glanced between them, then grinned. “Of course you did.”

She didn’t say anything—just kept reading, totally unfazed. And Bob stared at Bucky unamused.

"You didn't bring us back anything?" Bucky looked offended and searched around as if expecting his coffee order to just magically appear.

This was something that Bob was teased about constantly by the team because all of them knew about the crush he harbored on her. He ultimately didn't want to have to explain his reasons to Bucky of all people, so he opted to leave the room.

But as Bob turned to leave, she glanced up again. Not with a smile this time, but with a thoughtful sort of look.

Like she was waiting.

The rest of the team was scattered around the base—except Bob, who was just walking and hoping he'd find something to get his attention. He didn't have a real destination, but he might have secretly hoped he'd run into her in the process.

Spotting her open bedroom door just ahead, Bob straightened his back in posture. He walked past her room, glanced inside, and continued on. Then he froze like he’d hit a wall when he realized what he just witnessed.

The lights were soft, the window cracked open. A breeze fluttered the curtains slightly. And there she was—laying on her bed, reading a book. Bare legs behind her and feet hanging over her back given that she was on her stomach. She looked completely at ease.

Just like bees to honey, Bob did a double take and backed up—slowly, quietly—just to get another glimpse of her laying there. He wasn’t even being subtle about it.

Hovering in the doorway, Bob awkwardly placed his hand on the doorframe. She was reading with her head propped on her hand, glasses sliding slightly down her nose. She looked so relaxed; she hadn’t noticed him at all.

Which, for some reason, made him ache a little.

“Hey,” he offered, voice hoarse and soft.

She glanced up, then smiled a little when she saw him. “Hey, Bob.”

He stared for one second too long. And then another. The silence stretched between them like taut wire.

“Did you need something?” she asked, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

"Yes—I mean no. I was just—passing by." His voice cracked. He cleared it and stood straighter. “I was, uh… going somewhere.”

"Where?" Y/n pressed.

Bob blinked, fiddling nervously. “Somewhere... not here.”

She smiled—lazy, amused. "Well. I wouldn't want to stop you from your very important mission."

His mouth opened and then closed. The gears in his head were grinding so hard, he could practically hear the smoke. She was doing that thing again—talking to him like she knew. Like he was a deer and she was just waiting to see if he’d bolt.

"R—Right," Bob's words caught up with his thoughts. He blinked twice and awkwardly shuffled away from the door. "Guess I'll get out of your hair then."

Her gaze found the page she left off on, still unfazed. "Have fun."

As Bob disappeared down the hallway, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Y/n let a small smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t look up from her book, but she didn’t keep reading either.

About once a week, Alexei prided himself in making a big hearty breakfast just for the boys with claims of them needing to spend time together as men. He served every kind of protein imaginable: bacon, sausage, eggs, ham, even steak once. He’d sometimes take requests—except waffles.

Bob had asked for them once.

Alexei had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Waffles are for children and men who fear chewing. I make you meat instead.”

And Bob obediently ate the ham served that day.

The three of them seated at the kitchen island. Bob sat with a fork in hand, picking at a pile of food he didn’t remember asking for and mindlessly thinking about her. Meanwhile, Walker was already halfway through his plate, Bucky was drinking a black coffee, and Alexei was flipping something massive in a cast iron pan over the stove like it owed him rent.

“Eat,” Alexei barked when Bob just poked at a sausage link. He promptly slapped two more onto his plate without asking. “You need more protein; women like men with muscle."

"She knows, guys,” Bob groaned, changing the subject. “She definitely knows.”

"Knows what?" Alexei glanced between John and Bucky like they'd left him out of a group chat. "I do not know. Who knows what?"

"Of course she knows," Bucky proceeded to lower his coffee. "You're not exactly subtle about it—bringing her coffee, walking past her room, turning into a tomato every time she so much as breathes in your direction."

"Ah, you mean her," Alexei connected the dots because even he saw how he looked at her.

"He’s hopelessly in love with her, but won't say anything." Bucky announced.

“She’s too busy for me anyway,” Bob mumbled, shoulders hunched. “She’s got stuff going on. Important stuff.”

John snorted. “That’s your excuse now?”

“She’s literally everywhere,” Bob said, throwing up a hand. “Working out, reading briefings, sparring—like, I’m supposed to just waltz up and flirt while she’s in the middle of combat training?”

“You already do everything but flirt,” Bucky pointed out and John agreed. “You bring her coffee, open doors for her, wait for her to finish meetings just so you can walk the same direction."

Alexei grinned. “He is soft for her.”

"I’m not soft—" Bob sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “She doesn’t even notice me.”

“Oh, she notices,” John said with a smirk. “She’s just pretending not to, which is way worse.”

“I can’t just say something,” Bob muttered. “What if it ruins everything? What if she laughs at me?”

“She won't laugh," John said confidently.

"And we’re not judging," Bucky added. "We’ve all been there. Someone cold, deadly, completely out of your league—”

“Whose out of whose league?”

All heads snapped toward the hallway.

There she stood. In absolutely nothing, but a towel.

Her hair damp, held up loosely in a messy bun. Her skin flushed pink from the hot shower. Her body glistened in the light, littered with small specks of water still. The towel hugged her body like it had been custom-measured to torment Bob specifically—just enough to cover, far too little to handle.

No makeup. Barefoot. And utterly unbothered. Just looking the picture of innocence.

When Bob saw her, he could have sworn his soul left his body.

The room went dead silent.

She couldn't really read the room, just noticed four stunned, absolutely useless men just staring at her like she’d walked in wearing fire.

She raised a brow. “Did I… interrupt something?”

“Nope,” John said, way too fast. “Just guy talk. Carry on. Totally normal.”

“You’re… uh… wet,” Bob blurted, mortified instantly.

She looked down at herself, then back up, amused. “Yes, Bob. That’s generally what happens when you shower.”

He made a small, broken noise that might have been a whimper.

"Just carry on. I'm not even here," Y/n waved off. She moved across the room and made her way over to the refrigerator, oblivious to the sets of eyes that tracked her movements.

The towel swayed. Bob’s jaw tightened. His face went red, then pink, then red again. His hand subtly shifted under the table as he sat up straighter, panicking slightly.

Spotting her peach yogurt, Y/n bend forward just enough to reach the back. The towel hitching up just high enough to give any of them far too much hope.

Each of them react different.

While Bucky sported a wolfish grin, he didn’t even try to look away. His eyes lingered—appreciative, amused, and entirely unbothered by what was clearly a nuclear-level distraction. He leaned back in his chair like he was settling in for the best part of the morning.

His lips curved. He was definitely tempted to whistle.

“Damn,” he muttered with a low chuckle. “Morning just got a whole lot better.”

Walker was mid-bite when he saw her. One second he was chewing toast, the next—he choked so hard he had to thump his chest to recover. He reached for his mug like it was a tactical maneuver, taking a long, steadying sip of black coffee. His eyes shamelessly watched her every move.

Walker murmured under his breath, “Sweet mother of—"

Next, Alexei is the only one unbothered by her actions. Instead, he finds pleasure in watching the other's reactions, smiling wildly like he was enjoying his favorite show on tv.

“Is very fun to watch strong men crumble,” Alexei commented cheerfully, sipping from his own mug and enjoying every second of this.

Especially Bob's reaction. That’s when things got really good. Because Bob was gone.

Frozen. Stuck. Statuesque.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

“Ohmygod—” Bob choked, barely above a whisper. He slammed his eyes shut like he could unsee what had just happened. He tried to focus on his breathing.

He cursed under his breath like he was fighting to keep it all together.

He keeps telling himself in his head: “Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t—too late.”

Withdrawing from the fridge, Y/n successfully closed the door and spun around on the heels of her feet. She held up the yogurt cup and was handed a spoon by Alexei. Peeling back the foil and dipping the spoon into the yogurt, Y/n brought the spoon up to her mouth and savored the first bite.

Her gaze flicked across them casually, but then landed—lingered—on Bob.

Her brows knit slightly. “Something wrong?”

The others were no help at all. Because John was hiding a smirk behind his cup and Bucky watched the interaction with the widest, all-knowing smirk on his face. And all the while, Bob was struggling to breathe.

Bob finally managed something that resembled speech.

“N-No,” he croaked. “Nope. All good.”

She blinked. “You sure?”

Bob nodded. Too quickly. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. Totally normal morning. Nothing weird at all.”

“Okay.” She turned and walked off, towel swaying with every step like she was floating. Everyone's gazes trailed after her as if wanting to commit the image to memory. "If you need anything from me, just ask!"

They heard the door of her room shut softly. They huddled together to speak in harsh whispers.

"Why didn't you say anything to her?" Bucky spoke first.

“She was wearing a towel,” Bob whisper-yelled. “What was I supposed to do—confess my love while she’s practically naked?!?!”

John, still gripping his coffee like a lifeline, muttered, “I would’ve.”

Alexei shrugged. “You were supposed to suffer in silence. Like the rest of us.”

"Didn't you hear what she said?" Bucky brought their attention back and Bob looked confused like he'd missed something important. “She said if you need anything, just ask—that was an invitation,”

"What?" Bob asked, clearly not interpreting it the same way.

“She basically dared you to say something.” Bucky pointed out.

Bob groaned in frustration, dragging both hands over his face. Feeling like it was another missed opportunity. “But if I say something now, it’ll be weird."

“I don’t think she’s the one uncomfortable,” John said, not even pretending to hide his grin.

"That's what I'm saying! She knows, definitely knows. And it amuses her. She's messing with me," Bob threw his hands up in slight defeat.

"Ah, but you like it.” Bucky said flatly.

“…I do.” Bob confessed timidly.

"Just don't get too excited there, sunshine." John remarked. John’s gaze dropped—and Bob followed it, his stomach dropping.

And Bob immediately slapped his hands on the table, desperate to block any view of his pants. He felt his face turning pure crimson in color; the others only chuckling in amusement.

The base was mostly quiet in the evening. The lights were dimmed and the place had a soft hum from something far off like white noise in the background. Everyone just about in for the night.

All except Bob who found himself wandering the dark hallways aimlessly. He slowed down as he neared her open door, being curious about why it was still open this late. Peering inside, Bob found her sitting on her bed with legs curled beneath her. She absentmindedly stared out the window, admiring the city lights. The faint glow lit up her face, soft and calm.

Bob hovered in the doorway for a moment too long, rehearsing a dozen things in his head before any of them made it to his mouth.

She noticed him, but didn’t turn. “You’re not great at sneaking up, you know that, right?”

He stepped inside sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to sneak. Just… trying to find the right moment.”

“That so?” She finally looked at him, her expression unreadable but clearly open. “Is this it?”

Bob hesitated. “I—uh—guess it has to be.”

He stood awkwardly in front of her bed, wringing his hands together as if the action would put him to ease. She watched him in anticipation, waiting for him to just come out and say it. She didn't even know that she held her breath.

“You’re probably too busy for this. For me," Bob said. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Too busy for what, exactly?” That seemed to get her attention.

“I don’t know. For… whatever this is. I mean, I’ve been trying not to make it weird, but it probably already is weird. You’re always working and focused and—God, I sound like a lunatic—” Bob wanted to cower into himself.

“Bob.” She stood up right in front of him.

He stopped. His eyes met hers. He searched for something, really anything that could have been mistaken as a hint. Rejection or acceptance.

"I already told you: If you want something,” she said gently, “all you have to do is ask.”

The silence stretched between them. He opened his mouth and closed it, desperately trying to gather his courage. She waited for him patiently, not pushing him past discomfort. And then:

“I want you.”

Her lips curved into a quiet smile of satisfaction. As if she’d been waiting exactly for this.

"There it is," Y/n accepted.

Bob didn’t answer—at least, not with words.

Any space between them was quickly closed. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as his mouth crashed into hers, finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back.

She met him halfway, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt to pull him closer. There was no gentleness in it, not at first—just hunger, urgency, months of glances and tension and unsaid things pouring out in one sharp breath.

Her hands found his shoulders, his back, tugging him in like she’d been waiting just as long because she truly had. She guided him toward the bed, slow and steady, letting him follow her lead.

Their clothes began to slip away piece by piece until there was nothing left to shed. His hands finally rose, gently framing her waist like she might vanish. Then his palms slid up—slowly—over her ribs, along her back, until she was pressed against him, chest to chest.

He lifted her without a word, carrying her the rest of the way to the bed, and laying her down like something sacred. When she laid back and pulled him over her, he hovered for a breathless second and searched for any sign of wanting to stop all this.

Her legs shifted, opening just enough to let him settle between them. She weaved her fingers through his brown locks of hair, drawing a soft moan from his lips. He whispered her name like a damn prayer.

"I've waited so long for you," she breathed. He kissed his way down her stomach slowly and worshipfully. Her thighs trembled under his touch and he gently coaxed them open to accommodate his shoulders.

When his mouth finally found her—hot, desperate—she gasped his name and arched against him. Her voice breaking on every syllable, but he desperately needed to taste her. He took his time with her.

Because he wanted to memorize every moan, every whimper, every shake of her legs around his shoulders.

Her hands gripped at whatever they could find—his hair, the sheets beneath them, even his shoulder—as he worked her over with patient intensity. His tongue worked eagerly, drawing every last drop of sweetness she had to offer him.

When she came undone, it was with a cry that echoed off the walls and he held her through it.

She was still catching her breath when he kissed his way back up, slow and reverent, like he was savoring the aftermath. Her fingers tangled in his hair again, pulling him toward her until their mouths met—hot and hungry this time, tasting the want between them.

“Bob,” she whispered against his lips, and that alone nearly undid him.

He groaned low in his throat, like he couldn’t contain it anymore. “Say that again.”

She did—his name soft, broken, beautiful—and it lit something inside him. He pressed his forehead to hers, trying to catch his breath, but the way her hands ran down his back and dug into his skin left him trembling. That was all it took.

The last of his control broke. He kissed her hard, needy. She arched into him, nails leaving little red trails down his back, her legs curling around him to pull him even closer.

His body trembled with restraint, every muscle tight with need as he hovered just above her, their breaths mingling in the space between.

Her legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him closer. "Bob..." she whispered, her voice a shiver in the dark. "Don't make me wait any longer."

He swallowed hard, eyes locked to hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. His thumb caressed the edge of her jaw, slow and reverent. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” she promised. “You’re already everything I want.”

He kissed her again—deeper this time, like he needed it to breathe and his hips slowly rolled forward. Their bodies aligning in a way that stole both their breaths.

Careful to draw himself back out partially, Bob thrusted and moved deliberately. He was too busy feeling the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers flexed against his back, and the way her breath caught in her throat when he rocked his hips just right. His name slipped from her lips again.

“God,” he groaned into her neck, barely holding himself together. “You feel… oh, God… so good.”

"Then don’t stop,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of skin slapping together. She tried meeting his thrusts. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And Bob didn’t.

He moved with aching slowness, letting the tension coil tighter, letting it drag out—each motion deeper, more desperate, more consuming. Until they were both trembling from the force of it, completely lost in each other.

The sound of their bodies moving together filled the room, slow and rhythmic, a symphony of want and wonder.

He stole a glance downward—just once—and the sight nearly undid him. The way they moved together, how perfectly she welcomed him, how her body responded like it had always been meant for his. A quiet curse escaped his lips, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing hard.

“You… you’re everything.”

She turned her head, lips brushing against his temple, her voice breathless. She corrected him. “I’m yours.”

That did something to him. He gripped her tighter, forehead pressed to hers, his rhythm faltering only because he was overwhelmed—by her, by the way she looked at him, by the way she whispered his name like he was her only tether.

They could feel it building, that tight pull low in their stomachs, coiling tighter with every movement, every breathless sound that spilled from the other.

“Bob—” she gasped, her voice trembling, wrecked with need. “I’m… I’m so close—”

“I’ve got you,” his own voice rough and unsteady. “Come with me.”

His hand slid down between them, finding the spot that made her cry out. Her walls clenched around him as her body seized beneath him, and that was all it took.

She broke first—back arched, head thrown back, breath catching in a stuttering moan of his name. And as he felt her fall apart around him, he followed—his own release ripping through him in a wave so sharp and overwhelming he could barely breathe.

They held onto each other through it—through the trembling, through the gasping, through the aftershocks that left them both reeling.

And still, he held her like he was afraid to let go. Because now that he had her, he never wanted to stop.

Hot. Hot was the best way to describe the itching feeling coursing through your muscles.

  It was about 10:30pm, you were in bed, one hand gripping your sheets while the other massaged your thigh in hopes of soothing the sensation. You had returned to HQ at 3:00pm. You filled out some paperwork regarding your mission before feeling ill, your skin heating up, and your muscles sore and aching. You were quick to let Yelena know, and she quickly allowed you to head back to your quarters to rest and complete the report tomorrow.

  You had proceeded to stay in your room for the entire time you’ve gotten back, your thoughts swirling and thighs pressed together with a growing ache for another’s touch. You had no clue what was wrong, how the villain you were fighting had possibly numbed your mind to the point that your comprehension skills were reduced to a desperate grasp of touch.

  Your head turned in discomfort, a flushed shade of red as you exhaled deeply into your pillow. The hand on your thigh trailed up your hip with slow, teasing movements that soon led to one of your nipples beneath your muscle shirt, pinching and rolling the bud between two fingers with a desperate whimper.

  Your fingers continued to toy with the nipple before moving to the other, applying the same treatment as you muffled any small cries that left your pouting lips. Your other hand left the sheet below you and made its way to the apex of your thighs, two fingers adding just the right amount of pressure to your clothed clit that made you moan deliciously into your pillow.

  Your eyes rolled back, small gasps and pleas muffled by the pillow as you rolled your hips into your own hand, just sensitive enough to cum from the collective friction right before your door opened.

  Bob’s figure stood beneath the door frame in his loungewear, a comfortable mute-colored long sleeve with matching baggy pants, the only outfit he truly wears around the headquarters, just because of its comfort. “Hey, are you doing alright..?” He ran a hand through his short curls, his voice quiet as if he was disturbing you.

  “You weren’t at the table for dinner. I wanted to make sure you are alright after your mission. Yelena had said it was rough—“

  “L-Lock my door, Bob, please…” You muttered lowly, interrupting him with a shaky voice as you continued your motions on your nipple, but moving your hand away from between your thighs. You rolled your body over, the friction of the sheets beneath you making your skin break out in goosebumps while you barely peek from below your blanket.

  “Was it something you wanted to talk more about? Or would you like me to leave? I really don’t mean to pry...” He questioned, his body faced away from your bed as he locked your door. You sat up in your bed, scooting your body towards the headboard and inviting him to sit in front of you, making the rough decision to stop stimulating your nipple, the pause making your body churn and your cunt ache.

  Bob walks over, his hand fumbling with the other nervously as he sits down in front of you, mattress sinking below your weight and his. “Talk to me—Was the mission that bad?” His face showed genuine concern, a frown of understanding, considering what he went through himself before joining the New Avengers. “I can bring you leftovers if you want me to, I don’t want you to go hungry—“

  “I… I don’t know what happened during that mission… but I feel hot—burning hot—like if my skin was lava, and it has only grown worse since I’ve returned…” Tears threaten the corners of your eyes as you explain the overwhelming sensation, unable to look Bob in the eyes, only looking down at your thighs while you were sitting on the heels of your feet.

  “It’s like… It’s like I need to be touched, my body is on fire for t-touch, and my own isn’t fulfilling anything, it’s practically useless. It’s like I don’t have a mind of my own, my thoughts just circling back to the thought of hands on my body—“

  You were choking up, biting your lip in an attempt to keep down your anguish right as you finally looked up at Bob, only seeing a man whose eyes roamed your aching body, as if it were something to worship, while your eyes envisioned him as if he were the only antidote to your agony.

  “I can… uhm…” Bob began lowly, voice quivering as his shaky hand reached out to yours. Your hand twitched with hesitation, contemplating the many swirling thoughts in your head before grabbing him by his wrist and pulling him in, lips clashing against each other. A shocked whimper left Bob’s lips, yet the action wasn’t unwelcome.

  He held your hand with one hand while the other came up to cup your cheek, skin burning and tingling under his palm. His fingers were twitching with anxiety. Bob muttered something between each kiss, slowly trailing up your neck and to your sweet lips, connecting in slow kisses at first, your mouth quickly acting on its own and turning the shared moment into desperation. Your mind was too fogged to piece anything together, but only a few quiet thank yous, as if Bob were thanking you for a grand meal.

  Your hands quickly tangled into his hair, tugging him forward and nearly knocking your teeth against each other as your tongue slides into Bob’s mouth, making him whimper into your lips, brow furrowing, and eyes closing shut. One of his hands gripped your thigh gently to ground you, but he didn’t truly realize how sensitive your condition made you. Bob’s roaming hands and lips made you moan loudly into his mouth, further causing him to whine from the blissful melody of your cries.

  You were palming at his chest like a feral animal, panting harshly against the shell of his ear while he kissed your neck down to your collarbone, the sweet sensation being fulfilled but at an agonizingly slow pace. His soft lips against your burning skin, the occasional bites and licks following along, making you squirm under Bob’s hold.

  “I’ve needed you, Bob… for a long time—even before this mission… when we first met— ngh…” He interrupted your words when the hand on your thigh met the hem of your muscle shirt, dipping beneath to feel every soft curve of your waist, nearly making you moan.

  “Me too… god, I just didn’t want to seem like a weirdo—you were so nice to me, I c-couldn’t possibly—“ You hushed Bob up with another sloppy kiss, pulling away with a drop of saliva trickling down the corner of his lip, “Please, Bob. I want this—you. I want you!” Your voice was desperate.

  “You’ve treated me with proper care… You deserve to be treated like that.” Bob declares, his hand trembling beneath your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your pebbled nipples. Bob bit his lip with a hint of anxiety, a pleasing sensation immediately shooting to his groin, letting out a mixture of a groan and whimper.

  “L-Let me know if I’m going too far.” He looks up at you with a genuine look in his eye before trailing his kisses down from your collarbone to your breasts. He took one in his mouth, lips latching and suckling while one of his hands held and massaged the other, thumb swiping over the nipple occasionally. Although his touch was simple, you were still moaning loudly, your body so sensitive to Bob’s touch as he gave such excellent attention to your breasts.

  He would end up swapping every so often, allowing his teeth to gently graze your skin while his hand would pinch your nipple, rolling your hips into nothing as you felt yourself grow drenched by the minute. “It feels so good—really good, Bob, fuck!” You moaned, one hand tangling in the back of his hair while the other quickly slipped beneath into your shorts and panties. You were completely soaked.

  Your index finger pressed deliciously against your aching clit, rolling over the bud in circular motions to match Bob’s tongue swirling over one of your nipples just before he latched off, leaving your chest wet with his saliva that the air left chilling.

  “You—you sound so, so pretty…” he muttered, helping you lie down on your bed, resting your throbbing head on your pillows, and splaying your body out on the mattress. “I’ve been imagining you like this... It’s so much better than a dream.” He hissed as he scooted his body down yours, his clothed, growing erection rubbing against your thigh for only a brief moment.

  You can see his precum beginning to leak through his pants, a small, dark patch fading into the material as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your shorts. Bob looks up at you with genuine eyes, large and blown out like a puppy, with genuine love and care in his eyes. “Allow me? I… I want to make you feel good…” His face was red, never guessing he would be so desperate now, considering how nervous he would become just sitting beside you, now he’s here, sitting between your legs. He was so afraid of touching you as if you were to break.

  You nod frantically, your hips already lifting as if to show your desperation. “Please… please, yes. You’re so beautiful, Bobby, please take ‘em off!” Your voice shook, watering eyes meeting Bob’s as he quickly tugged down your pants, his own hands quivering at the sight of your drenched panties. He had to admit, the nickname sent a rush of adrenaline through his body, blood rushing to the tip of his cock in an instant.

  “So wet, shit—“ His voice lowered as he cursed, discarding your pants on the side of the bed before cautiously pressing a thumb to where your clit was, feeling the bud twitch through the soaked material. You moan loudly, turning your head into your pillow in attempts to cover your moan, yet your eyes remained on Bob, his reddened face showing curiosity and pure love for your body.

  He quickly shifted his body lower on the bed, resting on his belly and elbows, “god—uhm—wow… I can’t believe how wet you are…”

  God, he was so nervous. Bob was showing it in his actions, the way his hands shook when growing closer to your body, his beady eyes flinching and looking around as if he had done something wrong, his teeth digging into his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. The whole image of him on his belly for you truly made you wonder how bad he must’ve wanted this, how long he’s been waiting.

  As your thoughts spiraled between just simply bulling Bob back up and riding him until sunrise and his sweet, gentle complexion, Bob carefully pulled your panties down your legs as if he were afraid of tearing them clean off. The action quickly hushed your mind, watching as Bob rests his cheek against your thigh while just staring, simply staring at how wet you were, skin glistening in your dim room light.

  His eyes were only on your body, and it made you squirm.

  “Bob, please, the staring…” You pouted, “P-Please do something, please…” You were quiet due to your embarrassment, but still visibly desperate for him.

  “…Oh! Sorry—I’m sorry…” Bob stuttered, shaking his head back into reality. He gulped, trying to bury his obvious anxiety as his lips grew closer to your folds. You swore you could’ve seen him drooling from one of the corners of his mouth, but any thoughts you had flew out the window when Bob finally began to lap at your folds, his tongue flattening and gliding up your folds, the tip meeting your clit with each swipe, which was enough to make you cum.

  Bob allowed his hands to rest on your thighs, holding you down whenever you tried to shift from his motions, his eyes closed as he savored your taste, greatly enhanced from your condition.

  “Is—is this okay..?” He asked, peeling his lips from yours, mouth already soaked from your wetness. Bob’s eyes were dark, yet they seemed so soft in the way he looked up at you. You nod quickly, already missing the feeling of his tongue on your aching sex. “Yes! God, please just keep going, I’ll tell you if— oh!” Bob quickly cut you off with kisses to your clit, suckling harshly to satisfy your rabid craving, yet gentle enough to let you know you could stop him at any time.

  He broke away from your folds briefly once more. “L-Let me know if it’s too much… if anything is t’ much…”

  With that, his head lowered again to feast on your sweetness, one of his hands reaching up to toy with your nipple, the other sliding his middle finger into your needing cunt. Your walls instantly tighten around the digit, eyes rolling back with a breathless moan, tearing from your throat as Bob’s finger rubbed perfectly against that sweet spot inside of you.

  With each thrust of his finger, you’d let out a squeak, sounds that would make Bob grind slowly against the mattress while continuing to satisfy you. Your toes curled behind his back, heels digging into the small of it while one of your hands dipped to your other breast, sloppily matching the rhythm of Bob’s hand on the opposite, your other hand tangling in Bob’s hair with a light grip.

  Bob ran his finger against your upper wall, gliding back and forth over the soft and squishy ridges of the flesh. Countless noises gushed out from your mouth and cunt, and Bob was relishing in all of them. The wetness drooling from your entrance and around his mouth and finger, the moans and whimpers filling the room were like a beautiful melody to him, which was more than enough to satisfy him. Your voice gradually grew in pitch once he added a second finger, quickly feeling your orgasm draw near.

  Bob allows his tongue to flick against your clit, quick, rapid motions as his two fingers plunged into the same spot recklessly, finger pads rough against the spot that made you see stars. Your hips bucked under his touch, tears of overstimulation blurring your vision as you felt your walls pulse around his digits. “Close... C-Close, make me cum, Bobby—god…!” You mustered up, voice and body shaking in raw pleasure.

  That nickname again, the one that makes Bob’s eyes roll back and hips rock into the bed with a slight stutter, something only your desperate, shaky voice can cause him to feel. He shudders, the vibrations from his voice transferring to your sensitive nerves as he sucked on your bud, all while he presses his hips deeply into the mattress, the friction of the fabric against his clothed, aching cock, and your voice nearly making him cum.

  Bob never tears his eyes off your face, watching your brows furrow and raise with each flick of his tongue, emotions mixing in the way your eyes would widen and close tightly. It was all so much, he wanted all of it—all of you. Without thinking, he used the strength of his hand on your thigh to pull you in, his nose now flushed against your pubic hair as he forces another breath-taking orgasm out of your system.

  His fingers push against you deliciously, and with the addition of his mouth, you quickly unravel on his lips, your wetness seeping over his fingers. Although you couldn’t hear him through your own constant cries, Bob moaned into your cunt, the sweetest compliments as you drenched his fingers. “S’ pretty, s-so, so pretty…” He removed his fingers from your walls, fighting back the urge to lick them clean, but he quickly recalibrated his thoughts, directing his lips back to your entrance to lap up your sopping mess.

  Your body shuddered as Bob tasted you, moving both hands to his hair to help ground you back to reality while your thighs quivered around his head. “That w-was perfect, Bob… My god…” You huffed, mild aftershocks of overstimulation causing your hips to buck with each swipe of Bob’s tongue against your folds. “S-So good, but I… I need more, please—“

  “T-Tell me what to do…” Bob’s voice muffled between pants and gasps for air, drunk on your slickness as he dips his tongue into your entrance many times while he continues to drink you up, your fingertips curling more passionately into his hair.

  “F-Fuck me… hah—fuck me, Bobby, I want… I need you to fuck me, p-please…” A choked groan followed from Bob.

  “I… Please keep calling me that… I love it.” His large, doe eyes look up at your blown ones, eyelids twitching from pure pleasure.

  A mixture of “Bob” and “Bobby” fell from your lips as his tongue relentlessly lapped up your juices, the coil within you quickly tightening, threatening to burst yet again. Your thighs squished around his face, your eyes closing even as you tried to watch his pretty face scrunch beneath you.

  Bob truly was beautiful like this, hair disheveled thanks to your hands, face red while he collected your arousal on his tongue, just the look of his eyes on yours pushed you over the edge. You moaned loudly, raising a balled fist to bite down on as you came on his fleshy muscle again, your other hand tightening in Bob’s locks once his nose pressed against your clit with the perfect amount of pressure.

  Bob lapped at your dripping folds, slow and deliberate as to not further overstimulate you while you held his head, hands gripping his scalp for dear life, making him wince briefly. As you slowly came down from your high, it was obvious that two orgasms didn’t cut the horrible feeling of your blood boiling beneath your skin, now looking at Bob with glossy eyes, tears threatening to burst. You felt an immense wave of guilt wash over your body, having the urge to get it off your chest.

  “…I feel terrible, Bob, this isn’t fair to you… I just put this on you so unfairly, you don’t have to—“

  “No I want this—you—I… I want you.

  Bob interrupted, taking your hand in his, both trembling nervously. “I’ve never been so serious about something, I… I just didn’t expect it to happen like this… I’ll leave you be if you’d like, of course—“

  “No.” Your other hand hastily came up to hold his, thumb tracing circles over his skin. “I just wanted to make sure if you were okay with… everything.” The last few words came out as an awkward laugh, Bob quickly nodding along so you didn’t feel as strongly. “More than okay. If I can help you while pleasing you, I would be more than happy to.”

  In the moment, you press a warm palm to his cheek, cupping it and pulling it to your face to kiss the opposite side, the two of you sharing a warm smile. “Thank you.” A genuine moment of sweetness between the two of you, Bob giggling softly in your hold. You held him like that for a minute, his eyes closed shut in your embrace while relishing the feeling of your burning skin against him, until he pulled away in realization.

  “I—I should get to helping you out more then… huh?” He spoke, just a bit more timidly, considering how warm of a moment he interrupted.

  You nod, the hand on his cheek going down to tug the hem of his sweatshirt, pleading eyes locked on his. “…If you don’t mind.”

  “Y-Yeah.” He nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a nervous gulp before he places his hand on yours, slowly working to lift his long sleeve off his body. He moved your hand along, starting from his neck, trailing his collar bone, then holding just between his pecs, a sense of grounding as his heartbeat slowly rises. “Keep it here, please.” You nod, your skin still burning against his.

  Bob lifts his hips, one hand tugging down his sweatpants and boxers while the other holds yours on his chest. His cock slid from confinement, a gentle slap to his stomach with a small smear of pre-cum wiping off just above his belly button, the sight making you nearly drool.

  He pushed the rest of the clothes off your bed, his back now against the headboard with your hungry eyes roaming over his body, how the dim light illuminated his abs and the smudge of his excitement, eyes just a bit glossy, hands trembling, it was like a grand meal to savor.

  “I must look really good if you’re staring at me like that…” he chuckles nervously when your hand begins to rake down his chest, fingernails gently scratching his pale skin. “I need you, Bob.” You chuckle softly, the effects of your mission still clearly lingering while you pepper kisses on his neck, following lower and lower, down his torso and to his aching cock, pressing your lips against his throbbing head and collecting his arousal on your tongue.

  A strangled groan leaves his lips, balling the sheets in his hands, not sure where to leave them once you begin to suck on his shaft, slowly lowering your head to accommodate his length. Your lips stretched around his thickness, a free hand pumping the rest you couldn’t fit, while your saliva slowly trickled down his cock.

  You sucked harshly, desperate for more, but with proper care and a purpose to relish in him entirely. Bob rested his hands on your shoulders, contemplating between massaging your muscles or pushing you away, but you continued to interfere with his thoughts once you began to lower yourself as far down as possible, teary eyes on his, while pumping his cock faster. With a ruined whine, he gently pushes your head up and off his cock, his shaft throbbing, already missing your mouth.

  “D-Don’t wanna cum already… you’re so good…” Bob gasped huskily, easing the pressure on your head as you adjusted your position, leaning back on your elbows in front of him. He took in the sight of your glossy lips, swollen from the stretch of his cock, neck, and collarbone, littered with the smallest hickies he created. God, you were just a sight for sore eyes.

  “Pretty…” Bob muttered dreamily, the two of you now sitting up in your bed. Your cunt was drooling for Bob, and Bob was leaking for you. You both couldn’t wait any longer, almost leaning in and bumping foreheads out of raw desperation, causing a soft moment between you both, small, shy chuckles leaving your lips before they met again, slow and sensual as Bob guided you into his lap.

  He takes his hand and grips the base of his cock, swiping the flushed tip along your slit, collecting your slick and spreading it all over your folds, kissing against your clit with the sloppiest sound that echoes throughout the room. You looked down the whole time, taking in the sight and the lewd noises that spilled from your combined sexes. Bob notices your observance, taking his other hand to gently tilt your head up to his.

  “Just—Just let me know, okay? If it’s bad, if—ngh…” Bob’s babbling was quickly interrupted by you sinking down on his cock, his thickness slowly getting swallowed inch by inch by your hungry cunt. You both let out a stray sigh once he’s fully sheathed, his head practically kissing your cervix deliciously, making you squirm.

  “Stunning, you look stunning…” he whispered, the smallest gasps of air leaving his body. You silenced him briefly, pressing a short and sweet kiss to his lips as you began to move your hips up and down, allowing your body to slowly accustom to his thickness. Bob only let his hands rest on where hips, letting you guide yourself, although they would occasionally give your ass a gentle squeeze, moving one to brush a thumb against your clit while you bucked into the touch.

  You moved faster, lifting and lowering your hips at an inconsistent rate, jittery and rabid, while the mixture of your moans filled your room. With a small movement, Bob holds your hips down, your thighs flush against his skin before dipping you down into the mattress, his body over yours, his hair barely touching your face as he looks down at your fucked out expression. You wanted more, yet your body ached far too much for any further movement.

  He searched your eyes for another quick confirmation, a desperate nod and whine from you had him moving within seconds, average thrusts that pushed his cock what felt even deeper inside of you. This position allowed him to fully bottom out inside of you with each thrust, really making Bob’s noises grow louder. “O-Oh god—fuckkk…” He cries in a mixture of a groan and whimper, hair looming over your shoulder as he buries his head into your neck, pressing kisses all over while you claw at his back.

  Bob’s face was completely red, ragged breaths escaping through gritted teeth, skin burning against each other as his hips soon began to stutter, quickly moving his hand down to circle your clit, causing your legs to buckle beneath him.

  “You’re beautiful… so, so beautiful…” He hummed into your ear, pressing small, sweet kisses to your earlobe, continuing to whisper gentle praise as he kept himself to the hilt inside of you, cock throbbing as your walls clenched him as if he were going to leave you.

  “Cumming, c-cumming, Bobby…” you whimper into his ear, teeth grazing the skin, mind completely in shambles and unable to form a proper thought as your walls tightened around his thickness, that coil within you churning, daring to implode out of pure love.

  The way Bob glanced down at you, his hair falling and tickling the skin of your reddened face, a hand on your hip, the other between your thighs drawing lazy circles over your clit had you breathless. His eyes had a mixture of pure love and desperation, your breath hitching when you noticed the smallest flicker behind them.

  Then another, small and frequent, as Bob continued to thrust deeply into you.

  The smallest gasp fell from your lips, watching his eyes lighten and darken, practically firecrackers popping behind his pupils. “F-Fuck, Bob..! Same time—at the sa-same time! M’ on the pill!!” You moan out, hands raking over his back further, just enough to leave small streaks in his skin, yet gentle enough not to cause bleeding, the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm looming over your entire body.

  Bob’s eyes twitched, wincing from the way you cry out his name made him throb painfully inside of you, the beautiful feeling of your nails against his skin, your cunt squeezing him deliciously, it all became too much to bear as he finally groaned into your neck. A noise of desperation, want, and need, even desire, while Bob sprinkles kisses over your neck and shoulder, feeling his cock pulse with each rope of his cum that shot into your wet heat.

  Even with his mind melting orgasm, Bob continued to thrust inside of you, eyes rolling behind his closed eyelids, head still buried into your neck as countless whimpers and groans get drowned out over your skin. He continued to pump you full, each thrust growing slower than the last.

  Bob paused his thrusts once his orgasm ended, shuddering over how you took his full load without a drop wasted. Your walls hugged his cock so tight, coating his flesh with a mixture of your releases. Your mind was scattered, thoughts spiraling over your third orgasm of the night. It was already late, the others had (hopefully) gone to bed, and it was far past your own usual bedtime. Yet here you were, body sprawled out on your bed with Bob fully sheathed within your warm cunt, still aching from your heightened senses.

  Your body and mind craved for more; more of Bob and his cock, more of his cum, touch, anything he’d be willing to give you. Your eyes were glossy, your body sensitive to Bob’s hands on your waist as he remained settled inside of you. He knew you wanted more, the look you gave him making his cock throb inside of you, growing hard once again just from the sound of your quivering breaths.

  “Again...?” Bob asked, eyes half lidded as his thumbs rubbed circles into your skin. “I’m going to guess that you need more than just a few orgasms… I—I want to help you…” That damn feverous look he had, nervous, yet fully confident in being able to satisfy you, rid you of your condition. The “please” that left your lips was the one last thing he needed to fully rile him up once more, slipping his cock out from your entrance, rolling and guiding your bodies into a new position.

  His back was to the mattress, and you were now hovering over his cock like moments ago, some of your mixed arousal dripping out of your sensitive sex and onto his shaft. Bob found the sight so breathtaking, biting his lip with a whimper over the feeling of the warm substance trickling down his twitching length. He gripped the base of his cock, gently gliding it between your folds, his cum-covered tip bumping against your clit with each agonizing swipe.

  “Would you rather me move, or would you rather me… O-Oh shit, angel..!” Bob moaned, bringing up a palm to his mouth as you began to sink your body onto his cock, the thickness allowing itself in with the help of your mixed pleasure.

  Bob continued to mutter “angel” under his breath as you sank inch by inch, inspired by how you would call his name out so sweetly. “L-Let it out—all of it. Y-You can—gah… You can use me… cum as many times as you need—“ You quickly cut him off with a sloppy, desperate kiss, shutting up his babbling thoughts as you began to lift and lower your hips in an intoxicating rhythm.

  Bob’s other hand quickly jumped to your hip, fingers digging into your skin for a sense of grounding while you moved furiously, drunk off the intoxicating feeling of his thick cock stretching you in a way you could’ve never thought of.

  You move one hand to rest on his, the other running over his lean torso, fingerless running over the sweet curves of his muscles with ease, the heat of your fingers further fueling the beautiful noises Bob was creating.

  Every few moments, you’d pause to grind down, his cock still fully engulfed while your clit brushed against his pubic bone in a way that made you moan, chewing your lip to simply attempt to muffle how loud you were being, although Bob wasn’t doing any hotter. His hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead due to the accumulation of sweat, his hands shaking as he bit down on one finger, his grip still tight on your hip.

  You wanted more. Needed more, body aching from raw pleasure, pleasure you desired far more of.

  Quickly leaning down, you pry Bob’s hand away from his mouth, pressing a famished kiss to his swollen lips, you both swallowing each other’s noises of desire once you begin to pick up your pace, walls hugging his cock tighter and your breasts pressed against his skin. “B-Bob, Bobby…” you whimper into the kiss, tongues dancing an indescribable desire for more. “Inside again—please, god...”

  Bob’s hand shifted down from your hip to your ass, a mixture of caressing and gripping your heated skin in order to guide you faster on his cock, his eyes wincing as he tried to keep them locked on yours. Trying to keep them locked on you with the prettiest moans escaping his kiss-swollen lips, another flicker appeared in his eyes.

  That gorgeous golden color, just that hint of Sentry shining through, reminding you what pleasure you’re possibly giving him and Void, the idea being the last thing you needed to properly get that coil within your heat to snap violently.  

  Breathless moans filled Bob’s ears as you came undone, fingernails raking over his skin, the movement of your hips weakening and stuttering from the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm tearing through your senses. Noticing your slowed movement, Bob moves his other hand down to your hip, both hands now guiding you on his cock, your body practically putty in his hands as he moves you on his throbbing shaft, making you feel that delicious head sheath in and out.

  Bob couldn’t help but cry, small tears from pure pleasure beading and blurring his vision as he kissed your cheek with wispy ghosts of his lips. “Jesus— Oh, Honey…!” Countless tooth-aching names spilled from Bob as he felt his orgasm wash over his own body, the scratch of your nails and the sounds of your blissful moans spurring him on.

  Even after your fourth orgasm, you had a buildup of a fifth, then sixth… the number growing along with your overstimulation, doing anything to milk yourself of this drunk-like feeling. Grinding down against Bob’s muscular thigh, having him lazily play with your tits, hell, even kissing you so passionately you felt your thighs continue to grow drenched from your cunt.

  After a final orgasm after who knows how long, it was already 3… 4am? Your vision is hazy from the countless stars you’ve witnessed behind your eyelids while trying to read your digital clock by your bedside.

  You couldn’t care less for what the time was, not with Bob’s arms around you, gently caressing your skin, giving you the sweetest massaging on your shoulders while your chest was on his.

  “I never would’ve guessed you would last for so many rounds… Are you sure you’re alright?” Genuine concern laced your voice, your hand soothing Bob’s cheek as his breath steadied, his chest beginning to rise and lower at a normal rate compared to earlier. He nods exhaustedly, his voice a bit worn. “It was all worth it, j-just to pleasure you, to see you melt.”

  “But you enjoyed it, right?” You asked, hands slightly jittery while cupping his cheeks, thumbs tracing circles over his skin.  “It’s not nearly as pleasuring if I’m not sure—“

  “More than anything. It was more than I could’ve possibly imagined.”

  “Imagined?” You giggled softly. “You imagining me?”

  “Oh—uhm…” Bob muttered, catching himself on his filthy confession, the flicker in his eyes returning briefly as they jotted away from yours while your beautiful snicker filled his ears like a melody.

  “…Your eyes, Bobby. They were glowing, flashing.” You spoke before he could explain himself.

  “Oh, god…” he groaned gently, hands racing to cover his eyes, lip pouting in embarrassment while he chewed on his cheek. “Sentry…” He whispered, “They were all present…obviously, our minds are shared, they all had the same intention to make you… y’know.”

  “Cum?” You spoke after, gently peeling one hand away from his face.

  “Y-Yeah.” Bob nods, “Sentry, Void… They can both be very passionate about you, not n-nearly as much as me of course.”

  “Well, at least I’ve grabbed all of your attention then.” You smiled warmly, pressing a kiss to his lips, sweet and gentle, eyes closed before opening once again. “Thank you, Bobby. I love you.”

  With a gentle nod, Bob's arms fully wrapped around your body, gently caressing your as you began to drift off to sleep. Your eyes fell first, lashes slowly fanning against your skin until you began to hum softly and steadily, and Bob couldn’t help but look down and smile, now knowing something he’d wanted, needed for so long was finally in his arms.

  He couldn’t help but smile, lowering his head to press a kiss against your hairline and resting his chin on your hair, his eyes now closing just as yours did.

  “Thank you, my angel.”