Fishing with bascolm and maybe camping in his truck? Dont let the mosquitoes bite you
hiii, i absolutely loved this idea! i got a little carried away, as per usual, so this is some lovely, smutty prose for you. i'm really, very happy with it! it's hard not to get romantic about bascolm <3
also: i listened to vacillator by ethel cain to write this!
content warning– fem!reader, age gap (reader is 25+), fingering, pervy!bascolm, light breathplay, proofread by a very sleepy cherry, annual summer romance trope but they're both disgustingly in love with eachother!
"girly, it ain't so bad!" he tries reasoning with you. in all honesty, this is like hell on earth for you. bugs and sleeping in the wilderness are not exactly your ideal ways to spend a friday night. but it's a warm summer night, and the stars are so bright out in the country, how could you tell bascolm no?
"ain't so bad" you teasingly mock, fixing your little overalls and digging your flip flops into the soil. you spent most of the day on his boat, sunbathing while he fished. in the sunlight, his hair was a warm amber, and his eyes were bright; honeycomb on dark chocolate pupils.
but tonight? his curls are more pronounced, no longer matted by the southern heat. and his eyes... his eyes. darkened by the shade of the creek, but still so loving. a butterfly caught in amber. flighty eyes and twitchy hands, but a steady stare; it always feels like he could eat you alive.
he's fixing up the truck for your incoming sleep, opening the bed and kneeling on the mattress to fluff your pillows. he plops down on his back afterwards, motioning you closer with a wave of his hand, "c'mon, hop in. lemme get a good hold on you."
flustered, you're kicking the rocks at your feet as you move towards him. dragging your feet with a betraying smile. he hops out of the truck, boots slamming against the mud as he leans against the tailgate. swollen biceps crossed across the soft, faded blue of his t-shirt.
getting close to him is easy, his paws grasping onto the fluff of your hips and hoisting you into a seated position. bascolms stands in between your knees now, sliding your core closer to his with a push of his hands on your waist.
his nose almost touches yours, and his soft breath completely invades your space. the crickets sound in the back, cicadas joining the melody as your breath quickens.
when he speaks it's like he's speaking into the very core of your being; grumbled and sweet. "now git your lil ass in that bed, i wanna get my hands on you."
laying on the mattress, he climbs over top of you, crawling and settling, and you can feel the harsh starch of his denim jeans as he looks at you. the skies are so bright out here, it's almost as if his curls are illuminated in a halo of starlight. bascolm scratches at his beard, dipping his head down, once again speaking against your lips, "look so pretty out here, like you was made for it."
his hands move slowly, mapping you like the stars above your head. chills erupt over your body, as your lover lowers his face to your neck. a slow rub, a flash of irritation against your skin at the feeling of his beard dragging across you. you almost don't notice the press of his bulge against you, rubbing, filling the void that you didn't realize constantly existed between your thighs.
"bascolm?" "yeah, pretty?" "talk to me about the stars," you beg.
the safety of the walls of the truck, coupled with the feeling of his body caging you in is enough to make your shoulders slump in comfort. his hand slides up from his grip on your full hip, and moves across your tummy. measuring his hand against your torso, he presses down. the air leaves your lungs as he does so, and you don't miss the expression in his eyes at the sight of his hand flexing over your belly button.
"whattya wanna know?" he whispers, lightly moving to sit on your waist, his knees bracketing your hips as he looks up. underneath him, you see the soft stubble growing near his throat, the press of his flannel against his clavicle. a mountain man, through and through. but here he sits, on top of you, on a bed of his own making.
"anything" you beg, again. anything to get him talking, and to feel the weight of him press against you a little more. your hands rest on his ankles, the soft leather of his boots grounding you as your thumbs rub.
extending his strong arm to the sky, he points. "well... that right there is the summer triangle... those three- that-" his jaw clenches, "my daddy taught me about 'em on our first huntin' trip." bascolm looks down at you, surrendering himself to the sight of you splayed underneath him, and his eyes lower in lust for a moment.
"ya know the story, don't ya? surely your mama musta told you..." he supplies, hand lowering to rest on your collar, once again pressing down. the cicadas quiet, and you're broken from your trance. shaking your head to signal your ignorance, he huffs out a breath in the seasonal air.
bascolm's hands are big and warm, and heavy, just like the rest of him. a new flutter of goosebumps settle over you as he drags his hand to the back of your neck, cupping it in his palm as he rubs his thumb against your pulse point. bump, bump,bumpbumpbump your heart cries for him.
"star-crossed lovers, those two. only meetin' once a year. they're... well.. separated. by time and-and space, obviously, but they wait for eachother. just... that once a year where he can...touch 'er."
you're trembling as he gazes down at you, left hand reaching behind him to run his fingers across your panties underneath your soft shorts, his own chest deflating in relief. suddenly he feels heavier, this grown man sitting on your tummy; warmer at the center as the breeze picks up.
his fingers prod at you behind his back, his others still cupping your neck while he pushes you forward. "gimme kiss" he whispers to the wind, to the constellation, to your doughy eyes.
and the connection? god. the feeling of his tongue finally touching yours, a gentle wet massage as he laps at you. sticky as toffee and dates, heavy as molasses. your skin is tacky from the day's adventures, but even more so from want. an intrinsic want that is unavoidable every time you visit him.
he sighs against your mouth, pressing further into you. whispering against you, he pulls back "think i'm gon' squish you, baby." he jokes, licking at your parted lips as he nuzzles his cheek against yours affectionately. "some parta me thinks you want that."
leaning back down, you gaze up at him; the picture of masculine beauty. your mind ticks as you gaze at him, because nothing will ever feel as good as him wanting you. as him resting two hands on your neck to hold you, neglecting your essence in favor of keeping your eyes on him. "go head girly, spit it out. got somethin' goin on in that head'a yours."
"i want you to touch me."
and it's silent for a long moment, nothing but the buzzing lightening bugs around you and the splash of the creek water on the rocks. in and out, the push, the pull.
"yeah? ya want my hands on you?" he purrs, sliding himself off of you and settling in next to you. nose to nose, he brings his hand to rest on the hair on your cheek.
"alright," bascolm nods, eyes flicking behind your back for a moment to gather himself. his hand slides between your pressed thighs; once again sandwiched between the skin he's spent 3 summers licking the sweat off of.
a thick finger breaches your entrance and you gasp; your mouth dropping into an "o" as your eyes flutter shut. when you open them, desperate to see the man with the long, middle finger filling you to the knuckle, you're greeted with his own gasp.
mirroring you, his mouth dropped into an "o" of sympathy for your pleasure. the slow movement of his wrist on your thighs, the light crack of his bone.
"'s that good for ya? ya like me up there?"
a sopping wet digit joined by his companion, the endearing ring finger housing the vein of his love. you sigh into his mouth, hips slightly bucking forward, skin sticking to the bedsheet beneath you. bascolm's other hand palms at the bump of his jeans, pressing down as he soaks you in.
"ya'd like anything i'd give ya, wouldn't you?" a pocketing squelch, your arousal pooling on the pads of his fingers as he presses. stretching you apart, the same hand that pointed out the lore of the night sky.
the same that he hooked into your mouth earlier that day as he explained the feeling of the fish you caught. salty and velvet, the skin of his cock that first summer night you came back home comes to mind.
"b-bascolm-" "oh, you're there ain't you? so fast, baby" he kisses you again, tongue swirling against your teeth. breathy, hot groans of his own settling in your throat as he pushes forward with a wiggle, "yeah, yeah that's it. thatsa girl"
the knuckle of his thumb drags against your clit as your thighs squeeze him tighter, the button pulsing against his aged, freckled skin.
bascolm licks into you, savoring your shaking tongue as his knees shake. "you are somethin' else. ya always have been. sweetest girl i know. ya hear how your kitty cries for me?"
and as you cry out to the appalachian sky, he copies you, the same wave of pleasure rolling through him.
crossing the plains of time and space, and age and season, are you and he.
lovers under the night sky, destined to meet in a crashing ball of light. every summer.
