#gfwrites

ANDY BARBER

Haven - Andy makes your house a home.

Strangers in the Night - Alone on what should have been your anniversary in a less than ideal venue, and you meet a handsome bearded stranger.

Strangers!Andy on vacation - drabble - Strangers in the Night 'verse Andy on vacation /// Strangers!Andy gets annoyed when you work on holiday /// Strangers!Andy midnight swim //// Strangers!Andy vacation shirt /// Yet another Strangers!Andy shirt-related drabble /// a third!!! Strangers!Andy shirt-related drabble /// Strangers!Andy baking and banging drabble

Strangers!Andy - drunken couple

HS reunion with your unrequited crush Andy - drabble

Alpha!Andy handcuffed - drabble - self-explanatory 👀

Penny Dreadful AU - CE babes cast as Penny Dreadful / Gothic Lit characters and creatures

Unrequited office crush - drabble

ARI LEVINSON

Bower and Cove- Merman!Ari Levinson x Sailor!Curtis Everett x female!reader (eventual throuple) - Multipart, In Progress

Ari gets rid of spider for you - drabble - You know just how to thank him for his service

Camping with Ransom or Ari - drabble - If the camper van is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'

FWB Bar Owner!Ari - drabble - A tall drink of water offers you a short drink of whisky and gets the feels

Can We Keep Moving in the After Hours? FWB Bar Owner!Ari //Prequel to FWB Bar Owner!Ari

FWB Bar Owner!Ari domestic husband - drabble

FWB Bar Owner!Ari - Jukebox Jonesing - drabble

FWB Bar Owner!Ari - horny Monday to pining - drabble

FWB Bar Owner!Ari - make outs and more - drabble

Yoga Instructor!Ari - drabble/preview - Who knew beef could move like that?

Yoga Instructor!Ari romantic confession - drabble

Scuba suit - drabble - your boyfriend is odd, but he looks like Neptune in a wet suit, so you'll forgive him

When the Wolf Comes Home - Ancient Rome / Gladiator!Ari AU

Spa date - drabble

Dinner can wait - drabble

Haunted House with Joel or Ari - drabblet

Dieter Bravo x Ari Levinson x reader preview thots

Werewolf!Ari Levinson x Berserker!Curtis Everett x reader - smutty filthy monster fucking drabble//// Halloween Drabblet with the same monsters

OVA with monsters Monster!Lloyd and warlock!Ari and mershark!Curtis

Regency AU - 3 drabbles - gentleman!Ari Levinson and Captain!Steve Rogers and manservant!Curtis Everett

Gothic bride - 4 tidbits - Devil!Lloyd Hansen and Monster!Curtis Everett and vampire's bride!Bucky Barnes and Warlock!Ari Levinson

Penny Dreadful AU - CE babes cast as Penny Dreadful / Gothic Lit characters and creatures

Life drawing class - CE babes as artists' models thots

Good Turn - your good deed to Ari deserves a good reward. Coffee shop meet cute

CURTIS EVERETT

Bower and Cove - Merman!Ari Levinson x Sailor!Curtis Everett x female!reader (eventual throuple) - Multipart, In Progress

A Canary to Bring My Message Home - Curtis is the shift leader at the coal mine and helps on your family’s farm. A collapse at the mine reveals a new direction for both your intentions. 1910s Coal Miner!Curtis Everett x Farmer’s Daughter!Reader

I Was Wild Once and Can't Forget - sequel to A Canary to Bring My Message Home -Mushroom foraging gives way to carnal connubial bliss.

Canary!Curtis drabbles -- Curtis shaves his beard /// Come On and Give Me Abandon /// Dream of You

The Fabric of Your Flesh - Curtis Everett x vampire!reader - Snowpiercer AU - On Snowpiercer, vampires are the ruling class. You bring Curtis Everett from the tailend to offer him a life of comfort in the front of the train with you. But everything has a price. 

Life drawing class - CE babes as artists' models thots

Breakfast with Steve Rogers or Ransom Drysdale or Curtis Everett - drabbles

Regency AU - 3 drabbles - gentleman!Ari Levinson and Captain!Steve Rogers and manservant!Curtis Everett

Gothic bride - 4 tidbits - Devil!Lloyd Hansen and Monster!Curtis Everett and vampire's bride!Bucky Barnes and Warlock!Ari Levinson

Penny Dreadful AU - CE babes cast as Penny Dreadful / Gothic Lit characters and creatures

Werewolf!Ari Levinson x Berserker!Curtis Everett x reader - smutty filthy monster fucking drabble //// Halloween Drabblet with the same monsters

Trainhopping with historical AU Curtis

Handyman!Curtis gets dirty for you (alas no not like that) - drabble

Revenge sex in someone else's car with bonus surprise guest ex

COLIN SHEA

Whip the Blankets - Your neighbor is hot and your friend well-intentioned, and you are very weary from both of them. AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED….

Wedding guest sex - drabble

FRANK ADLER

Life drawing class - CE babes as artists' models thots

JAKE JENSEN

Disarmed - Jensen is dense, so you set a challenge.

Disarmed!Jake - drabble

Breeding kink Jake - drabble // Breeding kink Jake follow-up - drabble

Fingerguns -drabble - The IT guy in your office has really nice hands

JOHNNY STORM

Johnny x Lab Technician!Reader - drabble

Life drawing class - CE babes as artists' models thots

LLOYD HANSEN

Gothic bride - 4 tidbits - Devil!Lloyd Hansen and Monster!Curtis Everett and vampire's bride!Bucky Barnes and Warlock!Ari Levinson

Penny Dreadful AU - CE babes cast as Penny Dreadful / Gothic Lit characters and creatures

OVA with monsters Monster!Lloyd and warlock!Ari and mershark!Curtis

RANSOM DRYSDALE

Amuse-bouche - Vampire!Ransom x reader

Two Weeks Notice AU - drabble

Vineyard sex with Ransom

Camping with Ransom or Ari - drabble - If the camper van is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'

Penny Dreadful AU - CE babes cast as Penny Dreadful / Gothic Lit characters and creatures

Breakfast with Steve Rogers or Ransom Drysdale or Curtis Everett - drabbles

ROBERT 'MR FREEZY' PRONGE

All I Find is Frost - Happy Hoeliday 2021 Challenge Fic - The inheritance of your aunt’s run-down cabin across the country is the fresh start you need. Your new neighbor Bobby is a real throwback with other plans for your new retreat.

Playing Nurse - drabble in All I Find is Frost 'verse.

STEVE ROGERS

When I Say Infinity I Mean Now - Steve Rogers x reader - body swap - Sure, you’d had thoughts about getting to know Steve’s body intimately. This was not what you had in mind. Trope-palooza of body swap and only one bed

Stand Fast in His Liberty - Dark!Nomad Steve x Journalist!Reader - Finding out some incriminating facts about America's favorite hero puts you in danger, so you've been on the run from the Avengers. You’re not going to be able to hide from the fallen Captain America.

Untitled Liberty drabble - mini drabble follow up to the events of Stand Fast in His Liberty - sad and angsty times with Dark!Nomad Steve x Journalist!Reader

Steve loves watching you do yoga - drabble - He really likes your leggings

There was one bed with Steve - drabble

Regency AU - 3 drabbles - gentleman!Ari Levinson and Captain!Steve Rogers and manservant!Curtis Everett

Penny Dreadful AU - CE babes cast as Penny Dreadful / Gothic Lit characters and creatures

Breakfast with Steve Rogers or Ransom Drysdale or Curtis Everett - drabbles

Life drawing class - CE babes as artists' models thots

JIMMY DOBYNE

Loss of a Teardrop Diamond -- recap/commentary. GF watched LOATD and had some thoughts/thots

You nod, blissed out from the previous orgasms that led to you now riding Tim's cock, wearing his holster, cuz, in his words, he "wasn't letting you get away," noting how much you liked fucking HIM when he wore it, he wanted to take it for a test drive on you.

"Doesn't hurt too much?"

Tim's stilled during this check in, but you roll your hips in a sinuous wave, feeling his cock throb inside you, despite his concern.

"No, hurts just-" your raise your self up slightly, palms spanning Tim's shoulders to brace yourself before drop yourself to fully engulf his cock in your pussy. "-right."

You both moan, and Tim keeps you from executing the same distracting move again, arms muscles on full display as he keeps the holster held fast."Ok, sweetheart. You know the safe word if it gets too much."

You nod, drinking in the sight of his sweat-glistening skin, hair curling at the ends and starting to plaster to his forehead from the room's warmth. His lips and facial hair still patchy with glimmers of your earlier release.

"Yes, Tim." you lean forward and push the mussed curls off his forehead. "please fuck me, baby," you say, voice sultry and fucked out.

Tim's hips buck up, heels pressing firmly against the mattress as he holds you fast with the holster, not letting you have any respite from the pulse of him inside you.

"not telling you to hold on, sweetheart. That's gonna be my job tonight."

-Javier Peña – Javi is cunning and clever, and would slide into life as a vampire quite easily. Stalking and outsmarting his prey like he did with cartel members? Check. Seducing women? Check, only this time it’s to get his rocks off AND have a nice little feed. I think he could slip into life as a creature of the night very easily, and be charming and smart enough to survive and move around before anyone notices he hasn’t aged since 1991. 

-Joel Miller - Green man / Horned Man / Cernunnos horned god – aka Fertility god. Listen. I know so much TLOU is not in nature, but slots into ‘nature turning on man.’  But that flannel makes me think nature and the woods, and he looks so good in green. Joel and Ellie have to venture out into the wild for a lot of their journey. And he’s a father, but often seens as the wildest, most fierce version of protector, especially after Ellie. (Oooh maybe he should be a berserker after “what tOooWn?!” and that hospital scene…..) 

Also I want him to have a breeding kink and ravish me in the woods on a stone slab in some ancient fertility ritual, OK? 

Also nominating him for an Orpheus AU, because he would go to hell and back for those he loves and he would always turn around like the tragic figure that he is. 

-Din Djarin – soooo I’ve never watched The Mandalorian. Please, don’t eject me from the fandom. 😅 Not knowing the character apart from the most surface things, I’m going to say he’s the Phantom of the Opera. Now picture Mando in flowing white shirt and cape, holding Grogu and riding around the Paris Opera on sandbags he cuts to get up into eaves. Also he sings. You’re welcome. 

That guy (Maxwell?) from Blood Sucking Fiends – haven’t seen and this dude is already a vampire, so he’s gonna stay that. 

Marcus Pike – The sweetest bean, again I only know fanon and gifs. Perhaps he’s love-sick? To twist it, he’s going to be an incubus. A love bomber type in this modern dating era. He's got the ring picked out before your first date and he's gonna drain you. That sweet puppy dog mug  belies his depraved requirement for feeding. (Probably OOC but I’ve never seen more than 1 minute of his screen time.)

-Marcus Moreno – nothing comes to mind, he’s such a sweet doofy dad. He’s not monstrous, just a superhero DILF I’d bang even though he’s a massive nerd (thus the basis of his appeal).

-Ezra – Prospect – a trickster spider, like Anasi? Weaver of webs, teller of tales, and very captivating to poor innocent flies who he wants caught in his web. 

-Maxwell Lord – I only vaguely remember this film, apart from thinking that Max was rather a disaster and a saddie of a villain. He’s cursed with a Midas Touch. I can’t think of how to make that sexy, but I’m leaning into the 1980s “greed is good” vibe I half-remember from WW84. Oooh or he’s Alicanto, which according to Wikipedia is a metallic-feathered bird from Chilean mythology who eats gold. 

Pero Tovar – A soldier already, so he’s a berserker. But I’m going to make him a werewolf berseker. (Shhh, I know the berserkers are typically bears, but hush.) You keep catching sight of a very large, sleek-looking silvery-furred wolf at the edge of your village around the time a soldier-for-hire turns up. And funnily enough, the wolf has a scar over his left eye, just like this handsome taciturn and deadly drifter. (Again, I’ve never seen this film, so just guess from vibes and fic.)

-Dave York – this exercise is simply outing how few of Pedro’s works I’ve actually seen. From gifs and the fanon, he’s a family man who is a hit man who was also wronged? I’m going with a hitchhiking ghost who the (unwise) reader picks up when he has car trouble. They go back to hers for a drink and a bang. He shows her the time of her life, makes her moan like she’s haunted, and he evaporates into mist when dawn breaks, because he’s cursed to wander a stretch of road, but is always yearning for stability and family life. (Is this anything lol?)

-Frankie Morales – Frankie’s getting the Doctor Jekyll / Mr Hyde treatment. I know he’s a softie and sensitive bean, but also, he is in the military and kills people. In fact, he declares in the film “I’m going to start killing people” as the mission goes south. The compartmentalization that must be required to murder people for the state, or due to what is, ultimately, your own (and your compatriots’) greed? Fuck man, you would split into two.

Unlike the CE babes, I found no crystal clear gothic characters or monster connections for these babes, even though most of them have a darkness to them. I still found a lot of rubbish to say though, eh?

+++

Town gossip heralded Curtis’ arrival before you first meet him at your family’s farm. He picked up extra work with your father, on top of mine shifts. (“Can’t owe my whole soul and income to the company store,” he’d later explained when you asked why on earth he’d spend days off of lung-filling, exhausting physical labour with more hard labor. “Besides, everybody needs some sun and grass.”)

That first encounter, you sat at the kitchen table, taking a momentary break, reading O Pioneers by Willa Cather. You only had a few pages left, hoping to finish before everyone arrived to eat.

Loving and dutiful daughter you were, you’d taken on the tasks that belonged to your mother before her passing. Putting on the lunchtime spread, especially for additional autumn harvest help, was now another part of your remit.

A man treads carefully into the kitchen, his tentativeness a funny contrast to his broadness filling the doorway as he steps through. His henley is run through with sweat from the midday sun, suspenders straining over his shoulders. His dark hair is shorn unusually close to his head, and he sports a dark beard. He was striking from a distance--you’d noticed him on the thresher in the field all the way from the house. Now in the same room, the effect is only magnified, his eyes deep stirling blue and offset by his dark hair and pale skin, pinked with effort and touched by the sun.

This hulking man sees you, startles, and recoils. You suppress a laugh at this sturdy man deferentially cowering at the sight of merely you, hunched reading whilst perched on top of the kitchen table. This reading spot, where you put your feet on the seat of the chair in front of you, your father still admonished you for as “unladylike”, even though you were an adult.

He clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in the kitchen. They said lunch was on? Just washing up before eating,” he looks sheepish. “I’m Curtis.”

You introduce yourself and reassure him he’s not intruding. “Lunch will be out back. Of course you can wash up.” You point him towards the sink.

“Thank you,” he nods. If he’d been still wearing a hat, you’re certain he’d have tipped it.

You hear him finish washing up and pull your head out of your book to watch him head to the door. He turns back before the threshold. “What do you think?” He gestures at the novel in your hand.

"It’s heart-breaking. Simply written, but beautifully so though. Felt like I was part of the land, of the seasons. Of their whole lives," you snap your mouth shut, realise you’d been gushing. People in your life were usually indifferent to what you were reading. Curtis had so pleasantly startled you by merely asking that you’d opened up right away.

Curtis nods curtly in agreement, the merest hint of a smile gracing the corners of his mouth. "Lovely, to be sure. But unfussy. I liked that about it too,” he says, before nodding again and heading out, leaving you alone with the distant sounds of the goldfinch twittering and the words of Willa Cather:

‘How many times we have walked this path together, Carl. How many times we will walk it again! Does it seem to you like coming back to your own place? Do you feel at peace with the world here? I think we shall be very happy. I haven’t any fears. I think when friends marry, they are safe. We don’t suffer like -- those young ones.’

+++

Your father calls on Curtis often. Too often, you think, considering the man’s robust leading duties and long shifts at the mine.

“Curtis is a man of his word,” your father explains, as if you don’t see him arrive every time your old man needs a hand. “If he wasn’t able to make it, he’d say. Can’t make a man like that do anything he doesn’t want to.”

Once, your lone dairy cow went into labor. Yet again father calls on Curtis, who turns up just ahead of a storm threatening the horizon.

“I don’t know anything about husbandry,” Curtis pants, winded from how quickly he’s dashed over.

“Don’t worry,” your father told him. “I’ll look after the cow. I need you two to help James and Samuel to cover the haystacks. Storm’s coming, and it’s definitely gonna beat the calf arriving. More hands on deck outside!”

The wind batters down as you and Curtis scramble atop the haystacks, working swiftly to move ladders between them and cover the exposed harvest in tarpaulins against the impending rain.

On the last haystack, you lean forward to tighten a rope and the wind gusts, unbalancing you on the ladder. Your yelp summons Curtis, who presses his body against yours, bracing both your legs back against the ladder with his torso and arms.

"You alright?" he says. Now you've regained your footing, you realise his head is right at the height of your ass.

"Yes, thanks. Wind," you explain. Unnecessarily, since you’re shouting back your answer over the howling gales.

Curtis steps back, you hop off the ladder in front of him. At that moment the sky rends open and rain drenches you both.

The house is too far to run to, and James and Samuel had already retreated with the cart after finishing their side of hay bales. You and Curtis dash into the much closer stables.

"I'm soaked to the skin!" you say, pulling off your coat and wringing it out.

"Torrential!" Curtis says, smiling as he shakes his limbs out, an attempt to slough off water like a wet dog. You're both panting from the sprint and giddy from a job well-done in the nick of time. The wind and rain howl outside and through the eaves of the stable.

"Do you think we should wait it out? Or make a dash back to the house?"

Lightning flashes and a peal of thunder booms. "There's our answer," Curtis says, looking out at the tempest. You head to the cabinet, finding horse blankets.

"Where's the cow?" Curtis looks puzzled, noting only the horses.

"Lean-to, nearer the house. Father brought her closer, makes it easier to get to her throughout the night. Just us and the horses tonight."

You nod towards Curtis’s dripping coat. "That soggy wool can't be keeping you warm, give it here, I’ll spread it out to dry." He passes you his coat and you climb up the ladder to hayloft level and sling it over the rafters.

"There's only two clean horse blankets. And no mucked out, unoccupied stalls, so it’s the hayloft tonight," you say, bunching and packing hay to improve your makeshift bed.

Curtis clears his throat from where he’s paused halfway up the ladder. "We can sleep in shifts. You sleep, I'll wait for the rain to break--"

"Curtis, don't be silly. There's space for two.” You look over at him from your knees, at the edge of your improvised bed. “I trust you're a gentleman, and will pursue no funny business tonight," you tease.

He nods resolutely, his expression so solemn you want to giggle. "I promise."

"My father says you're a man of your word, so let's shake on it." You extend your palm to jar him out of his sobriety.

His hands envelopes yours and you see a smile creeping into his face as Curtis agrees, "No funny business."

You both bunk down, gingerly laying beside each other, untouching, sandwiched between the horse blankets. Curtis is restless but eventually stills, and the even, steady tone of his breathing lulls you to sleep too.

Come morning, you wake to the whinnying and snuffling of the horses. The rain is gone, and so is Curtis. But his coat is now dry and placed atop the horse blanket, another layer protecting you against the pre-dawn autumn dew.

When you return his coat later that day, you tuck your copy of O Pioneers in the pocket, along with a note: “For when life requires unfussy loveliness,” and a pressed bluebell. You saw the flowers at the edge of the stable when you left in the morning, and picked one and placed it inside the book without a second thought. For gratitude, you think.

The following day, after lunch, there’s a scrap of paper, torn from the edge of a newspaper, under your plate when you clear it: “Thank you. -C” You put it in your apron pocket and run your fingers over it occasionally throughout the day, then squirrel it away in the bottom of your jewelry box that night.

Neither of you mentions either missive, but a week later you spy the edge of the dried bluebell cups poking out of his pocket when Curtis leaves his coat in the mud room.

And so your friendship with Curtis comes easy and deepens as the months tick on. The pair of you can work side-by-side in companionable silences, or shoot the breeze about nothing, or talk earnestly about most any topic.

Despite his reputation among the town’s dunderheaded gossip mongers as the strong and silent type, he's not taciturn with the right company. And you feel his company is as favorable as he seemingly finds yours in kind.

+++

Now, a couple years down the line, you run the family farm, its sole heir and permanent resident since your father passed last spring. You're good at it but, even though (or perhaps because) they've known you your whole life, sometimes you're at odds with people who still see you as a kid and treat you as such, instead of as the entrepreneur and capable farm head that you are.

Curtis offers help if people are still dismissive when it comes to business dealings, or, just like when your father was alive, if you need an extra hand at the farm. His assistance was simply that--help, if you want it. But he respectfully defers to you as the boss.

Your father’s unexpected death left you unprepared in many ways. You love him, the desire to honor him weighs heavily on you. You could sell, you know your father wouldn’t have minded you seeking a different life.

But you choose the farm. It’s your home and your calling. Your only regret is that you thought you’d have more time to find a suitable match, someone to share your life with. You feel foolish--yearning so keenly for romance seems girly and frivolous.

As a teenager, you'd had some amorous trysts with Bryce Langley, who happened to be the mayor's son. You thought it was love and so you offered him your virginity. But after a couple unsatisfactory romps--for you at least, Bryce always spilled his seed--he went to college, never to contact you again. Then you discovered he'd been engaged to Maud Allington the whole time. Thank god you hadn't fallen pregnant.

Romance hasn’t properly occupied you since. You liked your life and your independence, but knew in your heart you didn't want to be alone. The provincial size of your town all but ensured this was a pipe dream. Familiarity eventually bred contempt with the few vaguely suitable candidates. Those men of this still-new century who claimed to be happy that you didn't acquise or demur, until the moment they realised you had no intention of giving up the farm or your position as its head, even with a wedding ring on your finger.

As for the more carnal aspects of a coupling? Well, your body had always desired something more fulfilling than Bryce Langley had ever given you.

It shames you that now visions of Curtis’ dark hair, his contemplative, mirthful blue eyes, and his broad shoulders fill many lonely nights when the aching at your centre left you restless. Your lusty relief at the expense of his image and the thought of his touch in place of your own fingers felt like a reprehensible betrayal of your friendship.

You vowed the violation would remain a secret one at least. You valued Curtis’ esteem and weren't naive enough to imagine your companionship, however cherished and deep, was a romantic pursuit to one of the most eligible bachelors in town.

+++

It’s spring now. Curtis is due to help on the farm one afternoon and doesn't show.

At dinner time, a runner brings news: there's been a collapse at the mine. Curtis is fine but is getting his men out and safe, and that's why he’s delayed.

Even as other day laborers leave for the weekend, and dinnertime wanes to bedtime, you stay awake in your white seersucker day dress and apron, bustling restlessly around the house to combat your worry. You had no reason to think he’d stop by, especially with how exhausted he’d be after a catastrophe of this magnitude. His home was down the road, in the opposite direction.

But Curtis does turn up at the farm. It's the dead of night, and he's on your doorstep, covered in coal soot.

As he stands before you, you take him to task for how worried you’d been, but then you clock how weary he looks. Instead you usher him to a seat at the kitchen table as he explains what happened. Who was injured. The two men they lost.

The weight of this defeat pulls him down, slouches his shoulders as he stares at the kitchen table.

You yearn to comfort him, so you reach across and grab his hand. He starts, and when his intense blue gaze cuts to you, you panic and release him. You stand, flitting around the kitchen trying to prepare him food, and wetting a towel to clean him up. You're still at the sink when his voice breaks your nervous fussing from much closer behind.

"You don't have to do that," he says and puts his soot-blackened hands either side of you on the counter. He dips his head to your hair and just breathes you in.

One of his hands has moved from the counter to your waist and he's bunching the material of your dress in his grip, streaking the white fabric with coal dust. And you murmur his name and clasp your hands over his, pressing bodily back against him.

“I don’t want to muss up your pretty dress,” he murmurs. “But I need to touch you, sweetheart. You were all I could think about down there.”

All you can think is his name, so you say it again. "Curtis."

He goes down like a shot, dropping to his knees and turning you in his arms. He presses his face to your stomach.

“All I could think about was havin’ you. Getting you big with my child,” he says, rubbing his cheek against your belly. “God, just to keep you full of me.”

His usually even and measured tone is desperate. Your hands press through his short-shorn hair to keep him held to you. He looks up, his eyes deep and striking as they shine up from his soot-dusted face. The blue iris has ringed almost to black, such is the press of his desire shining out of them. At you. You brace yourself on his broad shoulders to keep upright.

"Wanna be inside you. Want you all around me." He’s on his knees and he sounds like he's pleading, so you answer his unasked question.

"Yes," you say, cupping his head and running your fingers through his hair, and he groans. "I want you too, Curtis, god--"

He rises and tugs you to him, both hands tilting your neck as he kisses you. His plush lips devour yours and you meet him with an equal hunger. He smells of soot and sweat, but the taste of his tongue is distinctly him and you lap greedily at each other.

He pulls away, panting, and rests his forehead against yours. "Got you all dirty. Here… "

Curtis turns you back to the sink, arms on either side of you again, his long, broad form caging you in while he sets about wetting the cloth you'd abandoned.

The frantic pace of his voracious kiss seconds ago dissipated, but the air crackles lightning-storm thick with desire. You feel his hardness pressed against your ass while he cleans his arms and face and neck, and you're grateful yet again you don't have to rely on your legs alone to stay upright and can lean your hips into the sink basin.

Curtis drops a kiss to your shoulder and draws his nose along your neck until his lips rest close to your ear. "Turn around," he prompts, using a fresh cloth to clean your face.

His touch is firm and efficient but gentle. He catches your chin between his thumb and index finger to guide your head this way and that as he swipes the rag over your face. Didn't matter the coal dust was gone now, you were sure you'd feel the brand of his hands from your first kiss for always.

"There." He tosses away the rag and the frenzy rekindles when he grasps you to him again. One large hand cradles your neck to cleave your lips to his. His other grabs your waist and then paws at your rump as he kisses down your neck. His beard roughs your throat pleasingly as he walks you backwards to the kitchen table. Curtis draws away his lips for a moment and hoists you onto it.

Hands still cupping your ass, Curtis pulls you forward to the edge of the table, and you open your legs to accommodate him. Your own hands are as roving and hungry as your lips, hooking your arm around his shoulders while you chase his rocking hips with yours.

"Want to see you," you pant into Curtis' mouth between kisses. You tug off his suspenders, rapaciously grabbing his henley to remove it and his undershirt. The reveal of his broad chest stills you for a moment, and you drink in the sight of him.

You knew Curtis was strong, it was apparent under his clothes when he helped at the farm or even just strolled down the street. You had certainly felt his bulk whenever he pressed against you. But seeing him bared to you stirred a yearning and hunger in your belly bigger than any you'd ever known.

Once as a girl, you went to a traveling art exhibition in the city. The plaster-molded copies of the classical marble statues were your favorite. The Weary Hercules in particular. The replica captivated you. You thought it beautiful. The legendary hero was sculpted sinewy and thick-torsoed, and cemented in your girlish mind as the paragon of male beauty.

Curtis is cut like that statue. But his warmth and hitching breath as your hands fervently roam his torso are better than static, unfeeling marble. The smattering of dark chest hair, the flush that runs from his belly all the way up his chest and neck beyond his dark beard into the apples of his cheeks is beautiful. This living, breathing, loving man in front of you who is going to give you his world is much, much better.

You admire him as openly as you once had the imitation marble, licking your lips as your fingertips skate up his stomach and over his chest. You don’t even care you’re panting over him. You are, and you want him to know the extent of your desire for him.

“Can’t keep touching me like that, sweetheart,” Curtis warns lowly, his breath puffing against your cheek as he looks down and watches your questing hands. “Won’t make it to fill you up. And I want to see you too.” His grip on your hips tightens, and your gaze returns to his. You hope your hip bruises.

“Yes,” you exhale. You trace down his arms and guide his hands to the top of your dresswhere the first button rests against the base of your throat.

Curtis' capable hands shake as he works apart the buttons on your dress, and you feel heady with power to make this strong man tremble. Once he pops the last button through, you shrug out of your sleeves and yank the dress to your waist. Your thin, cotton chemise is now the only barrier between Curtis and you.

It has more buttons, a set even daintier than on the dress and he fumbles, his thick fingers faltering as he attempts delicacy. You sense his frustration a split second before he vocalises it, already reaching for the remaining offending buttons before he quietly huffs, "Shit, I can't get--."

“Let me,” you say and work the last few open yourself.

Curtis opens your chemise, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze and eager, cupping hands. "So fucking pretty," he murmurs almost more to himself than to you as his head descends to kiss them.

"Curtis!" you squeal, and arch against him as the kisses he's lavishing on your nipple become a lick, one that sparks straight to your already wet core.

"Bet every inch of you tastes this sweet." He grins up at you softly, his gaze sinful behind it, and kisses to your other side.

He suckles your nipple into mouth, humming happily. His hand tests the weight of your other breast in his palm, thick fingers plucking at your peaked, wet bud tenderly as his mouth works your other nipple.

"Gonna fill you with me, sweetheart. These pretty tits will be brimming."

At his allusion, the world telescopes from you and Curtis alone in the kitchen, to a whole future. You, swollen at the belly and breasts, and Curtis, holding and lapping at you like he is just now. And moments more public but no less intimate. You in Curtis’ lap in an armchair, a baby in your arms. Curtis teaching a little girl to read, and her eyes are as blue and penetrating as his. Curtis showing an adolescent boy with a brow like yours how to chop wood. You and Curtis, much older, in side-by-side rocking chairs on the porch. Rings on both your left fingers in all these flashes.

His teasing, suckling mouth makes you feel half-mad, and the edge of the kitchen table may as well be the precipice at the edge of the universe for how close you feel to flying off it. But you’re not there yet.

"Need you Curtis, touch me."

He's back to kissing your neck again, his lips and beard tickle maddeningly, making your skin goose flesh. He scoffs, tenderly tracing your areola with his calloused fingertip. “Think you'll find I am.”

You groan at him, and frustratedly tug his unoccupied hand from your side to your dress-covered knee. Your other hand finds the waistband closure of his trousers and you hold his gaze, bite your lip, and shake your head.

“No,” you say, before you palm his cock firmly through his trousers, “Touch me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chokes out before he hurriedly yanks your skirt up, and helps you shimmy your drawers off over your stockings and boots. The night air feels cool against the wetness at your core, but you burn so hot for Curtis you’re heedless of the exposure.

His hand drifts up your thigh. He cups your mound, dizzying you even more when his fingertips stroke across your weeping slit. You moan.

"God, so ready for me, hmm? You want me to fill you up too?"

"Yes, Curtis, please” You grip his wrist and nearly sob at the way his hand teases along your entrance.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says and plunges a finger slowly inside you. It’s been so long since another touched you like this. When you’d done it recently, Curtis’ touch had been what you’d dreamed of. Now, his index finger gently stroking inside you fills you nearly as thick as two of your own combined, and his breath puffs warm against your neck, surrounding you with him.

Your hips chase his hand and you watch his arm flex as he sinks another finger into you knuckle-deep. You brace your hand behind you on the table to stay upright as he swirls his thumb around your clit. More of your wetness flows out of you around his probing, stroking fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart, so wet, taking my fingers so good.”

His other hand spans the breadth of your hip and squeezes rhythmically, nearly in time with the teasing drive of his fingers inside you. Between Curtis’ clutching hand and stroking fingers, your back arches. He seizes the opportunity of your breast in his face to draw your nipple back between his lips, and you cum with a holler.

Curtis pants against your breast, trails his nose up to your neck before kissing you. His lips on yours is offered as if an apology for his fingers slowly drawing out of you. He pulls back from the kiss, and your protest is cut short by Curtis’ moan when he slides two thick fingers into his mouth to taste you. "Your cunny's so sweet. Gonna taste you properly next time." His eyes flutter open. "Need to be inside you, sweetheart. Let me be inside you?"

"Yes. Fill me up." You hastily work open the fly on his trousers, and ruck them below his hips.

The thought flits across your mind that Curtis is better endowed than the Weary Hercules statue. Then you stop thinking as he takes his cock in hand, and drags its red and weeping tip up and down your folds.

Curtis feeds his cock into you tortuously slowly. The push of him inside makes you feel stuffed. Once he's fully seated you lock your ankles behind him. He thrusts into you a few times, strokes slow and deep, and you raise your hips to meet him, bracing one hand on the table, the other wound around his shoulders.

“Fuck, woman,” he growls at you. “Sweetheart, you’re squeezing me so tight.” Your cunt flutters around him in response, proving his point. “Keep that up, I’ll give you a baby in seconds flat. Need to show you a good time first.”

You grab his bearded cheek and move him to kiss him hungrily. “Reckon you can do both.”

You take his ass in your hands and draw him further into you. Curtis’ answering curse spurs you on, and the way his belly pressed so fully against yours makes you long for your own to be fuller, to do whatever it takes to be round with Curtis’ child. The way your heart soars and your loins clench at the thought of how public a sign it would be that you’d had each other.

You’re both just about clinging to upright when Curtis presses you up the table, lays you on it like a bed, and climbs on top of you. His large hand cradles your head against the wood as he thrusts deeply into you.

The mug of tea you'd been drinking rattles on the tabletop as he fucks into you. The thickness of his cock inside you in this new angle has you all but sobbing.

Curtis laces his fingers with yours above your head. He grunts in tune with his working hips and you are undone at the sound, the smell and the fill of him. His other hand hooks under your knee and presses your leg to the table. He drops his gaze, and you realise he's spread you to watch where you're joined together.

“Taking me so good, letting me stuff you full,” Curtis says. “Gonna make you all mine, forever.”

He's frantic. His hand drifts from your knee, pressing your leg wider while he traces a path to your clit. He rubs your pearl with his thumb until you clench around him and cum again.

At the contraction of your cunt around where you’re rooted together, he moans and the steady driving rhythm of hips stutters. The tendons on his neck strain when he throws his head back with a shout as he cums. His eyes are closed, eyelashes lush and full against his pinkened cheek. He's beautiful, filling you with him. Making good on his promise.

Curtis always was a man of his word.

Spent, he drops his forehead to your neck, his breath puffing warm against your throat. You both cling to each other and panting into the quiet night. His weight pressing you further into the table contents you.

You break the silence. "I do have a bed, you know."

"Mm-hm. Was too far, I needed you now," Curtis says, drawing his nose along your neck and planting kisses as he pleases. "Maybe next time."

He's still inside you, and you want him to stay. You feel his spend trickling out of your still-fluttering cunt, and want it to stay too. Maybe it will take, you think as you stroke your fingers over the nape of his neck and into his short hair. "Didn't think our first time would be on the kitchen table with my boots still on," you say contemplatively.

He stills and pulls back to make eye contact. "You thought about that? Our first time?"

Now you feel bashful at the admission and duck your head. "Well, this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment reaction," you demure.

"Hey, sweetheart," Curtis doesn't allow you to hide from his gaze, his palm bracing your face to tilt your chin until your eyes meet his. "Me too. Fuck. I-- I thought about it too." He kisses you again before pulling away only enough to separate from you by a hair's breadth to speak: "Kinda thought it might happen in the hayloft."

You laugh--you didn't know you could feel so deliriously happy and so at ease all at once.

"You're killing me with your laugh, woman. Still grippin’ me so tight." He pulls out of you with a groan.

You lay on the table, listening to the steady thrum of the cicadas outside. Curtis leans over to the sink and grabs a cloth to clean his glistening cock. You make a note to launder the cloth with your personals rather than leave it for prying eyes in the kitchen laundry come Monday morning.

Now he’s pulled away, you become cognizant of what you must look like, laid out on your kitchen table like a buffet at the Waldorf-Astoria, clothing hitched to your middle from either end, boots and stockings still in place, thoroughly fucked, and leaking Curtis’ cum. Wanton. Wanted.

Before panic sets in during this split-second abandonment, Curtis returns with a new cloth. He tucks his cock back into his trousers and fastens them before planting himself in a chair. He scoots forward, kisses your knee then nuzzles your inner thigh with his cheek as he instructs you, “Open, sweetheart.” You raise yourself to your elbows, still sprawling, and spread your legs.

You assumed he’d wipe you clean, but instead his teasing touch draws up your thigh and he flips his wrist, using two fingers to gently press his cum back inside you. You whimper, delighted and oversensitive. His cheek rests on your thigh and he sighs, his fascinated gaze still hungry, once again watching how you swallow him where the two of you join. He licks his lips while he slowly pumps his fingers into your clenching core. “So fucking beautiful. Gotta make sure it takes.” His eyes cut to yours, head still pillowed on your thigh. “I’ve got a ring. For you. Have for a while. We can get married, long before any baby comes. If that...Only if that’s what you want.”

You marvel at this man who can look abashed and boyish and anxious while his fingers are stuffed inside your cunt. You grasp his wrist and gently guide his fingers out so you can sit up.

“I want that. I want you.” You scoot off the table and straddle Curtis in the chair, heedless of the fact his trousers are on and still dirty. Then you kiss him greedily, tongue lapping into his mouth. You pull away, breathless and worked up again from feverish kisses, and rest your forehead against his. “Think you’re going to need to propose in a more proper scenario though.” His brow furrows.“Hey--this was perfect,” you assure him, cupping his face in your hands and scratching along his beard. “But I don’t know how I’ll tell anyone what happened tonight without causing apoplexy.”

You’re sure the booming laugh Curtis lets out in response wakes the chickens all the way out in the coop.

+++

In the grey pre-dawn light, you wake with Curtis nestled into you, your breast tickled by his beard where it pillows his head. Your center is deliciously sore from the night before. Across the floor, you spy your white dress in a haphazard pile with his clothes, both streaked with coal dust.

Your bed never seemed too big alone, but now it seemed not small enough. Would Curtis ever be close enough again if he wasn’t inside of you?

He stirs, nuzzles his face into your bosom, and plants lazy, open-mouthed kisses to the underside of your breast. “‘Morning, sweetheart,” his delectably sleep-gruff voice pings to your center, adding another note to the already soaring symphony of your desire.

“Good morning,” you reply, pulling him up your body to kiss him fully on the mouth. He settles on top of you, his cock already stiff against you. You rut against him, pulling his hips into yours, before you roll him over.

Curtis’ surprise at your unexpected maneuver gives way to delight when you settle fully on top. You grind against him, and brazenly kiss him. You wonder how you’ll ever get any work done again when all you want to do is this. Well, not all. You see his future and yours, all parts of your two lives intertwined, not unlike your bodies now.

The future needs to start now. So you draw up to your knees. You laugh at the way Curtis follows your departure with his lips pursed. His eyes are still closed, chasing your kiss. “I know you’re a patient man, Mr. Everett,” you tease. “Just wait.” He realises your game and starts to sit up, but you keep him flat by pressing a hand to his chest. “Wait.”

“Don’t want to, sweetheart,” Curtis says, but he stays put.

“You’ll like it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

From your perch astride Curtis’ thighs, you enjoy the view. Curtis, all his bulk a coiled spring, poised on his elbows below you. His expression is amused and mildly impatient, but he waits, because you told him to.

You reward his obedience by tracing your fingertips lightly across his collarbones. Then gently you rake through the dark thatch of hair on his chest, down to his stomach where you palm at his hips. His breath hitches, his broad torso heaving and catching beneath your hands. As your thumbs stroke across his hip bones, Curtis’ patience ends and he sits up.

He draws you up his torso, beyond where you intend to be, urging your hips with his hand until you’re close enough he kisses your belly. Like you’re back down in the kitchen all over again. You on your knees instead of him, who’s still supplicant to you. Only this time nothing separates you. Not soot-stained clothing, or your own blindness to the affection shining from Curtis’ eyes.

The adoration in his touch, as his hands grasp your hips and hold you to him. Your hands running again through his hair, making him shudder in pleasure.

His plump lips land and drag against the soft skin of your belly. Curtis’ tongue laps out, he mouths at you, nips your hip. His beard burns the tender skin and you relish the sensation -- you hope it’s the harbinger of another impending, lingering sign you belong to each other.

“You’re not listening,” you admonish ineffectively. You speak truth but you don’t mind and accede by raking your fingers back and forth across his scalp.

“OK, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your belly before he opens his eyes and tilts his chin up to your face, “how do you want me?”

“Just….” you press him flat against the bed. When you sit back, you feel his erection leaking precum as you seat yourself properly in his lap. “...like this.”

You rise enough to grasp his straining cock, pump him a couple times and line him up with your core, sinking down quickly enough to make you both gasp.

Your hips chase what feels good, and Curtis follows your lead, letting you buck and writhe in your own rhythm atop him. When his cock hits one particularly delicious angle inside, you both groan. Your hands outspread on the breadth of his chest as you ride him, your blood singing at the swell of Curtis inside you.

His hand grips your hip, his other presses against your cheek. You turn and kiss his palm, relishing the way his large, capable hand gently cups your face. All the while you’re driving yourself up and down on his thick length, chasing more moans out of both of you.

In your kiss, you taste the salt of his palm, so wanting more you gnaw gently and lick at the breadth of his hand. A fire flicks in Curtis' eyes at you drawing your teeth, and he's done letting you lead. He fucks up into you, the hand not occupied with your mouth gripping your hip hard enough to bruise and pull you deep on him.

His thumb works your clit, and he splays the rest of his fingers to stretch across your belly, where your womb is. "Can’t believe I'm here, in you. Gonna make you feel good. Keep you full. Give you my baby."

Curtis pulls up his knees and plants his feet on the bed. His hips drive up into you, his enthusiasm nearly unseating you. In the jostling your hips tilt and his cock hits a deeper angle as he leverages the new position to push up further inside you. “C’mon, wife, please cum.”

Curtis’ hand splayed covetously on your belly paired with the newly bestowed title turns you inside out. You keen and throw your head back, hands braced against Curtis’ chest as your orgasm hits. Curtis sits up abruptly, the palm you’d bitten into now gathers your face to his, his hand cupping your chin. He steers you to drink from your lips as your wanting breaks over you in waves.

“That’s it,” Curtis urges, “so pretty when you come apart. Lemme give you everything.” You’ve stopped kissing, it’s too hard to keep your teeth from knocking now with the delicious force Curtis thrusts up into you from below.

Instead, Curtis mouths at your throat, yanks you as close to him as you can be. You feel the rasp of his chest hair against your breasts, the solidity of him pressed against you and drawing you both further together. His mouth latches on your left nipple again. Thick tongue lapping and plump lips caressing across your breast as you come down from your edge and urge him to his.

Soon he's just panting against your chest, too far gone to do all but mindless nuzzling while his strong hands hoist your shoulders down to him. Your own orgasm has subsided but you still feel like a live wire under his hands and mouth, cupping the back of his neck in your hands and talking him through. “Give me your baby. Curtis, you’re mine, husband, please.”

He comes with a shout, pulsating inside you.

You stay together, entwined while you perch on his lap. You both sheen with sweat, but you feel as new and ripe as the dewy grass outside. The dawn breaks from grey and throws a rosy glow across the room.

Curtis looks up at you, spent and short-winded. He kisses you delicately but hungrily before he asks, ”Is now any better a time to propose?”

You laugh and kiss him again, “Absolutely not. I’d suggest we're both fully dressed.”

"If you insist. Way less fun."

"Then we can tell people."

"Hoping they'll know soon enough," and rubs his hand across your abdomen.

A/N: Bluebell flowers usually symbolize gratitude and humility. However, they can also symbolize constancy and everlasting love.

If you liked these two, you’re in luck, there’s already a sequel in the works. Though don’t expect it before 2022 with how long it took me to write this one. 😅

Update: the sequel is now live!

You were tired of dating. Online and IRL, just an endless stream of men on the hunt for any woman to fill the role of instant-wife/mother, for him to install in a house in the suburbs and resign you to a life of being ignored and cheated on by a succession of younger women while you ran his life. Or it was a bevy of fuck boys who could barely sit in the barstool before asking if you wanted to give them a blowjob in the bathroom. You weren’t adverse to wam-bam-thank you-ma’am, you had needs and desires. (So many desires.) But you wanted to at least like *speaking* to someone before you hopped into bed--or public bathroom stall--with him.

Wasn’t there a single man in the greater Boston area looking for a gal in the middle of the spectrum between June Cleaver and faceless sex doll?

+++

You were also tired of your neighbor, Colin. He was a goddamn dream boat, and if the amorous nighttime sounds from the ladies he routinely kicked out of his apartment the morning after were any indication, he got rave reviews and would be Certified Fresh™ if Tinder and Boston’s bar scene had a hook-up Tomatometer.

It helped he was firmly in the “fuck boy” category of Boston men. Even with his general good nature and his neighbourly gestures, he still went through women like he changed shirts. Which was a hell of a lot--he was always losing shirts to these one night stands.

His status as fuck boy timewaster made it easier to squash your raging crush on him. Or so you deluded yourself.

Way easier to crush from afar. Not to enjoy too much that he’d sometimes invite you to the roof for his band’s practice and get them to play your favorite Queen songs to sing along to. Not to be flattered that he remembered your favorite locally brewed craft beer and greeted you with a bottle of it when he called you over to watch a Red Sox game. Not to think about how, after he crashed board game night at yours and you two mind-melded so hard that you trounced everyone else at Pictionary, there were many other ways you might work well in tandem.

There were lots of ineligible men to date in Boston and Colin Shea was one of them. In spite of your better instincts, your crush persisted.

+++

“Reyna, Dave, and Matt dropped out! Flu, poor things,” your friend Beth bemoans when you answer her call. “Ama and Michelle can fill their room, but we’re still one person down-- we’ll have to pitch in funds for the third slot in the Air BnB. Unless you can find someone to bring? A...special bed time friend you haven’t told us about?” You practically hear Beth’s eyebrows waggle over the phone.

“You know there’s not. And even if there was, I’m not bringing some random guy and ruining the group dynamic, Beth. It’s vacation, we’re all supposed to be relaxing.”

“What about your neighbor, Colin?”

“What about him?”

“Is he free? He gets along great with everyone at board game nights.”

“I’m not inviting Colin to share a room with me on a group holiday. We’re barely acquaintances.”

“C’mon he’s nice,” Beth implores. “Besides, the listing shows the spare office has a pull-out couch. You’d only share the connecting bathroom, not have to sleep together. But If you ask me, that’s exactly what you need.”

"Well, I'm not asking you. Or him."

“It’s cute that you think you have a choice. You need a vacation. And a lay. Ask Colin!" She hangs up before you can protest further.

+++

After Beth’s incessant texting all night, the next morning you fight your every instinct and knock on Colin’s door before work, smoothing your hand over your pencil shirt and work blouse while waiting for an answer.

He opens the door, looking befuddled and rumpled, but is unusually, mercifully, fully dressed in sweats and a tee. It was 7:30am on a Friday, of course a musician playboy wasn’t going to be awake. You felt rude, on top of being reassured that this was a lame idea. You shift in your work heels, antsy.

Colin crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe as he looks you up and down. His look of bewilderment morphs to a sleepy smile when he clocks it’s you, “Hey neighbor. You’re dressed very sensibly for before 8am. It’s early, what’s up?”

You barrage him with your request in a single breath: “Are you free this weekend? Do you maybe want to come with a group of us to this cabin we rented by the lake? Me and Beth and the other usual suspects. ‘Cept Reyna, Dave, and Matt. Actually they’ve got flu, so that’s why there’s a free spot. You’d have your own room and bed and everything. It’s just till Monday, do you wanna come?”

He looks amused and like he’s trying to keep up. “Breathe, 6C.”

You do, and speak less like an auctioneer when you restart. "Look. You can say no, please don’t worry about offending me. Beth shanghaied me into asking you, she thought you might be up for it? Don’t know why though. Fair warning, it’s all couples besides us, if you come. So you can totally say no. I bet you’re busy, this is super last minute, we’re leaving this afternoon."

“Actually, the band’s only gig this weekend got cancelled so I’m at a loose end.”

"Shit,” you mutter. ”OK, I mean! Great!" you correct.

“Don’t sound so excited,” he teases. “Can I bring anything? You said something about a lake?”

“It’s too cold for the lake,” you scoff.

“No swimming trunks, got it.”

At least it was autumn, so nobody would be swimming. You wouldn’t have to stare at Colin’s wet, topless body glistening in the sun as he emerged from the lake water. There’s a mercy. Seeing his physique as he picked up his newspaper wearing only a dish towel was more than enough to fuel your fantasies, you didn’t need dewy water droplets reflecting sun to add more kindling for that fire.

You snap back from the mostly naked Colin in your mind’s eye to the fully clothed one in front of you, who also looked like he was taunting you, albeit in a less nudity-based way.

Colin’s expression when he looked at you was often as if he had a secret joke you weren’t in on, and that he wanted to share it but you were gonna have to ask. You weren’t ever brave enough to.

You cough and check your watch to break his gaze. “I gotta get to work. I’ll, um, text you with details later?” And you wave feebly, then spin on your heel and head down the stairs.

“Looking forward to it!” he calls after you.

+++

The work day flew by, and next thing you knew you were cruising Friday afternoon traffic out of town.

When you arrive lakeside, Beth points everyone in the direction of their rooms. You'd barely set down your suitcase when Colin calls your name from the other room. “There may be a problem,” he says, peeking his head in from the doorway of the shared bathroom.

There is not a pull-out couch. Colin’s intended room was stacked practically floor-to-ceiling with boxes.

Beth pops up behind you in the doorway to Colin’s not-room. “Sorry about that. I completely forgot to say---on the drive up, when I called the owner to check how to work the sofa bed, she said this room was being used for storage, so out of commission. The bed in Y/N’s room is a queen though -- you guys don’t mind crashing together, right?” She grins pointedly at you before darting away on the pretense of unpacking groceries, leaving you, mouth agape, as Colin turned to you and grinned, “Well, hey roomie.”

Now, you were also tired of Beth’s meddling.

+++

After a day of hiking and board game playing -- in which you and Colin had teamed up in a mean round of Monopoly and decimated all other players, (“It’s called, “MONO-poly, one! You can’t team up!” Beth had protested. “...Literally that’s how you build a monopoly,” you reminded her. “Besides, corporations are just cartels, they just get into bed with whoever will make them the most money,” Colin retorted, gleefully taking her last stack of bank notes. He nudged your shoulder, “They’re just annoyed we’re getting into actual bed together on top of getting all the Railroads AND Park Place hotels in our team up.” You smile back in response and hoped the hitch in your breath at “getting into bed together” wasn’t audible), everyone gathers round the outdoor fire pit after dinner, bundled up against the crisp autumn air. The larger group drifts into separate conversations around the roaring flame and s’mores fixings.

You and Colin are left to yourselves after Beth’s husband heads to get another beer.

“Sorry you didn’t get your own room. But I’m glad you came,” you tell him honestly after a beat. “Surprised you didn’t have a girl for me to kick out when I stopped by the other morning, though.”

He ducks his head, scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, I’m not… out at bars so much these days. ‘Cept for gigs.”

Colin didn’t really do bashful, it threw you for a loop. “Why’s that?”

“Band’s really busy, actually. Looking like we'll actually make enough money this year to get some studio time for our own stuff.”

“That’s great, Colin.” You were genuinely pleased for his success. Actually, now he mentioned it, in recent weeks, you noticed a marked down-turn in the traffic in the bevy of babes at Chez Colin. He was free more often than not for board game nights at yours and baseball at his.

He shrugs, about to speak, then changes his mind and takes a long pull from his beer. “And I’m just...tired of giving away shirts. The trade off isn’t so satisfying.”

“Doesn’t sound like satisfaction is missing in those going-ons,” you mumble into the neck of your beer bottle, more to yourself than to him.

He burst out laughing, and you startle. “Still satisfies me in that way. And I’ve had no complaints.” You feel your cheeks heat at the thought of being Colin’s satisfied customer.

“No, I just….I really want to keep my shirts. Lost too many good ones. Maybe add someone else’s to my closet too.”

“I’m sure you’d cut a dashing figure, but with your shoulders, I think you’d struggle fitting into a ladies’ cut top,” you tease.

“Well, I’d only ever want sensible shirts. To see, not to wear,” he says. His tone is light but his gaze is not. His small smirk in the dancing firelight catches you off guard.

The penny drops. But he can’t mean what you think he’s insinuating so you just gape at him for a second, unsure of what to say. He's got that look in his eye, he wants to let you in on his secret. But you gotta come to him.

Before you can reply, Beth and her husband come back, her shouting, “We got sparklers!” while she holds a lighter aloft and flicks it on and off.

Saved by the Beth.

“I don’t think pyrotechnics after drinking is a good idea. No capable supervisors at the moment,” you tell Colin, grateful to avoid whatever direction your conversation was about to take.

“See,” Colin says appreciatively, “sensible.” Your belly fills with butterflies and you catch Colin’s keen gaze again.

And then Beth’s husband shoves sparklers in both your directions and tugs you to stand, while he exclaims, “We’re gonna light a Roman candle in the driveway, c’mon!”

You’re so grateful that when your friends get tipsy they can’t read the room.

+++

Bedtime, and you feel stupid nervous. Colin is naked 90% of the time in the communal apartment hallway. What if he *sleeps* in nude? You would have a heart attack.

But (un)luckily he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of sweats, topless. “All yours,” he says. Don’t I fucking wish, you think as you brush past him and shut the door to change.

Your pjs weren’t seductive, but mercifully you’d left the tatty flannel nightgown out of your suitcase last-minute and opted for the matching set of lace-trimmed cotton cami and sleep shorts instead. Your bulky socks and sweatshirt ensured you would stay warm in the crisp autumn night.

Colin could keep you warm in much more enticing ways, your traitorous brain offers.

After you both climb into bed and turn out the lights---Colin flipped off the lamp on the bedside table and you watched the muscles of his arms bunching as he did, realising for the umpteenth time it was going to be a long long weekend--it became rapidly evident that the autumn chill would be the least of your worries.

Turns out Colin didn’t need to do anything to warm you up--he was built like a refrigerator and radiated body heat like he was a furnace. You sigh longingly, scooting closer to the edge of the bed and willing your racing mind and heartbeat to sleep.

+++

You wake in the night, sweating at the body heat radiating from your bed companion. He hasn’t even encroached to your side of the bed and all you felt was this warm (hot, so fucking hot) man beside you.

You sleepily struggle out of your sweatshirt, then shimmy off your bulky socks.

“Ouch!” Colin cries out when your foot slingshots out of your sock and connects with his leg.

“Sorry!” you hiss back. “You’re too warm. I was just getting comfy.”

“Not gonna tell the pretty lady stripping in my immediate vicinity to stop. Even though you kicked me.”

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly.

“My shin may never recover.”

"Sorry." You whisper back even quieter.

“‘S OK. Just don’t elbow drop me in the night and we’ll be OK.” Moonlight filtering in around the curtains lets you see his soft grin. His eyelashes are so long and full you notice they cast shadows on his cheeks in the fucking moonlight, can’t a gal catch a break?

“‘Kay, I won’t. Night.” You break his heady, mirthful gaze, and roll away from him.

Your blood is pumping. From the lackadaisical pillow-talk voice Colin used when he called you “pretty.” From the flirty way he teased about the bodily harm you caused. From the sight of his dorito-shaped torso, all within arm's reach tonight.

You attempt to reason with your now-throbbing core. It doesn’t mean anything. He is a perennial flirt. He said himself--you’re just in his vicinity. That’s why he’s neighbourly in this bed and back home. Hell, that’s why he’s here now. This bed was his literal only option apart from sleeping in the communal living space. Not a bedfellow situation he entered willingly.

Your spiraling thoughts eventually wear you down into a dreamless sleep.

+++

You wake up again. You’re still tired, but it is still dark. There's a crick in your neck. Your body pillow smells extra nice, a bit woodsy like campfire, but doesn't cradle your neck as comfortably as usual. It’s especially firm tonight. And hairy?

You groggily nuzzle into your body pillow, only to find that what you’re sprawled against is in fact Colin, his pert pec pillowing your head. Your leg is thrown between his and your mound pressed firmly against his sweatpant-covered thigh. You startle and scramble to escape but you’re locked in position by Colin's sturdy arms looped around your back.

"Ow!" he grumbles sleepily as you assault his shin for the second time.

“Sorry! Just trying to give you space,” you mumble. You’re still face planted into his chest, enunciation is hard.

“Just, like, relax,” he soothes. “‘Sides, what are you doin’ over here? Thought you said I was too warm?” he teases, sleepy voice gruff and deep in the quiet of the moonlit room. His large hands rub slowly up and down your back.

“You are.”

“Difficult to believe you think that. You're all pressed against me."

That was undeniable. Oh fuck.

"Since you’re here anyway…” That teasing lilt to his voice gets darker and you inhale sharply. Surely you've imagined it.

“What?”

“These pajamas are very nice.” His fingertips pluck at the hem of your camisole, his other hand still running up and down your spine.

“Colin…” you huff in warning.

“Don’t you like that?” Christ. His voice is still light, but the steel edge to it inundates you with a robust catalogue of situations in which Colin might also say those words to you in a bed.

You feel yourself get wet, at a fucking back rub and the slightest insinuation of sex, a new level of horny desperation. He rubs his palm between your shoulder blades, fingertips skating across your back, and you feel your nipples peak in response.

The hand that had been toying with the hem of your camisole still is, but now his fingertips dart beneath the top and across the bare skin of your back.

Then he’s kind of just...resting his hand on your lower back, fingers draped on your ass.

You shift against him, fussing while your weeping cunt silently responds to his question on your behalf. Your mons presses just right against the corded thickness of his thigh, and you moan.

You both freeze.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You hate how pleased and smug he sounds, but mostly you hate how right he is to be.

“Oh god.” In an attempt to hide, you burrow your face further into his pec. It’s a very accommodating place to be and, crucially, you don’t have to make eye contact with your hot neighbor, who you are dry humping without his explicit consent.

He shushes you, “it’s OK.” Colin’s hand moves to gently cup your cheek and draw your face to his. His thumb skates briefly over your lips, and you manage to avoid sucking it right into your mouth.

“No shame. I like it too. ‘Specially if it makes you sound like that...”

His other hand cups your ass outright and presses your hips tighter against him. You’re sprawled on top of him and the beautiful bastard is fucking *clenching* his thigh.

His plush lips are wet and parted, and he watches your expression keenly. So you leap.

Leaping involves grinding your clothed pussy against Colin’s thigh as you rear up to kiss him.

He meets your insistent kiss in kind and he’s feasting on your lips, his tongue licking into your mouth and flooding you with desire. Good to know his beautiful mouth wasn’t just for show or dispensing sarcasm.

His hands wander everywhere--greedily cupping the back of your head to pull more taste from your lips and--oh god--suck on your tongue, and groping your ass to aid your rocking hips in grinding down and catching delicious friction on your clit, even through two sets of clothing.

Your hands roam his body just as desperately, running up his side and squeezing his arm and clutching in his hair. During the last one, Colin groans into your mouth when you, overzealous, accidentally tug his hair too tight, and you make note for future.

Colin’s roving hands eventually settle, one at the base of your neck, directing your face as you kiss and it makes you crazy. He cups your ass with his other hand, working your hips over his thigh. His grip is so low that while he palms at and steers your ass, his long thick fingertips encroach your pussy from behind.

Dry humping, fully clothed like a fucking teenager, and you’re so worked up you could come from merely straddling his muscled thigh.

“Wait,” Colin says breathlessly and pulls away. You might actually murder him and dump his handsome-ass corpse in the lake. You’d been so close.

Your face must give away your murderous intent, because his own dazed, kiss-swollen expression breaks into a smile.

“Good things come to those who wait, babe.” Smug, smug bastard, you think, being so fucking enticing and knowing it. You feel his erection at the top of your thigh and are contented that at least you aren’t suffering alone.

“Come ‘ere.” He maneuvers the pair of you until he’s seated upright and you’re still straddling his leg, but kneeling instead of sprawled on top of him.

Once settled, you shoot him an annoyed look. Its efficacy is doubtful, as still you need both hands bracing his shoulders to stop your lust-shaky legs giving out. Plus you're so wet that even in the moonlight you can make out the dark patch your worked up cunt left against his sweats.

“Can I carry on now?” you huff.

“If you want.” He firmly rocks your hips down and lifts his knee up, and it mounts

the pressure on your clit perfectly, and you cum with a keen.

“Atta girl,” Colin says, nibbling your earlobe while his hands guide your grinding hips through the aftershocks.

You're slumped over, spent, arms draped across Colin's considerably broad shoulders.

You're hiding your face in his neck because he smells good, woodsy from the campfire and familiar from the scent of him, but you're also abashed that you've cum so quickly.

When you indulged your crush with daydream, the fantasy was you'd at least share a night of reckless, mutually enjoyable passion before Colin then ignored you after, as was his M.O. with sexual conquests. Not that you came in your pjs like you were a teen humping your pillow, embarrassed to look him in the eye again before he even got to fuck and chuck you.

His hand smooths across your back again, the catalyst for this whole fucking mess. (The catalyst was your big lady boner for Colin, your mind taunts.)

"You still with me?" he asks gently, a hand still squeezing the curve of your hip. Then, more cautiously, "That was OK, right?"

You sit up to look him dead in the face. "OK? Colin, I just came and you didn't even touch me. I--I'm good. Mortified, but good."

He visibly relaxes. "Mortified’s not usually the reaction I get--"

You take his stupid-pretty face in your hands and cut him off with a filthy kiss while you work your still throbbing, pj-covered cunt over his thigh.

Remembering yourself, you pull away and give him a warning look and caution him, “Wait,” you imitate him from moments ago, and then straddle his whole lap and grind against his erection.

“Fuck” he pants, “you feel good. We have to get naked.”

You remove your camisole and Colin hums in appreciation before cupping your tits and leaning forward to catch a nipple teasingly with his teeth, making you hiss and arch your back. He releases your breast from his voluptuous mouth with a loud, smacking kiss. “Still too many clothes.”

He smacks your ass and reaches his hand till his long fingers cup your pussy from behind, again. “These are ruined anyway,” he says, snapping the waistband of your sleep shorts before lifting you to start removing them. You inelegantly drop to his side to shimmy out of them.

After waiting to avoid another disrobing-related leg injury, Colin pounces you the second your panties are off. He holds himself on his forearm beside you, eyeing you appreciatively head-to-toe, and you feel light-head as his lusty gaze drinks you in. He shifts over you, his weight on top of you feels amazing, his chest heaving and sheened with a light sweat from the way you’d been pressed together under the heavy duvet.

He’s kissing you again, and grabs your hip to draw you up into him. Still in his grey sweatpants, grinding against you. The treasure trail on his belly rubs delectably against the soft skin of your stomach. You wrap your legs around his, butterfly your knees open and grab his ass to press his erection more firmly against you.

When he lets you up for air and starts nibbling down your neck again, you chide, “You’re not naked yet.”

He ignores you, if chaining kisses along your collar bones counts as neglect.

In reply you groan and try to push his sweats off with your hands and your feet. “Keeping you clothed even outside your apartment is the challenge of the century for you, why are you being shy now?” You don’t even hide the needy whine in your complaint.

“’M busy,” Colin gently scolds from where he's kissing down your belly. Now, eye-level with your center, he props your legs open with his broad shoulders. You feel another rush of warmth as his breath flutters over your cunt.

His fingers dip to stroke your core and he coos, “Made such a pretty mess, babe.” Then he gently spreads you open with his thumbs before he leans in and slides his tongue right through the cut of you. He laps up the mess you'd left behind and you shriek and clutch his hair as new slick surges to his mouth.

He makes you come again in record time, and you reckon you’d give him a 5-star review. Colin looks up at you from beneath his long eyelashes, panting from the lack of oxygen he’d gotten while devouring your pussy. He licks and then bites his bottom lip, all glistening with your release, and you want to scream at how debauched he looks, lips pink and chin slick.

“Get. Naked. Now.” You hiss instead, trying to haul him up the bed by his broad shoulders. He smears his face into the sheet to wipe his mouth, then stands and strips himself---Finally you cheer internally--of his sweatpants.

As you process that he was going commando, you realise that for all his unclothed exploits around the building, you’d never actually seen Colin’s dick. It's dribbling precum, and is thick enough that you're not sure if he's going to be a comfy fit but you're abso-fucking-lutely game to give it the old college try.

He palms himself and moans a little bit and you hook a foot around a shapely ass cheek. "Get down here." And Colin catches himself on a forearm and enthusiastically captures you in another sloppy, toe-curling kiss.

You seize the opportunity to reach down and stroke him firmly, then cheer internally when his breath stutters. "Inside me, please."

Clutch his hips and run your thumb in the groove of his Adonis belt, urging him on. "Fuck, okay, I'm doing it." Colin gasps out with a chuckle. “Bossy.” You think he intends to sound perturbed but he just sounds fond, and you're flooded with warmth anew.

He replaces your hand with his and runs the tip of his dick along your slit, before easing the thick head of himself inside. After he bottoms out you wriggle underneath him, impatient for him to fuck you. He groans and his handsome face flushes even pinker. He looks fucking delectable.

He starts with slow and deep thrusts. The way his cock fills you is a perfect compliment to his thumb working external pressure on your clit.

“Next time--want you to ride me again,” Colin pants. “You looked so fucking hot, already know you can work that pussy, pretty girl.”

He plants one arm by your head and with the other he hooks your knee over his elbow, opening you wider to him. He thrusts deeper and you whimper in pleasure as his pace picks up, his cock hitting this new, heavenly angle inside you while you push against him in return.

“Not gonna last. Got me all worked up with you writhing on top of me,” He says, driving into you. “Where do you want me to come?”

“Inside. I’m on the pill.” He urges you on to your third orgasm of the night with a few final strums of your clit with his clever fingers, before giving a few more thrusts. Your cunt flutters around him as he throws his head back and stutters out “Fuck, fuck,” and presses you into the bed with one final dirty grind.

Colin collapses on top of you. “Too warm,” you protest feebly after a beat. In truth, you’re savoring the press of his sweat-glistening body onto yours. Colin pulls out and you feel the loss of him and his spend trickling out of you. “God, your pussy is so hot all messy, babe.”

He flops on his back, and yanks you on top of him, like you’d woken up not so long ago. Colin’s tangled you both together again, the pair of you panting and pulled close.

You’re tired and sexed out. Tucked under Colin’s arm and pressed against the bulk of him, the enormity of your crush hits you with full force. You really like Colin. You really think he likes you---at least enough to spend clothes-on time with. Now you’ve taken them off, you’ve seen how he typically deals with women, and you’re terrified.

Catastrophizing, you see past this blissful, sexed up weekend retreat into a future where the neighbor who fucked you and half the women in Boston is looking to get through the other half and doesn’t want you cramping his style.

"This isn't gonna be awkward is it?" Colin’s hand is cupping your ass, squeezing it occasionally, and your question feels instantly poor exchange for all the easy affection he’s showing.

"Hmmm?" Even through your fog of doubt, you still take pride in and appreciate how dopey and sexed out Colin sounds.

"Once we get back? You sneaking into my apartment, hiding from girls you want to ditch?"

You feel Colin stiffen a little beneath you and not in a fun way. You plough on. “We don’t have to tell anyone what happened now either.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna make an announcement,” Colin says a bit snippily. His hand on your ass has stilled. “Don’t want your friends to know you slept with a manwhore like me?” He sounds a bit sad.

“No, Colin, it’s just---It’s not their business. No pressure. Cleaner break for when we go back home, too.”

“Ah.”

“It can all go back to normal. Nobody has to know we hooked up. You can keep coming to game nights, and nobody---mostly Beth---will want to protect me by being cold to you.”

“What if I don’t want to go back to normal?”

“What?”

Colin rolls you off him, and faces you, tilting your chin to look at him. He looks delectable, his spiky hair even further disheveled from your hands raking through it, still a slight flush to his face. His brow is furrowed and express serious, but he’s smiling and it zips straight through you.

"You’re dense for someone so bright. Told you--I'm way more into board game nights than random bar hook-ups." He’s in earnest, and you finally understand the secret he was waiting for you to let him share.

"That so?"

"Definitely.” He scoots closer, easing you to your back and nudging his lips and nose along your neck. “Don't always want an apartment full of other people to play though."

"You don't?"

"Nope. Strip Carcassonne is only 2 players, babe."

You dissolve into giggles and feel lighter. “It’s late. Should get some sleep.”

“Mm-hm.” Colin is still nuzzling at you, and in your post-orgasmic haze you’re very floaty.

“Colin. That’s not sleep.”

“Nope.”

+++

You eventually got some sleep. The next morning after a rumbling “g’morning” from Colin, who tries to keep you in bed with a kiss or two, you bathe, dress, and slip out to the kitchen while he showers. All still desperately unsure of how he wanted to play this to everyone else. It was common knowledge you guys had bunked together. Even if they all assumed a hook-up was inevitable for the sole two bed-sharing singletons on the trip, you thought best to play it cool. Be weekend roommates.

Colin greets everyone else and sits at the table while you stand at the counter, waiting for coffee to brew. Beth and her husband are debating the best way to get everyone down to the apple orchard for later that day.

You set down your mug and move to slide into an empty chair, but Colin snags an arm around your waist and pulls you to his lap. You squawk in a very dignified manner on the way down. Eventually you squirm into place, settled sideways on Colin’s lap, his arm secured across your waist, squeezing your hip. “Good morning, again,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

Beth thinks she’s sly in masking her enormous “I told you so” grin, but she isn’t.

You’re really tired of Beth being right.

+++

~~2 months later~~

You were tired. You had to work in the morning. This morning, in fact, as it was 3am.

But Colin had woken in the night, and your ass flush in the cradle of his hips was an utterly irresistible prospect, so he roused you with kisses chained up your shoulder and neck to have his way with you.

You found it hard to care about the early hour with Colin's plush lips suckling your clit as he worked three thick fingers inside you. ("Shit, three already, babe? So greedy," he'd hummed, clearly pleased with himself and for you before he traced your folds and acquiesced to your request.)

After making you come on his tongue, Colin had rolled you onto your belly and wrung a second orgasm from you using his cock and his clever hands on your clit. You both collapse on the bed, panting.

“You woke me up at 3am,” your voice, half-muffled by your pillow, is too blissed out to carry the venom you intend.

“Yup. Your reward for not even kicking me in the night once,” he says fondly. "Why stop tradition?"

"You pressed against me and waking me up for sex is traditional?"

"For us."

"Wouldn't the tradition then be I actually kick you? That’s what happened."

He tuts. "Why do you always chose violence, babe?"

"Blood thirsty."

"What is your supervillain origin story?"

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

"I really really would. I’ll start---this beautiful, sensible, infuriatingly oblivious girl moves across the hall and can’t take her eyes off her handsome neighbor--"

"Shut up,” you grumble, “you unbelievable cornball."

"Make me."

--------

A/N: Ahahaha oh god that was so long. Welcome to the end, congrats for making it. Thanks for reading!

My bonus challenge spin was Yandere, which I’d have loved to add, but it took me so gosh darn long to wrestle these two knuckleheads into the bed they were meant to share that I had no ideas to make it dark.

----

You come through the door, ready to collapse. Like Alexander, you’d had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, absolutely shit day. On top of a rather shitty week.

You stand in the doorway, catching your breath, relishing being home, your sanctuary, and able to close out the world.

In that moment you recalled Andy wasn’t even home to give you a hug. He was up in Boston proper, the last night of working on a case that had parted you for the week. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You sobbed, dumped your purse and slipped off your coat.

You sobbed while preparing your microwaved meal and pouring yourself a glass of wine to go with it. You sobbed while eating it and through the episode of Queer Eye you put on. Nothing could cheer you up, and your usual haven of home felt, absent of Andy for the night, like another part of the world that had been treating you poorly all week. You’re exhausted, and think maybe you’re finally all cried out. It’s only 8pm, but after dinner you slink upstairs and prepare yourself for bed, thinking your cozy duvet might be an ok enough substitute for snuggling in absence of your loving man while you have your nightly video chat.

A text from Andy. You sniffle and peek at your phone: Can’t video chat tonight, honey, We’re working late. Sorry. :( Miss you. Love you.

And you’re sobbing again, and hurl your phone across the room before crying yourself to sleep.

—

“Honey?” A hand strokes your face, waking you from your restless sleep.

Andy is seated on the side of the bed, stroking your face. His usually impeccable suit looks rumpled but he’s here and you nearly fall over scrambling upright to fling yourself into his arms, whispering his name.

He “oofs” at your forceful bodily contact, and squeezes you tight. His solidity, physical and emotional, overwhelms you. And so you just cried into his suit jacket.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK, what’s up?” He pulls back to look at you, and the little furrow in his beautiful brow nearly starts you crying anew.

You blubber, feeling like a toddler but not caring, spilling your guts about the million tiny things that had gone wrong while he was away, and about the big work project that had overrun and decimated your capacity for anything else. “And I–I fucking missed you! And I felt so silly about it. It’s only a week. A work week!”

You pause. “Wait, I thought you were coming back tomorrow? But you’re here.”

“Very well observed, honey,” Andy teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Well, we finished early and I wanted to surprise you. God, I missed you.” Andy squeezes you extra tight for emphasis, and a laugh bubbles out of you.

“Can’t breathe, Andy!” You relish it though – it felt like a long time since you’d laughed.

You wriggle back to stay in the ring of Andy’s arms but look at his face. His blue eyes are mirthful now he’s made you laugh, and his happiness makes you almost want to cry again. It also brings to mind something else.

“I missed you. All of you. Talking to you too, thinking I wasn’t gonna get to tonight, made me sad but–” you bite your lip and run a hand over his shoulder to his heart. His heart, beating under a very firm and delectable chest. Andy inhales sharply as you stroke his collarbone over his crisp white shirt and move to straddle his lap. “I wanna feel you.”

“You’ve been in the wars, huh, honey?” Andy says, rubbing your back and cupping your ass to scooch you closer in his lap. “My girl shouldn’t have so much to worry about, hm?”

He leans in and kisses you softly, cupping your face tenderly while still soothingly rubbing your back.

You whimper and relax into the kiss, deepening it and press your tongue into his plush lips.

You pull away and watch Andy’s flushing pink cheeks and the fluttering of his long eyelashes as he slowly opens his eyes. He hums happily. “Hey, hon.”

“Hi. You smell good.”

“Same to you,” Andy draws his nose up your neck and you shiver. He kisses under your jaw. “Mm, taste good too.”

“Andy,” you all but whimper, your body alight with tingles from his gentle kisses. “Stop teasing.”

He draws his nose along your throat and presses a kiss to other side of your neck. “But why? It’s so fun, honey.”

You clasp your hands behind his neck in response and whimper when he opens his mouth and laps gentle at your jaw.

“See, you make noises like that,” Andy grips your ass tighter, grinding you down on to his hardening cock. “Where’s my incentive to stop?”

“Need you, please,” and your voice breaks a bit and Andy pulls away.

“I’m here. No more teasing. Not what you need, is it?”

You shake your head and breathe a sigh of relief.

Andy kisses you again, easing you back on to the bed and leaning over you. “Like this?”

“For a start,” you say, hooking a leg around him and arching beneath him. “Too dressed.”

“Me or you?” he says, rucking your shirt up and chaining kisses up your belly to your breasts, where he nuzzles for a moment, beard rasping across your chest pleasingly. You feel the day, hell, the whole damn crummy week draining away, all leached out of you by Andy’s love.