#nomad steve

Steve likes to do his morning run through the hiking trails. He rarely passes anyone out there in general, but as today is rainy and overcast, he is guaranteed not to. Also, he wakes to exercise at the ass-crack of dawn or earlier.

Though he no longer needs to hide his face, Steve likes the baseball cap now. He wears it when helping do anything outside, but there will be no gardening with this weather.

He thumps up the porch stairs and rips off his hat to shake off the droplets.

"Beautiful," he declares, and from your spot on the bench, you certainly don't see it.

"It's kinda gross out, Stevie..."

He's staring at you when you pry eyes up from a steaming mug. "Wasn't talking about that," he smiles, crossing the last few feet to you and bending down. He kisses your cheek. "What's on the agenda for such a gross day, Tops?"

You shrug.

They're lazy, all of them, ever since the motel closed. It's just you, him, this house, and the trees, yet you are never lonely.

Steve exhales dramatically as he sits beside you. "I could draw."

"Mmm," you grunt, sipping.

"Or prep a nice dinner," he offers.

That causes you to smirk because they're all nice. Steve quite enjoys cooking even the simplest meals.

"So...same as yesterday."

His fingertips invade your view over the railing into the woods, circling the rim of your drink and gently pulling it away to set on the tiny square table.

"Am I boring you?" Even his voice is smiling while he grabs your waist and thigh, hauling you up over his lap, chuckling at the squeak of shock escaping you. "Ma'am," he prompts, settling your arms below his to cup your face, "are you bored?"

You shake your head, still sleepy.

Steve shifts one hip and then the other, shimmying beneath you slightly until you sit nestled just right atop him. He leans forward to kiss you, not shy about starting deep and dirty, his tongue leeching the caffeine straight from yours greedily. He reacts immediately to your move to hold his shoulders, you body rolling and grinding over his.

"Heaven forbid, I bore you, sweetheart," he husks, merciless in his grip and glide, desperately palming over your ass and back.

Your fingers lodge in the damp strands of his golden hair. "Never," you gasp with a whimper of "you could never."

His hands wander beneath your shirt to play at the soft, tender skin. He's sure to take your lips again when he pinches your nipples to taut peaks. Steve loves to swallow your moans, keep you breathless and pliable, work you into an undulating frenzy before pinning you harshly to him so his calculated thrusts nudge you just right, throwing you over the edge.

He especially loves to hump at your limp and floating form till he comes with a groan and a meaningless curse.

He nuzzles your face where it lies tucked into the crook of his neck. "I think we might need to clean up, beautiful. How 'bout a bath?"

Through your sleepy, near-boneless haze, you manage to whisper a 'yes' but fight with him not to carry you to the bathroom. You want to walk. You want to drink your drink. Steve snorts in approval, calling you cute and telling you to meet him upstairs. He shamelessly struts inside with a dark, wet spot on his sweats, worse than any drizzle of rain could make.

Your bottoms peel away from the mess he made of you, eliciting a hum of satisfaction when Steve undresses you beside the filling tub. He makes no moves to step in with you at first; he simply kneels down on the mat, splashing warm water strategically over your shoulders and chest, lingering over your breasts when you hiss.

It doesn't hurt. You're just sensitive, and his touch is achingly welcome all the time.

His hands roam, searching all the usual spots for the most intense reaction until you beg him to get in, too.

"Yeah?" he teases like there's an actual question of your desire while his fingers circle your clit and his other hand cradles the nape of your neck. He wants a few more 'pleases' for his trouble. Then, and only then, does he stand with a devious smile and disrobe.

Steve was never shy of his body, but over time, he's embraced showing off his body's reaction to you. Your lustful gaze alone makes him hard, day and night and every minute in between.

He climbs over the high lip of the tub, telling you to open up for him, pushing your thighs wider as he lowers. After sloshing around trying to find a position to enter from, he laughs, refusing to let you strain your neck to lift your pelvis high enough.

He thinks...you'll just have to turn over and get on your knees.

Luckily, that solves all the logistical problems. The water bucks about a bit with the force of his fucking, but holding the bulk of you above the rim lets your slick guide his cock perfectly in and out, no displacement, no mess on the tile floor. Steve's considerate even when his hindbrain takes over.

He plants his thick, corded forearm along yours, holding onto the porcelain with his index finger laced around your pinkie, torso molded to the curve of your spine, igniting, soothing, and igniting more flurries of stimulation all over.

Steve slows once he gets close this time, dragging his length casually through the arousal now dripping down your legs. He finds your clit again, muttering filthy, loving things against your arched back.

"Could stay buried in you all day, beautiful. Wonder if we could break our record like this. Should'a rolled you over before my run, feels so good."

But the simple words I love you repeated over and over are what do you in. He sounds lost and yet found in this haze of typical passion. He never tires of loving you, of loving you, of loving you, and like this--delightfully knitted together and pulled tight enough to snap--you feel all his love. It fills you until that balloon of pleasure pops, crashing you back against him, shoving him deeper as he crests, too.

His thighs shake behind yours in the slippery bath, hand splayed across your low belly to keep you upright as Steve whines with each rope of cum that leaves him, that he gives you, that you take from him.

He relaxes but holds you steady, heart beating like a drum against your skin. For a long moment, he's lost, then he finds his reality, delicately maneuvering to flip and seat you, crashing his lips to yours. He starts brutal then tapers into chaste, short pecks while he gets his legs under him, finally submerging past his hips.

The sky may be gray and dark, but the sparkle in Steve's blue eyes shines with megawatt clarity. A dopey smile breaks through his coarse beard.

"Shit," he breathes, carding through his still-dirty hair, tossing his head back with a wispy chuckle, "we might need a shower, too."

You suppose, perhaps, even Steve's laziest days aren't really lazy at all. He finds ways to fill the time just fine.

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Nahhhh, I'm excited enough I'm tagging e'erybody lol: