#v writes

It started innocently enough. sitting on the lounge chair of the hotel room balcony, feeling the heat trickle against your skin. the weight of your sunglasses pushed on your nose as sweat dripped down onto the pages of your book.

the midsummer heatwave was knocking the energy out of everyone, including your, typically energetic, boyfriend, mingi. fresh out the shower, his short black hair was messy, spiked over his head as he opened the balcony door. he had slipped on his matching set of a striped shirt and shorts, the buttons hanging dangerously open.

your eyes were begging to tear away from the words on the pages, catching glimpses of mingi sitting in the comfort of a plush chair opposite from you. you hadn't spoken a word, something unsaid lingered in the air.

as beads of sweat started to run down the side of your neck, you couldn't help but use your book as a makeshift fan. the view before you surely wasn't helping. mingis eyes had shifted closed, hands resting on his lap as his head was leaned back into the chair cushions.

maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the need.

but something in you snapped. nothing crazy, yet, just a floodgate of something seeping out of you. so, you pressed your book shut, and got on your feet.

mingis eyes didn't open just yet, he was basking in the sun, it hugging his features so beautifully in this warm morning. as you stood before him, you let your other hand grip the metal railing next to mingis chair, the other holding onto his shoulder blade. his lips twitched at the sudden touch, but melting into it as your familiar warmth neared him. speaking in a mumbled tone, he muttered:

"isn't it a bit too hot to cuddle hm?" you chuckled lightly, your hips now laid on top of his, chest pressed up on his.

to admit, it was definitely not making the heat go away, more so making it worse. but you couldn't possibly tear yourself off your delicious boyfriend now, his tan toned arm now tight around your waist. you just craved being close, just being here together like this.

the trip so far had been mostly you inside, alone, reading books, since mingi was on a business trip. having these little moments together was certainly more and more rare, so you had to take what there is to take.

"but it's so comfortable like this isn't it?" you asked, tracing shapes into the exposed skin of mingis collarbones. his low laugh rumbled in his chest as he nodded, eyes still hung close.

"mhm, you could say that"

you weren't sure how long you sat there, unmoved, before something started to change. maybe it was the subtle changes in your seating position, or the way your eyes were wandering, but you couldn't help but feel a new type of heat rise in your body.

your both hands laid against mingis sweat sticky chest, your thighs spread around to straddle his. looking up to see his eyes still closed, light breaths passing his lips, you let yourself experiment a bit.

your hand slid down his torso, hanging onto the buttons that remained closed a little longer then supposed, accidentally popping one open. the newly exposed skin glistened in the sunlight, making your cheeks burn red like you've never seen him like this before.

you could feel his breath catching a little, making you pause for a moment before resuming. your other hand traced down to meet the other, slowly opening the last two remaining buttons. with slow but sure movements, you moved aside the light fabric, flashing his toned chest to your vision.

you couldn’t help but feel your mouth salivating at the sight of his exposed chest, the ridges of his muscles, the light hairs below his bellybutton, all the way to to his perked brown nipples. it was all too much.

you didn’t even notice your hips moving at first, your body taking over into an animalistic state. the fabric of mingis shorts was riding up dangerously high, the skin of his toned thick thighs meeting yours as you humped down on him like a dog in heat.

you felt a grin tug on mingis plump lips, his lengthy tongue slipping past to wet the surface before he spoke in a low voice:

" tsk, now now, that's not cuddling now is it angel?"

your breath hitched, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop moving against him, hands now eagerly tugging on the remains of his shirt that hung on his chest. mingis grip on your waist adjusted a bit, both his large palms now resting against your hipbones, guiding your movements.

"couldn't help it" you mumbled, face merely inches away from his. a smirky grin appears on his lips, before he bites down into them, pulling you closer on his lap. you fall forward slightly, your hands now laid above his chest, fingers directly on his perky nipples.

"don't you dare stop now then, even if you're caught, you dirty girl"

even if you wanted to, you couldn't. the feeling of the heat radiating from mingis body, his scent, his presence. the way his eyes were slightly opened now, that dark gaze burning into your skull as you worked your hips against him. you felt your brain melt away as you eased more into it, upping the pressure as mingis hands guided you back and forth.

as you moved, you could feel tension rise below you, the hardness of mingis cock firm against your clothed pussy as you grinded with need. a twitch rippled through mingis body as your hips met up with the sensitive spot of his tip through his flimsy shorts, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“thats it baby, faster f’me, go on”

his hands are eager to pull and push you faster, the slickness of your pussy seeping through your clothes, leaving a wet patch on his shorts. moans tear past your lips as you lean forward to lay youe forehead on his shoulder, fingers digging into his chest muscles.

“min- so good.. fuck..”

raking your hands down his torso, your nails leaving behind a red trail as your chest heaves. you’re burning up, the heat of the summer air and the burning sensation of your body against mingis driving you near passing out, but it felt so worth it.

“yeah? gonna cum untouched like a fucking virgin are you baby?”

mingis words twist your gut, his pitying tone making a new wave of arousal slick down your thighs. he just smirks knowingly, beginning to thrust up into your grinds.

you shriek, digging your nails into his stomach as the new sensation takes over. you may as well be naked from how much you can feel the imprint of mingis cock in his pants. you can feel the thick shape of it, every ridge, every vein running down its sides. and its making you lose it faster then you want to.

“p..please.. d- da.. mghm min..” your words stutter as you hold onto him, teeth grazing his exposed shoulder blade.

“mmm what was that, say that again” his words sharp as his hips slow down a bit, waiting your answer.

your cheeks flare, gulping, you try again:

“please.. please daddy more!” you muster the courage, shaking as mingi chuckles against you, picking back up his page.

“that’s a good girl, always so obedient for me”

you feel the tightness in your abdomen come scarily close at his words, your body tingling with every grind, every thrust. raising your head from his shoulder, youre met with his gaze again, eyes clouded, lips parted in a smirk while low groans tear out repeatedly.

his palm smacks your right cheek before pulling on it again, spreading you open while grinding up into you, and you feel yourself lose it.

“need to.. need to cum now daddy mgmh! m coming”

mingis face dives forward, closing you into a kiss thats almost all tongue and teeth, sucking your sounds into his mouth. you pant, repeating his name like a mantra as his cockhead grinds against your clit with ease.

“thats it, cum on daddy just like this, attagirll baby” his voice mumbles against your lips, you feel him smile into it with that devious grin.

and it completely undoes you. you feel the band inside you snap, the overwhelming heat of your body peaking as you hold onto mingi for some stability, his hands on your hips grounding you.

the wet patch is even more imminent now on mingis shorts as you lean forward to his shoulder again, hanging on like a ragdoll. his hand caresses your back, soothing the burning skin as you come down from your high.

after a minute or two, you leaned up again, meeting his attentive gaze, and that never ending smirk. you raise a brow.

“now, why are you still grinning now, what’s so funny?” mingi chuckles, running his hand down your side, the other below your chin.

“oh nothing, just imagining how you’re gonna walk once we’re done on this balcony” you smack his shoulder, pretending to be hurt.

“oh? don’t think i’m not going to have you holding onto that bar for dear life while i stuff your pussy full, you know i’ll do it.”

and with that, you knew your knees would remain wobbly, and your body heated for the rest of this damned heatwave.

Legundo doesn’t hear the door open.

He’s hunched over his desk, glasses low on his nose, pen moving steadily across a half-finished report. The late-afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust in the air, warming the wood of the shelves behind him. He’s so focused that the world has narrowed to ink and paper.

So, when a cool hand suddenly brushes the back of his head, he startles hard enough to jerk in his chair.

“Owen—!”

The word breaks off into a breath.

Owen’s fingers slip through the short fuzz of Legundo’s buzzed hair, slow and deliberate. He makes a pleased little sound at the way Legundo shivers under the touch.

“There you are,” Owen murmurs softly. “I was afraid you’d worked yourself into another near-death experience without me.”

Legundo exhales, trying and failing not to smile. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

“I absolutely can,” Owen says, leaning down just enough for his breath to ghost warm against Legundo’s ear. “And you love it.”

Before Legundo can reply, Owen hooks a finger into the edge of his collar and gently but firmly turns the chair. The motion sends Legundo swiveling toward him, and then Owen is settling into his lap with the easy familiarity of someone who belongs there.

The chair creaks softly under the added weight.

Legundo’s hands hover for a second, uncertain. Then they land at Owen’s waist on instinct.

“You’re impossible,” Legundo murmurs.

“And yet,” Owen says lightly, tilting his head, “you keep letting me in.”

They pause there, breathing each other in. Owen studies Legundo’s face, the faint crease between his brows, the tired softness around his eyes. So human. So warm.

“I was good today,” Owen says quietly.

The words are light, almost offhand, but the way his fingers twitch where they rest against Legundo’s sleeve betrays him.

Legundo’s thumb stills where it rests at Owen’s hip.

“Did that cost you?”

For a moment, Owen doesn’t answer.

His gaze slips sideways, unfocusing on the edge of the desk, on the faint scratch in the wood, on anything that isn’t Legundo’s careful, seeing eyes. The playfulness drains just enough for the truth to ripple underneath.

“A little,” he admits.

His mouth twists in something like a smile, something like a flinch.

“There were options,” he continues softly. “Plenty. Loud ones. Easy ones.” He lets out a thin breath through his teeth. “I walked past all of them.”

Legundo’s chest tightens.

Owen finally looks back at him then, really looks, and the familiar mischief returns, but it’s fragile now, held together with effort rather than ease.

“So,” he says lightly, tapping Legundo’s chest with one finger, “I feel like I deserve at least a medal. Or a cookie. Or, ideally…” His eyes flick meaningfully to Legundo’s neck.

The joke lands, but it doesn’t quite hide the tremor underneath.

Legundo shifts closer without even thinking about it, his hand firming at Owen’s waist.

“You don’t have to fight alone,” he says quietly.

Owen’s smile softens. Just a fraction.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I came here instead of anywhere else.”

Owen’s fingers curl lightly in the fabric of Legundo’s shirt, bunching it between his knuckles. He looks down at his hands like he’s surprised to find them shaking, then forces a small laugh and tilts his head.

“Guess that makes you my reward, huh?”

His eyes lift again, hopeful and careful at once.

“May I have my… medal?” he asks. “Just a little. I promise I’ll behave.”

Legundo doesn’t answer right away. He simply reaches up and loosens his collar.

The invitation is soft. Wordless.

Owen’s expression shifts instantly, gentler, reverent. He leans in slowly, giving Legundo every chance to pull back. When Legundo doesn’t, Owen’s lips brush his neck instead.

Not a bite.

Just a soft, testing lick.

Legundo inhales sharply despite himself.

Owen smiles against his skin. He does it again, slow, deliberate, watching with quiet satisfaction as heat creeps up Legundo’s throat, a blush blooming over his neck and into his chest.

“There it is,” Owen whispers. “Every time.”

He begins to kiss him then, small, unhurried presses of his mouth along the curve of Legundo’s neck. Each one warmer than the last. Each one leaving Legundo just a little more unsteady.

“Owen,” Legundo breathes.

“That’s not a no,” Owen murmurs.

When he finally bites, it’s careful.

Controlled.

Legundo stiffens for half a second and then relaxes completely into him.

The taste hits Owen like sunlight through stained glass.

Sweet. Bright. Achingly familiar.

It is everything he is trying not to need too much.

His hands tighten slightly at Legundo’s shoulders as he drinks just enough, only what’s offered. When he pulls back, his breath trembles, and he presses his forehead to Legundo’s.

“Still sweet,” he murmurs.

Legundo exhales softly, fingers threading into Owen’s hair. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

For a moment, neither of them moves. The room settles around them again, the quiet, the dust, the ticking clock pretending nothing extraordinary just happened.

Owen eventually shifts, resting his head against Legundo’s shoulder.

“…Thank you,” he says, softer than usual.

Legundo tightens his arms just a little in response.

The door clicks shut behind Owen with a soft, final sound.

For a moment, he just stands there in the hallway, back against the wall, head tipped forward. The world feels too sharp at the edges, every sound too clear, every color too bright. Legundo’s blood still hums warmly through him, sweet and steady and too much in all the ways Owen can’t afford to think about.

He swallows.

Once.

Then twice.

When he finally pushes off the door and starts walking, his steps are a little unsteady, not from weakness, but from restraint. From stopping when every instinct screamed to take more.

Louis is waiting exactly where Owen expects him to be.

Leaning against the far wall. Pretending he hasn’t been counting heartbeats through the door.

The second Owen steps out, Louis straightens. His eyes scan Owen’s face first, too quickly, too carefully, tracking every detail: the faint flush still warming his cheeks, the way his breath is a little uneven, the way his shoulders sit just slightly too tense.

“Well?” Louis asks, quiet but tight.

Owen lets out a slow breath through his nose. “He’s alive,” he murmurs. “Still annoying. Still altruistic. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Louis exhales like he’s been holding it for miles. He steps forward without thinking, hands coming up to Owen’s coat, gripping fabric as if Owen might vanish if he doesn’t anchor him there.

“You scared me,” Louis admits. “You always do.”

Owen huffs softly. “You married me.”

“I married a disaster,” Louis says faintly. “This is worse.”

Their foreheads touch. Just for a second.

Then Louis tilts in and kisses him.

At first, it’s gentle. Careful. A press of lips meant purely for reassurance. The kind of kiss you give to confirm that someone is still real.

Owen melts into it with a quiet sound in his throat.

But the kiss doesn’t stay simple.

Louis’s hands slide from Owen’s collar to his jaw, cupping his face as if he needs to feel every inch of him. His mouth deepens the kiss slowly, testing, searching. There’s hunger there, but it isn’t violent. It’s aching. Wanting.

When his tongue brushes Owen’s lower lip, tentative at first, Owen freezes for the briefest moment.

Louis feels it instantly.

“Too much?” he murmurs against his mouth.

“No,” Owen whispers back. “Just—be gentle.”

Louis nods and kisses him again.

This time slower.

Softer.

His tongue slips in with care, tasting only what Owen offers. The faintest echo of warmth still lingers there, sweet and copper and human in a way neither of them is supposed to crave anymore.

Louis makes a quiet, broken sound in his throat.

Owen feels it in his chest.

He lets the kiss linger. Let's Louis chase that ghost of a taste with small, unsteady movements of his mouth. Let's him linger there like it’s a blessing instead of a reminder of what they’re both missing.

They part only when breath finally becomes necessary.

Louis’s hands are trembling.

“Still sweet,” he whispers, like a confession. Like an accusation. Like reverence.

Owen smiles faintly. “I told you.”

Louis searches his face again. “Did he give you enough?”

Owen’s expression dims just a little. “He gave what he always gives,” he says quietly. “Too much.”

Louis’s jaw tightens. “You took too much.”

“Only what he offered,” Owen replies, softer now. “And only because I couldn’t take it from anywhere else.”

That lands heavily between them.

They stand there in the quiet hallway, the echo of Legundo’s heartbeat still lingering in Owen’s veins and on Louis’s lips.

Finally, Owen glances back at the closed office door.

“You’re up,” Owen says quietly.

Louis studies him for a second. Not startled, just thoughtful. “You look steadier,” he observes.

“Don’t let that fool you.”

A faint smile curves Louis’s mouth at that. His hands slide down Owen’s arms, slow and reluctant, like he’s memorizing the weight of him before letting go.

“You’ve had enough, then,” Louis says.

Owen’s gaze flicks briefly toward the closed office door. “For today,” he answers honestly.

Louis hums softly. “Good.”

He leans in and kisses Owen again, slow, unhurried, steady. There’s no searching in it now, no hunger. Just reassurance. Just us.

When they part, Louis rests their foreheads together for a quiet second.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

Owen exhales a soft laugh. “Statistically unlikely.”

Louis gives him a look of serene warning. “I am perfectly capable of restraint.”

“That’s what everyone who absolutely is not says.”

Louis actually snorts at that, just a small, undignified sound that makes Owen’s chest loosen.

“I will be calm,” Louis says evenly. “I will be polite. I will not drain the doctor.”

Owen raises a brow. “You practiced that.”

Louis shrugs one shoulder. “I rehearse for important meetings.”

Owen’s smile turns soft around the edges. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Louis murmurs, stepping back, “you’re sending me in anyway.”

Owen nods once. “The only person I trust with him.”

That sobers Louis just slightly.

He reaches out, straightens Owen’s collar with careful fingers. “Wait here,” he says gently.

“As if I could go anywhere.”

Louis closes the door behind him with a quiet, careful click.

Louis turns toward the door and knocks.

Legundo is still seated at his desk, posture straight in the way that only means he’s forcing himself to stay that way. The papers in front of him are perfectly aligned. His hands, however, are not.

He looks up when Louis approaches.

“Hey,” Legundo says softly, like this is just another ordinary visit.

Louis doesn’t answer right away.

He walks closer at an unhurried pace, gaze steady, unreadable in its calm. When he reaches the desk, he places both hands on its surface and leans in just enough to gently, but unmistakably, invade Legundo’s space.

“You gave too much,” Louis says quietly.

Legundo blinks. “Owen needed—”

“He always does,” Louis interrupts, still gentle. “And you always forget that you also need to remain conscious afterward.”

Legundo exhales through a faint, guilty smile. “I’m fine.”

Louis tilts his head slightly. “Sit back.”

It isn’t a demand.

But it also isn’t a suggestion.

Legundo hesitates, just a second, then allows his chair to roll back a few inches under the light pressure of Louis’s hand at his shoulder.

“Good,” Louis murmurs.

He moves around the desk, then, unhurried, and comes to stand between Legundo’s knees. His hands lift and settle at the sides of Legundo’s jaw, thumbs brushing faint circles there, comfort woven seamlessly into control.

“You’re very generous,” Louis says softly. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

Legundo’s breath stutters. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” Louis agrees calmly.

Then he leans in.

The first kiss lands just below Legundo’s ear, slow, grounding. No hunger yet. Reassurance. Another follows, lower this time, lingering warm against skin already sensitive from earlier. Louis takes his time, mapping gentle presses of his mouth along the curve of Legundo’s neck as if reminding him where he is, who he is with.

Legundo’s hands tense instinctively in Louis’s sleeves.

“Hands down,” Louis murmurs without breaking rhythm.

Legundo obeys.

That earns him a faint, approving hum against his skin.

Only then does Louis bite.

It’s careful. Measured. Never rushed. His control is absolute, not just over himself, but over the moment. One hand brace at the back of the chair, the other steady at Legundo’s shoulder, keeping him anchored as the dizziness builds.

When Louis finally draws back, he does so slowly.

Deliberately.

Enough.

He stays close afterward, forehead resting lightly against Legundo’s temple, breath quiet and even.

“Still with me?” Louis asks softly.

Legundo nods. “Yeah. Lightheaded. Not gone.”

Louis exhales in relief. “Good. I would hate to have to explain that to Owen.”

That earns a weak, breathless laugh.

Louis straightens, adjusts Legundo’s collar with careful fingers, then presses one last gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, chaste, grounding.

“You’re done for today,” Louis says calmly. “No more generosity.”

“Yes, sir,” Legundo murmurs faintly, not entirely teasing.

Louis pauses.

Then allows himself the smallest, most dangerous hint of a smile.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

You are unsure why you are coming to the small get-together at the beach. You are unsure if you are even really wanted there or if the mumbled “you should come” from Deran wasn't just a courtesy. You are also unsure if Pope is there. And what you two are to each other. And, even if the other wanted you there, does he?

So you slowly walk up the dune, obscuring the view to the ocean itself. You hear the waves breaking, smell the salt in the air. You hear faint laughter and music before you see the red light of the fire. You emerge between the dunes, your hands tucked inside your hoodie sleeves. You can't make out who's who just yet, most of the backs turned away, so they could see the water in front of them.

You step closer just as someone passes a pretty empty bottle to the next person. You greet everyone with a polite wave and hello while you take stock of who is here. A few faces that you don't know, you make out J. and his Girlfriend, tucked away with her on his lap, while Craig is telling them something. Baz greets you with a nod, while his eyes wander from you to someone else. You follow his gaze, only to find Andrew looking at you. His eyes soften when they meet, his mouth tucked into a smile, which lights his face up. That answers at least one of your questions, you suppose.

“I hoped you would come,” Daran cheered. “You don't even know how hard it is these days to get Pope to come out with us. I had to practically drag him here, and he would only come after he heard that you would come, sooooo” He looked between you two expectantly.

Your face heats up, and you're certain that it's not just due to the fire near you. Nevertheless, you are joining Andrew and Dearan.

You three sit on driftwood, you right next to Pope, not quite touching, who seems rigid. But as the evening continues and the sun sets behind the horizon, Andrew's knee touches you almost accidentally when he stretches his long legs. He lets them there. You shiver even though heat radiates from the fire, and, of course, he notices. Even when he doesn't have you in his direct line of sight, he seems to have a sixth sense for you.

So you find yourself bundled up in his lap, engulfed in his arms. You instinctively borrow your face in the crock of his neck, breathing him in. He holds you steady and tight to himself. You are unsure if you hear his voice muffled against your hair, “I'm glad that you came.”

From your perched position, you watch as the people get more high or drunk or both, slowly couple up or leave on their own until Deran leaves you two as the sole survivors with a huffed warning not to do anything he wouldn't do. Which means basically nothing at all.

The cold creeps in, and the heat radiating from the fire and Pope are not enough to keep you from shivering anymore. You are not entirely sure, it's only the cold, and not the fact, that you are so close to the man you have been pining after for quite a while now.

You look up, only to find Andrew already staring down at you. Time seems to slow, while he tightens the grip he has on you, pulling you closer to him. Your noses almost touch now, breathing the same air. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly. But it was enough for you to collect your courage, close your eyes, to lean in and press your lips to his.

At first, you get nothing in return, and you fear that you have overstepped. But when you pulled away, you felt a hand at your face, pulling you back. His lips captured yours, tasting the cheap beer on them. You followed, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

Panting, his hand still on your face, the thumb brushing away all thought, your foreheads pressed together. You opened your eyes to find him staring again, eyes hopeful, lips shining and quirked upwards. He leaned in again, soft and exploring, before he parted again, almost hesitant. As if you would disappear when he stopped. The only change was in your position in his lap; you were straddling him now, one of his hands securing you to him at your lower back.

You don't know whose idea it was to pack up and go back to your place. The HOW you get back to yours is also kind of a blur. You are pretty sure that Andrew was white knuckling the entire drive back. He insisted on taking his truck and getting your car back later. You are, however, very aware of Andrew's hand on your thigh. When you glance over, he is staring very deliberately ahead. When he puts his truck in park, he tells you to wait, only to open the door for you moments later. You take his offered hand to climb out.

He is walking right behind you and crowds you against the door, mouthing at your neck, while you try- and fail at first- to open the door. You both basically fall into your flat when you finally manage.

You’d packed your camera away just before 9 pm that night, and Jordan had said that he was probably going to head home soon, too.  But then you got talking, and he asked about your weekend plans, which somehow led to discussing your families and the holidays.  At one point, the two of you were just passing the ball back and forth, kind of making comments about the upcoming games he had, but mostly just staring at each other and smiling.  

You needed to set boundaries with him, like actual, solid boundaries.  Or this was just going to get worse and worse.  A workplace crush was fine as long as it didn’t get in the way of you doing your work; that had always been your mentality.  Work crushes made the days more fun and kept you entertained when you were stuck with your head down.  There was no way you could bend this statement to apply it to your current situation, though.  Jordan was your muse, 75% of your workday evolved around him.  He was the centre of your job and your biggest projects.  The fine lines that so often separated these parts of your life were blurred and almost invisible.  

You needed boundaries, or everything you had worked so hard to get would crumble around you.  It was on your to-do list, literally the second item under ‘get new toothpaste’ was ‘set boundaries with Jordan ASAP’.  You were going to the grocery store on your way home, and after that, it would be at the top of your list.  A bottle of Pinot Gris and rewatching Love Island were calling your name, alongside your favourite pen and journal that never went longer than two days without you scribbling in it.

The next week, you were determined to establish the boundaries.  This time, when Jordan and you bumped into each other, you kept an eye on your watch and excused yourself when five minutes passed.  

“You know I like talking to you,” you had said as you took a few steps away from him, you needed to create more space, “but I really have to get back to work.”

“Don’t let me hold you back,” Jordan smiled, throwing his hands up in a playful manner, “go be great.”  

You waved goodbye and quickly made your way back to your office.  It felt so wrong ending the conversation before you were ready.  It was like a full-length 80-minute episode’s script was stuffed at the top of your throat and waiting to be spit out.  On top of feeling like you could talk about a million other things with him, you were praying that cutting the conversation short didn’t come off as rude.  

Jordan wasn’t stupid, and you knew for certain that it wouldn’t take long for him to pick up on the fact that you were barely talking to him outside of work-related things.  You didn’t want him to think something had happened between the two of you, or that you didn’t like him anymore.  That wasn’t true.  If anything, you were starting to like him way too much.  But you couldn’t tell him, and you sure as shit weren’t about to blow up the boundaries you’d just set for yourself.  

“Are you good?” Jordan had asked you in your office after he’d approved a video, a few weeks after you’d implemented the boundaries.  “You’ve seemed a little off recently.”  

You smiled up at him, picking up a stack of papers to straighten and file away in your bottom drawer of used video ideas.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him, “things have just been really hectic recently, and I’m just trying to find a proper balance and routine, you know?” 

Jordan nodded his head in response, jutting his bottom lip out a bit as he did so.  “I feel you,” he nodded one last time before patting your door frame.  

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time.”

With that, he disappeared from your office, and you felt a weight lifted from your shoulders.  You slumped back in your desk chair and blew air through your lips in frustration.  The same words that had been replaying in your mind over and over again came out of your mouth without you even thinking, as had become your new normal.

“He’s just a basketball player.”

Lying in bed without distraction was always the hardest part after a day spent working with or around Jordan.  Every time you closed your eyes, flashes of him flickered across your eyelids.  

Him training, him laughing, him wearing casual-wear, him in only his basketball shorts rolled all the way up, him drenched in sweat and zoned in, him carefully adjusting his clothes before walking out of the hotel for game-time fits.  You were documenting a majority of his life for this little PR project.  That meant there was little you hadn’t seen him do.  It made it so easy for your mind to spin tales higher than the trees are tall and longer than the river that runs through Tanzania.  

The scenes that untangled when you finally drifted into a light slumber were nothing short of creative and intense.  You could practically feel Jordan’s lips drag against the skin of your stomach as his large hands parted your thighs.  Your bed dipped and your sheets twisted under both your squirming bodies.  From dusk till dawn, your bodies were intertwined, your arms holding each other close.  Lips constantly almost touching, drifting over one another but never meeting.  

This was all that you wanted.  Your mind never let it fall too far away.  The issue was that you were sure Jordan had picked up on the way you looked a little too long when he was drenched in sweat and shirtless.  There was no reason for him to stand as close to you as he had recently.  Did he really need to see the photos you’d just taken right then and there?  

The smell of his cologne and his sweat was intoxicating.  You could practically predict how beautifully it would mix with the thick scent of sex.  You’d been drunk off of him in no time, eyes squeezed shut with his name passing through your lips over and over again while he pushed into you from behind.  Begging for more and more, you’d watch his hand disappear between your thighs, him forcing you to look him in the eye while he took what was his.  

You could see it unfolding anywhere.  You finally reaching your peak and locking the door to your office one day after showing him a video.  Jordan would be sitting there with his legs spread in some grey sweatpants.  He’d be leaning forward, watching the video intensely.  It would take everything in you not to stare at his crotch, wondering what was going on under there and if you really could deal with seeing him walk around.  He would approve of the video; he always did, but this time, when you would stand up, you wouldn’t start directing him out the door.  Instead, you would stand between his spread legs, put your hands on his shoulders and kiss him.  Hard.  

You sighed, rolling onto your side in your bed and gently caressing your own thigh.  You needed to stop getting so caught up in all these thoughts.  One day, it would backfire.  One day, a part of your daydream would slip into reality, and you would be fucked.  

One day, exactly like today.  

You were staying late again, it was an agreement you and Jordan had come to share.  He came and knocked on your office door when he was about to head down to the court.  It was just going to be him getting shots up, he reassured you, though it always was just him.  You joined him on the court after what felt like 5 minutes, but already,  Jordan had taken off his shirt, and he was drenched in sweat.  

He looked delicious.  You couldn’t help but stare.  Every part of you just wanted to pull him into the locker room and lick up and down every part of his body.  

“You’re staring,” Jordan said, standing in front of you, looking down at where you sat on the benches.  You looked up at him quickly, away from his beautiful torso and V-line that was right in your eyeline and made you want to pull down his shorts and take in every inch of him.  

“Now you’re really staring,” Jordan remarked, and you finally pulled your eyes away and looked up at him.  

“Sorry,” you mumbled.  You had sworn you did look away the first time.  “You just look really yummy.”

Your cheeks burnt the second the sentence left your mouth.  You had heard it, not in your head, but outloud.  And worst of all, so had Jordan.  

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” you started blubbering as you apologised, shaking your head and avoiding looking at him.  You stood up quickly, not even thinking about how close you were to him, and suddenly, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down again.  

“Don’t be sorry,” he shook his head, that crooked smile, ever so charming, lulling you into a sense of security.  “I stare at you all the time, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and reached his hand out to cup your chin.  His thumb caressed your face gently.  

“I can’t help myself.  Sometimes, you just look too damn sexy, especially when you’re walking away from me, or when you’re tryna get the perfect shot.  You get this hard look on your face, and you’re completely in the zone.  Every time I see it, it makes me wanna kiss you.  Honestly, most of the time when I see you, I’m trying not to press you up against a wall and feel you all around me.”  Jordan’s doe eyes lazily drifted over you, taking in how you reacted to his words.  He smiled at you, as if he knew more than he should.  

“That’s exactly why I limit our time together,” you confessed, leaning into his hand.  “There are so many places I’ve thought about us, so many ways I’ve thought about you.”

“What about just now?  What were you thinking then?”  He cocked his head to the side and took the slightest step closer to you.  

“I was thinking about licking you all over,” you blushed, “licking the sweat off of you, following this line all the way down to your cock.” Your finger dragged along his V-line, and you felt yourself pulling closer to him.  

“You can, you know,” you didn’t dare look up at him, “I wouldn’t stop you.”

You nodded your head and cautiously moved your face closer to his body.  You stuck your tongue out and just kissed it over his skin, dragging from one ab muscle to another.  He was so salty on your tongue, so sweet and smooth, and perfect.  You moaned at the taste of him.  When you licked him next, it was longer, braver.  You found his V-line and licked both sides of his hips.  He brushed your hair out of your face as you did it, quite hums of pleasure pouring out of him.  

Then, like magic, you were on your knees on the hardwood floors and nothing hurt.  His shorts were down around his ankles, and his cock was in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat while he moaned and groaned your name.  

“Fuck, yes baby,” he spoke harshly in a way you’d never heard him, “take this big dick down your throat like a good girl.” You moaned at his words, opening your throat as much as you could.  

Your throat burnt every time he thrust into you, but you kept wanting more and more.  You grabbed at his hips and hollowed your cheeks.  You loved the feeling of his cock in your mouth; you could feel every vein, every ridge, and you couldn’t help but think about how that would feel in your pussy.   

“That’s it,” Jordan praised you as you swirled your tongue around his tip, spitting on top of him and playing with his balls, “you’ve been waiting for this dick, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve been dreaming ‘bout this dick,” you pumped him slowly, long strokes with his tip in your mouth, “you ain’t even had it, and this pussy’s all yours.”  

“Come with me,” Jordan said, helping you to your feet quickly, “we gotta go somewhere else for this.”  

You didn’t ask any questions but watched as Jordan quickly pulled his shorts up before grabbing your hand again and leading you away.  You followed quickly, your pussy calling out for whatever was coming, excited and ready for whatever was coming.  

He led you to your office, the last place you thought he would go.  He closed the door and locked it behind you, dropping his pants before he turned to face you and pushed you against your desk.

“I’ve had this exact dream,” you half moaned as he pulled your pants down, his hands rubbing up and down your body afterwards.  He groped your breasts with both hands, groaning at the feeling and bit at your neck.  Your head lulled back, and you breathlessly moaned his name.  

“Stop teasing me,” you moaned, turning in his arms, “don’t you want to be inside me?” You pushed your ass back into him, presenting your wet pussy for him.  He grabbed at your ass, spreading your cheeks and groaned your name before his hand landed hard on your cheek.  

“You want me so bad,” he teased, his hand pressing into your lower back so you would arch more, “you want me to fuck you right here, against your desk so you can remember me every time you’re sitting here, working.”

“Yes, baby,” you moaned, “I wanna be thinking about you and how you feel inside me every time I’m sitting right here.”

Jordan spanked you, mumbling something about a naughty girl to himself, “I’ve wanted to do this to you ever since that first night we met.”

“Stop teasing me, Jordan,” you pushed your hips back against him, this time feeling his cock against your ass cheek, “take what’s yours, baby, come inside this pussy.”

“You’re such a greedy girl, aren’t you?” Jordan teased, his hands now firmly on your hips, holding you in place.  “You don’t just want this cock, you want my babies too.”  his lips pressed against your bare shoulder; you didn’t remember taking off your shirt.  

You couldn’t even process what he’d say before he’d lined up his dick with your entrance and had pushed himself inside of you.  You called out his name loudly and started moaning like a pornstar with every steady stroke he made.  His groans joined yours as his hands moved around your body.  He groped at your tits, pinching your nipples and jiggling them, feeling how they moved with his stroke.  He watched your ass cheeks bounce back at every thrust of his hips, and he felt how you moved with him, throwing it back to meet you.  

He felt so deep inside you, stretching your pussy out.  It felt so good, so real.  It almost didn’t make sense when your phone started to buzz from your bedside table, your alarm echoing throughout your room.  

It was 5 am.  You needed to get up and get to the gym before work.  You needed to deal with how your body was burning for Jordan, begging for him.  You needed to pull it together.  

But still, you smiled to yourself as you dragged your hands up your torso and over your breasts.  You pictured the rough pads of his fingers and let out a sigh of content, and then a groan of frustration.

The season would keep moving, you reassured yourself, and once it ended, everything would change.  Boundaries would no longer push the two of you apart; in fact, you’d tear every wall down the second you handed in your letter of resignation.