⋆｡𖦹° are you lucid? ⭒˚｡⋆

You'd seen Keys on video, of course, both of you on camera when you were playing from time to time, but you weren't quite prepared for his actual, physical presence. He was tall, but hunched over, probably from hours being bent in front of a keyboard and monitor. He smelled nice—which, for gamer boys, was not always the norm. And, even better, he actually treated you like a real gamer, even though you self-deprecatingly said with alarming regularity that you only played “cozy games” and those didn't count.

“They absolutely count,” Keys said. “Who tells you they don't? Don't listen to them. Do you feel like a gamer?”

You paused, waiting for him to go on, until you realized he was actually asking. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“Then you're a gamer! Come on, it's so fucking lame to gatekeep shit like that. So, I know you don't love FPS games, but you're a huge Squirrel Girl fan, right?” He talked a lot. But, you were impressed that he remembered you saying you liked Miss Squirrel Girl herself, Doreen Green, in passing once a few months ago. “Have you ever heard of Marvel Rivals?”

&&

You didn't think that counted as your first date, even though Keys really pushed for it to be. You'd been at a table with four other people and yet, for the whole hour and a half you whiled away at the cafe, you two primarily only talked to each other.

Your next excursion—still not something you'd consider your first real date—had you both heading out to Newbury Comics, lamenting how they used to have much cooler shit and now only had t-shirts and Pop Vinyls.

“I bought a plushie TARDIS here once,” you said. “Years ago.”

“Well, now you buy socks that have curse words on them,” Keys said, grabbing a pair from a rack nearby.

“I feel like they should have more comics for a store with 'Comics' in the name.”

“Want to hit a real comic shop?” he asked, and you looked over at him, beaming.

“Yeah!” you enthused, and he took your hand—he took your hand—and led you back onto the street, dragging you uptown to a store that had new releases and back issues upon back issues.

He bought you a trade paperback of The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, despite your protestations, and when you stopped at the subway entrance to head back to your apartment, he took your hand again.

For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you—he didn't, which is why it was not a date—and asked if he could see you again soon.

You agreed, and he grinned, adjusting his glasses on his nose before he pulled out his phone.

“I know you can just message me on Discord,” he said, “but maybe—you could text me when you get home instead?”

You gave Keys your phone number and promised you'd respond to his text the second you were back at your place.

&&

—home

K: Good! Hi.

—what's your real name?

K: That's dangerous to just tell people willy nilly

—lexy won't tell me —what do you think i'm gonna do? —dox you?

K: That, or fae bullshit. K: My government name is a well-guarded secret. K: Not for the faint of heart.

—lexy said keys is short for your last name

K: Dude K: Seriously? K: Traitor

—i've known her a long time. if she trusts me you should too

K: That is just what someone would say if I c a n ' t trust them.

—i gave you my phone number outside of the subway. the least you could do is tell me your first name

K: But Keys is so much better!

—because you write code?

K: Yes!

—i'll tell you one of my secrets

K: … K: You first.

—i think you're really cute —and i wish you hadn't just taken my phone number today and said bye

K: … K: What should I have done instead?

—💋

K: Walter McKey. When were we hanging out again?

—LOL —walter. that's cute.

K: Now you see why I go by Keys.

—i do see why you go by keys but walter isn't that bad —i promise

K: So what should we do next time we hang out, given we now know each other's deepest, darkest secrets?

—game night?

K: Pretty AND smart. I owe Lexy big time.

—i'll bring my switch :)

K: And maybe we can try Rivals. You can play on my pc and I'll play on the Playstation.

—no promises

K: Just think about it.

&&

You did think about it, which is to say you decided on “Not doing that” and didn't mention it again to Keys. You packed up your Switch and caught the subway to the stop nearest him, then walked the couple blocks down to his building. He met you at the door and let you in, leading you to his apartment.

It was cleaner than you expected—like, nothing out of place, vacuum lines over the area rug in the living room, and even a brand new candle burning on the small dining table. It looked as though he'd just lit it before he came downstairs to meet you.

“Cute place,” you said. “I thought for sure it would be way nerdier than this.”

“Oh. No, it is, this is just—I don't really hang out out here that much.” He gestured down the hall, and once you looked, you could see the room he meant. It was dark inside, but you saw the ambient glow of lights rotating through a variety of colors and the very edge of a computer tower, the fans also glowing different colors.

“Ok, that makes more sense,” you said, not bothering to wait to be invited in, but instead kicking off your shoes and heading straight to the game room.

It was small, but still impressive. He had his PC on his desk, the fans pulsing from red to blue and then back, and the LED lights on the wall cycling through the rainbow.

“Do you stream?” you asked, once he was in the room with you, and you turned to your left, where a futon was angled toward the back wall, a TV with a PS5 and a Switch hooked up to it rested.

“Um... sometimes,” he said. “I'll do more like, Let's Plays rather than livestreaming. Or sometimes I'll post a timelapse of something I built in Minecraft.”

“Oh, speaking of—are we playing Animal Crossing? Or Minecraft? I got it on Switch just for today.”

Keys smiled at you as he settled into his desk chair, gesturing for you to take your seat on the futon. You did. “I was thinking we could start with Minecraft, grind a little, then maybe try Rivals...? And then if you hate that, Animal Crossing. I finally got Fuschia to want to leave my island, weren't you looking for her?”

“You'd give Fuschia to me?” you asked, flabbergasted. She was your favorite villager—had been for ages—and now Keys was going to give her to you just like that?

“I'm still holding out hope that I'll find Ketchup someday,” Keys replied.

“Yes. Please. Oh my god. I'll give you Nook Miles tickets so you can try to find her.”

“Not necessary,” Keys said, laughing and turning back to his computer, jostling the mouse to wake it and then opening Steam to fire up Minecraft. “But I won't say no if you just... drop them on my island somewhere random for me to find in a week when I'm digging for fossils...”

“Deal,” you said, pulling your Switch out of its case. “Thank you so much.” He wasn't looking, so you spoke louder, more emphatically. “Keys. Seriously—thank you.”

He glanced back at you, grinning. “Hey, anything for you.”

You were only a little taken aback, but tried not to read too much into the statement—Lexy had told you how sweet he was, so that tracked. You tried not to take it personally, anyway.

Minecraft was incredible but cut a little short when you dug too far down and accidentally fell into a huge cave, groaning aloud once you hit the ground, all of your items scattering around your character's body.

“Did you just die?” Keys asked, smirking a little over his shoulder at you. “Fell from a great height, maybe?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, dropping your Switch to your lap. “Let's try Rivals. I couldn't possibly feel worse than I feel right now.”

“Don't sweat it,” Keys said, closing Minecraft and opening Rivals. “I'll carry you.”

“I hate that you think I'll need to be carried but I also hate that you're right.”

As the game loaded, Keys stood up from his chair and gestured for you to sit there instead of him. “I'll get you set up in the training range while I get the Playstation going. Here.”

You'd already sat down in his chair, but he leaned over you, his hand covering yours on the mouse, as he clicked around the screen, choosing Squirrel Girl for you, but also showing you how to change characters if you wanted to.

“If you don't feel like DPS, you might like Cloak and Dagger or Luna Snow,” he suggested.

“Wow, so girls can only play support characters?” you asked, turning to him, very conscious of his hand still atop yours.

His eyes glinted a little. “Do you want to tank?”

“...No,” you admitted.

“Then stick to Squirrel Girl,” he said, finally pulling away. The back of your hand radiated warmth where he had been touching you.

While you messed around as Squirrel Girl in the training range, shooting explosive acorns and sending out Squirrel Stampedes, Keys puttered around behind you getting himself situated on the futon. After a moment, an invitation to join his group popped up on the screen, and you accepted. He queued you into a match, against real people, and you turned to look at him as the map loaded.

“Shouldn't we try versus the computer first?”

“Nah,” Keys said, his back to you as he selected Magneto. “We'll be fine.”

You sighed, moused over to Squirrel Girl, and selected her, loading into the match.

It went... fine, actually. Keys played eerily well and your other DPS definitely carried you, but the supports on your team were great at keeping you up, and so while you heard Keys behind you getting a little worked up every time he died or you missed a pick, it seemed pretty standard gamer stuff. You also got pissed off whenever Lexy forced you to play Dead by Daylight and you found that you actually could not run killers or hit skill checks despite her telling you it was easy.

By the time you loaded into your second match, two other players had already locked tanks, so Keys chose a DPS (Spider-Man), and you chose a support, one of the ones he mentioned: Luna Snow. She seemed less complicated to learn on the fly, plus her hair was pretty cute, so, you figured why not?

You weren't doing great, and while Keys wouldn't blame you, you could tell he was getting frustrated.

“Fuck,” he'd muttered at one point, but still—that was par for the course.

All was quiet for about a minute. Then—

“Fuck off!” he'd half-shouted, after the enemy Iron Fist managed to corner him and kill him. “Oh my fucking god.”

You looked back over your shoulder at Keys, gripping the controller with each hand like a vice, and—since you were both waiting to respawn, because he'd died, you'd died trying to get to him to heal him, and once you were both down the whole team got rolled—spoke.

“You ok?” you asked, voice high and quiet.

Keys turned to look at you, the smile betraying his previous tone, and just quirked his head to the side. “Yeah, 'course. You good? Wanna stop?”

“Oh,” you said, “no. It's... I kind of like Luna.”

Keys grinned, then turned back to the TV once he saw on your screen that you were both back in the spawn room. “Cool, you're doing really good with her.”

That felt like news to you, but you just twirled his desk chair back around and focused on the game. You always kept one eye on Keys, sometimes to the detriment of your team, but he was your friend—ish—so you felt an obligation to keep him alive if you could.

At one point, he managed to get the jump on the Iron Fist, even going so far as to solo ult him, laughing darkly and following it up with a “Get fucked, you piece of shit,” which felt so out of left field that you just... didn't acknowledge it.

What he was saying wasn't ideal, but... the tone his voice took on, the dark edge, the rough anger—you wouldn't admit it to him but maybe it was doing something for you. Which was new. Because you'd have sworn up and down that Keys wasn't the toxic kind of gamer, and yet there he was, swearing and being sweaty and ok, why was this getting you a little wet in his fucking gaming chair? You had to lock in and not get distracted by this guy who hadn't even kissed you yet.

“Get fucking owned,” Keys yelled, and you noticed in the kill feed that he’d killed Iron Fist again. “Gonna focus this clown until he switches,” he added absently; you weren't sure if he was talking to you, or to himself.

“Good idea,” you said in agreement, voice low, and sure enough, two more shouting matches with himself later, Iron Fist had switched to Scarlet Witch and turned the tide of the game even more. Your team won, and Keys immediately turned over to you.

“Hey, sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I get kinda into the game.”

You just looked back at him, nodding, then shaking your head. “Yeah, no worries.” You gave him a weak smile, because intense was the word Lexy had used to describe him and although it wasn’t that far off, you also weren’t sure that it was the correct word to use. You weren’t sure arousing was right either, but holy shit that was how it felt.

But maybe it was a fluke. You weren’t sure, really.

You loaded into a third match, choosing Luna again, while Keys opted for Magneto once more. This time, he didn’t have to bring out his alternate personality, and you won the match 2-1.

It wasn’t your kind of game, you didn’t think, but it was fun with Keys, especially when his alter ego came out to play (you’d have to think up a nickname for it, a la Darkiplier or Antisepticeye), and when you finally logged off of Rivals for the evening, he turned to you on the futon and grinned, back to his normal demeanor.

“Hungry?”

Almost like you’d timed it, your stomach gave a huge growl, and you laughed. “I guess that’s a yes.”

Keys stood up and motioned for you to follow him, leading you back out to the kitchen and opening the junk drawer. Or—what you assumed would be the junk drawer but was in fact actually just full of takeout menus. Indian; Chinese; at least five different pizza places all marked up with certain items crossed out or circled which you took to mean he’d sampled the menus enough that he knew that Tony’s had shitty garlic knots but fantastic bolognese, while Nonna’s Pizzeria was the only place to get a decent grandma pie but under no circumstances should you even think about the pasta from there.

“What d’ya feel like?” Keys asked, fanning out the menus toward you. There were five, and you chose one at random because you weren’t picky and he’d already narrowed it down to what he wanted.

“Falafel,” Keys said, approvingly. “Hell yeah.” He gave you a smile so sweet that you almost couldn’t conflate it with how he’d acted when you were playing Rivals.

He insisted on paying too—”They have my info on file,” he’d said, “it’s just easier”—and let you choose the movie to put on while you waited for the delivery and while you ate. You picked one of your favorites (The Princess Bride), laughing when Keys screwed up his face and said “But that’s a kissing movie.”

“Well, that’s what I want to watch,” you replied, stepping away from him and going back to the game room to flop yourself down onto the couch.

You heard Keys open his fridge, a little bit of rattling, and then he followed you in, plunked two cans of Cherry Coke onto the little folding table that you figured must be a fixture in this room. One was open, so you grabbed the other one, fiddling with the pop tab because you didn’t want to open it too soon and risk it being flat by the time your dinner arrived. While you rolled the can between your hands, Keys snatched the controller to awaken his Playstation again. 

“You’ll never guess,” he said, and when the homescreen loaded, he navigated over to the disc icon floating there.

“No way,” you said, laughing, because The Princess Bride was already in the disc drive.

“I had it on the other day while I was working,” Keys explained, reaching up to card a hand through his hair. 

“But it’s a kissing movie,” you said, mocking him, and he smirked.

“Yeah, well,” Keys said, leaning over to you, face to face, far too close but somehow, not close enough. “Sometimes kissing isn’t so bad.” His lips brushed yours, and then stayed there, pushing himself closer. Your tongue flitted against his mouth, tasting the cherry soda he’d sipped, and once you’d done that, he parted his lips further, kissing you properly, tongues barely meeting before he pulled away. He looked shy even though he’d initiated the whole thing.

“Sweet,” you said absently, reaching up to touch your lips with cold fingers, then his. Then, mortified, you lowered your hand and looked away.

“I have my moments,” Keys replied, starting the movie and settling back against the cushion of the futon. He made no movement to indicate he wanted you to move closer, seemed perfectly content to just watch the movie, but you weren’t. Not at all. In fact, after the man had just kissed you, you actually felt a little put out that he didn’t want to keep kissing you, and so you leaned forward, reaching across him to put your can of soda down beside his, and once you were basically stretched across him, you turned to him, settled half on his lap, took his face in your hands, and kissed him again, the residual desire from the first, admittedly somewhat chaste kiss, still lingering. And then there was the whole matter of everything you’d felt when he was angry during Rivals, still weighing down your stomach with want, tainted need because of how sick you felt being attracted to the meaner side of him.

Not to say you didn’t like the normal, nice guy too.

But… just something about the other version of him, right?

“Oh, hey,” Keys said against your lips, one arm moving around you, the other settling on your leg to move up your thigh. “We just put the movie on.”

“We’ve both seen it,” you said, taking his lips in another kiss. He let you in, his hands remaining in the respectful places on your body: Thigh, far away from your crotch, and mid-back, not daring to dip too low. 

What had started out as eager, heated kissing on your part slowly mellowed into languid, easy making out, you taking your time and Keys savoring every single liplock until his phone chimed from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter, and his hands finally moved to your hips, but only to move you off of him.

“That’s dinner,” he said, “wait here.” You fell back beside him on the futon as he leaned in one last time, giving you another cherry soda-tinged kiss, and then stood up, his long legs carrying him out of the room in far fewer steps than it would take you. You heard his front door open and close, and then there were a few minutes of silence wherein you opened your own can of soda and took a sip, nursing it as you watched the movie in Keys’ absence.

But your thoughts wandered. You’d always hated toxic gamer guys—it was part of the reason that you didn’t fuck with FPS games or even battle royales, and the entire reason you never went on voice comms. You had to wonder if you hadn’t been on something akin to a date with Keys (was it a date, now that you’d kissed?) would he have also been trash talking your performance in the game? He didn’t seem like the type to lie to get into your pants—he could have done it twice over by now, when he’d first kissed you and then when you were sat on his lap. But he didn’t, which led you to the conclusion (at least for now) that he was just a nice guy with a little bit of a hot head when he was in the thick of a game. Nothing wrong with that. For every F-bomb he’d dropped during Rivals, you’d surely said twice as many and even worse while playing DBD with Lexy.

And ultimately, it turned you on and you weren’t going to forget about it because you deserved to be horny too, ok?

The front door opened again and you heard Keys’ gait as he closed the door behind him, kicked his shoes off, and made a pitstop in the kitchen. The sound of a crinkling paper bag reached you followed by a heavy sigh, the opening of one drawer, a pause, the opening of another drawer, the metallic tinkling of cutlery, and then both drawers being rolled closed before the paper bag crumpled up again.

“They sometimes forget to give me forks or whatever,” he said, re-entering the room. “This is the third time. Had to note the menu.”

You smiled a little as he placed the bag on the folding table, rummaging in it before handing you your order first, then taking his. He proffered a fork in case you wanted one despite ordering yours in a pita; you took it, tucking your knees up against your chest and holding the tin with your food in one hand, poking at the falafel with the fork. You both ate without talking, the silence in the room broken only by the movie, and by the time your bellies were full and your Coke cans were empty, you were back cuddling up to Keys, his hand cradled in both of yours, on your lap as you rubbed your thumbs over his. 

“It’s getting late,” Keys said, and it wasn’t suggestive, it was actually tinged with concern. “You want me to get you an Uber instead of taking the subway?”

“I can get my own Uber,” you replied, smirking. “If you wanted to come see my game room, you could just ask, you know.”

“Can I come see your game room?” Keys asked, leaning in to you, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he kissed you again. You smiled against his lips, parting your own for him to allow him entrance, taking him in as he turned more toward you, but he pulled away, his forehead against yours. “It is actually getting late though. Do—if you need to get home, that’s ok.”

Despite the close proximity, you looked into his eyes, then leaned your forehead a little more against his, angling your head down to look at his lips. They were softer than any man’s lips had any right to be, the freckles on his cheek just barely visible in your periphery, and no. You didn’t need to get home, much less did you even want to.

“No one’s waiting up for me, if that’s what you think,” you said, turning your face just slightly to let your lips brush over his cheek, those little moles dotting his skin, and he exhaled shakily, then squeezed your hand, still in both of yours.

“I don’t—usually…” he said, trailing off. “I just mean—it’s never been really so easy with anyone else.” He made a small noise in his throat, like he didn’t like that statement either, and then tried to kiss you again, ducking his head a little to do so. You let him. “I know this is just—our first, you know, date, if you wanted to call it that”—you smiled to yourself because yes, you did want to call it that—“but what I mean is… You’re… I’m just getting…”

“Good vibes?” you asked, half-joking, but he nodded.

“Yeah, just—” he smirked, like he’d just remembered he could make jokes and references that you would understand. “You’re, um, matching my freak.”

You did laugh at that—it was a phrase Lexy used all the time on the Discord server and purposely never in the right context, just like now. Not that he was wrong—you had a lot in common.

“I also like how things are going,” you said, trying to be as clear as possible, because in your experience, guys were morons on a good day, and guys who gamed a lot were even worse. “I like you. I… would like this to be our first date,” you confirmed, “and if you were inviting me to stay over… I would like that too.”

To his credit, Keys managed to look extremely normal about the prospect. “Ok, cool,” he said (typical guy), but then leaned in to kiss you, tugging his hand out from yours and wrapping it around your waist. He didn’t pull you closer, just held you, until you were kissing him even deeper, your hands on his chest and your tongue in his mouth, and his hands settled on your back, lower than before, but not low enough to trigger thoughts that he was trying to hook up with you on his futon.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the kiss and letting your tongue flit over your upper lip. “Can we, um… maybe—go somewhere else?”

Keys looked up at you, like he didn’t realize he was going to get lucky on your first date that had only recently been christened as such, but nodded, vehemently. “Yeah. Um, yes, yeah, we can—my room,” he said, waiting for you to climb off of him before he got up himself, then stood there alongside you for an awkward moment only to reach down and take your hand again, tugging you along behind him as he left the game room and angled left into a door across the hall, a dimly-lit room that you could now tell was not supposed to be the master bedroom. No, Keys had utilized the larger bedroom for his gaming equipment, leaving just a full-size bed shoved into the smaller space obviously meant to be a child’s room or home office.

The bed was against the far wall, tucked into the corner, and there was a chest of drawers right up against the foot of the matress—rendering the bottom two drawers useless, as they could not be opened—with a television on top of it. Beside the TV was a Switch dock, a PS3, and a GameBoy Color with a little Tupperware container full of old game cartridges. The room, despite the lack of space and furniture shoved into it, was clean, orderly. His bed was even made—he had you beaten in that aspect.

You looked around, squeezing his hand as you spoke to show him you were kidding, “If you tell me you usually sleep on that futon…”

Keys made a small noise, halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Care to… finish that sentence, so I know how deep in I may be about to dig myself?”

You laughed, pulling him forward this time, leading him over to his own bed. “Honestly? I can’t say I’d blame you. I bet it’s nice to fall asleep to the lights changing colors like that,” you said, referring to the rotating LEDs he had in the game room.

“It kind of fucks,” he said, standing over you as you sat down on the edge of his bed, finally letting go of his hand as you reached over to pull the covers down. You expected white sheets—Keys was an adult man, ergo, adult sheets—but even in the dimness of the room you could tell they were blue with—

“Spider-Man?” you asked, biting your lip.

“Ok, first of all—”

“You have Spider-Man sheets?”

“It’s just the topsheet! And it was only because it was all I had clean. I didn’t have the quarters to do laundry so I just—used what I had.”

“And it was Spider-Man?” you looked closer at the sheets. “Miles Morales Spider-Man? Hey, ok. You get points for taste.”

“I’m taking it off,” Keys said, pulling at the sheet even though you were sitting on both it and the comforter (thankfully plain light and dark brown squares patterned together). 

“No, leave it,” you said, laughing as you pushed yourself back onto the bed. “It’s fun and whimsical and proves you’re not self-conscious.”

“How?” Keys asked, still trying to displace you by attempting to roll you side to side as he pulled at the bedding.

“It just does,” you replied, then grabbed at his wrists to stop him from trying to unmake the bed, and ushered him onto it with you instead. He flopped down beside you, and the two of you moved toward each other with no hesitation, atop the rumpled comforter. “I have Powerpuff Girls sheets at home,” you divulged. “I mean—I don’t use them, but I have them.”

“If you’re trying to tilt me in bed,” Keys said, chuckling a little—just edging on the dark tone he’d laughed with earlier during Rivals, “it’s almost working.”

The thought struck you—because you hadn’t been trying to piss him off, but now it almost seemed like the best idea you’d ever heard.

But—your lack of response only had Keys laughing a little lighter, his hand on your side a little softer.

“Kidding,” he said, lifting his mouth to yours and kissing you, nudging your knees with his own to try and get his leg in between yours.

You kissed him back, letting him press his thigh up against your clothed pussy, and you gasped a little, quietly. He used your parted lips as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting you rut down against his thigh until your hands were grasping at the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, half on top of you, your arm trapped beneath him and his weight heavy on top of you in the best way.

“What do you—want?” Keys asked, but didn’t even give you a chance to respond as he kissed you again, and again, gently pushing his thigh into your crotch as you sighed softly against his lips, your legs spread as wide as you could get them. He eased himself half on top of you, the heavy press of his leg against you still giving you a little friction, but you craved more.

“Keys, I—” you said, gasping as he rolled his hips down against your front; even slightly misaligned, it still felt good, still left you wanting and eager for more.

“Tell me,” he said, moving one hand down to your hip, tugging your shirt up and letting his fingertips slip just beneath the waistband of your jeans.

“Touch—me?” you asked, sighing, head rolling back against his pillows, because he could touch you or eat you or fuck you and you’d be happy.

“Touch you,” he repeated, almost like he needed to give himself the assurance, the guidance, the instruction. He rolled half off of you, and together you both removed your jeans, letting them fall to a pile off the side of his bed, his mouth back on yours as he covered your mound through your panties, rubbing you through them with his whole palm, but pressing against your lips with two fingers a little more firmly than the others. 

“Keys,” you sighed, and he swallowed his name as it came from your lips, only to reply himself.

“You’re already so wet,” he mumbled, and you whined a little at the way he pointed it out, but had no time to linger on it because he’d slid his hand up to your stomach, and then back down between your legs, but this time, he was inside your underwear, no thin, soaked cotton between you.

His fingers parted your folds easily, rubbing at you with a deft hand that already had you lifting up into his touch, and you reached for him, one hand grasping at his arm, feeling it flex as he rubbed you, and the other curling around the nape of his neck, guiding his mouth down to yours again to kiss him as he found your clit.

Your chest gave a little kick, your body jumping at the instant gratification, the sudden pleasure of the pad of his finger circling the sensitive bead, and he let you use his mouth as he lowered his hand, bending his wrist and curling just one finger into your slit, easily, slowly, testing that you were ready for it before committing.

“Oh, f—K-Keys,” you half-moaned, holding back a little because it felt silly to call him that but you weren’t sure if you were fully on, well, a first-name basis yet.

And you hadn’t thought it was all that obvious, but he pulled away from you, leaned down to kiss your neck a few times as he fingered you, still working just one in and out of you even as he teased entrance with a second—and then you felt his breath on your cheek, his nose tickling at your temple as he whispered, “You can call me Walter if you like that better.”

It wasn’t what he had said. It wasn’t the permission to use his real name. It was the way his voice had skimmed over you like thick, rich velvet, pleasant for now but rough if you crossed it.

“I,” you stammered, because you didn’t know what you liked better, all you knew was that his practiced hand was working at you in ways that you’d never expected anyone other than yourself to understand. But Keys—Walter?—was reading every subtle cue you gave him, taking in the miniscule shivers of your legs and tremors of your cunt, the way your walls would tighten up on his fingers as he eased two back into you, the way your clit would jump against his thumb if he caught it at just the right angle.

“Wa-Walt—hnn,” you panted, and you felt his cheek round up against yours, his lips curling into a smile that you could only intuit was there but not see from the way his face rested on yours.

“You’re so…” Keys mumbled, pausing to turn just enough to kiss you. You took his mouth with yours desperately, your ass lifting up off the bed into his hand of its own volition, your body wanting more from him, needing more, and Keys—without a damn word from you—understood exactly what your body was asking for. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, curling them upward, making a come-hither gesture deep within your cunt, massaging your walls from the inside even as he doubled down on your clit, his thumb streaking over it side to side, then up and down, circles, ovals, until you were kicking up against him, and he stuck to the pattern you liked, making you mewl out his name again, and again.

“Wa—fuck,” you cried, your body feeling like it might snap in two from the force of your orgasm, your legs curling up, bent at the knee, your body recoiling from itself, your hips jerking up against Keys’ hand as he worked you through it, his thumb on your clit slowing but still rubbing at you, his fingers unmoving inside you as you clamped down on him, your mouth attached to his, sucking his lip, or his tongue, you weren’t sure and didn’t care as your teeth nipped down on him, hearing his sharp intake of breath but your eyes were closed, shut tight.

Your breath stuttered out of your lungs as you felt a soft kiss on your closed eyelid, his lips just barely brushing over your eyebrow too as he pulled away, his hand sliding out of your underwear only once you’d relaxed back down to the bed. You rolled onto your side, your thighs squeezing together as your pussy just kept going, aftershocks rippling through you as you caught your breath, and when you opened your eyes again, Keys was on his side too, and his hand was on your hip, rubbing you through your shirt.

Your lips curled into a smile when you met his eyes, and then you firmly planted your hand on his shoulder, pushing him onto his back and propping yourself up onto your elbow. With your free hand, you started to remove your shirt, with Keys assisting you as best he could until you were finally able to wriggle out of the garment and it joined your jeans on the floor of his bedroom, and even though you’d just positioned him how you wanted him, he sat up to remove his own shirt, lanky body now on view, the slight tummy he had folding over his belt. It was cute, but it disappeared when he laid back down.

Together, you worked his jeans down, his boxers too, his cock flagging down over his thigh even though he was half-chubbed up. 

You didn’t say anything, but your gaze lingered a beat too long, because Keys shifted himself on the bed, and when you looked over at his face, his expression was mixed between smug and embarrassed, like his mouth couldn’t help but curl into a little bit of a smirk—you were staring—while his eyebrows were knitted just a touch together, like maybe you were disappointed or suddenly uninterested since you didn’t actually make any moves closer.

“You, um—” he started to say, but you leaned in, eclipsing his body with yours as you wrapped your fingers gingerly around his prick, making him inhale sharply, and whatever he’d been about to vocalize was gone, your lips on his, scattering all words away.

You kissed him, mouth open, tongue sliding over his, a little more intense, a little dirtier now that you had a hand on him, and stroked up and down over his length, purposely not letting your grip brush the head until he was bucking his hips up into your hand, and then you slid your hand down to the base of his cock, not pushing him but leading him to rest against the bed. Leaning up and over him, you searched his face for any sign that he was going to maybe get a little mean, a little attitude, bossy and annoyed like when you’d been playing Rivals—but no. He just looked up at you.

He just… looked up at you. With soft, wide, desperate eyes, and kiss-bitten lips, and his throat bobbing, and one eyebrow screwed up on one side, like he didn’t know why you were doing this to him but also didn’t know how to get you to do more.

Your lips teased his—he tried to kiss you, you pulled back just enough that he couldn’t—and then you curled your hand over the tip of his dick, rubbing your curved palm over the tip of his cock, marveling in the way he reacted with his entire body. His chest arched up first, and then once his shoulders were back on the bed, his hips lifted up against your hand, and you easily took him back into the circle of your fingers, stroking him off again, eased by the slick you’d collected from his weeping slit.

Keys sighed out your name, one hand lifting up to curl into your hair, moving your mouth back to his as he kissed you, whimpering quietly into your mouth as you jerked his cock, pausing at the head every few passes to tease the slit, letting the pad of your middle finger just play with it, spreading each hot, sticky bead of precome over him until he was pulling away from you, turning his head away to break the kiss, only to turn back to look at you again.

“Please?” he asked—begged. You’d taken his shaft in your hand again, just below the ridge of the head, and you felt a hot dribble of precome as his cock drooled all over your hand. “God, please,” he asked, and you smiled, kissing him again, this time moving your hand in earnest to get him off, the heel of your hand and your wrist smacking into the front of his hip with how quickly you moved now, your intent to watch him come undone just as you had, and it worked—

Keys sucked your tongue as you kept your hand working at his cock, twisting it side to side every now and then just to hear him react to it, the whines heavy and loaded with lust. It didn’t take much longer for him to come—you felt his cock twitch in your hold, and then his whole body stilled with tension for a long moment, poised to snap—and then he did, moaning your name loudly, really fucking loudly actually, as ropes of his come streaked over the pair of you, landing on your arm, his stomach, even one on your hip, staining your underwear just because you’d lowered your hand enough that his cock angled to the side.

You pressed one final kiss to Keys’ lips, and as you pulled away, he covered his face with both hands, rubbing at his cheeks and his eyes before lowering them and looking down his body at you, still above him, your hand on his stomach now, absently rubbing his spunk into his skin, playing a little with the line of hair leading down below his bellybutton.

“Glad I asked you to stay,” he mused, and you laughed, leaning in to kiss him again before you pushed yourself to sit up next to him.

“Oh, is that what you did?” you asked, still playing with some of the short, curly hair at the base of his softening dick.

“Definitely,” he said, lifting a hand to touch yours. Not to stop you, but to gently rest his fingers on the back of your hand, your wrist.

“Then I’m glad you did too,” you said, glancing at the door to the hall. “Um… bathroom?”

“Door next to the game room,” Keys said, and you clambered over him, stopping once he grabbed your wrist. “Wait—do you want something to sleep in? Like—sweats. Or whatever.”

Your cheeks warmed—you hadn’t expected that. You’d figured he’d expect you to sleep naked—if you even slept at all. “Oh, ok. If you have.”

“Yeah,” Keys said standing up, pulling up his boxers and pushing down his jeans, then crossed to his closet doors, pulling them open. On the floor of the closet were the remaining two dresser drawers, and you snorted with laughter as Keys started digging through the one stacked on top of the other, coming up with a pair of black sweatpants, the ends of the legs frayed, with a big hole in the knee. “I know,” he said, poking his finger through one of the other, smaller holes near the waist that you hadn’t noticed upon first glance. “But they’re my most comfortable pair, I promise.”

You bent down to retrieve your shirt, then took the sweatpants from him and made your way to the bathroom, readying yourself for bed. He was right—they were unfairly comfortable. You’d had some pajama pants for years that weren’t nearly as soft as these were. You… might liberate them someday, if things ended up going well.

While you were attempting to brush your teeth with Keys’ toothpaste and your finger, you heard the floor outside the bathroom door creak first one way, and then a few minutes later, the other way, back into the bedroom. 

You emerged to a dark apartment, the only light a bluish glow emanating from Keys’ bedroom, and then as you approached, you heard the telltale menu music of Animal Crossing: New Horizons emanating from Keys’ TV.

You crossed the threshold, your panties and bra balled up in your hand, ready to tuck them away into your jeans, but when you entered the room, Keys only smiled at you, patting the bed beside him where, you noticed, your Switch case was resting.

“I figured we could get you Fuschia before it gets too late and she goes to bed,” Keys said, tapping the button on his Joycons to speed through Isabel’s welcome speech. “I’ll open my airport while you load in.”

You stood there, admittedly a little dumbstruck. Because you’d been worried about Keys not letting you sleep.

Truth was, you were pretty sure there was nothing you wouldn’t do to this man, if he’d let you.

&&

And he did. You’d gotten Fushia to agree to move, sold some of your native fruit at Nook’s Cranny for double the usual price, (thankfully before it closed), then did a few Mystery Tours in search of a tarantula island. Then, you sucked his soul out through his dick and the pair of you fell asleep.

In the morning, Keys insisted on accompanying you back to your apartment, which he claimed was because he wanted to see your game room, but really he just wanted to buy you breakfast on the way. He took you to a deli a few doors down from his apartment building, got you a bacon, egg, and cheese with an iced tea, then promptly told you he didn’t eat breakfast while also snagging a Code Red Mountain Dew.

“You need to eat something,” you insisted. “Most important meal of the day.”

“That’s debatable,” Keys said, but grabbed a plastic-wrapped packaged cinnamon bun, just making you laugh as you bit into your sandwich.

“Whatever,” you said, stepping out of his way at the register because you’d lost the argument about paying yet again.

“I can buy my own food,” you said, “you didn’t have to get me breakfast after you already got me dinner.”

Keys slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “You know what, you’re right. After I let you take Fuschia from my island and everything, wow.”

You chewed angrily toward him. “So let me pay you back for your sugar rush.”

Keys glanced down at the cinnamon bun, then shoved it into his hoodie pocket. “Nah.”

“You’re so annoying!” you half-shouted as you pushed the door open to the street, but you were laughing so it wasn’t exactly convincing. Keys only smiled to himself as he followed you out and down to the subway entrance. The car wasn’t too busy on a lazy Sunday morning, so you were able to sit together—closer than was really necessary, thighs touching, his fingers brushing your lips as he fed you the heart of his cinnamon bun—and by the time you were off the train and heading to your walk-up apartment, your hand was in his, sugar-sticky fingers and all.

“It’s not as… robust as yours,” you said, pushing the heavy front door open and leading Keys inside, bypassing everything else in your place and taking him straight to the game room. Contrary to what he’d done, yours was in the smaller spare room, because you actually liked to have room to do things like get dressed and put your laundry away.

Even though your game room was smaller, and you only had a PC, Switch dock, and your PS2 set up for nostalgia reasons, Keys still walked in like he was in awe. His decor was mostly functional aside from the LED lights, but you had a ton of fanart of various fandoms, all pastels and soft colors; it must have taken forever to curate the pieces that you were displaying, and as you crossed the room to replace your Switch, he stepped closer to a small collection of framed cross stitch pieces.

“Did you make these?” he asked, pointing.

“Um… yeah,” you said, joining him. He was leaning in, inspecting them—they were all Pokemon, your favorites, and even a cross stitch of what was ostensibly your trainer’s avatar from in-game.

“Would you make me one?” he asked.

“I—ok, sure. What’s your favorite Pokemon?”

“Magneton?” he said, sounding unsure even though he couldn’t be. “Or maybe Deoxys.”

“Not Klefki?” you asked, teasing. “I mean…”

He turned to look at your mischievous grin. “You know what, if you wanna be like that, sure, I’ll take Klefki.” He hesitated, then reached out to let his hand brush over your wrist, down to your pinky.

“I’ll surprise you,” you said, taking the half-step needed to close the distance, and lifting your face up to his. You’d barely managed to kiss him before both of your phones vibrated at the same time. You’d both been getting pings and texts here and there all through the previous evening and all morning, but never at the exact same moment.

You grabbed your phone first, and looked up at Keys as he fished his out of his pocket.

“Discord?” you asked.

He glanced down at his phone. “Discord. Lexy wants to play R.E.P.O.” He turned his wrist to show you the notification like you didn’t have the same “@ everyone” ping.

“I’m just glad it’s not Dead by Daylight,” you said, glancing at your computer, and Keys shifted his weight a little, taking the hint.

“You wanna play?” he asked.

“I… mean, yeah, but you can join when you get home!” you said, reaching out with your free hand to tug at one of his hoodie strings. 

“Not a friendslop guy,” he said, grimacing and making you laugh.

“Right, sorry, you only play the most revered, serious games around, like Marvel Rivals and COD—” 

He cut you off with a kiss, making you draw up a little straighter as his hands landed on your hips.

“Speaking of Rivals,” he said, “message me if you want to play again?”

“Is you asking me to be your girlfriend contingent on me playing Rivals?” you asked, and then snapped your jaw shut, because you hadn’t meant to say that out loud. You hadn’t really been planning on saying it ever. It was a half-formed thought that you weren’t anywhere near pathetic enough to ask, and yet, you’d just asked it. “Sorry, I know this is—still new, that wasn’t—you know, it’s, we can just—” You felt like Keys must have felt when he was trying to explain how much he liked spending time with you.

Thankfully, his face only softened, like he remembered how he’d fumbled over his words too. “I mean, if I say yes, then I’m the asshole, right?” he said, laughing. “No, of course not. You don’t have to be a Celestial Rivals player to date me.” He winked and added, “But it helps!” You scoffed out a laugh. “I’m kidding.” You scowled at him. “Kidding,” he said, and then almost like he was worried he’d blown his shot, he pulled you a little closer by your waist, leaning down to kiss you again. “I could see things going… really well. Between us. I would love to take you out sometime. Like—actually out. Maybe to dinner.”

“Can I pay this time?” you asked, a little smirk playing at the corner of your lips, because he’d made you feel a little better about your gaffe.

Keys pursed his lips, then leaned down to kiss you again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Then I’ll think about saying yes,” you joked. Keys kissed you one more time, and then let you walk him to the door of your apartment. “Think about R.E.P.O. too.”

“I just might,” Keys said, stepping out into the hall. He lifted his hand to give you a two-fingered salute, and as you laughed you saw him make a face at himself, clearly wondering why the fuck he’d done that. “Sorry. Bye.”

“Bye,” you said, smiling as you shut the door, your right hand easing it shut while your left hand slid the chain and then moved down to turn the deadbolt. You let your palm rest flat on the door while your left moved down to the knob, just to have something to hold on to, as you placed your forehead against the back of your hand, lips still curved, a secret for just you to know. You’d said much more awkward things to guys before, and Keys still liked you. 

Even fifteen minutes later, when you’d broken the Chunky Vase and had Lexy screaming at you about it (it was entirely your fault and you knew it), you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

&&

Your job didn’t afford the same luxury of working from home that Keys’ and Lexy’s did, so you weren’t able to meet him for dinner for another week, and your commute left you unable to game for longer than an hour and a half max after work, since you had to be awake so early to make your trains (and bus). That left you with the only option you really had to hang out with Keys, even virtually: Animal Crossing. 

Which was fine—you’d check turnip prices and sell fruit, go fishing while he ran around trying to find the last bug he needed for his museum (stick bug. He always missed the thin line of pixels and scared them away before he could catch one), and then end up seated on the hidden beach on the back of your island, camera angled up as high as you could get it to look at the sunset, since you couldn’t very well see it all that well in a city full of high rises. You’d just sit in quiet conversation in a Discord voice call, listening to the sound of the waves from your game, until you’d inevitably say “I have to go,” and Keys would say, “Tomorrow?”

Until Friday night, when “Tomorrow” no longer meant playing Animal Crossing together and actually meant “Dinner date.” Keys had finally relented and agreed to let you pay, so you’d gotten to choose where you wanted to go, which was an outrageously gaudy family-style Italian restaurant that was going to serve you way too much food for just two people, but would also furnish you both with enough leftovers for several days.

And sure enough, after you had dinner, you’d invited Keys back to your place to start a new run of Kingdom Hearts 2. You walked back to your apartment—“Good for digestion,” you’d said—laden down with doggy bags of food that you stuck in your refrigerator before settling in in your game room. 

You chose to try the game on Proud Mode, swapping off with Keys every now and then (you were better, you noticed), and after the fourth time you’d let the controller change hands, Keys stood up and left the room. Figuring he was going to the bathroom, you didn’t think anything of it until he returned in barely a minute, an aluminum tin of pasta in one hand and a fork in the other. You paused the game and looked over at him.

“How can you be hungry?” you asked, and he shrugged.

“Just am,” he said, twirling some of the fettuccine around the fork.

“That’s mine,” you said, indignant. “We agreed that you’d take home the manicotti and I’d get the fettuccine alfredo.”

“Ok, fine,” Keys said, lifting the huge mouthful of pasta he’d just picked up and holding it out to you. “Here.”

“That’s—” you started to say, but before you could finish the thought, he had nudged your lips with the fork.

“Open,” he said, and you were so surprised that you could only do what he’d asked, letting him feed you the bite. “Very good, thank you.”

You blinked, chewing slowly, until you just picked up the controller and unpaused the game. Because what the fuck was what and why was it the hottest thing ever? Thanking you for obeying him?

Swallowing the bite he’d given you, you looked over at him from the corner of your eyes, but Keys was just sitting there happily chowing down on your leftovers, and when he noticed you looking and decidedly not playing, he turned to you and grinned, a little bit of sauce clinging to his upper lip.

He was too fucking cute to ask to be mean, rough, stern with you. At least—not tonight. Tonight could be for other things.

Kingdom Hearts 2 sat on pause again, the fettuccine and fork on the couch, as you pulled Keys to your bedroom, climbing on top of him and letting your hips roll down into his as you kissed him silly.

&&

A couple more dates in a couple more weeks, and finally, you confirmed what the entire server had been speculating and suspecting since you and Keys had changed your profile pictures to matching ones of Professor Layton’s hat and Luke’s hat. Just weird enough to catch attention, just innocuous enough to potentially mean nothing. (It did mean nothing—it was just a joke because you both liked those games. Seriously.)

But you’d had to tell the truth, because a few of your other friends had been trying to plan a D&D oneshot for months. So when Hakeem had announced that they’d found a DM for you, and asked was everyone free tonight even though it was short notice? Well, you had to let them down easy.

cant, i have a date was all you’d said before your post got no less than six different replies, and perpetual thorn in your side (Lexy) was calling you while simultaneously sending you text after text.

“—th WHO?” Lexy shouted, the moment you picked up, already speaking before you’d even answered.

“Lexy,” you said, but she was not to be deterred.

“Is it Keys? It’s Keys, isn’t it? I knew he would never change his profile picture from Ichigo without a good reason. And you’re the best reason, obviously.”

Since she already knew, and you didn’t want to straight up lie, you just told her everything. The date, the hookup, the inside jokes and the game nights, the way he’d given you Fuschia and even bought you a bootleg Amiibo card for her in case you ever wanted to restart your island (you didn’t, but the gesture was so sweet you were almost tempted).

“Oh my god, I just knew he’d be the best fucking boyfriend,” Lexy said, sighing. “And he’s so sweet.”

You hummed in agreement, because he sure was. Not that you’d forgotten that other side of him that you’d yet to draw out since the first night.

“Hey—so, do you think I could play Rivals with you guys again sometime?”

“Wait—really?”

“Really,” you said. “It’s not so bad with Keys.”

“It’s not so bad with Keys?!” Lexy repeated. “Girl. What? He’s so toxic in shooters.”

“I mean… I get like that when we play DBD,” you said.

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re shit-talking me, you’re complaining about the killer. Keys will lay into anyone on Rivals. Enemy team, our team, even us.” He hadn’t said a goddamn word about you, actually, so that part was kind of news to you.

“Well, can I anyway?”

You practically heard Lexy roll her eyes. “Sure. Don’t say I didn’t want you.”

“I’ve already played with him,” you said.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Lexy said. “Hey—have fun tonight, ok?”

“I will,” you said. “Thanks.”

She let you off the phone and you looked at the screen, notifications still pouring in from Discord. While you were looking, Keys texted you, sending a screenshot of his own app icon, bursting with 14 notifications. You were at 35, and all of them were your friends and Lexy’s coworkers still replying to your post, first asking who it was, then slowly devolving into everyone asking if it was Keys, before they all started posting screenshots of interactions you’d had and of course, the matching icons.

you guys are taking this way too far you said.

It’s our job to give you a hard time! 🍭 said Veronica, your first ever best friend and partner in crime, before you’d even met Lexy.

You muted the server for the next 24 hours and then navigated to your texts with keys.

K: [screenshot attached]

—i’m so sorry —i didn’t want to lie to hakeem because they’ve been wanting to play dnd for months and have been SCOURING reddit for a dm and finally found one —and i just couldn’t lie to them because it’s so so important to them!

K: Haha it’s ok

—you’re not mad?

K: Why would I be mad?

Worth a shot.

—no reason —just wasn’t sure if we were not telling people

K: We were not NOT telling people. K: I kinda told my brother I was seeing someone. K: So.

—you told your family about me?

K: I told my brother. Very different.

—how? —that’s family

K: My brother is a little shit who always says I make such a cute couple with [insert Video Game or Anime Girl here]. So now that I have a real girl who likes me, I had to brag.

—so who else are you dating?

K: Oh, well. K: Ada Wong, Yuffie, Faith from Mirror’s Edge, Luna Snow, Ryuko from Kill la Kill, and one time Tanjiro.

—??? —from demonslayer?

K: The very same.

—i’m sort of sensing you have a type

K: He thinks I have a type. You hang up one poster of Ada Wong one time when you’re 16 and any time he sees anyone who vaguely resembles her…

—tanjiro?????

K: I did say he’s a little shit.

—that’s true. so anyway. i guess we could have had this conversation in like an hour.

K: Want anything for the movie? I’m stopping to get candy on the way.

—snocaps!!!

K: ?

—the candy

K: I know the candy. It’s just chocolate chips with sprinkles on it.

—yeah!!!

K: That’s what you want?

—yes walter that’s what i want

K: I don’t understand you.

And yet, when he took you home that night, he seemed to understand you and your body language just fine, soft touches and insistent licks wherever you needed them, feeding his cock between your lips and then between your legs as you begged him to fuck you, facedown, ass in the air as he rode you from behind, body folded over yours, hands soothing you, exploring you, pressing chaste kisses to your fingertips as he lifted them to his mouth, contrasting the way his hips slapped into yours with his tender mouth.

It was good—it was really fucking good—but you still hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask for a little more just yet.

&&

“You know,” Keys said, batting the side of your face with a Twizzler as you opened your mouth, biting at it and missing, half because he was teasing you and pulling it away, and half because you weren’t really trying, “you’ve had girlfriend status for a month now and we still haven’t played Rivals again.”

You pouted, though it devolved into extreme giggles as he kept poking your lips with the licorice.

“That’s not my fault,” you said, “the timing just keeps not working out.”

“The real BBEG: Scheduling.”

“Hold on,” you said, pausing the Let’s Play you were watching of one of your favorite PS2 games (Haunting Ground) and grabbing your phone. You opened Discord, navigated to the gaming channel, and tapped out a message:

@ everyone tomorrow keys and i will be playing marvel rivals at 7PM so be there or be square

You felt Keys’ phone vibrate in his pocket against your lower back, where you were leaning against him, and then watched as people started reacting to your post. You got a few (checkmark)s but also several (square) which you took to mean those gamers would not be joining you. The checkmarks ticked up to 8 total, which was more than enough for a full group.

“Easy,” you said.

“I mean, flawless, really. You make it look effortless.”

You arched your back, leaning up toward him even though at the angle, you were upside down. He kissed you anyway, because you just knew it reminded him of Spider-Man and Mary Jane, and when you finally pulled away, he fed you your Twizzler properly, and you returned to the video, Fiona calling out to Hewey every two seconds, something you could tell you and Keys both would be imitating for days to come.

The next day, you’d settled down to your computer at 6:30 to try and get some practice matches in before everyone joined you, but as soon as you loaded into the game, you received an invite from Keys to join his group. You did, then tabbed over to Discord to join the voice chat that he was already in.

“I didn’t want you to see me being bad,” you said, as Keys queued you for a Quick Match, which instantly pulled you into a game.

“You’re not bad,” he said, locking Magneto as you chose Mantis. “That’s new,” he commented.

“I wanted to try something else,” you said. “Thus logging on early.”

“Mantis is good,” he said, “just watch your cooldowns.”

You knew, logically, what he meant—but Mantis’ kit was so different from Luna Snow’s that you did have some trouble balancing her heals. You could hear Keys getting frustrated whenever he died before you got your Healing Flower back, but he always blamed it on the other healer, even though they were doing twice your healing output with half the deaths.

By the time Lexy, Hakeem, Serena, and Torbjorn (one of Lexy’s friends from Overwatch who refused to tell anyone his real name) joined, Keys was barely speaking and you could tell everyone else were all going to have one hell of a night because of it. And then there was you, imagining his tongue in his cheek, poking at the inside like it did when he was hyperfocused or annoyed, and getting yourself all turned on from just the thought alone.

“How’ve the games been?” Lexy asked, and Keys didn’t respond so you took it upon yourself.

“Not great,” you answered.

“Well, you’re still learning,” she said, and there was a general murmur of assent as Keys invited everyone to the group, and then you queued. Having a six stack in a voice chat would help in terms of coordination and comms, but you also had the feeling that the matchmaker in the game would put you against other large groups, which meant you’d be going against people who had the same advantages. Except they were all probably better than you. Even if it was just by virtue having more time in the game.

You locked Luna almost exclusively, even though Hakeem suggested Rocket Racoon or Cloak & Dagger because they were a little easier, but you explained that you felt most comfortable on the ice-themed K-pop star.

The first game didn’t go too badly, and Keys even sounded like he was smiling as he made calls, joining in on praising whoever got a good pick or saved him when he was cornered—especially you, but no one commented on it.

It was after an hours’ worth of pretty decent games in a row that you got matched against six other players who were absolutely fucking cracked. Their Black Widow got a headshot on you as soon as you walked out of spawn. Their Jeff swallowed four of you several minutes into the game, when you’d finally gotten a couple picks to start to push the objective. And when you saw him get a quad kill on the feed, you heard Keys pipe up.

“Fucking bullshit, man,” he said. “Can someone please kill the fucking Jeff?”

It was hard not to take that personally, and also as an order—you were playing strategist, your job was to help keep the team up, not go for kills.

“Actually,” Keys said, “if anyone could kill anything, that would be spec-fucking-tacular.”

You fell silent, while Lexy and Torbjorn told Keys to relax, and Hakeem changed off of Captain America to go Moon Knight to try and haunt the other team with la luna herself.

“Hulk’s two,” Serena said, flanking as Star-Lord, and just as she was about to finish him off, her name popped up in the killfeed and she half-shouted, “Fuck!”

“This fucking guy,” Keys said, his voice dark and flat. “If he fucking—can somebody kill the Jeff?” He asked the question just as Jeff ulted beneath the team again, managing to swallow three of you this time, spitting you off the edge of the map. Again.

“You could kill the Jeff,” Lexy suggested.

“Are you kidding?” Keys countered, as the team fell back to regroup. “I’m too busy trying to shield you guys from all this fucking damage.”

“We can’t keep you up,” Lexy said, who was your fellow healer in this match. “I’m trying to shield you but it’s tough on an escort map.” As she said it, she placed Invisible Woman’s shield in front of Magneto, but Keys moved right through it, needing to advance the cart toward the end of the map.

“We just need picks,” Keys replied.

“I have ult,” Serena said. “If I can get to their backline you guys should be able to wipe the rest of them.”

“Might as well,” Keys said, but his tone was far from placated. If anything, he sounded incredulous, like that wouldn’t work at all. His follow up grumble proved that thought: “We’re getting fucking rolled either way.”

“They don’t know I’m back here,” Serena said. “Keep them distracted up there.”

Hakeem and Torbjorn were playing a little up from the cart, behind Keys, while you and Lexy stayed toward the back, providing heals when you had to and shooting at the enemy team when you could. It was when the other team’s Star-Lord moved a little too forward, aggressive because thus far, he had been without getting punished for it, that Serena made her move and ulted behind the other team, Star-Lord’s laugh followed by “All right!” rang out, and the killfeed pinged. She’d taken out both healers and even the other team’s Scarlet Witch.

“Let’s fucking go,” Keys said, and sure enough, once the other healers were down, you were able to wipe the other team, staggering their Hulk so he would respawn after and maybe even give you the chance to actually push the cart to the last point.

“Great job, Serena,” you said, earning yourself a “Thanks!” in return, but the friendly exchange was overshadowed by Keys.

“Picks, picks, picks,” he was saying, like your team needed the reminder.

The countdown at the top of the screen was nearing 0:00, and you weren’t even at the halfway point of the map yet—it had been a fucking struggle.

“Can we please”—Keys said, drawing out the word angrily, as the enemy Jeff swallowed him, only him, and spit him off the edge of the map—“kill the JEFF?”

It didn’t matter—the clock at the top of the screen ran down, and DEFEAT appeared on your screen.

“Hey, that was my last one,” Torbjorn said, leaving the group before anyone could even say anything.

“Yeah, me too,” Serena said, leaving. Hakeem said nothing, just dropping out of the call, and that just left you, Lexy, and Keys.

“One more?” Keys asked.

“Um,” you said, because everything that had just happened had been a lot, and even though he was mean, he wasn’t mean to you, and you really needed to figure out why you liked it so much. At least—when your pussy wasn’t currently pulsing in your fucking seat. Because you wanted to talk to him alone, wanted to get to the bottom of this, wanted to—

“I’m gonna go too, actually,” Lexy said, and you saw a DM from her pop up in the bottom of your screen.

You ok?

yeah you said back. you?

I’m used to him she said. If he’s getting too tilted you can just dip

“I’m gonna log off too,” you said, in the voice chat.

To Lexy, you replied i’ll talk to him.

“I had fun,” Keys said, his voice back to normal, and you heard Lexy laugh before she replied.

“Always a pleasure, Walter,” she said, then left.

“Um,” you said. “Can I—can we talk not in here? I don’t want anyone else to come in.”

A valid excuse—you’d gotten 8 checkmarks on your invitation asking people to play, so theoretically, Maxine, Franky, Dom, or Natalia could pop in at any moment if they saw you still on Rivals.

“Oh,” Keys said. “Yeah—call… call whenever.”

You left the voice chat and then navigated over to your DMs, finding the one with Keys only and then calling him through Discord. He answered immediately.

“Hey,” he said, before you even could, “I’m sorry.”

“Keys,” you tried, but he kept going.

“I just get—so into it, it’s really lame, I know.”

“Keys—”

“I just get so competitive—”

“Walter,” you said, using his real name and emphasizing it enough that he stopped speaking.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll—try to rein it in. Maybe we shouldn’t play Rivals anymore. I don’t want you to have to hear me like that.”

You stayed silent.

“Are you—are you on mute?” Keys asked. “I can’t hear you if you’re talking.”

“I’m not on mute,” you said. “I was waiting for you to finish so I could talk.”

“...Sorry.”

But now that you had the floor, you worried that what you were about to say was actually insane.

“No. Um,” you said. “I just…” You sighed. “I definitely want to keep playing Rivals.”

Keys snickered. “Even though I’m salty?”

You bit your lip. “Kind of… because of that?”

You could practically hear his head tilt through your headset. “What?”

“I… kind of like it,” you said, voice quiet. The only reason you could tell that it was even audible was the little green ring showing up around your icon in Discord.

“You like—what?”

“When you… I don’t know, get all angry and bossy and frustrated.”

“Are—seriously?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathy. Your throat felt tight and you swallowed nervously. Your stomach felt full of butterflies—and between your legs was still all hot and ready. You’d be willing to bet that if you checked, you’d be wet.

“So you like me like this?” Keys asked, voice clipped, and the tone with which he spoke made your cunt clench down on nothing.

“Kinda, yeah,” you said.

“Well which is it?” he asked—demanded, maybe. “Kinda? Or yes?”

“Yes,” you answered.

“This turns you on?” Keys asked, derisively, and the judgement—real or perceived, you couldn’t tell—made you actually moan a little as you squeezed your thighs together. For a moment, the real Keys reappeared. “Holy…shit, you’re—you’re actually into this?”

“Uh huh,” you intoned. “Yes, yeah, I am.”

A pause. And then—“Well, why don’t you stop wasting my time and tell me just how much?”

You swallowed again, thickly, your lips smacking a little as you parted them, and you moused over to turn off the mic setting for noise reduction to filter out background noise, because you wanted him to hear every single thing he possibly could. 

“I’m really wet,” you said, because you could feel it now, as you pressed your thighs closed: the slick slide of your pussy lips.

“Touching yourself?” he asked.

“N-not yet,” you said.

Keys loosed a short laugh. It hit you in your core. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing,” you said, standing up and unbuttoning your jeans, pushing them down and just stepping out of them. For the first time, you wished you had a standalone mic so you could hold it down by your pussy so Keys could hear everything, but he’d just have to settle for your words.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Keys said, and while his voice had the edge to it, you could still hear the kind undertones of your regular boyfriend.

“Getting undressed,” you said, and just pushed your boyshorts down too, stepping out of them and then glancing at the crotch. It was a slightly darker blue than the rest of the fabric, the wet spot entirely visible and not even a little bit subtle. 

“Finger yourself for me,” Keys said, and you sat back down in your chair, slumping down so your pussy hung off the edge of the seat, one of your legs thrown over the arm to keep yourself open.

“How many?” you asked, and by the way he groaned, you could tell he didn’t expect the question.

“Two,” he replied. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Are you—touching yourself too?” you asked.

Keys chuckled darkly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you squeaked, curling two fingers into your slit. Fuck, you really were just as soaked as you’d told him. “Walter, I’m—really wet, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “Easy to fuck yourself, huh?”

“Yeah,” you echoed. “Feels really good.”

You heard what sounded like him spitting over the call, and just as you were about to ask, he groaned loudly again.

“Trying to get my—myself as wet as you,” he said, faltering only for a moment, and you wondered if this was his first time fucking around over a voice call, because it wasn’t always easy to say shit like that out loud.

“I’m dripping,” you said, because sometimes, it was.

“Yeah?” Keys asked. “Let me hear it.”

You hesitated, then fumbled with your headset with your clean hand, pulling it off your ears and holding the microphone down between your legs. You pulled your fingers out and rubbed them over your folds, watching as the green ring around your icon lit up with each squelch of your fingers, each wet, slippery sound that came as you started spreading your arousal over your clit, rubbing it. You saw the same green ring light up around Keys’ icon, meaning he was talking to you but you couldn’t hear him.

Slowly, with a shaky hand, you lifted your headset back up and put it on as well as you could with just one hand, and you heard him talking, just barely, the sound of his wrist hitting into—his front? his hip, his thigh?—just as clearly as he must have heard you.

“Gonna come for me?” you asked, and Keys barked a laugh, the question clearly unexpected.

“‘Course,” he said. “Guess you proved you deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you replied, still working your fingers over your clit, dipping down every few strokes to rub at your slit, curling your fingers inside just enough to feel the stretch, then returning to your swollen, sensitive bead.

“You first,” Keys said. “Wanna hear you, ‘k? Once I hear you—I’ll—I’ll—”

“Ok,” you replied, then bit your lip and took off your headset again. This time, you held it halfway between your face and your pussy, so you could hear him a bit better but also, hopefully, he could hear you. You fingered yourself, spreading your legs a bit wider, the slick sounds of your folds almost covering the rhythm of his hand moving over his dick, but you could still just hear it, hear his moans and his encouragements, telling you how much he liked hearing you, how much he liked knowing you were like this for him. 

You focused on your clit, and replaced your headphones where they belonged again, letting him just hear your whimpers and mewls as you got even closer, his own heavy breathing and sighs of your name shoving all thoughts other than your own impending orgasm away.

“Wal—Walt,” you whined, loud, and then as you rubbed two fingers over your clit, up and down, faster, faster, faster, you came with a loud cry, half a sob and half a scream, the sound ripped from your throat as you choked on it on its way out, the moan broken and unending.

Keys followed after you, your name coming repeatedly from his lips, again and again, drawing it out longer and lower as he came too, you could tell—his hand had stopped moving and he was panting a little. And then, his voice in your ears.

“Was that good?” Keys. Back to normal.

And the switch was flipped.

&&

Things didn’t change much after that fated Discord call, even though you thought that they might. But to the contrary—you and Keys went out on dates, more frequently got together for game nights, finally joined Hakeem for their D&D oneshot, and even found time to fool around, learning more about each other’s likes and dislikes, what was compatible between you and what wasn’t. And even as you grew closer, as you found that you were absolutely, definitely compatible both personality-wise and physically, you still never brought up the other side of Keys, and he never seemed to realize that you wanted him to let it loose.

Even when you purposely were a little bratty to him in bed, even when you antagonized him just enough to try to get him to snap at you, he just smirked at your petulance and kissed you right on the end of the nose, and then fucked you six ways to Sunday and kind of made you forget about how enticing you found Mean Keys in that moment, though the thought always crept back up on you later, after he’d fallen asleep next to you or as you rode the subway home the next morning.

It was on another Rivals night that the universe decided to make your move for you, because by pure luck and happenstance, you were at Keys’ apartment when Lexy pinged in the Discord, asking for all Marvel fans to report for duty (actually, what she’d said was AVENGERS ASSEMBLEEEEEEEE, so). You’d met Keys’ eyes across the game room, where you were sitting playing through Gone Home on your Switch, curled up on his futon, while he was working on some project for work, trying to get ahead of a deadline.

“I could go for some Rivals,” you said, shrugging one shoulder.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing at his computer, saving his work, and then looking back over his shoulder at you. “I know how it gets you.”

That was the first time either of you had mentioned your… proclivity toward his alter ego, and you slowly lowered your Switch, unsure if you should feel embarrassed, called out, or excited.

“You mean how it gets you,” you said. 

Keys only smirked, maybe a little self-deprecating, but just a little, and half-shrugged one shoulder, partially nodding his head to concede the point.

“Well,” you started to say, but Keys continued.

“And I just want to be clear, if you want to, I’ll take you across the hall and let you have as much of me as you want.”

He wasn’t even nasty yet, the way you wanted, but you just nodded, because the prospect was too much to waste.

“I’ll take everything,” you said, voice hushed, and then cringed after a moment as he laughed.

“All right, Rogue,” he said, because you’d just inadvertently quoted the character’s ultimate voice line, then winked at you. “Gambit never folds.” Of course he would hit you back with Rogue’s husband’s voice line. God, you almost wanted to skip the games—but no, you wanted him in the right mood more. Wanted him to show you who was boss, and most importantly, wanted him to spit the attitude at you in just the right way to get you soaked, fucking dripping wet for him.

And after five matches, he was right there.

“How the fuck did we fuck that up, guys?” Keys asked. You’d been about to win—the enemy team’s cart was right at the end of the map, and you’d been picking them off one by one. They kept resetting the overtime counter by trickling in, and unfortunately all it took was one perfectly timed Scarlet Witch ult to get enough of you off the objective to allow them to roll it to the final point.

“My freeze was on cooldown,” you said, having gone back to Luna Snow after realizing that Mantis just wasn’t for you the last time.

“You could have put your shield up,” Maxine suggested to Keys.

“I have cooldowns too,” Keys said.

“Oh, you mean you weren’t managing them correctly, just like the rest of us?” Lexy said, because Keys had been shitting on everyone for exactly that, and he knew it.

“One mistake in five games,” Keys said. Lexy scoffed, but Keys asked anyway, “More?”

“I’m down,” Hakeem said, and you heard them take a drag on their vape, meaning they were exponentially more level-headed dealing with Keys tonight than they had been last time.

“Sure,” Lexy said, at the same time Maxine hummed her assent.

“Actually,” you said, looking over at Keys, who was on the futon, playing on his console while you were seated in his desk chair, pressing your thighs together. “I think I’m kinda done with Rivals for tonight.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Lexy said. “Hey, Keem, can you let Bryan know we have open spots now? He wanted to play but we were full.”

“Got it,” Hakeem said, and you watched the bottom corner of Keys’ center monitor flash with a Discord message from the server.

“Later,” you said, leaving the voice chat at the same moment that Keys did.

You turned to him, reaching down to cup yourself through your jeans, but Keys only shook his head.

“Do you think you played well enough for me to let you touch yourself?” he asked.

You immediately withdrew your hand and placed it on your knee.

“Thank you,” Keys said, and you felt your clit throb a little as you squeezed your pussy down around nothing. You hadn’t even done anything but listen to him. “So… what is it you’re looking for? When you have me like this.”

“I just—like when you’re… kind of mean, you know? When you talk down to me.”

You saw a look of uncertainty cross his face, because you had the distinct impression that this was new to him, that this was never something someone had asked him to do before.

“All right,” he said. “Why don’t you show me how bad you want it?”

You weren’t sure if even Keys knew how that question sounded, but your response was to stand from his desk chair, tug up the hem of the hoodie you’d borrowed from him when you’d arrived, and then push down the leggings you had on. Keys stayed perfectly still on the futon, watching, because you stepped out of the leggings and then hooked your thumbs into your panties, and you realized that as affected as you were by Keys being more stern with you than normal, so too was he affected by your obedience, your lack of inhibition.

His eyes rose from your hips to your face, then dipped back down as the waistband of your underwear rolled down around your hips, just a hint of your pubic hair peeking out, the wet spot you were sure was there visible to Keys, at least. You watched as he swallowed, his hoodie falling back down around you as you pushed your underwear down far enough that you were able to let them fall to the floor where you stood in front of his desk. And then you were standing there, half dressed, wearing your boyfriend’s hoodie with the promise of exactly what he’d wanted to see beneath it, and Keys finally stood up.

“I said show me,” he said.

Biting your lip, you reached down with both hands to curl them into the hoodie, lifting it up as Keys approached you, getting close enough to reach out and touch you but decidedly not doing it. You heard the heavy breath he took as he looked down at you—this was the most tension you’d ever had between you, you thought, and god, it was only going to get even better.

The soft fabric of the hoodie tickled you a little as you pulled it up, exposing your bare lower half to Keys, whose eyes settled on the spot between your thighs as he stared. You squirmed a little under his gaze, keeping your face turned up to his as you he finally reached out for you, letting his hands come to rest on your bare hips before he trailed the fingertips of one down over your front, then the back of his hand was brushing the inside of your thigh, and then his fingers were pressing up against you, parting your puffy lips. His breath caught when he felt how wet you were, and even you could tell by how easily his fingers slipped in between your folds. He withdrew his hand and lifted it between you, the grip of his other hand on your hip tighter now than it had been just moments ago. He showed you his glistening fingertips, and then moved his hand to his mouth, stopping just before he reached it.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he said. “Letting this kind of thing get you this wet?” You swallowed, lips parted, because the derision was exactly what you wanted. “What’s wrong with you?”

Even as he asked it, he continued moving his hand toward his mouth, and as soon as you stammered out an “I—I don’t know,” he took his fingers between his lips, sucking your fluids off of them before, humming quietly before taking them back out of his mouth, now shiny with saliva.

“You don’t know?” Keys repeated.

You shook your head. Keys smirked, leaning down closer to your level, and looked straight into your eyes. 

“I don’t know either,” he said. “But I think I’m starting to like it.”

—

There was no reason for Keys to keep you standing in his game room, in front of his desk, his fingers curled into your cunt as you arched yourself up against him to kiss him, and when you pulled away to look at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing out a “Can we—please—?” he just ushered you to his bedroom, laying you down on his bed, pushing your legs apart and nosing in between your thighs, letting his face press into the fold of skin where your leg met your mound, but he didn’t lick you where you wanted him to—no, he sucked a long, wet kiss to one of your lips, then looked up at you, hands fisted in the front of his sweatshirt, the hood up and over your head. It made you look cute.

It made him—this side of him, the one that you liked, the one that you’d given permission for him to try on—want to ruin you.

“Walter,” you whimpered, as he laved his tongue over the side of your cunt, not delving into you, just teasing you, not giving you what you wanted.

He ignored you, even as you curled a hand into his hair, tugging at him, trying to angle his mouth slightly to the side, trying to get him where you needed him.

Before you even realized he’d moved one of his hands from the expanse of your thigh, it was wrapped around your wrist, taking your hand from his hair and moving it to the same spot his hand had just vacated.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, steady. You felt your thighs twitch a little, partly from how open he was holding you, and partly from the commanding tone. “Behave. Ok?”

“Ok,” you mewled in response, and felt cunt squeeze down around nothing when his lips curved upward on one side, a half-smile.

“Thank you,” he said, and you took in a shaky breath. 

Then, he gave in to you.

With just a small tilt of the head, his mouth was exactly where you needed him most. His lips dragged over your clit before moving further down, and his nose pressed against your supple skin as he sucked at your folds, mouthing at your slit before burying his face into you, his chin already wet with you, his hands on your thighs, one still holding your own hand against you too.

This was nice—this was really good, like he always was to you. But it wasn’t what you actually wanted.

“Mmn,” you whined, trying to make it sound as though you weren’t enjoying yourself. Which you absolutely were, so where was your Oscar?

Because the moment the displeased-sounding mewl fell from your lips, Keys pulled away to look up at you.

Concerned. Normal Keys.

You let the barest hint of a smirk touch your lips, and his brow furrowed.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

You squirmed a little beneath him, spread open and willing, yet still wanting. “No…”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” you whispered, nodding.

Keys lowered his face to you again, resuming eating you out, and again, you shifted your hips.

And again, Keys removed his mouth from you. This time, he didn’t speak, just looked at you expectantly.

That was better. That was… closer.

“Problem?” he said, because this time, it wasn’t a question. It was a demand for an explanation. He was figuring, pushing, testing the limits; yours and his. 

Your breath caught, but only for a moment.

“No,” you said again, and this time, he rose to it.

“Try again.”

And it had all the weight you wanted, the rigidity, the glint of harshness that you heard in his tone when he got frustrated with a game, transferred onto you. Because you’d told him you would behave, and you weren’t.

You tucked your head back into the hood more, and when you spoke, it was a soft little murmur. A flash of honesty—because if you didn’t tell him what you wanted, how could he know? This was push and pull, give and take, a tug of war that you’d both win in the end.

“It was too easy,” you said, speaking from the heart. “I want to work for it.”

Keys blinked. The normal version of him shined through, and he gave you a half grin and a nod, and then let the stoic expression reappear.

“Work for it,” he said, and you could tell that he was working through getting used to this but also enjoying it, playing the role you wanted him to fill for you. “You mean you want to earn it.”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Done.”

Your breath caught as he pushed himself away from you, moved to stand up over you with his legs between yours, still slung over the side of the bed. You hesitated, then pushed yourself up onto your elbows, still looking up at him.

“Get up,” Keys said, almost like an invitation rather than a command.

You pushed yourself up to your elbows, unable to press your thighs together since he was still standing between your legs, his knees pressed against the side of his mattress. The sweatshirt fell down over your abdomen, the hem coming to rest atop your thighs with the hood half dropping over your face.

“Turn over, please,” Keys said, and even with the polite phrasing his voice was still exactly where you wanted it to be, the lower register with the detached, aloof tone.

Sliding back over the bedspread, you opted not to try and stand while he was basically on top of you, and instead just rolled onto all fours, the hoodie riding up over your waist again, exposing your ass and your lower back to him. You didn’t hear any movement, didn’t hear him speak, didn’t even hear him breathing, but what you did hear was the sound of his closet door opening behind you.

You chanced a look and saw him kneeling in front of the closet, the same way he had been when he’d given you a pair of sweats to wear to sleep in, but this time, he had moved the drawer on top to the side and was looking through the bottom drawer.

“You know,” Keys said, glancing over at you like he’d known you would look. “I’m usually more of a… mouth guy.” You were very aware—oral was his favorite thing to do, and to ask you to do. “But… a techy guy like me, I’d be kind of remiss if I didn’t at least plan to have some fun with this kind of stuff, right?”

You couldn’t see what he was talking about—it was too dim in the room, plus the drawer was fully in his closet on the floor, and he was blocking it from your view. You had an inkling, though. And as you strained your neck to just try and see him out of the corner of your eye, you were absolutely proven right when he pulled out—

“You have a fucking Hitachi?” you asked, and even Keys broke a little too.

“Well—I bought it because, you know, people on Reddit said—”

“Reddit?” you asked, laughing a little even though moments ago you’d been legitimately quivering in anticipation. “You get sex advice from Reddit?”

“Well, I’m not about to ask Lexy what you like—”

“You bought it for me?”

Keys opened his mouth, then closed it, took a breath—that one you heard—and then was right back to it. “I bought it for you,” he said, but the simple words were colored by the way he said them. He stood up, crossing to the bed; your eyes were unable to leave the vibrator he held in his hands. It had a cable for fuck’s sake. You’d used toys before, but never one that would probably leave you spent before Keys even had a hand on you.

“I figure this might be a way to… prove yourself, hm?” Keys asked, climbing onto the bed behind you. But instead of touching you, he just leaned over to the side, letting his hand slip between the side of his mattress and the wall, and plugged the toy in. Making sure you were looking back at him, he turned it onto the lower setting and it still buzzed, loudly. “Can you do that?” He turned it off again.

“I—can try,” you uttered, and he smirked at you.

“Thank you,” he said, and you felt yourself clench up again. Every time he thanked you it made you want to scream in the best fucking way.

He offered you the toy, his arm moving up around your side, and you reached to take it. Once you had it in hand, he finally touched you again, letting his fingers skim up your back as he eased your chest down to the bed, your ass in the air, hips flexed. His touch beneath the hoodie tickled you—you were surprised you were still wearing it, but, admittedly, you liked having his clothes on while you were doing this. It made it feel all the more intimate somehow, even though your body was hidden; it was still wrapped in something that belonged to him.

“I want you to hold it right here,” Keys said, taking your wrist and guiding your hand up between your legs, letting the bulb of the toy rest against your mound. “However you want. You can take it away if you need to. Ok?”

“Ok,” you breathed. He was in control, but he was still letting you have some agency—you liked that. A lot. “When—” you started to ask, but stopped. “How…”

“Hm?” Keys asked, and you shuddered as you felt his lips move over your lower back.

“How do I earn it?”

You felt more than heard his smirk. “I’ll let you know when you have.”

Flicking the toy on and off a few times, you couldn’t quite help but to talk back just a little. “Or don’t.”

He paused, sighed. “Yeah, I—I’m sorry, I’m still—getting used to this. M…meaner?”

“Kinda,” you said, turning to look back at him, and he nodded.

“I’m tryin’ here,” he said.

“I know,” you said. “Just—don’t overthink it? I’ll stop you if it’s too much. I—” You swallowed. “I want you to be mean to me. So be mean to me.”

“Mean,” Keys echoed. “Mean…” He leaned over you, tucking his face right beside yours, cheek to cheek as he reached below you, taking your wrist in hand again. “If you need me to stop, say…” he trailed off, ostensibly trying to think of a word to use.

“Tilted,” you said, and he laughed.

Then, just as quickly, he stopped. The mood shifted. He pressed his face into yours, and you were suddenly aware of the way his body was on top of yours, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, the weight of his cock pressing against your ass cheek, even though his jeans. His nose at your temple, his lips on your earlobe, closing around it.

“Tilted,” Keys repeated. “That’s perfect.”

He backed away from you, his hands moving to your ass, spreading you apart, and you felt even more exposed than you had minutes ago when he was going down on you. A sharp little clicking noise sounded behind you, and it took you a moment to realize he’d just snapped his fingers at you.

“The toy,” he said, just this side of commanding. “You said you wanted to earn it. So earn it.”

You gasped a little as his fingers dug into your ass cheeks, and then his tongue was moving over your lower back, trailing down, between your cheeks, and you felt him stop just shy of actually licking you anywhere interesting. He waited, so you didn’t. 

The wand started buzzing as you hit the switch, and as you touched it to your mound—not even your clit, the vibrations plenty strong to stimulate yourself—you heard him again, behind you.

“Thank you,” he said, and you turned your face into the mattress as you pushed the toy a little more firmly against yourself, thighs shuddering already even without direct contact to your clit.

And then, he started in again. He licked between your folds, tongue slipping into your slit as he licked at you from the inside, moving against you as you adjusted the toy, still not making direct contact because you could tell it would be too much, especially with him eating you out. 

You could barely hear him over the hum of the toy, the wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy, the moans that emanated from his chest as he sucked at your lips and even tongued at your clit, his chin bumping into the bulb as you moved it back and forth over yourself, giving yourself a little massage with it, and it was working even though the only thing touching your clit was Keys’ tongue.

“Mm,” you intoned, but Keys didn’t react to it, didn’t respond other than to lave his tongue over you, licking a long, thick stripe from your clit to your slit, gathering up your arousal onto his tongue—and then continuing on right up your crack, spreading your fluids and arousal up and over your asshole, his tongue flicking against the puckered rim as you gasped, then whimpered as he focused his attention on it.

“Yeah?” Keys asked, his lips against your ass. “Tilted?”

“No,” you said vehemently, and he felt your body give a kick as you pushed the wand further down between your legs, this time actually touching your clit with it. You jumped again and again at the intense vibration, but it didn’t deter him—on the contrary. He fully intended to give you as many orgasms as you wanted, as you could take, and even though he hadn’t expressed that to you, he was certain you could assess the situation and figure it out all on your own.

“Didn’t think so,” he said. “You really want to show me, huh?” he said. He placed a kiss, a soft, gentle press of his lips, directly on your asshole, and your pussy quivered. You were close—he could tell. It didn’t deter him.

“Walter,” you whined as he opened his mouth, licked at your hole. You could feel how much spit he’d spread over you, the wet feeling of his mouth as he prodded your rim gently with the tip of his tongue, not quite trying to ease it inside just yet, but trying to relax you enough to. You pulled the wand away from your clit, wanting to stave it off, and resumed just rubbing it over your mound, feeling the buzzing but just a pinch more muted.

Keys sucked at your asshole, tongue lapping over you, before he ducked down again, his mouth back on your pussy. You gasped, the sound punched out of your chest as he fucked you with his tongue. His hands were still on you, but as you arched your back, you turned your head as much as you could and saw him behind you, his hips pressed against his bed, still clothed, grinding his front against the mattress, giving himself some friction as he rolled himself down, not quite humping the bed but close. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, angling your wrist again, the Hitachi passing over your clit, and as soon as the vinyl head skimmed over your clit, swollen and ready, smearing across it—your body practically convulsed, your orgasm crashing into you, turning your head to hide your face in the bedspread beneath you, chest kicking as you feel your clit pulse, your pussy spasm, clench down on his tongue that was apparently still inside of you—you hadn’t even realized Keys was still in the damn room, such was the force at which the magic wand (aptly fucking named, holy shit) made you come.

Your wrist dipped, the toy falling away from you, but no it didn’t—because Keys’ hand was there, supporting your wrist, even as he licked at your asshole again.

“Walt…” you moaned, because your brain still felt a little fuzzy but your body was revving up again.

“You did so good. Such good work for me,” Keys said. “I almost believe you’ll earn it.”

“Please,” you said, but he let go of your wrist, let you move the toy off of your clit and down, down further, now letting the bulb press against your slit as he trailed his tongue around your asshole, teasing your rim.

The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by the comforter beneath you as you hid your face again. The head of the toy was nestled between your folds, feeling like it was making your entire lower half shake with the intensity of the vibrations. And maybe you were—you couldn’t be certain. Your thighs were trembling at least, of that you were sure, and as you twisted your wrist, pressing the wand tighter up against your cunt, Keys’ tongue just barely slipped inside of your asshole, and you groaned at the intrusion, the half-sob you loosed making your hand tighten around the vibrator, your other hand curl into a fist around nothing just clenching up.

Until you felt fingers coaxing you to relax yours, and Keys’ hand slid into yours, letting you hold onto him as you felt your pussy tightening up again, squeezing down on nothing but itself, your wetness drooling out of your cunt as Keys fed his tongue into your ass, stretching you around the pliant muscle as it flitted in and out of you, teasing and eager.

“K-Keys,” you said, losing your composure, forgetting his real name just for a moment, forgetting your own goddamn name. Who were you? You didn’t fucking know—all you knew was the singularity between your thighs, your entire being forced down into one tight, explosive mote of being.

“What’s my name?” he asked you, pulling away, spitting on his thumb and letting it rub over your hole. “Try again.”

“Ke—Walter,” you managed, your heart thrumming in your chest. You felt his lips return to your lower back, wet but gentle.

“Very good,” he praised you, and you whined, flexing your hips back against the toy as you held it against yourself, so close now, but needing just a little more. You wanted to wait until his mouth was back on you before giving it to yourself; and like he anticipated what you hoped for, he ducked down to lap at your asshole again, tongue dipping inside you every few passes. Once he was back on you, his mouth servicing you, his hands on your ass, holding you open for him, you slid the wand further forward, focusing on your clit, and just like the first time, your orgasm was there almost instantly, your body kicking forward enough that you detached yourself from Keys’ mouth, hips bucking forward away from him. You half-screamed as your orgasm tore through you, grinding your pussy down against the toy as you came, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you felt one roll down your face and settle into the hollow beside your nose.

“Fuck, fuck, Walt—Walt, I’m so—”

“You’re so close,” Keys said, reaching down beneath you, taking your wrist again, his arm reaching down and around you. He leaned fully over you, his front against yours, and let you feel his weight atop you, his mouth littering kisses at the back of your ear, the sensitive spot there, before he continued. “Do you know that?” He rolled his hips against you, his erection much more noticeable now, the thick press of his cock commanding all of your attention, if not for the vibrator still down between your legs, numbing your thigh as it buzzed away at the innocuous plane of skin.

“To—what?” you asked, because thinking wasn’t your strong suit at the moment.

“To proving you earned it,” Keys said. “I think… one more oughtta do it.” He tucked his face in between your neck and shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie almost in the way, but not quite. His voice was quiet as he checked in on you, pulling your wrist down so the vibrator kept on working, but touched nothing, letting you almost clear your head. “Tilted?”

“No,” you said, turning to try and look at him. “Please I—want you to—not stop.”

His eyes met yours, icy. “And you think I should listen to you?” he asked. “You like being treated like this. Not sure I should trust your judgement.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “One more and I—I earned it. You said.”

Keys chuckled, and even with the darkness, you heard his real, genuine Keys amusement, the lightness that made you want to fly every time you joked and earned yourself a laugh. “I did, you’re right.” He leaned further into you, his cock against your ass through the denim, and kissed the corner of your mouth, pulling away even as you tried for more. “You’re so close,” he said again. “Let’s fucking go.”

It would have made you laugh in any other circumstances, because god, how often did the two of you say that when you were gaming and something good happened? Well now you were fucking and something good was about to happen, so—warranted.

He didn’t move off of you, letting his body rest on yours as he tightened his grip on your wrist, not just holding it anymore but taking control, guiding the head of the wand against your clit, and even when your hips kicked, flexed, overstimulation driving you into madness, he held it there, feeling your body writhe below his, your legs try to move, flatten, stretch, wanting your body laid out instead of bent at the waist, wanting room to feel as much pleasure as you could rather than confined to a smaller space.

“Almost,” Keys said, his voice low, making you close your eyes to take it in, the deep, richness of it sweet and heavy, covering over you like honey. “Almost, right?”

“Almost,” you echoed him, reveling in his body draped over yours, the way he kissed your jaw and rubbed your wrist with his thumb, soothing you as the vibrator worked at you, your body half-spent but only just getting started.

Keys moved the toy back and forth over you, gently, easily, but even so, after barely another few moments, you broke beneath him, a stuttered groan leaving you as you came, spreading your knees, the two of you sinking low until you were flat on the bed, the Hitachi still rumbling away beneath you, your pussy spasming on top of it as you rode out your orgasm with Keys still on top of you, his breath hot on your neck as he—oh, fuck, fuck—started grinding down against you, humping your ass just the same as he’d been doing to his bed itself earlier.

“Walter—” you whimpered, and he slid an arm beneath you, feeling along the shaft of the toy to turn it off, the two of you feeling the lack of the vibration like it was still there, your cunt tingling, his hips still working into you, but slowing.

“So, so good, you were,” Keys whispered to you, the arm beneath you hugging you from below, squeezing you tight against him even though he was already fully on top of you. “Thank you.”

“Fuck—” you moaned, the gratitude making your pussy clamp up again, and you felt a little rush of your fluids trickle out of your slit.

“You like that, huh?” Keys asked, halfway between normal and derisive. He moved his free hand to stroke back over your hair, feeling the slight beading of sweat at your hairline. “When I thank you for being so good?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, agreeing even though you had no explanation as for why.

“Yeah,” Keys repeated, pushing himself up and off of you, but letting his front linger against your ass as long as he could, before he had to roll back onto his knees and climb off of you. “You want even more? Or would that be too good to you?”

“No, it’s—”

“It’s what?” Keys asked, cutting you off as he moved off of the bed to stand beside it, looking down at your prone form, still in his hoodie, the hem just above your ass, the hood all bunched up at the nape of your neck. “Not too good?” He leaned down, his face right beside yours. “I think maybe it’s about time you start thanking me, don’t you? Show me how grateful you are for how… generous I’m being.”

You stared up at him, fucked out and dumbstruck.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Keys undid his button and fly, pushing down his jeans and boxers, letting his cock spring out once it was clear of his waistband. Even in the dark of the room you could see the flushed head, the way the tip was a little darker than the rest of him, and he wrapped a hand around himself, right at the base. “Well?”

“I earned it?” you asked, and for a moment, affection—nay, adoration—flashed over his face. Then it was gone.

“You did. So what do you say.”

“Thank you,” you said, and before you could even close your lips after speaking, Keys had one knee on the bed, holding his cock down, angled toward your mouth, and you shifted closer as best you could while your limbs still felt like jelly, unable to really support yourself for now.

Smirking down at you, Keys waited for you to part your lips, your cheek still flat on the bedspread, and let the tip of his cock rest shallowly in your open mouth. You loosened your jaw, propping yourself up a little on your elbow, and he slid his knee forward, his cock entering your mouth, stretching your lips around him as you exhaled out your nose and let your eyes slip closed.

He didn’t fuck your face. He didn’t try to spur you to action. He didn’t really even move until you did, trying to keep his cock between your lips as you first balanced on your elbows, and then shifted onto your knees, curled up before him, your head still kind of sideways, the two of you managing to move together and finagle yourselves into a position where you could let his cock rest in your mouth, saliva mixing with the precome he’d been leaking, both dripping down your throat so you barely tasted him, just taste what was already coating him on the underside from where his slit had leaked while pleasuring you.

You tried to keep your eyes on his, still wet and shiny with the unshed tears from the force of your orgasm, and as you started to feel less wobbly, you reached for his hips, coming to hold them as you faced him properly, bobbing your head on his cock a little, his length sliding out from your lips almost the whole way before you moved right back on, burying your nose into the short, curled hair at the base of his cock, your chin nudging his balls as you let the head slip into your throat.

“Shit,” Keys swore, and covered one of your hands with his, the other moving to cup your face. It was a crack in his facade, and as you started to pull off, you saw the mask slip back onto him, the half-scowl on his lips as you let his cock fall, dripping spit, from your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, soft but clear, and it was a reminder to him, what you were doing, what you wanted. His mouth hardened into a thin line again, even as he rubbed his hand over yours on his hip, and lifted his free hand from your cheek to take his cock in hand again. He tapped the tip onto your lower lip, and you opened your mouth, taking him in again, and this time he did fuck into your mouth. Not hard, not harsh, but enough that you gagged a little at the quick motion, how fast he filled you, and you swallowed around the head as he leaned his thigh against the edge of the mattress, his other knee still bent and digging a point into the bedspread. 

One of your hands, the one not covered by Keys’ own, slid down to his thigh, bracing yourself as you sucked him off, your jaw slack and your eyes fluttering, wanting to watch his cock move in and out of your mouth, but the blissed out feeling of him stretching you, brushing the back of your throat, almost choking you had you unable to keep them open. You felt his cock twitch against the back of your mouth, deep in you, and you swallowed around the head, your throat tightening up around him as he sighed above you.

“If this is too much,” Keys said, turning your hand in his so your fingers locked together, “squeeze twice.” He demonstrated on your hand, gripping you tight two times in quick succession. “Ok?”

You squeezed his hand once and hummed to communicate that you understood, and then he was bending over you, climbing onto the bed, both knees on it as he moved his hands to your shoulders and then—no warning other than him holding you still and pulling back—snapped his hips forward into your face, his cock rushing into your mouth, your throat, your gag reflex triggering, your throat spasming around him, but you took him in anyway. Your hand slid upward, palm-flat against him, to disappear beneath his shirt, feeling over his stomach, his chest, and then, barely as soon as you were able to relax around his length, as your throat closed around the head, you felt him really dig into you, his front grinding against you, your nose buried in his happy trail—a groan was punched out of his chest, a small, barely audible whimper following as he came, the first two shots of his come sliding right down your throat. But as he kept going, thick spurts of come shooting from the slit in the head, he pulled out, letting them land instead on your tongue, then against your palate as he left your lips, cock swinging down, ropes of his release landing on the front of his hoodie, his bedspread, his heavy length staining his bedspread with the last few dribbles of spunk as his orgasm receded, a bead of pearly come collecting at the head.

Keys slicked his hand over his cock, still slippery with your spit, smearing it over himself, before he looked into your eyes, breath coming a little harder than he’d anticipated, his orgasm washing over him much sooner than he’d expected.

And before he could say anything—praise you, degrade you, get out literally one goddamn word, you spoke instead.

“Thank you,” you said, voice soft and quiet, and Key’s cock twitched, right in front of you, the dynamic doing wonders for both of you, so unexpected but still welcome.

“Take—this off,” Keys said, tangling a shaky hand into the hoodie, trying to tug it over your head.

“I got it—” you mumbled, and he stumbled backward off the bed, tearing his clothes off, his shirt landing somewhere near the door and his jeans and boxers ending up in a tangled pile as you shrugged off the come-stained hoodie, undoing your bra and dropping them both beside you on the bed. That was really as far as you could get them, because as soon as you were both naked, Keys was on top of you again, this time turning you over so you were facing him, letting his mouth meet yours in a fervid kiss, heated and desperate, both on your part and his.

For the moment, the attitude was forgotten, the desire for him to be mean to you, the praise and the degradation—everything was at the back of your mind besides your boyfriend, kissing you, tasting himself on you—and your hands, touching him everywhere; his hands, on your waist and your back and holding you closer, pulling you to him, until he rolled you onto your back, following, settling atop you and kissing your upper lip, drawing your tongue into his mouth, moving his against yours and then your legs were on either side of him and he was stretching up and to the side, yanking open his nightstand drawer, fumbling for a condom in the box, his cock hard against your stomach, smearing your saliva and his residual come over your front.

Your lips didn’t leave his, even as he just grabbed the stupid box and threw it down onto the bed above your head. A little giggle escaped you against Keys’ mouth, and he finally broke the kiss, looking down at you, a sheepish little smirk on his lips as he finally managed to pull a rubber from the box. He kissed you again before he pushed himself up, his long legs bent on either side of your hips. You let your hands stray to his thighs, rubbing over them as he opened the condom and then rolled it on, shuffling back a little so he could press the head of his cock to your slit, still slick with spit and your own come. He pushed in, your folds parting to take him, your body sucking him in just as much as he was moving into you on his own.

“So—so,” Keys said, gasping just a little as he tried to get the words out, bottoming out inside you as his front came to rest against yours, “do—you think you earned this?”

“I—” you tried, but your body superceded your mouth, your brain. You squeezed down on him, bringing a moan to the surface for both of you, your legs moving to wrap around him, trying to pull him down flush against you, and so he moved with you, lowering his front to yours, your bare skin heated on his, your chest arching up into him as he kissed your neck, finally moving his hips, fucking into you.

“Did you earn it?” Keys asked, and you whined, open-mouthed, needy, his mouth finding yours as he licked into it, tongue licking over yours before he spoke again. “Say it.”

“I—” you tried again, but his hips were slapping into yours, his cock was fucking you open, splitting you apart beneath him and so all you could do was take it, mouth open in a silent moan, back arching, neck craned, and then—he stopped.

“I told you to say it,” Keys said, and before you could do as he asked, before you could get your wits back about you, he kept going. “Beg me to give it to you like this, tell me how much you like it, tell me you want me mean. And I do all of it for you and you can’t even do one thing for me? Brat.”

You stared up at him, because—it seemed he finally found his groove, he found the space you wanted him to occupy, and you were just nodding along, still not speaking.

“Oh, you agree?” he asked. You, still, silently nodded. “Brat.” He fucked into you harshly, one final movement, stilling deep within you. “You better learn to use your words,” Keys said. “Say it.” He kissed you, harsh, just as wanting as you felt—which let you still feel tethered to the real Keys, the one who was soft and sweet and doing all of this for you, because you asked him to. “Say you earned this cock.”

Your moan was wanton, breathy, and he didn’t move, hips stalled on yours, and you swallowed thickly, lips smacking as you opened them. “I earned it.”

“Earned what?”

Another loud breath. “Your cock.”

“How?” Keys asked, one hand slipping down between your bodies, readying itself, but not touching you yet. His lips were against yours now, and when you spoke, you felt him shudder.

“By—being good?” you said, half a question, half a certainty.

“By being good,” he repeated. “Still a brat, though.”

“No,” you whined. 

“No what?” he asked. His eyes scanned your face. “Ti—” he started to ask, but you cut him off, because no—you weren’t tilted.

“‘M not a brat,” you said, trying to entice him to move again by lifting your hips against his. “Just—want you.”

Keys studied you for a moment, taking you in, examining you—making sure you were being truthful, making sure you were still good to continue. You tipped your chin up to his, kissing him, conveying everything unsaid in a different way with your mouth, and then he broke the kiss, just enough to answer you.

“Then what do you say?”

“Walter…” you mewled, because you weren’t about to th—

“Say it,” he said again, and it struck you that maybe you weren’t the only one wrapped up in it now. Maybe you weren’t the only one who wanted it, was affected by it. So you lifted your hips into Keys’, bullied your pussy even further onto his cock, taking him fully to the hilt, pulling him even closer by your thighs, and did as he’d asked.

“Thank you,” you nearly purred up at him, and you felt his front dip down against yours in interest, in desperation, chasing his orgasm the same way he wanted to give you yours—you could tell because his fingers moved down between your folds, slicking over your swollen, sensitive bead, and you bucked your cunt up onto his cock as he found it, because you were so worn out, so overly played with, that you were right there already, just from having him inside you, from a little bit of rubbing at your clit.

“Yeah?” Keys asked, sounding like he was willing to let go of his usual decorum, his usual collectedness, only for you, like this. “Yeah?” he prompted you, again.

“Yes,” you sighed. “Thank you, th-thank you, Walter, I—ahn, please—”

He’d started moving again, his knees buried in the bedspread as he fucked you, hard enough that he nudged you up the bed in increments, chasing you as he did, not wanting to let you away from him, not wanting to slip out of your hot, wet channel.

“So fucking hot,” he mumbled, “so beautiful, so—so good, aren’t—you?” 

His stammering words fluttered over you, and you nodded, your arms moving up to wrap around him as he kissed you again, his fingers rubbing your clit, full of intention, purpose, wanting to feel you finish around him, wet his cock and your thighs with your release, and you could tell he was about to go first because his rhythm stuttered, his hips ground into you a little more intensely, a little harsher.

“Walter,” you sighed against his lips, and he nearly collapsed on top of you, smothering your body with his, needing absolutely no space between you, wanting every inch of you touching every inch of him. You clung to him as he pistoned his hips against yours, his cock seeming to fill you more and more with each thrust, every instroke reaching the most tender places in you, the ridge of his length dragging over every spot you needed it to, and then he was gasping against your tongue and you were sighing on his cheek, his cock rigid and tense inside you, your thighs locked around his back as he filled the condom within you, and your walls rippled on him, milking his dick as you practically gushed around his cock, your whole body so fucking fulfilled you felt that you’d be satisfied for hours to come, if not days.

His bedroom was filled with heavy breathing, the soft smacking of lips as you kissed, and then he rolled onto his side next to you, his hand wandering over your side as he leaned his forehead to yours.

“Was it ok?” he asked. Regular Keys, back to normal.

“More than ok,” you replied, smiling, looking into his eyes, shining even in the darkness of his bedroom.

Then, at the same moment, you both spoke the words “Thank you”—you dissolved into giggles, and he just held you closer.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @cupofdjoplease

He couldn't be more than a year or two older than you.

Maybe not older at all.

He's got the kind of face rich boys seem to keep well into their thirties: hazel eyes that catch warmth in the low chandelier light, a strong nose and soft, full lips. Thick brown hair that refuses to stay in place, falling forward in a way that looks accidental even though you know it probably took a 300-dollar haircut to make it look that effortless.

He's dressed simply—pale blue Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and dark slacks—but everything about him is stupidly expensive if you know what you're looking for.   

The watch, the loafers. The clean, understated cologne and the heavy gold signet ring on his left hand.

Old money.

Of course.

Another trust-fund prince getting dragged in by his daddy to “learn the family business.”

You grab the bourbon ordered for seat four—two fingers of Woodford Reserve over fresh ice—and carry it across the room.

He glances up as you set the glass beside him.

Unfortunately...

He's somehow even better-looking up close.

His eyes are stupidly big, lashes stupidly long. There's a scattering of tiny moles across his left cheek, little imperfections that stop him from looking carved out of marble.

Rich boy's got a nice face.

Shame about everything else.

His eyes catch yours for a moment before he gives you a polite nod.

“Thanks, honey.”

Then his attention drops right back to his cards.

You blink.

Honey?

Who the fuck is this guy?

He's your age.

Maybe younger.

You've got seventy-year-old regulars who've been calling waitresses “sweetheart” and “doll” since before you were born, but somehow hearing it from someone who probably still remembers freshman orientation is infinitely more irritating.

You turn on your heel before he catches the expression crossing your face.

Trust-fund asshole.

Probably couldn't tell you what a gallon of milk costs if you put a gun to his head.

Fuck that guy.

· · ·

Well.

Turns out, trust-fund asshole is good at poker.

Disgustingly good.

He’s not loud about it either; that’s what the older men hate most.

For almost an hour, he folds hand after hand, absently spinning that signet ring around his finger while everyone else slowly convinces themselves that he's way out of his depth.

So it's almost funny, when this twenty-something-year-old cleans out someone who's been playing cards since before he was born.

You have to bite back a laugh when one of the regulars slams his cards down hard enough to rattle everyone's glasses.

Serves him right.

By the time you make another round, half the table is bleeding chips.

Everyone's in a foul mood.

Everyone except for seat four.

You set another Woodford beside him.

“Thanks, honey.”

He smiles, this time.

The corners of his hazel eyes pinch with it, little creases fanning outward. It gives him an almost boyish look, rounding out his cheeks, smoothing away the sharp lines of his face until there’s something disarmingly gentle about him.

Huh.

Then he goes right back to looking at his cards.

Asshole.

· · ·

The game finally breaks sometime after midnight.

You're clearing glasses when you notice a thick wad of cash tucked under silver-spoon dickhead's—seat four's—empty tumbler.

You assume it's meant for the cashier... until you pick it up.

It's all hundreds.

A lot of hundreds.

You count it once. Then again. Then a third time because surely, surely, there’s no way.

Your head snaps up toward the entrance and find him standing by the coat room, shrugging into a camel-colored cashmere overcoat that could probably cover your student loans three times over.    

You hurry after him before common sense can stop you.

“Hey! Um, excuse me!”

He turns.

“I think, uh...” You hold up the money. “I think you made a mistake.”

His eyes drift over your face, then flick down to the wad of cash pinched between your fingers—fifty crisp hundred-dollar bills.   

He blinks at you, those ridiculous lashes fanning against his cheeks, his brows drawing together like he honestly can't figure out why you’ve chased him down.  

A tiny little crease appears between his brows, which would almost be cute if he wasn't so disgustingly wealthy.

“Did I?”

“...Yeah.”

He studies the cash for another second before understanding dawns on his face.

“Oh.” He gives a small shrug. “No.”

“No?”

“That wasn’t a mistake. It was for you.”

You laugh, because that's insane.

To someone who just walked away with well over a hundred thousand dollars, five grand probably feels like buying coffee.

To you, it's rent. It's gas, tuition, groceries, bills. An entire semester where you wouldn't have to hold you breath every time you swiped your debit card.

“I... I can't take this.”

His brows pull together again. “Why not?”

You stare at him.

“Because it's... five thousand dollars? That's—” You huff another disbelieving laugh. “I mean, that's just... way too much for a tip.”

He glances back toward the card room, then back at you.

Smiles, just a little.

“Didn't seem like too much from where I was sitting.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

And before you can think of another reason to refuse a tip worth more than your savings account, he's already shrugging the rest of his coat on, straightening the lapel with an absent swipe of his thumb.

He turns toward the door, making it only three steps before he pauses.

One hand settled on the brass handle, he glances back over his shoulder.

“You're here Thursdays, right?”

It takes you a second to answer.

“...Yeah?”

His smile comes back.

“Great.”

He tucks his hands into his coat pockets, gives you a little nod, and heads for the door.

“I'll see you next week, honey.”

And then he's gone.

· · ·

He comes back the next Thursday.

And the Thursday after that.

By week five, you've learned his name.

By week six, you've stopped rolling your eyes every time he calls you honey.

By week seven, he starts lingering after the games instead of disappearing the second the last hand is dealt.

One night, you're hauling a crate of empty glasses toward the bar when, without warning, the weight disappears.

You glance up to see a pair of hazel eyes blinking down at you—a warm, boyish smile on those plush lips, almost sheepish, like he's not sure if you're going to let him help or tell him to get lost.  

You raise a brow. “Uh, I'm pretty sure that's not your job.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees easily.

“Then why are you doing it?”

He shrugs like the answer couldn't possibly be complicated.

“Gets me an extra five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“With you.”

He says it so casually that it takes a second for the words to actually land.

And when your face flares with heat, you’re grateful he’s too busy balancing the crate to notice.

· · ·

After that, Thursdays become a little easier.

The job is still the job—the endless dance of dodging wandering hands, stepping away from men who mistake a smile for an invitation and politely slipping your wrist free from people old enough to know better.

But Steve Harrington becomes your bright spot.

He never touches you unless you’re handing him a glass.

He’s the only man in the room who doesn’t let his eyes linger on your ass or snap his fingers to get your attention.  

He always arrives ten minutes early.

Always orders the same Woodford Reserve. Always says thank you.

Always calls you honey.

You learn little things about him.

That he tips everyone far more than necessary.

That he folds cocktail napkins into perfect little squares whenever he’s lost in thought.

That his thumb always finds the gold signet ring on his finger when he’s making a decision.

That he taps it twice against the felt whenever he’s nervous about a bluff.

(You never tell him you figured that one out.)

You learn that Steve doesn’t talk much about his work or his family.  

Instead, he asks about you.

Your classes, your major. The exam you mentioned weeks ago that he somehow remembers without you ever bringing it up again.

You tell yourself he’s probably just like that with everyone.

That Steve Harrington is simply the kind of person who makes people feel noticed.

Special.

You never quite believe it.

· · ·

One Thursday, the game wraps up just before midnight after two of the regulars call it early.

The older men filter out puffing expensive cigars, grumbling about bad beats and rematches.

You're halfway through counting your tips when Steve appears beside the bar.

Hands tucked into the pockets of a navy wool coat, rocking back on his heels.

He waits until you look up.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

And Steve Harrington—poker prodigy, heir to whatever impossible amount of money his family had sitting around—suddenly looks unsure of himself.

Which is new.

And, admittedly, a little adorable.

You set your money down.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He answers too quickly, then clears his throat. “Yeah. I just—can I ask you something?”

You eye him suspiciously.

“With you? Depends.”

A small smile pulls at his mouth.

“Fair.”

He pulls his hand from his coat pocket, resting it on the bar between you. His thumb brushes over the gold signet ring on his finger, twisting it slowly.

“Well, I was just wondering, if you're done for the night...”    

Tap. Tap.

Two soft taps against the bar top.

You bite back a smile.

“Would you let me take you to dinner?”

You blink.

“...Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“It's midnight.”

“Late dinner, then?”

His expression is so serious that you have to bite back another laugh.

Steve watches you, a faint smile tugging at his own mouth.

“What?”

You shake your head, reaching for your jacket.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

You look back at him, pursing your lips.

“You’re just... so different from what I thought you’d be.”

He tilts his head slightly, a flicker of amusement creasing his expression. He’s not offended in the slightest—if anything, he looks intrigued.

Steve Harrington has never been someone who seemed bothered by other people’s opinions of him.

“In a good way or a bad way?”

You consider him for a moment, taking in the guy you were so sure you had figured out from the second he walked through the door.

This boy you’d dismissed as just another entitled douchebag, who turned out to be so downright strange—awkward where you expected arrogance, thoughtful where you expected indifference.

You can't help but smile.

“Ask me again after dinner.”