gina

His lips are stained with just a little residual red, and you suck the popsicle back into your mouth, smirking at him.

Since then, he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off you, and you thought it was bad when you’d first stripped off your tank top to reveal the bikini top you were wearing underneath it. You were past the point of worrying about how you looked in a bathing suit in front of your family and extended family—your friends didn’t care, your husband didn’t care, and it was too damn hot for you to care either. You’d worn a pair of jean shorts anyway, which stuck to your legs like glue, so at least they wouldn’t ride up and show everyone that you hadn’t in fact, worn the matching bikini bottom.

You’d spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the twins, the two of them squealing and laughing as Roy found the old water guns from Gator’s youth in the shed, you letting them team up against you to spray you with ice cold water from the hose, ending up soaking wet in the scorching sun, dripping with sweat and water as you urged them to calm down so they could sit quietly and eat, which didn’t help. They had the giggles for the rest of the afternoon, and insisted that you run around with them some more, chasing the bubbles they blew until they were out of reach or popped, following a grasshopper as it fled from your thunderous footsteps, until they lost sight of it and you returned to the family gathering.

“You’re too good with them,” one of your friends said as you slumped down beside her, leaning your sweaty, sunkissed self against Gator’s arm while they ran inside for a bathroom break and you got five minutes of silence amongst adults.

“They’re just kids,” you replied. “They need to have fun. Right, Gates?” You nudged Gator, and immediately regretted it.

“I mean, I ain’t complainin’,” he said, his arm slithering over your skin, a little damp with sweat, to cup one of your tits through the bikini top. “Got these things all wet ‘n slippery, gettin’ me all hot ‘n bothered just thinkin’ about ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you said, elbowing him in the stomach and standing up; even as you did, his hand slid down over your side to your hip, then your thigh as you started to stalk away from him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yer irresistible,” he countered, sipping from his bottle of lukewarm beer, the sweat on the outside of the bottle pruning his fingers.

You flipped him off as you rejoined the girls, who grabbed one hand each and tugged you around behind them, making you try and lift them as they skipped on either side of you.

By the time you pulled yourself up into the cab of Gator’s truck hours later, the sun was starting to think about getting lower in the sky, but was still hanging up there, hazy and hot, the shimmering heat visible all along the road on the drive home.

“Fun day?” Gator asked, and you looked over, your tank top balled up in your hand, the other adjusting the air conditioning vents on your side of the truck.

“I could use about six naps,” you said, laughing. “Looking forward to the fireworks tonight. And a shower.”

Gator hummed, noncommittal. “Gonna be a fun evenin’.”

“I’m just glad to be sitting down,” you moaned, stretching your legs out a little. "I’m going to take a shower when we get home and then lie down until it’s time to go.”

Which is exactly what you did when you got home—though you only got as far as entering the bathroom. You’d untied your bathing suit top and unbuttoned your shorts, pushing them down a little over your hips, grimacing at how the denim stuck to your legs, still sweaty, practically glued to your skin, when the bathroom door opened behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to see Gator, also shirtless, making his way in; you figured he had to take a piss, so you just continued undressing yourself, the scent of sun and sugar and sweat still clinging to you—to you both. You didn’t think much of it when Gator’s hand found its way to your lower back, until his hand slid to the side, gripping your waist, and he moved himself right up against your ass, still half-trapped in your jeans.

Glancing up to meet his eyes in the mirror, you took in his lascivious expression and immediately shook your head, even as he traced both hands now over your sides and up your warm skin, cupping your tits. You gasped as he pinched at your nipples.

“Gator—! I’m all sweaty.”

“Little sweat never hurt no one, sugar,” he said, licking a stripe up the nape of your neck, his front to your back. He boxed you in, pressing your hips against the vanity sink, and ground his hips against yours. Even through your denim shorts and the khakis he was wearing, you could feel how hard he was already. “Go on, tell me y’ain’t been wantin' this all day.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Yes, he’d been staring at you all day, and yes, you’d loved the feeling of his eyes on you, but you hadn’t really had a chance to consider it since you were basically on babysitting duty for Jessica and Maude. So, now that he was asking, well…

“Yeah,” you said, and he nosed at the wet hair at the back of your head, his tongue flicking out against your nape again, skin salty and hot. “But I’m—”

“Don’t give a fuck if yer sweaty, sugar, what part’a that ain’t ya gettin’?” Gator moved his hands down your chest again, and you could feel the little sheen of sweat collecting under your breasts, his hands sliding through it as he moved his palms flat down your stomach to press to the front of your hips.

“Let me shower first, and then we’ll—”

“We’ll just hafta shower again after,” Gator interrupted you. He took half a step back and spun you around, your eyes half-lidded with desire; he gave you credit for trying to be the voice of reason even when you were jonesing just as bad as he was. “So, whaddaya say? Y’giving me the green light?” His hands pressed against the outside of your hips, his first two fingers on your bare skin, the other two playing with the beltloops of your shorts.

“Yes,” you sighed, and even though the shorts took some finagling to work down your thighs, he pushed them off of you, helped you hoist yourself up half onto the sink, and then dropped to his knees on the tile floor of the bathroom, head perfectly between your legs.

“Holy god,” Gator said, his hands skimming up your thighs to push you as far open as he could, exposing your cunt to him, hair and skin both damp from the heat and arousal. “Don’t think I ever wanted ya this bad.”

“Fuck,” you said, one hand scrabbling against the edge of the sink to brace yourself, the other reaching forward to thread through Gator’s hair, soaked a little with sweat of his own, the strands thick between your fingers. His tongue flitted out against the expanse of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he said, breathing in the heady, musky scent of your pussy after a day of running around, of basking in the sun, of soaking up the heat. “Mm, a’right... got a little extra tang down here f’r me, huh? Like it. Love it,” he said, words muffled as he pressed his face back between your thighs, still slick with sweat, and you shivered half with self-consciousness, half with the thrill, as he inhaled deeply.

“Gator,” you said, coaxing him closer to the seam of your lips by his hair, and once his nose brushed against your mound, he opened his mouth and licked straight up, from your wet little hole to your clit.

He didn’t even pull away to make another smartass comment, didn’t have any words at all as he flicked his eyes up at you, making eye contact before just closing them and continuing what he’d started, just a little to the side.

He licked long, wide stripe up one side of your labia, collecting your arousal and the remnants of sweat that had collected there, tasting you at your most raw, most primal, almost animalistic in how he sucked at you, the obscene sounds of his tongue on you as he changed sides, the wet press of his mouth as he even delved into the fold of skin between your thigh and your mound, tasting you everywhere he possibly could.

Lapping at your entire cunt laid out before him, spread open, wide and all his for the taking, he laved over your whole pussy—lips, clit, your folds, your slit—until you were wet with his saliva and not much else, his tongue practically polishing your snatch until he pulled away and then, finally, pressed his mouth open against you. His hands pushed your thighs to the limit, spreading you open for him as you teetered on the edge of the sink, your folds slick and dripping once he spread you apart for his eager mouth.

Gator shifted his hold on your legs, curling his arms around your thighs to hold you above him as he mouthed at your folds, sucked your clit, licked and lapped and fucked you with his tongue, and the whole time, you heard him moaning too, groaning low in his chest as he ate you out like it was the last thing he’d ever do and he wanted to make sure he’d done it right, leaving behind no regrets.

Gator was so enthralled that his enthusiasm, his vigor, brought you to the edge before you even knew it was upon you, and you came, your legs spasming, pussy clenching up a little, a solid moan punched out of your throat as you lost your balance and slid off the sink right onto Gator’s face. His arms around your thighs held you up until you were able to slap your hands down on the sink again, keeping yourself stable as Gator kept his mouth on you, kept working the tip of his tongue from your clit to your hole, pulling away only once you were able to stand on your own.

“Fuck,” you breathed as he stood up, and the hair sitting hot and thick on his chest, soaked with drips of your arousal and his own sweat, tickled you as he leaned in to lick into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as he fucked you with his tongue. It was so strong, so rich, you tasted yourself, just...turned up a little more, and you groaned at how spending a few hours in the sun made things that much more tantalizing.

“Can’t get enough’a ya,” Gator said, lifting your hand from the sink and kissing each fingertip, your palm, down your forearm to your elbow and further, going so far as to press his mouth to the front of your shoulder, inhaling again.

“I’m sweaty,” you said again, self-consciousness clouding even your lust-hazy mind, and Gator pressed a short kiss to the fold of skin beneath your arm before he leaned up to kiss you—no. He was just speaking with his lips on yours.

“‘Nd I done told ya, I like it,” he said. “But I know yer tired ‘nd you wanna lie down, so. How about a quick shower before we take a nice lil’ nap?”

You lifted your arms, wrapped them around him, and tipped your chin up for a real kiss. “Perfect.” He kissed you one more time for good measure, then stepped away and turned the shower faucets on, letting the water run while he undressed himself fully as well. You could see the tan lines on his skin, the back of his neck a little red where the sun had been beating down on him, the same pink that his cheeks turned from a little exertion and the same pretty, rosy pink of the tip of his cock before he got too close to an orgasm and it flushed an even deeper color, reddening at the tip.

“Madame,” he joked, putting on a shitty French accent, holding out a hand for you to help guide you into the tub.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, but took his hand anyway and stepped into the bath. The water was cool, just enough warmth so it wouldn’t give you the shivers. 

To Gator’s credit, he fully let you bathe, washing your hair and he even helping scrub your back, kissing your shoulders as he did, and once you started to lather up your lower half, he spun you and grabbed your wrists.

“Let me,” he said, and you obeyed because you knew you’d get to clean up for real in just a little while.

He pushed you against the wall, the coolness of the tiles actually feeling wonderful on your heated skin, and as he curled two fingers into your pussy, you circled your arms around his neck and pulled his face to yours for a kiss. He obliged, letting you suck his lower lip and tongue as he circled your clit with his thumb, and just as you felt your cunt clench down in interest on his fingers, you were shaking your head.

“Wait,” you said. “No, I—want your cock.”

“All ya had ta do was ask, sugar,” Gator said, and kissed you again even as he put his hands to work. With one, he reached down to curl around your thigh, propping it up on his hip to give himself room to fuck into you—and with the other, he angled the head of his prick against you, slotting the tip into your pussy but—not moving further.

“Gator,” you whined, trying to sound threatening but probably not managing it.

“What?” he asked, like he didn’t know why you were upset. He jerked himself off against your pussy, the tip just barely breaching you, spreading you open but not actually moving in further than a centimeter or two—barely even enough to be considered inside of you, really. He just… kept his hand moving, jerking his cock off, his fingers nudging your pussy lips on each upstroke, until you were flexing your hips, pushing against him, trying to move onto him yourself.

“Fuck me,” you said, annoyed and desperate.

“What’s that?” Gator asked, like he couldn’t hear you over the rushing shower water despite being inches from your face.

“I said fuck me,” you said, keeping your voice low because he was egging you on on purpose and you refused to rise to it.

“Sorry, sugar, come again?”

“I’m trying to!” you yelled. “Fuck me! Fucking fuck me, Gator, oh my—god—!”

As your voice increased in volume, his impish grin had only grown wider and wider, until he shoved into you with one fluid motion, his cock pushing between your walls, spreading them open, impaling you on him until he was entirely seated in you, full of his heavy, fat, dick.

“That whatcha wanted?” Gator asked.

In lieu of answering, you nodded, whimpering, your forehead against his as you pouted, because now that you’d gotten your demand exactly, you were still at his mercy, even though you were rolling your hips and trying to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“That’s my good girl,” Gator said, and he lifted his chin up to kiss you, soft and sweet, still tasting like beer and cherry popsicles and your own pussy, your own musk; the kiss lasted longer than you could have hoped for, before he was pulling back out and then moving right back in, starting to fuck you at a slow, steady pace, the one you loved, where it felt like he was moving further into you with every single thrust, where it felt like you actually could never pull apart from each other after he drilled his cock into you to stay.

You kissed him languorously, reveling in the feel of it, the feel of him, lips on your lips and hands on your thighs and his cock in your cunt, stretching you out around his thick length.

“Play with them titties,” he muttered to you, because as much as you liked it—he liked watching you do it. "Go on."

You felt your cheeks warm again, like the sun had been beating down on you from in your own bathroom, but you slid your hands down his arms to your own body, fingertips trailing up your sides and front until you reached your breasts, toying with your nipples, rubbing and rolling them, pulling them to peaks as Gator watched, his lips parted a little, until he ducked down to try and take one into his mouth. The angle didn’t quite work, but it didn’t stop him—you just cupped your tit and lifted it to his mouth, and as he sucked you tipped your head back into the corner of the shower, sighing wistfully as Gator canted his hips against yours, sucked at your nipple, and then—oh—started rubbing your clit with his thumb again, too.

You would sleep good as fuck after this, of that you were sure. Fuck the fireworks, you’d be happy to let your husband make you see stars for the Fourth of July instead.

Gator pulled you closer to him, his free hand wrapping around you, palm flat on your lower back as he worked you up higher onto his hips, your shoulders leaning against the wall as he supported your weight otherwise, fucking up into you, the angle affording you the opportunity to have the ridge of his cock grinding against your g-spot now, every single time he moved back into you, and with the pressure inside of you mixed with the pressure on your clit, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over it, with his mouth on your nipple, and with your other hand tugging at the other sensitive nub yourself—it didn’t surprise you at all when you felt yourself tensing up, ready to come, the rush between your legs building and building and then impossible to bear, unknowably strong and then you came—

Your cunt spasmed around Gator’s cock, the release in your lower body making you half-moan, half-scream in relief, and you had no knowledge of it until Gator was licking into your mouth again, mumbling words that you were still too fucked out to comprehend, his hips sliding against yours, his cock buried deep inside you as you felt him twitching uncontrollably as he came, filling you so amply that you could already feel it dripping right back out of you around his cock.

“—kin’ squirted,” he said. “Ya fuckin’ squirted, didja hear me? Fuckin’ Christ in Heaven, sugar, you fuckin’ came all over me.”

“What?” you asked, as Gator bullied you up against the wall of the shower, his arms wrapped around you, tight as anything as his cock started to soften inside you, spent, both of you panting a little.

He lowered one hand down between you again, fingertips rubbing over your clit, making you gush weakly around him again, aftershocks rattling you, legs jerking a little around his hips.

“This perfect lil’ puss squirted fer me,” he said, kissing you again. “Next time ya better not let it go t’waste in the shower again.”

Your brain finally clicked back to its On setting as he pulled out of you. “You’re so gross.”

“How many times I gotta tell ya I like it ‘fore it sinks in, huh?” He said, tapping on your temple with his clean hand, now that your feet were firmly back on the shower floor. “Now, lemme clean ya up f’real, yeah?”

A small smile curved your lips. “Yeah,” you replied, and let your husband help you wash up. You did the same for him, and when you both curled into the sheets for a late afternoon nap, it was accidentally on purpose that neither of you remembered to set an alarm for the fireworks show.

He’s so backed up that it’s borderline ridiculous. You’ve managed to make his tight shorts all sticky just from swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. He’s fully whipped for you, desperate for you to come around and make his life mean something more than waffle cones and butterscotch.

He’s never felt so low, and he’s never felt so good.

You give him anything he wants. It feels good to be so wanted and so helpful. And sometimes, you can’t stop yourself from planting ideas into his pretty little brain.

You’re jerking him off from the back. Pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along his freckled neck while he desperately tries to stop himself from fucking into your fist.

“Shouldn’t waste it,” you whisper, rolling your fist, making him moan. “Wanna paint my face?”

Upon the last syllable, he’s coming. Muscles flexing, his stomach trembling, ropes of cum landing on the break room table while his toes curl in his tennis shoes.

You pout over his shoulder while his chest heaves, his cock slowly softening in your palm, his big hands gripping onto your forearms.

“Should’ve made a mess on me instead.”

Another pathetic little shot of cum makes his legs weak. You smile and bite his earlobe, tasting the salt of his sweat.

“Does that sound like a good idea, Steve?”

He grits his teeth. It does, but he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like a disrespectful asshole.

His cock speaks for him, though. Managing to stiffen again, his balls twitching, ready for more. Ready for the sight of his come on your face. Like he really fucking owns you. Like he’s on top and in control for the first time in a year.

“Pretty please?” you plead softly, the corners of your lips tilting up. “Ruin me, sailor.”

In a blur, you’re on your knees, and he’s towering over you. One of his hands wraps around his shaft, and his biceps flex as he begins stroking himself off. His shorts rest right below his aching balls, and he feels so goddamn dumb. But you’re still on your knees, and you’re looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

He almost misses his chance. Anxious about taking too long on his break, or someone walking in. He’s working with the new hire today, not Robin, and he doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. He just can’t seem to come — until you softly whisper, “please?”

Steve’s stomach tenses, and then he comes with a long, low groan, eyelids hooded and his bottom lip bit pink by his teeth. You smile, eyes closed, each rope of come painting your beautiful face.

“Holy shit,” Steve mumbles, his voice gravelly in his chest, his legs shaking as he finishes. It’s hard to keep his eyes open, but he must — the sight of you is too good to lose.

Your hands find his hips and you hold them, trying to help him stay upright.

“Do I look pretty?” you ask.

He notices you staring and emerges from the basin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” he huffs, chest still heaving.

“There’s new ones.”

“Hm? New what?”

“Freckles, Stevie.”

The nickname alone turns the tips of his ears pink.

You grin, slowly closing in on him until he’s cornered between your body and the cool marble countertop he insisted on installing himself last year, because trust me, baby, it’ll look classy.

Now, he’s very much trapped.

Pinned against it while you slide between his knees, fingers hooking into the sweat-damp collar of his tank top.

Steve stumbles forward, laughing breathless, both hands landing on your waist to steady himself.

“Baby,” he pants, “I’m so gross right now.”

You shush him softly, fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. His face is hot beneath your touch, flushed with exertion and sunlight.

When you tuck your fingers under his chin, tilting his head toward the late afternoon light spilling across the kitchen, he goes easy for you.

Four new freckles bloom along his jaw.

Tiny, perfect sunspots on golden skin.

“Baby...”

You kiss the first one before he can keep talking.

Just a small press of your lips at the edge of his jaw, his skin hot under your mouth—salt from sweat and the faint sweetness of coconut sunscreen, baked in from the July sun.

Sweat and sun and Steve.

You could drown in it.

The next kiss lands on the second freckle.

Then the third.

By the fourth, he’s laughing, helpless, shoulders shaking under your hands while his whole face turns steadily pinker.

“Okay, okay,” he huffs, ducking his head, grin wide and embarrassed. “Jesus.”

You smile against his jaw. “No, hold still. I’m inspecting.”

You love him like this.

Your confident, smooth-talking boy caught off-guard, flushed and vulnerable. Blushing so hard you can’t tell if it’s the sun baking him pink from hauling lumber all afternoon, or the way your lips won’t stop chasing his freckles, dragging across sweat-slicked skin.

Your nose drifts to the side of his neck, the first deep inhale rushing to your head.

Like the first burn of a shot on an empty stomach. The dizzying high of a drag held too long in your lungs.

Warm and earthy—that sharp tang of sweat and the musk of a body that's been working hard all day so you wouldn't have to lift a single finger—all mixed with that clean citrus of his shampoo in a way that’s entirely, uniquely Steve.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his tank top, pressing into the feverish heat of him. His muscles tense under your palm as your nails drag light, teasing patterns over the sensitive skin around his happy trail.

You feel the steady rise and fall of his ribs, the faint shiver that runs through him when your fingers inch toward the waistband of his jeans.

He tries to pull back.

“Baby, wait—” he laughs weakly, flushed everywhere now. “Let me shower first, I—”

“Nope.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I know.”

“Sweetheart.”

“You smell so good, Stevie.”

He makes this helpless sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan—a slow, burning smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. His forehead drops against your shoulder while you keep trailing kisses down the side of his neck.

You inhale again, deep, practically tasting him, and he shivers right through you.

“Wanna suck you off right here,” you murmur against his throat.

Steve chokes on air.

“Jesus—”

The soft thud of your knees on the tile cuts him off entirely.

His head snaps down toward his chest, one hand flying back against the counter, the other threading into your hair without thought.

“Hah—baby, you…” His laugh is weak, dazed already.

He genuinely doesn’t know what to do with you sometimes.

Whatever thought he had dissolving completely at the sight of you there, on your knees, lashes lowered, hands gliding slowly over his thighs.

His head tips back against the cabinet with a soft thunk, lashes pressing together for a moment as sweat beads at the corners.

You rest your chin against his stomach, watching as his eyes slowly flutter open.

And there’s always a moment—every time you love him like this—when he gets this look on his face.

Soft and open, clearly a little overwhelmed by how fiercely he's adored.

The freckles you find before he even notices.

The faint lines gathering at the corners of his eyes, earned from a lifetime spent laughing.

The way his old shirts fit a little snugger now, molding to his chest and stomach in ways that make your hands itch to explore.

Even the faint silver strand at his temple you discovered last month, one he tried to laugh off until you kissed it so softly he forgot how to make it a joke at all.

You love all of it. Every changing, ordinary, beautiful piece of him.

And what seems to undo him most is the wordless certainty that none of it ever makes you look away. That every freckle and every line is held, treasured.

It's the certainty that you'll still be here years from now, counting the freckles that shift and multiply, tracing smile lines as they deepen, pressing gentle kisses to every new silver strand, learning the changing map of his face the way someone memorizes the way home.

And Steve recognizes something in that.

Because it lives in him, too.

The same instinct to memorize you as time carries you both forward—to notice the smallest changes in your expression, the subtle shifts in your voice, the way your laugh sounds different depending on the day, the hour, or the light spilling through the window.

"Sorry."

The words leave your mouths at exactly the same moment.

For a second you both simply blink at one another before laughing, the sound filling the kitchen far more easily than it should.

"You go," you say, gesturing towards him.

"No, you."

"You literally started."

"I forgot what I was gonna say."

"You absolutely did not."

"I absolutely did."

His smile arrives easily enough, but it never quite reaches his eyes.

Because the truth is, he had forgotten.

One second he'd been about to ask whether you wanted another drink before you headed home, and the next your fingertips had brushed against his, warm for barely half a heartbeat, and every coherent thought he'd been holding onto had simply... evaporated. The sentence disappeared halfway to his mouth, replaced instead by the unsettling realisation that he could still feel the ghost of your touch long after you'd already reached for a different glass.

He hopes you don't notice.

Unfortunately, he has the growing suspicion you've become rather good at noticing him.

It has been like this for months. Maybe longer.

Steve isn't entirely sure when things changed, only that, somewhere along the way, they did.

He can't pinpoint a single moment where friendship quietly gave way to something infinitely more complicated. There wasn't some grand revelation or dramatic shift that divided before from after. Instead, it had happened so gradually that he'd only realised it in hindsight. Somewhere between late-night film marathons that somehow stretched until two in the morning, supermarket trips where neither of you could remember what you'd actually gone in for, helping you wrestle flat-pack furniture into submission while laughing until your sides hurt, and driving across town because your car had refused to start again, spending time with you had stopped feeling casual.

Now, everything seems to matter.

He notices things that no ordinary friend should notice. The way you always tuck your hair behind your ear whenever you're concentrating on something. The tiny crease that appears between your eyebrows whenever you're trying to remember a name or work something out. The fact that you always rinse mugs before putting them in the dishwasher, even when they're practically spotless already, because you'd once said it "felt more polite somehow." The way you absent-mindedly hum under your breath when you think nobody's listening. The way you smile differently depending on who you're talking to, and how the laugh you reserve for genuinely funny things sounds nothing like the polite one you give strangers.

He remembers all of it. Without trying. Without meaning to.

The details have simply stayed, collecting somewhere inside him until he knew your habits almost as well as his own.

Far more than somebody who is supposedly just your friend probably should.

Which, according to Robin, is exactly the problem.

Jesus Christ, Harrington. Just kiss her already.

The first time she'd said it, he'd laughed so hard he'd nearly dropped the box of videotapes they were shelving at Family Video. He'd rolled his eyes, called her dramatic, insisted she was reading far too much into things because, honestly, when had Robin Buckley ever not read too much into things?

She hadn't even looked remotely convinced.

Instead, she'd stared at him for a full five seconds in complete silence, as though genuinely debating whether he could possibly be this oblivious, before finally sighing and saying, "Steve, literally everyone knows except the two of you."

He'd dismissed it immediately.

Told himself Robin was imagining things. Told himself she just enjoyed meddling. Told himself that if there had really been something there, surely one of you would've done something about it by now.

Standing in his own kitchen now, watching you laugh quietly to yourself because you've somehow managed to balance three mugs in one hand while trying to nudge the dishwasher shut with your foot, he isn't laughing anymore.

If anything, Robin's words have become profoundly unhelpful.

Because now, every time he looks at you for longer than he probably should, he hears her voice all over again.

Just kiss her already.

He doesn't.

Instead, he stands there like an idiot, smiling without even realising he's doing it until you suddenly glance up.

Your eyes meet his immediately. "What?"

His stomach drops so fast it almost makes him dizzy. "What?"

"You were looking at me."

"I..." He blinks once, buying himself precisely half a second to come up with literally anything resembling a believable answer. "I was thinking."

You tilt your head slightly. "About?"

His brain, spectacularly unhelpfully, supplies the truthful answer first.

You. Always you.

Unfortunately, saying that out loud feels dangerously close to detonating the entire friendship, so instead he latches onto the first vaguely kitchen-related object he can think of.

"...Mugs."

One eyebrow lifts. "Mugs."

"They're..." He gestures vaguely towards the cupboard, already hearing how ridiculous he sounds. "Useful."

You stare at him for exactly one beat before dissolving into genuine laughter, the kind that makes you lean against the counter for balance while shaking your head in complete disbelief.

Steve closes his eyes briefly. Smooth. Real smooth.

When he opens them again, you're still laughing.

"I cannot believe," you manage between breaths, "that was the best you had."

"It wasn't."

"No?"

He shakes his head with a quiet, defeated laugh. "No."

"What was?"

The question hangs between you.

Steve opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

Because the truthful answer sits stubbornly behind his teeth, refusing to become anything except the thing he has spent months trying very hard not to say.

You.

It would be so easy. One word. One impossibly dangerous word.

Instead, he simply smiles that familiar, lopsided smile of his, shakes his head once, and reaches for another mug before you can see just how close he'd come to telling you everything.

By the time the last of the washing-up is done, the kitchen has fallen quiet again.

The dishwasher hums softly beneath the counter, filling the silence with a low, steady rhythm that somehow makes the room feel even stiller. The only light left on is the small lamp above the sink, its warm amber glow casting the rest of the kitchen into soft shadow, turning familiar cupboards and countertops into something gentler, more intimate than they had been an hour earlier when the room was full of laughter and overlapping conversations.

Without either of you consciously meaning to, you end up standing opposite one another on either side of the kitchen island.

Neither of you seems particularly interested in being the first to move.

The silence that settles between you isn't awkward. It never has been. If anything, it feels unusually comfortable, carrying the weight of everything that has gone unsaid over the past several months. It's full of lingering glances, interrupted conversations, excuses to spend another five minutes together before saying goodbye. Full of almosts.

Steve looks at you.

Then, almost immediately, looks away again, dragging a hand distractedly through his hair before letting it fall back to his side. He laughs quietly beneath his breath, the sound carrying more nerves than amusement, and for a moment he wonders whether he's completely lost his mind.

Because if he says this, there is no taking it back.

The friendship you've spent so long building suddenly feels impossibly fragile, balanced on the edge of a sentence he can't unsay once it leaves his mouth.

You don't rush him. You never do.

Instead, you simply wait, watching him with that same patient expression you've always worn whenever he's trying to untangle his thoughts. It's one of the things he's come to love most about you - that you never seem to mind his silences, never hurry him towards an answer before he's found it himself.

His heart is beating so hard he's half convinced you must be able to hear it.

Finally, he exhales.

"Come here before I do something stupid."

The words hang in the space between you.

Your smile appears almost immediately, slow enough that he watches it happen.

"What sort of stupid?"

Steve lets out another quiet laugh, shaking his head as though he's asking himself exactly the same question.

"I..." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly finding the floor remarkably interesting. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I don't know anymore."

You could save him.

You could laugh it off, make some joke about the state of his kitchen or ask whether this mysterious act of stupidity involves buying another terrible lamp from the flea market. You could pretend not to understand what he means, give him an easy escape route back to where you've both been standing for months.

Instead, you take one slow step towards him. Then another.

Neither of you speaks again as the distance gradually disappears, until you're standing close enough that he can make out the tiny flecks of colour scattered through your eyes and the faint rise and fall of your breathing. Close enough that reaching for you would be effortless.

Which, somehow, only makes it infinitely more terrifying.

Steve's hands hover uncertainly at his sides.

For one awful heartbeat, doubt crashes into him all at once.

Maybe Robin had been wrong.

Maybe he'd imagined every lingering glance, every excuse to keep you talking a little longer after everyone else had gone home, every moment that had felt too significant to be ordinary. Maybe he'd mistaken kindness for something it had never been.

Carefully - so carefully you almost don't notice the movement at all - his hands settle lightly against your waist. They're barely touching you, as though he's giving you every opportunity to step away if you've misunderstood him.

"Look at me."

His voice is little more than a whisper.

You already are.

But somehow he needs you to really look, because he's never felt more exposed than he does right now.

So you do. Properly.

Your eyes meet his without hesitation, and something in his expression shifts almost imperceptibly. The confidence people always seem to associate with Steve Harrington isn't there anymore. What's left is simply a man who's spent months trying very hard not to ruin the most important friendship in his life.

He swallows.

"If you don't want this..." His voice catches slightly before he forces himself to finish. "...tell me now."

The words settle quietly between you. Not because he expects you to say no. Because he needs you to know that you can.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Then your hand rises slowly, fingertips brushing lightly along his jaw before settling against his cheek.

You kiss him.

Gently, almost cautiously. Like you're both still trying to convince yourselves this isn't another one of those moments you've imagined a hundred different ways.

Steve doesn't hesitate for long.

The second he realises this is really happening, that you're not pulling away, that you're kissing him back just as carefully as he's kissing you, a quiet, shaky breath escapes him. His eyes flutter closed, one hand tightening almost imperceptibly against your waist as months - maybe years - of careful restraint quietly dissolve into the space between you.

There is no urgency to it. No desperation. Only relief.

When the kiss finally breaks, it's only because breathing has become something neither of you has remembered to do. You stay close enough that your foreheads almost touch, both of you smiling with the same slightly dazed expression.

"I can't believe we just did that," you whisper.

Steve laughs softly, still looking at you as though he's half afraid you'll disappear if he blinks.

"I've been wanting to do that for..." He shakes his head, smiling to himself. "Honestly? I don't even know anymore."

"You should've said something."

"I was trying very hard to be casual."

You can't help laughing. "You were failing spectacularly."

"I know."

"So was I."

His eyebrows lift. "Really?"

"You seriously didn't notice?"

"I noticed everything."

The confession slips out before he can stop it.

For a second, he looks almost horrified at his own honesty.

Then you smile in a way that tells him you understand exactly what he means.

Neither of you seems remotely embarrassed anymore.

If anything, it's the opposite.

The relief settles through both of you so completely that it almost makes you light-headed, like you've finally put down something impossibly heavy after carrying it for far longer than you realised.

This time, when you kiss him again, neither of you hesitates.

The distance that had once felt so impossible to cross no longer exists at all, and Steve smiles against your mouth before you can stop yourself smiling back.

When you finally part again, he lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, resting his forehead gently against yours.

"So..."

"So?"

"I still don't know if this counts as something stupid."

You smile, your hand still resting lightly against the side of his face.

"I think," you murmur, "it probably depends what happens next."

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, laughing softly in a way that sounds equal parts relieved and hopelessly, wonderfully overwhelmed.

"I was really hoping you'd say that."

He kisses you again, and this time there is no hesitation. No holding back. Steve has waited far too long to finally know what it feels like to kiss you, and now that he has, it's the last thing he wants to stop doing.

You kiss him back with just as much fervour, your mouths moving together with growing confidence as your breaths mingle between you, months of carefully maintained restraint dissolving into every shared sigh and quiet gasp. Every kiss seems to lead naturally into another, as though neither of you can quite believe this is finally allowed.

Eventually, he pulls away just enough to catch his breath, and you instinctively chase after his lips before catching yourself. A quiet laugh escapes you, and Steve's answering smile is so wide and so hopelessly besotted that your chest aches. You don't think you've ever seen him look quite this happy. His cheeks are flushed from kissing you, his lips pink and swollen, his eyes brighter than you've ever known them.

He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw, the pulse fluttering beneath your ear, each one lingering a fraction longer than the last until he reaches your neck. You gasp as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, and the low groan that rumbles against your skin tells you he's just as affected by your reaction as you are.

Without saying a word, he bends his knees slightly, his hands finding the backs of your thighs in a silent question. You understand immediately, hopping lightly onto the kitchen counter as he lifts you with effortless ease, and before you've properly settled, his mouth is back on yours.

There's so much affection wrapped up inside the kiss that your mind immediately tries to put a name to it. You stop yourself before it can. This is the first time either of you has admitted any of this aloud. You're not ready to start throwing the L-word around.

He steps between your knees, his hands sliding to your hips as he gently draws you closer until there's no space left between your bodies. Your heartbeat seems to echo against his chest, and you're quietly relieved to discover his pulse is racing just as wildly as yours. Even through layers of denim, it's impossible to ignore how much this is affecting both of you.

Your fingers disappear into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently, and the soft whimper that escapes him makes your stomach flip. Curious, you do it again, and this time he has to break the kiss altogether, dropping his forehead briefly against yours as a helpless groan slips free.

"You have any idea what you do to me?"

A smile tugs at your mouth.

"Hmm... I might have some idea."

You tighten your legs around his waist just enough to pull him fractionally closer, and the tiny shift earns matching gasps from both of you.

His lips drift back down your neck, pausing at your collarbone where your shirt meets bare skin, and his fingers at your waist slide carefully beneath the hem, hesitating.

"This okay?" he asks, trying to sound confident and failing miserably.

Rather than answering aloud, you lift your arms and pull the shirt over your head yourself, letting it fall carelessly onto the kitchen floor. You expect to feel exposed in front of him in nothing but your bra and shorts, but the way he's looking at you makes embarrassment feel almost impossible. There isn't an ounce of judgment in his expression. Only admiration.

Slowly, you reach behind yourself and unclasp your bra, letting it join your shirt on the floor.

Steve lets out a slow, disbelieving breath.

"Holy shit..."

His hands slide reverently up your waist, across your ribs, until they settle gently around your breasts.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, shaking his head almost to himself. "Been dreaming about these for so long."

"Touch me, Steve," you whisper, your legs tightening instinctively around him. "Please."

"I am touching you, honey," he murmurs with a quiet smile, brushing teasing fingertips across your nipples.

You shake your head impatiently.

"No... your mouth."

His eyes immediately find yours, widening almost comically before he ducks his head, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. A second later, his lips close gently around one nipple, alternating between sucking gently and teasing the sensitive peak with quick kitten licks, while his hand continues to caress the other side. One of your hands tangles back into his hair while the other steadies itself against his shoulder, and every quiet sound he draws from you only seems to encourage him further.

He lingers, leaving scattered kisses across your skin, and under any other circumstances you'd probably complain about the marks he's leaving high enough to peek over a neckline. Right now, you're far too overwhelmed to care.

When he finally swaps sides, his thumb replaces his mouth, tracing slow circles over the damp, sensitive peak he'd just abandoned.

The sight of him looking up at you from beneath his lashes, mouth against your skin, is almost enough to undo you completely. You want to commit the image to memory, certain you'll replay it in your head for years to come.

When he eventually stands again, an involuntary whine escapes you.

He chuckles quietly before silencing it with another kiss.

This time it's your turn to reach for his shirt, pulling it over his head in one impatient movement.

You've seen Steve shirtless countless times over the years. During that summer he worked at the public pool. On lazy afternoons spent around his garden with everyone else. It shouldn't feel unfamiliar.

But somehow it does.

Because this time, you're allowed to look.

Really look.

The chest hair that's grown in since high school. The softness across his stomach disguising the strength beneath it. The constellation of freckles and moles scattered across his chest and shoulders that suddenly feels impossibly intimate.

He catches you staring, because of course he does.

You brace yourself for some smug comment.

Instead, his hands cradle your face with impossible gentleness before he leans in to kiss you again. Soft, unhurried, almost impossibly affectionate. The tenderness of it catches you so off guard you think you could almost cry.

His hands slide slowly down your back, pulling you flush against him until you're finally skin against skin, and he kisses you like that, both of you smiling against each other's mouths.

Wordlessly, he kisses his way lower, lingering over every inch of skin he passes until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. His fingertips brush lightly along your thighs before pausing.

He looks back up at you.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," you breathe. "God, yes. Please."

He helps you lift your hips just enough to ease your shorts and underwear down together before setting them aside. You spread your legs wider, almost absentmindedly.

His eyes settle on you, and another quiet laugh escapes him.

"Jesus, sweetheart..." He exhales slowly. "Can see how wet you are for me. Can I taste you?"

You can barely manage words anymore, simply threading your fingers back into his hair and guiding him closer. He understands immediately.

The first slow sweep of his tongue makes your entire body jolt.

A sound escapes you that you've never heard yourself make before.

Taking it as encouragement, Steve smiles faintly against your skin before returning his attention to you with the kind of enthusiasm that borders on reverence. His hands are steady on your bare skin, grounding you while he learns every reaction, every tiny shift in your breathing.

Steve is eating you out like a man who's been deprived of his favourite meal for years, and honestly, that feels pretty accurate for the current situation.

He holds your thighs apart so he can explore you with his tongue properly, alternating between long, broad licks and sucking on your clit. You swear you've never felt pleasure like this before in your life, and already your toes are curling against the edge of the counter.

Eventually, one hand leaves your thigh, his fingers moving carefully as he watches your face far more than your body. He slowly pushes two fingers into you, and when he curls them just right to hit that spot, your head tips back automatically.

"There you go," he murmurs softly.

His praise comes as naturally as breathing, every quiet encouragement making your chest tighten just as much as everything else.

While his fingers plunge in and out of you, his lips latch onto your clit, sucking hard, and within seconds you're falling over the edge.

Your legs clamp around his head, and he groans out in pleasure, feeling you flutter around his fingers. You moan out loudly, and you're so glad Steve's parents have been away from Hawkins for the last month.

As your orgasm subsides, Steve pulls away from your clit, but his fingers continue moving in slow, steady strokes as he helps you ride it out. His eyes are locked to your face, searching for any signs of oversensitivity, and as soon as he sees it, he withdraws his fingers, instantly bringing them to his mouth to suck your release off of them.

The sight is downright filthy, and you almost whine loudly when he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, a smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

"That okay?" he asks, as though he genuinely needs to know.

You answer by pulling him back into another kiss, smiling helplessly against his mouth.

"More than okay."

Your hands grab onto the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer to you, before you start to fiddle with the buttons eagerly.

"Please, Steve. Please fuck me."

His hands instantly replace yours as he quickly unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear. He steps out of them, kicking them aside to join your discarded clothes, and when he looks back up to meet your eyes, he finds you nothing short of ogling at his dick.

Of course, you'd heard the rumours. Half of Hawkins seemed strangely invested in Steve Harrington's sex life, and after years of friendship, you'd caught more than enough teasing from Robin and Eddie to know exactly what people liked to say.

But seeing him in person is almost comically different.

He's huge, thick and long, with a head that you can already imagine pressing hard against your cervix.

You wrap one hand around him, smearing around the precum which is already dripping from the tip, and his hips buck up into your hand unconsciously as he groans.

"Fuck, baby. You ready for me?"

"Yes. God, yes. Please, Steve," you beg.

He takes a step closer to you, one hand gripping onto your thigh as the other presses the head of his dick against your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby. Look at me."

Your eyes find his, your hands cradling his jaw softly as you breathe deeply, and he starts to push inside.

The stretch is immediate. It feels like he's splitting you apart, and you grab onto his shoulders for purchase.

You let out a small whimper, and he pauses his movements immediately, buried to the hilt, searching your face for any signs of distress.

"You okay, honey?" he asks, worriedly. "You're doing so good, taking me so well, baby. You want me to stop?"

"No, no no please don't stop. Just give me a second," you pant, and he is more than happy to oblige, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he presses gentle, soothing kisses to your shoulder, collarbone, neck, anywhere he can reach.

After a few minutes, he hears you hum contentedly, and he looks up at you.

"How you feeling?" he asks, earnestly, and you've never felt safer, more cared for, than you do in this moment.

"I'm okay," you eventually laugh breathlessly and tell him, "God, you're a lot, Harrington."

He chuckles, placing a soft, apologetic kiss to your cheek.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," he whispers into your skin.

"No," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "Don't apologise."

He looks down bashfully, and even though he is currently buried deep inside you, you can't help but think he looks adorable.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?" he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to fuck me."

His gentle kisses halt immediately, his eyes shooting down to meet yours, and you swear you feel his dick twitch inside you at your words.

"Yeah? You sure, honey?" he asks.

You nod, kissing him desperately, your ankles pushing into his back to drive his cock deeper into you.

Taking that as enough confirmation, he begins fucking you with a steady pace, every thrust hitting that spot so deep inside you, you're instantly blissed-out - eyes rolling, back arching, toes curling.

Steve can't make up his mind where he should put his hands, constantly moving them like he wants to feel all of you at once. Your shoulders, your waist, the curve of your back. Every touch feels affectionate as much as desperate.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, as well as both of your moans, which are uncontainable at this point.

The praise comes naturally to him, spilling out between kisses and breathless laughter. "That's it, baby." "Doing so good for me." "Fuck, you feel amazing." "Can't believe we haven't been doing this the whole time."

His words go straight to your core, and before you're even aware of it, you're coming again, your walls squeezing him so tight, your legs clamping around his waist, your fingers digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders, as a load, uninhibited, guttural moan leaves your mouth.

He can't hold himself back much longer when he feels you cum around him. Your pussy fluttering around him is enough to push him right to the edge.

A few more thrusts later, he's pulling out of you, frantically jerking his cock in his hand before he comes with a deep groan, spilling his cum all over your lower stomach and mound.

You can't peel your eyes away from his face as he comes undone, eyes half-lidded, eyebrows scrunched downward, mouth agape as moans stutter out of his chest.

His forehead collapses against your shoulder as he starts to come down from his high, placing messy but gentle kisses on your flushed skin, his breathing slowly evening out before he finally glances up at you again.

"You okay?"

You let out a sleepy laugh. "Yeah."

A beat passes before you grin.

"Could do with a towel to clean up your mess, though."

He looks down, then back at you, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

"Yeah... that's fair."

He leans forward to steal one final lingering kiss, smiling into it before reluctantly pulling away.

"I'll be right back, baby."

Later, the kitchen is still a mess.

The dishwasher has long since finished its cycle, sitting quietly in the corner with its little green light glowing patiently, waiting for somebody to remember it exists. Two mugs remain abandoned beside the sink, one of the cupboard doors has somehow been left hanging open, and a tea towel lies crumpled across the worktop exactly where it had been dropped hours earlier. And, of course, both of your clothes lay discarded around the kitchen floor. Somewhere between everything that happened afterwards, neither of you had found yourselves particularly concerned with finishing what you'd started.

It can wait until morning.

Almost everything can.

You're in almost exactly the same spot you had been earlier that evening, only now the room feels entirely different. The nervous distance that had existed between you for so long has disappeared so completely it's difficult to remember why either of you had ever maintained it in the first place. Steve's hands rest comfortably at your waist now, no longer tentative or uncertain, while yours are looped loosely around the back of his neck as though they've always belonged there.

The house is impossibly quiet. Not empty, but peaceful.

Outside, the neighbourhood has settled into the deep stillness that only arrives long after midnight, leaving the kitchen wrapped in warm pools of light and comfortable silence. It feels almost surreal that, only a few hours earlier, this room had been full of friends, pizza boxes and the usual chaos of movie night. Now, it seems to exist entirely for the two of you.

Steve studies your face for a long moment before a tired smile slowly spreads across his own, softer than any you've seen from him before.

"So..."

You can't help smiling back.

"So?"

A quiet laugh escapes him, accompanied by the tiniest shake of his head, as though he still hasn't quite caught up with the fact that any of this has actually happened.

"I think I did something stupid."

His voice carries just enough uncertainty that your heart aches for him.

Not because he regrets it.

Because some small, stubborn part of him still can't quite believe this ends any other way than with him waking up tomorrow, wondering whether he'd imagined the whole evening.

You don't answer straight away.

Instead, your hand lifts to brush a loose strand of hair back from his forehead, your fingertips lingering for just a second as they trace gently along his temple. The gesture makes him smile immediately, instinctively leaning into your touch before you close the last inch between you to steal one more slow, unhurried kiss.

This one feels different.

Not tentative anymore. Not driven by months of wondering what if?

Simply familiar. Comfortable. Like you've somehow skipped past all the awkward uncertainty and landed exactly where you were always supposed to end up.

When you finally pull away again, your smile has only grown.

"I was hoping you would."

For a moment Steve simply looks at you. Really looks at you.

As though he's trying to commit every detail of this version of you to memory - the warmth in your eyes, the slight curve of your smile, the way you're still standing impossibly close to him as though you have absolutely no intention of stepping away anytime soon.

Then he laughs.

Not nervously this time. Not because he doesn't know what to say. Just with the quiet, disbelieving relief of someone who has spent far too long preparing himself for disappointment, only to discover he never needed to.

"So was I."

The words settle gently between you.

Neither of you seems to feel any particular urgency to fill the silence that follows. There isn't much left to say, really. The biggest conversation either of you had been avoiding for months had somehow happened without either of you making a speech. No grand confession. No perfectly rehearsed declaration.

Just one slightly terrified request to come a little closer.

One impossibly gentle kiss.

And the mutual realisation that you'd both been standing on exactly the same side of the line all along.

Steve lets out a slow breath, his forehead resting against yours once again as his thumbs absent-mindedly trace lazy circles against your waist.

"You know," he murmurs after a while, "Robin is going to be absolutely unbearable."

You laugh immediately. "Oh?"

"She's been telling me to make a move on you for..." He squints thoughtfully. "Honestly? I think she started sometime around Christmas."

You stare at him. "Christmas?"

"Mhm."

You pull back just enough to look at him properly.

"Steve Harrington."

"I know."

"You've been pining after me since Christmas?"

His grin turns sheepish. "...Maybe."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and Steve can't help joining in, the sound bouncing softly around the otherwise empty kitchen.

"I hate to break it to you," you say, reaching up to smooth your hand through his hair again, "but I wasn't exactly subtle either."

His eyebrows lift. "You weren't?"

"I baked you a birthday cake from scratch."

"You bake for everybody."

"I learnt how to make your favourite because it was your favourite."

"Oh."

"I drove forty-five minutes because you said one shop sold the coffee you liked."

"Oh."

"I watched all three Indiana Jones films."

Steve blinks. "You hate Indiana Jones."

"I know."

Another pause. "Oh."

You can't help smiling at the expression slowly dawning across his face.

"We're actually idiots."

"The biggest."

"Robin's going to kill us."

"Probably."

"And then she's going to say 'I told you so' for the rest of our lives."

Steve groans, letting his head fall briefly back onto your shoulder.

"I think I'd rather fight another Demogorgon."

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him a little tighter. "No, you wouldn't."

"No," he admits into your shoulder, smiling against your jumper. "I definitely wouldn't."

The kitchen falls quiet again after that, but it no longer feels like the silence of two people wondering what might happen.

It's the silence of two people who finally know.

Around you, the house remains exactly as you'd left it - half-cleaned, half-forgotten, evidence of a movie night that had quietly become something neither of you could ever have predicted.

Tomorrow, the mugs would still need putting away. The cupboard door would still be hanging open. Somebody would eventually remember the tea towel abandoned on the worktop.

Tonight, though, none of it seems especially important.

Because after months of lingering glances, interrupted conversations and excuses to stay just a little longer after everyone else had gone home, you find yourselves standing together in the middle of Steve's untidy kitchen, wondering - not for the first time, and certainly not for the last - how on earth you'd managed to wait so long.

dividers: saradika-graphics

“Fe-feels too good,” you manage to say, one hand still wrapped around his tie while the other fists the front of his once neat shirt. “I’m gonna—”

The sound of the bathroom door opening reaches your ears, the voices of a few of your colleagues spilling in and Steve was quick to cup his hand over your mouth to stop those pretty whimpers falling from your lips.

But does he stop fucking you with those thick fingers of his? Absolutely not. He wouldn’t dream of it.

His hazel eyes were locked with yours, his palm covering your mouth as he watched the way your brows furrow, the way your face was twisting with pleasure.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, the coil in your lower stomach tightening and tightening with every pump of his fingers, every curl against that spongey soot inside of you that Steve always seemed to find with ease.

“—he’s taking me to that new restaurant that just opened up,” a voice you recognise to be of your co-workers, Lisa, coming from just outside of the stall you and Steve were crammed into. “So I hope this hearing doesn’t drag out so I can rush home and get changed. I’d rather not wear my work clothes out on a date.”

“You look great though,” another voice you don’t quite recognise due to your lust filled haze tells Lisa encouragingly.

“You’re just saying that, Ruth!” Lisa replies with a laugh before the sound of her heels clicking into the stall right next to yours causes Steve to press his palm more firmly over your mouth as he continues the steady, torturous pump of his fingers into your heat.

You shouldn’t be so turned on, you should be pushing him away and remind him you weren’t just in a public bathroom—you were in a bathroom in a damn courthouse. You should tell him it was inappropriate and reckless and stupid. That you both had a hearing to get to in ten minutes. But you don’t, instead you hold onto him tighter and grind yourself against his hand, a silent plea for him not to stop. To keep going as heat like molten lava surged to your core, the coil inside you tightening, threatening to snap.

Steve smiles, biting his wet and swollen bottom lip between his teeth before he leans in to whisper, his breath hot in your ear, “don’t make a sound, baby.”

And then he withdraws his fingers.

You had been so close, so fucking close that you can’t help the small, desperate that escapes you. Thankfully, it was muffled by Steve’s hand that was still covering your mouth.

He tuts quietly, smiling at you in a way that makes your pussy clench around nothing before bringing his fingers coated with your slick to his lips and licking them clean. You watch—utterly transfixed by the way lips wrap around the digits, the way his tongue swirls around them to lick away the wetness he had collected from you.

You felt so turned on that the sound of the toilet flushing from Lisa’s stall did nothing to deter you.

“What’d I say?” He whispers, the sound of your colleagues laughing together at the sinks masking the sound of Steve hastily unbuckling his belt, of you whimpering against his palm at the sight of his cock—thick, heavy, the ruddy tip already glistening with pre cum from fucking you with his fingers. “I said—don’t make a sound.”

But it was hard not to when your pussy was aching for him. Thankfully, Steve doesn’t let you wait long.

Steve tugs your skirt up over your hips, pulls your ruined panties to the side before he pushes himself in deep with one thrust that has your eyes rolling back. The stretch of his cock was delicious as always and you were grateful for the loud noise of the hand dryer to cover up your muffled moans.

“Look at you,” Steve husks in your ear, setting a torturous pace from the offset while still being conscious of the wet sounds coming from his cock bullying its way into your pussy. “Letting me fuck you in the fucking court bathroom. You like this, don’t you? Knowing we could get caught? Fuck, you love it. Don’t you, baby?”

Almost each word was punctuated with a deep thrust that caused the fat head of his cock to kiss your cervix and it took everything in you not to moan out.

The sound of your colleagues leaving the bathroom allows you some reprieve, Steve’s hand remains over your mouth but he no longer cares about the noises your bodies make. In fact, he seems to revel in it—the way your cunt was almost crying for him, the way his cock could slip in and out of you seamlessly, the wet noises of your mixed juices filling the stall. It lewd and obscene and it was enough that even he allowed himself some desperate groans to slip from his lips as he fucked you against the wall of the stall.

“Can’t get enough of this,” he grunts as he lifts one of your thighs over his hip to allow himself to fuck his cock into you deeper, causing you to mewl in response. Heat was surging through you, so intense that you felt tears welling up in your eyes. “Can’t get enough of this pussy. Of you. Shit—you’re squeezing me so tight. Like you don’t want me to leave. Are you going to—”

You had no way to warn him, no way to tell him you were seconds away from tipping over the edge but the slight tug at his tie, the wild look in your eyes was enough for him to take the hint.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock, that’s it.”

And you do—with an orgasm that hits you like a damn tidal wave. It was the sort of orgasm that you felt in every cell throughout your body, the sort of one you felt from head to toe. It was so intense that you may have collapsed from the intensity of it if Steve hadn’t had such a tight hold on you. Your pussy gushes around him, your release completely soaking his cock and it was that—your essence dripping down, right onto his balls—that made him tip over the edge right after you.

Steve came with a groan of your name that he muffled by him sucking at the skin of your neck. You feel his cock twitch inside of you before he paints your walls white with hot spurts of his come, his hips still thrusting as he fucked his release into your spent pussy.

“Take it,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips against your skin sending a jolt through you. “Take it all, baby. Stand in front of the judge while you’re full of my cum. Let the whole damn courtroom know how good of a girl you are for taking every last drop.”

He finally releases his hand from over your mouth so that he could swallow your whimpers with his lips in a searing kiss, his thrusts finally coming to a stop so that he could pull out his softening cock.

You can’t help but whimper at the loss but Steve doesn’t leave you empty for long, two fingers replacing his cock so that he could continue to fuck it into you, the sound so obsence that you were grateful for the empty bathroom.

“Good girl, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, a final pump of his fingers before he withdraws them completely, pulling your panties back in place with a loud snap.

You readjust your skirt back over your hips with hands that shook slightly, smoothed down your blouse and your hair before you looked back at Steve, who was tucking himself back into his boxers.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” You say, still a little breathless as grab your blazer and workbag from the hook on the door of the stall. 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles back at you like he hadn’t just fucked your brains out. “Later.”

You smile back at him before you carefully and quietly leave the stall. You quickly check your reflection in the mirror before leaving the courthouse bathroom, hoping that no one had noticed your absence and praying Steve would be subtle when he left the bathroom. It wasn’t often that you and Steve were so reckless but since your little arrangement began over three months ago, you hadn’t been able to resist each other for more than a few days. And so—when you found out that you both had hearings in court today, you couldn’t resist.

You can still feel Steve’s cum, flooding from your cunt and into your panties as you make your way to courtroom five. The thought of his release remaining there throughout the course of the hearing made heat course through you. There was a part of you that wanted to head right back to that bathroom and beg him to fuck you again and again and again. But the sight of Lisa waiting for you outside the courtroom stopped you.

“Ready?” She asks, seemingly completely unaware of where you had been for the past fifteen minutes.

You nod, leaving any thought of Steve Harrington at the door as you head inside. Because nothing—absolutely nothing—could throw you off doing your job and doing it well.

The courtroom was quiet, the way it always was. You have grown accustomed to it over the years. You were used to being able to hear your client breathing heavily beside you, the scratch of the journalist’s pens, the defence shifting in their seats.

Today, you and Lisa were representing your client to discuss their bail conditions. In theory, it should be straightforward. You expected you’d be out of court within the next hour or so.

You glance towards the district attorney’s table but see it was empty.

“Reckon they’re having a late lunch?” You whisper to Lisa with a small smile.

“Probably,” she whispers back as you approach the defence table, greeting your client before taking a seat.

You pull out your notebook, taking the few minutes you had before the judge arrived to look over the bail conditions you had proposed. The sound of the courtroom door opening doesn’t even really register. Not until someone clears their throat right in front of you.

“Sorry,” you say, smoothing down your shirt before you look up. “I was just—”

But at the sight of the man in front of you—you freeze. For the first time in your professional career. You freeze.

Because the man standing in front of you was the same man whose cum was still inside of you. The same man who had fucked you stupid in the courthouse bathroom. The same man you had been secretly fucking for the past three months.

District attorney—Steve fucking Harrington.

As the bailiffs announced the arrival of the judge, you stood on shaking legs.

And as you felt a dribble of Steve’s cum leak out of you, you realise that you were fucked. You were completely and utterly fucked.

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You storm inside first, leaving him in the dust as you bolt for the coffeemaker. He lumbers in after, scowl on his face, hair wrecked by the humidity.

It's easy enough to avoid each other before the broadcast, but once you're forced into the booth together, you drop into the swivel chair without a word. Your body angled away from him toward the console.

Robin lasts until lunch before she finally says something.

"Okay! So I'm gonna go." She stands, shooting a look between the two of you. "Whatever this is, please fix it. Or at least… try not to stare each other to death while I'm gone."

When neither of you respond, she just backs out slowly, nearly tripping over her own feet before the door creaks shut behind her.

The booth is deathly quiet when she leaves. Which is ironic, because you're pretty sure you've been in actual morgues with more noise than this vacuum that's formed between the two of you. But you don't look up. Not when you hear him let out a dramatic sigh, or when he snaps a cassette case louder than necessary.

No. You let him pout, giving him nothing while keeping your eyes glued to the playlist sheet on the desk. Crossing your legs and bobbing your ankle up and down. Letting your pleated skirt hike just a little bit higher up your thigh.

You aren't the least bit surprised when you hear the tapes stop clattering.

There's another beat of quiet before his foot nudges the leg of your chair. You don't move. So he does it again.

Finally, you turn—slow—and give him a look.

His mouth quirks. "You gonna ignore me all day?"

You frown, ignoring him while you flip a page.

"Wow," he scoffs. "You know, I was gonna apologize, but with this attitude—"

"Apologize, then," you interrupt. Calling his bluff.

He sits back and crosses his arms. "Well, look at that. She speaks."

"Look at that," you echo, turning back to the console. "He listens. For once."

You hear movement, then his hand is on the back of your chair before you even realize he's gotten up. The room blurs as he spins you back, planting both hands on the armrests once you're facing him again.

You stare stubbornly at the wall over his shoulder. Arms folded over your chest. Steve sighs and takes a seat in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"I was saving it for the recycling, okay?"

You huff. "Then why was it in the middle of the counter?"

"I told you, I didn't want to forget!"

You shake your head, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"…Fine," he mumbles. "I'm sorry… alright?"

You arch a brow. "For?"

"For being a dick," he mutters, sliding a hand over his neck. "And…"

He leaves the sentence hanging half-finished. You tilt your head, waiting, but Steve doesn't look up. His gaze is stuck below your waist, where the hem of your skirt has ridden up even higher, fanning in a pretty arc across your legs. He swallows audibly and leans in closer.

It happens slow, his hand wedging between your thighs to grip the base of your seat. Your breath stutters as he tugs you forward, the stool skidding across the floor.

You finally look at him. No other choice really, with your faces inches apart like this. But where you expect to find him smiling or smug at having flustered you, instead his gaze is just… dark. His eyes heavy and locked with yours. Beneath the light, you catch the faintest sheen of sweat across his cheeks, fresh and dewy on his skin.

Warmth pulses between your legs in a way that's practically Pavlovian at this point. Because you know what it means when he gets this look. Where it always leads. You swallow a little as the woodsy scent of his aftershave reaches your nose, your fury fading fast into a different kind of heat that sits warm and low in your stomach.

Steve shifts then, your knees bumping together. He slides one of his forward between your thighs, slotting you two together and pulling you close.

"You wore this on purpose," he breathes low into your ear. You shiver as he brushes your hair back over your shoulder, his knuckles grazing the soft skin just beneath the hem of your skirt.

You exhale slowly. You did wear it on purpose. Something takes over him every time you wear this fucking thing, which is why you'd put it on in the first place this morning, a flirty little tilt to your hips. Five hours ago, you figured you two could sneak into the closet, or out to his car on your lunch break, maybe tease him with it until you had a chance to be properly alone.

But then you'd gotten into that fight, and you kept it on out of spite. You knew it would drive him crazy, having to see you in it and be forced to keep his hands to himself.

Only his hands were already disappearing beneath it.

"Steve," you breathe against his neck, barely pretending. "We're at work."

He noses the soft spot beneath your ear. "No one's here."

"The walls are glass."

"We'll be quick," he promises.

You're about to argue, but the gentle, warm press of his tongue over your pulse rips the protest from your lips. You melt, your eyes closing with a quiet sigh of surrender, and he groans into your skin at the salty taste of you, one hand snaking up into your hair to hold you in place while the other coaxes your knees apart.

"What if Rob comes back?" you whisper, already short of breath.

"She won't. She literally just left." His lips graze your forehead. "Now c'mere… let me apologize."

He curls a hand under your knee, tugging you toward him those last few inches. You let him guide you to the edge of the seat, until your chin's hooked over his shoulder and you lose sight of what his other hand's doing. You sigh into his hair when you feel his palm finally disappear between your legs.

He gives a testing little press against you, smiling to himself at the quiet noise you make for him.

"Yeah, baby. That's it," he whispers, his breath hot against your temple while he cups you more firmly. You gasp and clutch onto his sleeve, the contact making the damp spot on your panties bloom out even further at the edges.

"Oh, honey," he soothes, his free hand still cupping the back of your head. "Look at you. All worked up already."

You huff over his shoulder, even as your hips curl forward on their own, seeking the heel of his palm.

"I'm still mad at you," you mumble into his neck.

He hums, thumbing your panties to the side in a slow arc. "Yeah? You gonna let me fix it?"

Without waiting for your answer, he parts you gently down the middle. Your gasp is sharp against his shoulder, and he hushes you softly, groaning at the way you're already coating his fingers as he traces your slit.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, his voice rough now.

He slides right through you, nice and easy. His thumb brushes through your curls before dipping down to circle you where you're softest. You muffle a whimper into his shirt and feel his grip tighten on the back of your neck.

"There?" he whispers, mouth pressed to your hair.

You nod breathlessly, panting now and barely able to hear him. He sucks softly beneath your ear and starts working that sweet spot, pulling more broken sounds out of you as you spiral quickly toward the edge.

Your hips shift forward again, thighs weak and shaking. You're nearly there, whining and clenching around nothing, when you thrust too far and start to slip off the edge of the seat.

"Shit—" you gasp.

Steve catches you before you can fall. His arm hooks around your waist, lifting you up like it's nothing. Your hands automatically find his shoulders as he hikes you up onto his thigh, your skirt settling even higher around your hips while you straddle him. He wets his lips when your bare skin presses against his jeans, the heat between your legs making his pants go tight around his hardening cock.

"Easy," he murmurs, sliding a hand up your back to steady you. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little embarrassed. A pretty flush warms your cheeks as he brushes back a curtain of hair that's fallen in your face. He gives you a big, breathy smile that makes your heart burst wide open.

"Okay," he pants, glancing around to check that the station's still empty. With no sign of Robin, he plants a soft peck on your cheek and lets his hand drop to your hip. "Ready?"

You nod, your thighs squeezing around him as he rocks you forward, guiding you to grind against his leg. Your head tips back with a moan just from the friction of it.

"Steve—"

"I know," he mumbles, dipping down to suck at your collarbone as you writhe on him. "Use me, baby. It's okay."

You bite your lip, rolling your hips shamelessly now as you chase the pressure. The orgasm you lost starts building again. You feel it coiling deep in your belly, but it's not nearly enough to get you off just riding him like this.

He tries to help, tugging one of the buttons free on your shirt and mouthing gently at the swell of your breast. You moan, fingers sinking into his hair and keeping him there while your knee lifts high enough to brush at the bulge between his legs. Steve buries a groan between your tits, his hips bucking up before he can stop himself.

"Fuck," he grits out, forehead dropping to your chest. "That's not fair."

You smile into his hair and do it again, dragging your thigh slow and careful just beneath the heft of his balls. His head snaps back, tendons straining in his neck as a strangled moan rips from his throat.

"Babe, fuck—" he chokes out. "I'm serious. I'm gonna come in my fucking pants if you keep doing that."

Your hand drops between your bodies, finding his belt buckle by feel as you hold his gaze.

"Need you," you pant against his cheek, unlatching him. His head falls back against the chair as you work the button open next, then the zipper. He's rock hard by the time you're peeling the denim apart, a damp patch already darkening the fabric of his boxers.

Steve watches you with glazed eyes.

"Here?" he rasps, like he wasn't the one that started this.

Your answer is a hard kiss while your hand slips inside his boxers. He shudders out a moan into your mouth the second your fingers wrap around him. He's hot and thick in your palm, the head slick where he's already leaking. You hum softly against his lips while you give him a slow, gentle stroke.

"Jesus," he breathes, hips jerking up into your fist. You swallow the next filthy sound he makes, licking into his mouth while you twist your wrist on the upstroke.

"Wait, baby, wait—" He catches your hand. "Wanna be inside you."

You heave out a sigh of relief. Finally.

You release him and shift forward on his lap, lifting your hips while he shoves your panties to the side blind, your skirt covering both of you from the waist down. He grips himself at the base, dragging his tip through the dripping seam of you a few times to get himself nice and slick. Then your foreheads are pressing together, both panting as he eases toward your opening.

"Look at me," he whispers, his free hand reaching up to hold your face.

You look. His brown eyes are blown almost black, lashes dark and damp. Your hands find his face—a face you're wondering how you could've ever been mad at over a Coke can—and sweep your thumbs gently across his cheeks.

He pushes into you soft and slow.

Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. Only a thin, shaking breath that he swallows with a kiss as he fills you. His hand drops down to cradle the curve of your ass, guiding you as you sink down onto him.

The stretch pulls a broken sound from somewhere low in your chest. Steve catches that against his lips too, kissing you deep and filthy while your bodies slowly connect, the front of your skirt bunching up between you.

"There you go," he groans when you finally take all of him. He wraps his arms around your waist and sighs into your neck, low and rough. "Fuck, you feel good."

You whine into his hair, unable to speak as you adjust to him. No matter how many times you've done this, he always splits you open at first, as careful as he is. His hands rub over your back in wide soothing circles as he presses kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your neck. All the little spots he knows makes you soft.

You sigh appreciatively, braving a slow, tentative roll of your hips when you're relaxed enough. The sensation drags a low groan out of you both. His fingers dig into the soft dough at your waist, guiding your rhythm until you find it on your own.

Your pace doesn't stay slow for long. The chair creaks beneath you as you ride him harder, his breath puffing soft and fast against your throat.

"Fuck, that's it," he growls. "Don't stop."

You don't stop. Not when you already feel the tension starting in your abs again. Your weight shifts as you try to deepen the angle to take more of him, and you gasp when you lean too far back.

His arm locks around you in an instant, hauling you flush against his chest without breaking the rhythm you've set.

"Here, baby," he pants, nose brushing yours. "Hold onto me. I got you."

Your arm loops around his shoulders and stays there, fingers twisting in his hair while he fucks up into you. Wet, slapping sounds fill the booth, but you can barely hear them while you're gasping his name. Your walls start to tighten around him, squeezing and clenching with each pump of his hips.

"Steve," you beg.

"I know, I know," he grits through his teeth. His hand snakes between you again. "Come on, honey. Give it to me."

He circles twice, and that's all it takes. Your spine locks, the orgasm tearing through you silently at first, mouth open with no sound, before you choke out a broken cry against his throat.

"Oh fuck—" His voice cracks as you clamp around his cock in helpless pulses. Steve locks his arms around you and pulls you down, burying himself deep before you feel the first hot spill of him inside you.

You gasp, still coming by the time he starts. Your chest heaves against his while he fills you up, stars swirling in your eyes with every twitch of his cock inside you. Steve crushes his face into your neck, muffling a low groan as he rides out the last waves, hips circling lazily while he empties himself into your soft, pretty pussy.

He holds you there as you both come down, your body limp and sated in his grasp. Slowly, your breathing evens out against his neck, his hand combing gently through the hair spilling down your back while he softens inside you.

You lift your head finally, just enough to look at him. His hair is even more of a wreck than it was before, half of it sticking out in every direction and the other half plastered to his forehead. You brush it back with a fond little laugh at how ruined he looks.

"You okay?" you murmur with a tilt of your head.

Steve blinks up at you, dazed. His lashes flutter like he's forgotten where he is for a second, and then a dopey grin spreads across his face.

"Mhm," he hums. "You?"

You nod, tucking a damp strand behind his ear. His eyes close at the touch, and you let your smile stretch a little wider.

"So," you say. "Are we done fighting?"

He cracks an eye open. "We were fighting?"

You flick his shoulder. He yelps and grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before you can do it again.

"Yes. Done fighting. I'll clean the whole apartment. Scrub the floors. Bleach the—"

"Just throw away your cans, Steve."

"I will throw away every can. Every single can. I'll throw away cans that aren't even mine."

Your eyes roll. "Steve."

"Neighbors' cans, too."

You snort, dropping your forehead against his. He catches your chin between his fingers and pulls you in for a lazy, salty kiss that sends a fresh lick of heat down your neck.

"Careful," you warn against his lips. "Or I might just—"

Down the hall, you both hear a door open.

"Is that—" he starts, eyes wide.

"Shit," you hiss, shifting in his lap and stopping when you feel the mess between your thighs. "How is she back already? We need… napkins. Or something."

Steve glances around the booth. His eyes land on Robin's stack of handwritten song request cards. He lifts one eyebrow.

You poke his chest. "No."

"She'd never know."

"Steve."

The doorknob rattles. You both freeze and look over slowly.

“He just got here due to a head injury. He’s doing okay right now, but the doctor thinks he might have a concussion. If you could get here as soon as you can, that would be great.”

How could you tell this nurse in a succinct number of words that it didn’t make sense that you were still Steve’s emergency contact— that you shouldn’t have been— because you two hadn’t seen or talked to one another since you broke up ten months ago? How could you also say that the last ten months had felt like years, so hearing Steve’s name for the first time since then was completely jarring, but also there were some moments where the breakup felt like only yesterday, so the immediate worry you started feeling upon hearing that Steve was in the hospital was unfamiliar but understandable? How could you tell her that your mind had suddenly become a weird, contradictory mess? 

The answer was that you couldn’t say any of that because she definitely wouldn’t care to hear it. She was simply just doing her job, which meant calling the emergency contact number that was listed on file and informing them of blah, blah, blah. You weren’t going to burden her with the logistics and technicalities of your and Steve’s relationship (well, lack thereof) and history. 

“Um, yes, yeah, sure,” You responded instead. “I’ll be there soon.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of selfish?” He asked, his voice soft and unmistakably confused. 

“Honestly, I think what’s selfish is us staying together when we both know that we want completely different things.”

It was hard not to replay the last conversation you and Steve had on what felt like a constant loop as you drove to the hospital. 

You really didn’t want to see him, you realized. 

When you walked out of his house for the last time, you planned to never see him again; mainly because it made the most sense. Some exes could be friends with each other, but that never felt like it could be the case for you and Steve. 

You didn’t break up because you stopped loving each other; you broke up because love wasn’t enough. 

How deeply you loved each other couldn’t change the fact that you and he wanted two entirely different things out of life. And it got to the point where you two could no longer pretend and avoid that obvious truth.  

You had no idea what it would be like to see Steve for the first time in almost a year. You’d gotten so good at not thinking about him, at pushing away any and all thoughts that involved him or what your relationship was. 

Honestly, there was a good chance that he’d hate seeing you again, but knowing Steve, he’d never say that to your face, which in some ways was kind of worse. If he was genuinely upset about seeing you again, you’d rather he just be honest about it. 

Finding parking ended up being a lot easier than you expected it to be, and you thought that maybe that was a sign from the universe telling you that everything would be fine. You let that bit of potential false confidence lead you inside the hospital. 

The older woman at the front desk was quick to tell you what room Steve was in, and you followed the proper signs until you were at his door. 

You peeked through the small window on the door and saw Steve sitting upright on the side of the hospital bed with an ice pack to the left side of his forehead, and his eyes were shut. 

You took a breath and gave the door a quick knock before walking in and grabbing his attention. “Hi.”

Steve gave you the most confused look you’d probably ever seen from him. “Are you actually here right now, or is the concussion worse than what the doctor initially thought?”

“I would joke and say, yes, you are hallucinating right now, but given the current circumstances, that would probably be a really shitty thing to do,” You responded as you closed the door behind you. “So, yeah, to answer your question, I am actually here right now. No, you’re not going insane.”

The confused look didn’t falter. “Why— How are you here right now?”

“Apparently, I’m still down as your emergency contact.”

“Oh,” He said; it all seemed to click into place for him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about that.”

“It’s fine. Honestly, I think you’re probably still mine too. Who actually remembers to change it?” You responded, trying to keep things light and as normal as they could be in this moment. 

Steve gave you a quick nod in understanding in response, and before things could descend into an inevitable awkward silence, you gestured to the ice pack pressed to his head. “Um, so what happened?”

“I got hit with a baseball at practice,” He answered, and you probably should’ve figured that was the case considering what he was currently wearing; the typical white polo, khaki pants, and blue bomber jacket. “One of the kids said he wanted to try out pitching. And I now know that he has a great arm, but really bad aim. With a little more practice, I think he will be our best pitcher, though.”

You were suddenly reminded of why you’d fallen for Steve two years ago. Even though he was in the hospital because of this kid who accidentally hurled a ball at his head, his injury seemed like the least of his worries. You had always admired how much he loved his job and how proud he always was of the kids he worked with. 

“How are you feeling?” You asked because someone needed to worry, and as the emergency contact, that felt like it was technically your job.

“My head still kinda hurts, but I feel okay right now,” He said as he readjusted his ice pack. “I got really dizzy after the initial hit and a little nauseous too, which is what made one of the parents call an ambulance, and the doctor thinks I just have a mild concussion, but he still wants to keep me here for an hour or two for observation to make sure it’s nothing worse.” 

“Oh, okay, that’s good,” You said, nodding. “Not the concussion, obviously, but the fact that it’s probably just a mild one.” 

Steve nodded too, and you didn’t know what else to say, so you didn’t say anything. You let your eyes roam around the small hospital room and noticed the tiny TV on the wall; you wished that it was on to fill the unmistakable awkward silence.  

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Steve said after a long beat of silence. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to be here right now.”

“It’s okay,” You told him. “I wanna be here.”

Weirdly enough, your words actually felt truthful, and you did not want to think about why that was the case. 

Steve gave you a small smile. “Thanks.”

You sat down in the chair that was tucked in the corner of the room, and Steve shifted around so that he was facing you. “So, aside from what happened today, how have you been?”

“Um, yeah, good. Everything’s been pretty much the same for me since we…” Steve trailed off, trying to figure out how to finish his statement. “Since the last time we saw each other.” You figured it was less awkward to say that than to say ‘since we broke up.’ “Oh, well, except Thompson finally retired, so I’m teaching general Health now in addition to Sex Ed.”

Hearing that surprised you. “Whoa, I can’t believe he retired. I seriously thought he would be at the school forever.”

“Yeah, me too, honestly,” Steve responded. “But he’s moving to Florida because he wants to be closer to his son and grandkids.”

“That’s actually really sweet.”

The older man, formerly known as Mr. Thompson, had always been tough and kinda mean (which made sense to you because it just seemed so stereotypical), but it warmed your heart to learn that there was a bit of a softer side to him.  

“How have you been?” Steve asked. “How have the new town and new school been treating you?” 

“It’s all been really good, honestly,” You answered, and it was the wholehearted truth. You didn’t think about what the implications of your answer could be. If Steve would read deeply into the simple sentence and feel offended or upset by your words because they implied that you were doing good without him. 

But, you refused to allow yourself to walk on eggshells about what he was maybe thinking or feeling. If you thought too hard about every little thing, you wouldn’t be able to have a conversation with him. 

He followed up with another question. “Better than Hawkins?”

You nodded, not thinking too hard about your answer and just simply going with your gut. “Better than Hawkins.”

“Ouch,” Steve responded, placing his free hand over his heart in an overdramatic fashion. “That feels like treason or something.”

You laughed a little. “I don’t think that’s how treason works, but I get what you mean.”

“The kids miss you a lot,” Steve said, slightly shifting the subject. “The new art teacher is much more… traditional than what you used to do with them.”

A small frown tugged at your lips. “No more outdoor classes?”

“Nope, and I hear complaints probably once a week about how deeply those are missed,” Steve answered. “Oh, and that music thing you’d do on Fridays where you’d play a song and tell the kids to paint how they’re feeling as they listen to it, they really miss that too.”

Inwardly, you smiled; that was always one of your favorite things to do in your classroom, and kids always seemed to love it too. 

“What does the new teacher do?”

“According to the kids, nothing fun. But I haven’t popped in on one of her classes yet, so I don’t know exactly how overdramatic they’re being.” 

“Tell them I miss them too,” You said, and then considered your words. “Or, wait, would that make things worse?” 

“Yeah, they’d probably revolt and start striking until you came back,” Steve responded playfully, giving you a smile. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled back. “Well, we definitely can’t have that, so don’t mention to them that you saw me.”

“Once I’m back to school on Monday, I’ll pretend that this interaction never happened.”

You nodded at that, still failing to hold back your smile. “Good.”

This was fine; this was easy. But also maybe it was too fine and too easy. In the grand scheme of what this current situation was, things effortlessly falling back into a comfortable territory between you and Steve was good, but in some ways it was also dangerous. 

The kind of dangerous that made you realize that you needed to get out of here sooner rather than later, before you fell into an all too familiar deep end. 

You opened your mouth to say not exactly that but a version of it— “Hey, so I gotta head home and work on a bunch of school stuff; new lesson plans and whatnot. I hope your head feels better soon. It was good seeing you.” 

However, before even the “hey” could form on your lips, the door opened, and in walked who you could only assume was the doctor. 

“Hey, Mr. Harrington, how’s your head feeling?”

Steve shifted around so that he was facing him and pulled the ice pack off of his forehead. “Still a little throbby, but a lot better than an hour ago.”

The doctor nodded at that, and then his eyes settled on the clipboard in his hand. “You still feeling nauseous?”

“No.”

“Any more dizziness?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s good.” He set the clipboard to the side and pulled out one of those doctor-type flashlights from his chest pocket, flashing a light into Steve’s left eye for a quick second and then doing the same to his right. He then inspected the bruise on Steve’s forehead. “You’re looking a lot better than how you were an hour ago, which is great. Do you have ibuprofen at home?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve answered.

“Okay, take that to help with your headache. Your girlfriend can take you home now.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

The slightly different sentences practically stumbled over each other as you and Steve both rushed to make the correction. 

“Sorry, my mistake,” The doctor said as he picked up his clipboard again. “Your friend here can take you home.”

Steve shook his head. “She can’t do that either.”

You jumped in before you could potentially think better of it. “Yes, I can. It’s fine.”

Steve turned to look at you. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” You told him with a quick nod. “Promise.”

You didn’t know why you were doing this. You had been moments away from telling Steve that you had to leave, and now you had impulsively roped yourself into taking him home? 

It was probably a bad idea, but what would the other option have been? Let Steve take a cab home from the hospital? Even you could recognize how severely messed up that would be. 

“Okay, that’s settled then. If any symptoms start coming back, or your headache gets worse even with the medicine, or anything like that, come right back to the emergency room,” The doctor said, to which Steve nodded understandingly, and then he left the room, leaving you and Steve alone again. 

“I’m not parked too far from here,” You said, breaking the quiet as you stood up from your chair. 

Steve followed suit, standing up from the hospital bed. “Okay, lead the way.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Ten Months Ago

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” It was the first thing that came to your mind, and you couldn’t help but blurt the words out. 

They definitely were not the average response that someone would have to their long-time boyfriend proposing to them, but your gut instinct was telling you to run away from this entire moment, so you did exactly that, or at least something that felt equivalent to that but slightly less insane.

You quickly turned away from Steve, leaving him alone in his bedroom, and rushed to the bathroom down the hall, closing and locking the door behind you. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror for the briefest second before turning away and leaning back against the sink. 

The last minute started flashing in your head on what felt like an endless loop. Steve down on one knee. Steve holding the velvet box in his hand. Steve smiling up at you. Repeat, repeat, repeat. 

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the look on his face out of your head, the hopeful and genuinely happy look in his eyes. 

God, you felt like you could throw up. 

Why was he doing this? Why was he ruining something that was so damn good? 

The sound you expected to hear came moments later; three quick knocks against the bathroom door. 

“What just happened?” Steve’s voice was only slightly muffled through the door. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” You said, making your voice loud enough so he could hear you, because in this moment you refused to open the door. 

“I was about to ask you to marry me, and you ran away.” He sounded genuinely hurt, and you squeezed your eyes shut. 

Your heart was pounding in your ears. “Why were you about to ask that, Steve?”

“It felt right.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“We talked about it one time almost a year ago. I thought maybe things changed,” He responded, his voice so soft that it almost felt too hard to hear him. “We’ve been so good. It felt like the right time to do this, the right next step for us.”

Finally, you unlocked the door and pulled it open. Your eyes met Steve’s as you quietly shook your head. 

Before he could question what your head shake meant, you started speaking. “Nothing has changed for me.”

A sad look crossed his eyes for the briefest of moments. “Nothing?”

You shook your head again instead of verbally saying anything because you didn’t trust your voice in this moment. You watched as Steve seemed to process your nonverbal response as he walked into the bathroom and sat down on the shut toilet seat. 

You watched him for a second longer before moving toward him and settling yourself in his lap. Steve accepted the action immediately, hands finding your hips like it was second nature to do so. 

“I like things as they are,” You told him, letting your own hands settle on his shoulders. “I love things as they are with us. Why does it have to change?”

“Because we love each other,” He answered, as if that was the secret to the universe. “Because I want us to have more.”

In hindsight, you should’ve seen this coming. Fundamentally, you and Steve were different. He wanted the traditional things that some people wanted in life; marriage, kids, being happily settled down in one place. 

And you didn’t want any of that. Quite honestly, the thought of having any of those things had never made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Instead, it made you feel stuck. 

You and Steve knew this about each other from the beginning. After you met him when you started teaching at Hawkins Middle and you two became friends, and before he kissed you for the first time at the annual Sno Ball dance because you two could no longer seem to deny the obvious. 

You both knew that in the grand scheme of things, what you wanted out of life was completely different. However, everything else about you two together was perfect, so you two decided to push this one minor (read: huge) difference to the side because what was the point of thinking about things that would be years down the road during the early stages of your relationship?

Except now it was no longer the “early stages” of the relationship, and it seemed like you two were finally hitting that crossroads. 

Because Steve wanted more. 

And you honestly couldn’t even fault him for that. You and he had been together for almost two years at this point; it made sense that he wanted more.  

And you loved Steve, but that didn’t change who you were.

“I don’t want that,” You told him softly. “I don’t want anything more.”

His eyes searched yours for something that you weren’t sure if you were able to give him. “But maybe you will eventually?”

You really wished that you could’ve said yes to him. Yes, your feelings toward marriage and kids and that sort of life-changing commitment would eventually change, and instead you’d want exactly what he wanted. 

However, you had never lied to Steve, and you didn’t want to start now. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” You admitted honestly. 

His eyes dropped from yours, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking, really thinking, and you had no idea what he was about to say. 

“Okay,” He ultimately said and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, which surprised you. “That’s— that’s okay. Let’s just pretend this whole thing never happened. We’ll keep things as they are with us, and yeah. Let’s forget this happened.”

Steve’s hands moved from your hips so that he could wrap his arms around you completely, pulling you into him. You almost let yourself fully lean into his touch and let yourself forget what had happened barely ten minutes ago, just like he said, but you couldn’t. 

“No, I don’t wanna forget about it,” You said as you pulled back a little. 

If you two forgot about this, wouldn’t this all just repeat itself eventually? You felt the need to face it head-on now. 

Steve’s eyes met yours. “I don’t mean forget about it forever. I just mean let’s push it to the side for now and revisit it later. Maybe then you’ll have changed your mind, or maybe I’ll want what you want. We can talk about all of this again some other time. A few months from now, maybe?”

A part of you wished that you could be as hopeful as him. Instead, you sighed. “I don’t wanna revisit this conversation ever again.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of selfish?” He asked, his voice soft and unmistakably confused. 

“Honestly, I think what’s selfish is us staying together when we both know that we want completely different things,” You said as you detangled yourself from him and stood up. “Pretending like everything is fine and hoping that one of us will eventually change is not fair to either of us.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “So, what are you saying?”

Please don’t make me say it. 

You quietly stared at him, and he stared right back, until you took the cowardly way out and turned around because it felt physically impossible to look at him as you said the words. 

“We should break up.”

You heard his quiet scoff first, and then you heard his footsteps receding down the hallway. 

I’m sorry. 

You wanted to say that out loud too, but the sudden lump in your throat made it feel entirely too hard to speak. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Being back at Steve’s place for the first time in ten months felt weird. But specifically being back in the bathroom where everything happened felt like the worst kind of déjà vu. 

You quickly grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen from Steve’s medicine cabinet and then promptly left the small space so that you could push away all of the harsh memories that were starting to hit you. 

You handed the bottle over to Steve, who was at his kitchen sink, filling a glass with water. 

“Thanks,” He said as he grabbed the bottle from your outstretched hand and then opened it up to take two pills. “You still want the leftover spaghetti, right?”

“Yes, I’d never pass up your spaghetti,” You answered him. “And I’m also starving right now because I haven’t eaten since my lunch hour at school, so I'd honestly probably take any food from you right now.”

During the drive from the hospital, you asked Steve if he wanted to stop somewhere to pick up something for dinner, but he said that he had leftover food from last night that he was going to eat, and he told you that you could join him too if you wanted. When you two left the hospital, your initial plan had been to just drop him off once you got to his house, but you really did love his spaghetti. 

You two ended up on Steve’s couch in his living room, bowls in hand and half watching the sitcom that was playing on the TV. 

“I’m just now realizing that I asked you about school and teaching, but I didn’t ask about how your own art is going,” Steve said, turning to look at you. “How is it?”

That question didn’t necessarily surprise you; Steve had always been one of your biggest supporters when it came to your art. Constantly lingering at the door of your “art studio,” which was set up in the empty bedroom in your apartment, because he was always just so curious to see what you were working on. And you’d constantly shoo him away because you didn’t like anyone seeing your works in progress. 

“But I love seeing the process. It’s really cool,” He’d say with a pout on his face that he hoped would convince you to let him continue his observing, and you’d kiss him on the cheek before still shooing him away. The pout only sometimes worked. 

“I just finished this new collection two weeks ago, and I’m hoping it gets picked to be a part of this showcase that a friend of a friend is having at her art gallery at the end of the month,” You answered as you mindlessly twirled some spaghetti around on your fork and focused your eyes on that instead of Steve. “And I also got selected for an art residency in Maine. It starts at the end of June and goes until late August.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. Congrats,” Steve responded, and he sounded so genuinely happy for you that you finally met his eyes. 

“Thanks,” You said, suddenly feeling insanely shy for some reason, even though you hadn’t felt that way around Steve in ages. 

“Hey, if your work does get picked for the art show, let me know when it is. I definitely wanna come and check it out.”

You nodded before you could think better of it. “Yeah, of course.”

It would be pretty safe to say that all logical thinking had officially been thrown out the window for you, which was probably a bad thing, but it was too hard to pretend that this wasn’t nice. And for the time being, you allowed yourself to lean into it. 

You set your empty bowl on the coffee table and then looked at Steve again. “Do you have cookies?”

“Of course. I always keep chocolate chip stocked,” Steve answered, and you smiled, glad that that was something that hadn’t changed in the past ten months. 

He grabbed your bowl off the table, stacking it on top of his, and then headed into the kitchen. You followed him, watching as he placed the bowls in the sink and then headed to his pantry. The light above the stove was the only thing that brought some soft light to the kitchen, but it was hard not to immediately take notice of the all too familiar blue Chips Ahoy! packaging that Steve pulled out from the pantry. He set it on the counter near the stove and opened it, offering it to you first.

A silence that was entirely different from what it had felt like at the hospital started to linger as you two leaned against the counter and shared chocolate chip cookies. This quiet was comfortable, and a perfectly welcoming contrast from how things had felt earlier. It made you forget that this “comfortable territory” was the exact thing that you had wanted to avoid back at the hospital because it would probably only make things harder. 

It would make leaving harder, it would make forgetting about Steve again harder, it would make everything harder.

“Okay, please feel free to tell me to fuck off with this question, but I’m just… I guess I’m just kinda curious,” Steve said, breaking through your thoughts. He paused for a second, and you looked at him, unsure what he was about to say. “Are you dating right now?”

That was not at all what you were expecting him to ask you. It actually managed to surprise you so much, in comparison to what you had just been thinking about, that your immediate thought was to simply be honest. 

“Oh, um, yeah, I’ve been on a few dates here and there, but nothing serious.” You shrugged like none of those prior dates had mattered, which they hadn’t. You considered not asking him the question back, but you suddenly became too curious not to. “What about you?”

“Nothing serious either,” Steve answered, and you nodded instead of saying anything. 

You thought about asking him why he wanted to know about your current dating life, but a part of you didn’t want to hear the answer, whatever it would be. It would probably only add to the growing list of reasons why you shouldn’t be at Steve’s place in this moment. The growing list that you still refused to listen to.

You grabbed another cookie and leaned back against the counter, looking away from Steve. You silently wondered if his dating life resembled yours in any way. If the dates he’d been on since the breakup were also a series of duds that were defined by awkwardness, having little to nothing in common, and shitty kisses. 

Would that be too weird to talk about?

Or was this entire moment slightly weird and unprecedented, so actually there was nothing that could be deemed as “off limits”?

You finished the rest of your cookie and decided to go with the latter. “Can I be embarrassingly honest right now?”

Steve didn’t hesitate to nod. “Shoot.”

“All the dates I’ve been on have sucked, pretty much. They’re either terribly boring or disgustingly awkward, and somehow I end up with the worst kissers ever, too,” You told him. Admitting that definitely felt just as embarrassing as you thought it would feel, but it also felt kind of nice to put that out in the open for absolutely no reason at all. “And granted, I’ve only kissed three people since we broke up, but still, absolutely no comparison to you.”

“That is probably the best compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Steve said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you.”

“And now you’re supposed to return the compliment and say that I’m the best kisser you’ve ever had too.” You were mostly joking with your words, but you were still kind of curious to hear Steve’s response. 

His smile only seemed to grow. “No one else has ever come close to you.”

You smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

Steve was the one to break eye contact after a moment, grabbing another cookie and focusing on that for a moment. 

“Honestly, I think that’s one of the things I miss the most. Out of the physical stuff, at least,” He abruptly said, meeting your eyes again. “Kissing.” 

You nodded your head immediately. “God, yes, I swear it’s one of the most underrated things ever when it’s actually the most important.”

“And it’s very fun.”

“Very fun,” You agreed. 

Perhaps it would’ve been better to use past tense when it came to basically talking about kissing each other, but neither of you decided to correct yourselves. You also didn’t look away from each other, even as a long quiet began to stretch and build a home in the air of the kitchen. It felt as if you both were silently daring the other to be the one to look away first. But you refused to lose this sudden staring contest, and apparently, Steve didn’t want to lose either. 

The amount of current space between you two had already been minimal, but in this moment, it was continuing to shrink. It was almost as if there was some imaginary force pushing you two together, when in actuality, it was simply just your bodies moving faster than your minds. One second you were blinking, and in the next you both were closing the final bit of distance between you two, meeting halfway. 

Your arms came up to loosely wrap around Steve’s shoulders and his immediately circled your waist, drawing you as close as you could be to him. The look on his face in this moment— a look so full of pure want and adoration— should’ve scared you, but you instead let it put your heart at ease for the time being.   

You decided to do something that you’d probably deem stupid in a week’s time once logical thinking finally sank in. However, even though you would probably consider it stupid, you weren’t sure if you’d end up completely regretting it. 

And that final thought was what made you press your lips against his, letting your heart lead you entirely in this moment. Steve tasted like the cookies you two had just been eating, so sweet and perfect, and you immediately realized just how goddamn right you’d been. Kissing Steve was one of the best things ever, and it wasn’t even over yet, but you were already missing the feeling of his mouth on yours. 

Steve’s hands tightened on your waist as he maneuvered you two around so that you were pressed back against the counter, and yours dropped from his hair and found the edge of the counter so that you could push yourself up. Your lips detached from Steve’s for the briefest second before both of your hands were cupping his face and you were leaning in again.  

You turned your mind off completely and only decided to focus on the feeling of Steve. His mouth on yours, his slightly grown-out hair brushing against your forehead, and his warm hands that you could feel through the thin fabric of your shirt. He gave your hips a squeeze, and you let out a soft sound that drove Steve absolutely insane and made him groan into the kiss too. 

His left hand was moments away from slipping under your shirt, but then he was abruptly pulling away from you completely and taking a few steps back.

He covered his face with his hands for a moment and then looked at you. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, unable to say anything for a moment. Your heart was hammering in your chest due to what you two had just been doing, and your mind felt effectively fuzzy. You shook your head in confusion. “What? Sorry for what?” 

“I’m sorry for proposing to you back then,” Steve answered, which only furthered your bewilderment. “It was a shit thing to do when we really hadn’t talked about it enough, and the only time we had talked about it was when you told me that you were against it.”

The timing of all of this didn’t really make sense to you. Your body still felt like it was on fire because of the kiss, and going from that to an entirely serious conversation felt like an insane kind of whiplash. 

“Why are you thinking about that right now?”

“Because…” He trailed off with a sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I never said it in the moment, and then I don’t know why I was thinking about it in this moment, but I just realized that I never apologized at all, and I suddenly felt so shitty about that.” 

“I don’t— You don’t… There’s—” You took a breath and tried to get your thoughts together. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I don’t think I was ever really upset with you for proposing. I think I was… more sad, if anything? And not because you proposed, but because that whole thing just forced us to look at our relationship and how different we are, and yeah.” 

You shrugged after saying your final words because you didn’t know what else to do or say, and your eyes dropped from his. 

“I’m sorry too, though,” You abruptly told him before he could say anything about what you had just said. “For kissing you like two seconds ago. That was… It was— It probably wasn’t the right thing to do.”

He shook his head, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t be sorry about that. If you hadn’t done it, I definitely would’ve.”

You let out a laugh at his words because you couldn’t help it, they were a nice contrast from the seriousness of the conversation, and you reached out so that you could grab his hand and pull him in for a hug. His arms instinctively circled around your waist, and yours came up to wrap around his neck. Kissing Steve was great, but this was really good too, and you knew that you’d miss it just as much. 

“I can be different,” Steve mumbled into your neck. “I can just decide to want something different, if it means getting to be with you.”

You took a moment to try and imagine it. Steve not settled down in one place. Steve not surrounded by a gaggle of kids that he called his own. Steve not in a cozy house with a wife who he loved and adored and probably wouldn’t hesitate to die for. 

It was a truly sucky thing to picture. 

You pulled back so that you could look at him, and your hand found his cheek. “I’d never let you do that.”

He turned his head so that he could kiss the inside of your palm. “Yeah, I’d never let you change either.”

“There were a lot of times right after we ended things that I really wished I wanted what you want,” You said, deciding to dive headfirst into honesty. 

Steve gave you a small, sad smile and then pressed his forehead into your shoulder. “Me, too.”

You two stayed like that for the time being. His face in your neck, your chin on his shoulder, and your arms wrapped around one another. Neither of you said the words right then, but both of you knew that this was it. And it wasn’t because either of you wanted that to be the case, but because it had to be. Nothing had changed in the past ten months, and worse than that, nothing would ever change. 

It was kind of hard to fully accept that, though, because of how unfair it was. 

“So…” Steve pulled back a bit and met your eyes. “Now what?”

You wanted to shake your head and shrug, tell him that you weren’t sure, but you didn’t do that.

“I go home, and we both remember to change our emergency contacts, and…” You trailed off, unsure of how to finish your statement. “And that’s that, I guess.”

“And that’s that…” Steve said, and it was as if he wasn’t entirely sure about the words and wanted to test them out first. “Okay.” 

The final word was spoken quietly, and you nodded because what else was there to do, really? Steve pulled away from you completely so that you could hop off the counter, and you missed his warmth immediately, but you, of course, didn’t say that. He followed you to his door, and you slipped on your shoes before turning around to face him.

It wasn’t like you two were breaking up again, but it felt so weirdly close to it. There was a part of you that felt exactly how you had when it happened ten months ago— you didn’t want to leave, but you knew that you had to, and you wanted to cry, but you really didn’t want to break down in front of him. 

You forced out a goodbye, and Steve did the same, but before you could turn around again, he reached out and pulled you in. You accepted the embrace immediately, even though you knew it only prolonged the inevitable.  

“Thank you for coming to the hospital today,” He whispered. “You didn’t have to, but you did, and I’m really glad you did, so thank you. Seriously.” 

You wanted to tell him that there was no need to thank you and that you didn’t mind helping him out today, but instead you said, “You would’ve done the same for me.”

Steve only squeezed you tighter in response and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. It was such a simple and minimal action, but it did a lot to you. You squeezed your eyes shut and willed away the fresh onset of tears that were threatening to spill. 

You didn’t want to let go, but you did. And you didn’t want to pull open the front door, but you did that too. 

The walk to your car was quicker than you expected it to be. Once you were settled in the driver’s seat, you looked at Steve still standing in his doorway. He waved at you, and you waved back, and then you forced yourself to look away and finally head home.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You get home from work, open the door and trip on Gator’s boots. Because he took them off. Right when he got in the door. And left them.

It feels like it’s on purpose, like Gator’s doing everything in his ability to piss you off. You can’t remember if he did these things when you were madly in love and you just ignored it or if he’s actively trying to irritate you. You kick his boots to the side and call out, “Gator! Move your fucking boots!”

He doesn’t respond, and you walk into the kitchen where he’s made an absolute mess. And you know he wasn’t like this before, Gator never left messes after cooking. You heave a sigh and start to call out again, “For fucks sake, Gator! What the fuck is your—“ you turn and see him standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his underwear, holding a plate, “problem.”

You used to actually really enjoy Gator’s disdain for wearing clothes around the house. Now it’s extra annoying. Because he looks good, he always looks good. All your friends think you’ll get back together unless you move out but you’re determined. Just to prove to everyone you can do it. There’s no way Gator’s irresistible. You can resist him.

He looks at you and smirks, “My problem is standing right in front of me.”

Oh, yeah, you can resist him.

“Do the fucking dishes, clean the kitchen, you made a huge fucking mess,” you complain with a roll of your eyes.

Gator snorts, moves past you and drops his plate in the sink, “Alright, mom.”

“Don’t do that,” you huff, moving to the refrigerator and opening the door. You’ve been thinking about the last of the lemonade all day. There was enough for one glass. However, upon inspection, Gator’s drank it all and left a tiny bit at the bottom. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What?” he turns to see what you’re upset about as you hold the plastic jug up. Then he shrugs, “I left you some.”

You slam the jug on the counter by the sink and huff out, “You’re so annoying. I’m going to change and then I’m going to the gym. So you can go ahead and do whatever it is you do.”

“Wait!” he whines, “I wanna go.”

You freeze, because you and Gator used to go to the gym together every time. But he hasn’t gone with you since the break up. It was a pretty big way you two spent time together. In fact, you’d hated going to the gym until you went with Gator. Him going with you blurs the lines a bit and you’ve been really good at keeping them crystal clear.

“Gator, we’re broken up,” you say.

He scoffs, “Yeah, I know. It’s just the gym, ain’t like I’m asking for sex. Jesus Christ.”

Your heart beats a little faster at the mention of sex because if you’re totally honest with yourself, that is something you did miss. Quite a lot. Hell, you haven’t had an orgasm since the last one he gave you. A whole month ago. Your routines were still the same, waking up and going to bed at the same time so there weren't a lot of opportunities to get one by yourself in.

“Fine. But you’re cleaning the kitchen as soon as we get back,” you huff before stomping to the bedroom to get changed.

At the gym, it’s even worse. You’re on the stair master and you can see Gator across the way, and you’re just watching in awe. He’s sweaty, his muscles are flexing and you’re thinking about how it felt to be wrapped in his arms.

He lifts his weights and the muscles are truly bulging. You should look away. You have a very good reason for breaking up with him in the first place, but watching him work out has you practically forgetting that reason.

Gator was definitely toxic. He’d gotten a bit better the longer you two were dating but it just wasn’t enough. Perhaps you guys were just too different. It was a snowball effect, basically. Enough little things that piled up to the point you couldn’t handle it anymore. You had to break up with him.

But there he is, looking so fucking good so effortlessly. And you forget every awful thing he did in the three years you’ve been together.

You think about your friends and how upset they’d be, how they’d tell you they told you so. Hell, they probably have a bet going. This isn’t exactly the first time you and Gator have broken up, but it’s lasted the longest. And that’s a good sign. So you peel your eyes away, lock your eyes back on your phone.

Gator keeps tossing and turning in bed. Every time he does, he pushes the little pillow barrier into you. And you push it back every time. The struggle goes on five or six times before Gator’s yanking the pillows up and tossing them off the bed.

“Would you go to sleep?” you seethe, turning to look at him.

“I’m fuckin’ tryin’,” he groans, kicking his legs in irritation. Sometimes Gator gets restless legs at night. When you were together, you’d help by rubbing lotion on them and giving him a bit of a massage. But you’re not together, so you’re not doing that.

Looking at him a little closer, you realize that’s not his problem. His face is flushed and he looks over at you with all too familiar eyes. He chews on his bottom lip and has the nerve to look needy. Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. You two are not doing that. You broke up for a reason.

You open your mouth, about to scold him but he speaks first.

“Could we cuddle?”

And you almost break. Almost. The longing tone in his voice ignites embers deep in the pit of your stomach and nearly takes your breath away. You clear your throat before asking, “Hypothetically, if I say yes, is something hard gonna poke me?”

Gator laughs, that raspy voice is tempting you to say yes to cuddling. Regardless if he’s got a boner.

And he does admit, “Yeah, probably.”

“Alright. That’s definitely a no, then.”

He whines then, “Come on! Please? I just wanna cuddle, I can’t sleep. It’ll help me sleep. I won’t do anything.”

“Gator, I know you,” you argue. “You’ll start humping me.”

He scoffs, “It’s not my fault, it’s your asses fault. For being humpable.”

Which makes you giggle and shove at him. He grabs your wrist and keeps your hand against his bare chest. Pouts his lips and says, “Come on. Just a cuddle.”

“No, Gator,” you pull your hand back and roll over.

“Geez, alright, you’re a real fuckin ice queen,” he mumbles, rolling over onto his other side.

Another bout of him tossing and turning before he grabs his phone, rolls out of bed and goes stomping toward the door.

“Are you actually gonna go jerk off in the bathroom?” you guffaw.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” he groans, slamming the door on his way out.

And you lay there, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about what he’s doing. You can picture it clearly. You’ve watched Gator jerk off a handful of times, you know how he does it. Well, at least how he does it when he knows you’re watching.

He likes it to be really wet, either with spit or lube or lotion. And you have a big bottle of lotion in the bathroom, so you imagine him pumping some into his palm and spreading it over his impressive cock. That was part of why letting go in the past was hard, impossible even— Gator had a really, really nice dick. Long and thick, round head, curved slightly to the right. You used to be obsessed with it. Fuck, maybe you still are because you’re imagining him stroking it with a ton of lotion. His phone is probably playing some porn, set on the bathroom counter while he tugs at his cock. And it’s making you uncomfortably wet. You can feel it on your thighs, you consider touching yourself but you’re certain you don’t have time. Gator will be back soon.

So what you actually do is put the pillow barrier back up and lay back down.

Gator comes back a couple minutes later, heaves a really dramatic but happy sigh and dives into the bed.

“You’re disgusting,” you say for good measure.

“Jerked off to your nudes,” he snorts, rolling on his side and pulling the blankets to his side.

The thing is, Gator hasn’t told his dad that you two are broken up. So every Sunday, you go with him to church and then brunch at the ranch. And you hate it, you’re not really the religious type but in the past, you compromised because it’s a big part of Gator’s life. Or, well, his dad makes it a big part of his life.

Gator’s behavior isn’t exactly god honoring. You’ve never seen him pray aside from church and meals with his family. You know he’s got some secrets, he won’t ever really talk to you about work. Always says he can’t and you never really pushed, because you didn’t want to know what Gator got up to. You knew the way his dad ran stuff was pretty corrupt so you figured the less you knew the better.

“Why haven’t you told him?” you grumble, in the passenger side of Gator’s pickup.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on the road and takes a long pull from his vape. The smoke billows out, acidic and artificial strawberry scent filling the cab. You roll down your window, watching as the smoke is sucked out down the highway.

In a stern and strained voice, Gator says, “I can’t.”

You know better than to push right now. You don’t need Gator in a bad mood at the ranch. That never ends well. So you sigh, look out the window and prepare yourself for the lying. Roy always pressures you and Gator to get married and start making babies. It’s a whole thing.

The sermon goes fine, all things considered. Gator holds your hand during it and you let him because otherwise his dad would know something was up. He picks up on body language. Like he has some sixth sense for it.

At one point though, Roy mentions how couples living together premaritally are living in sin. And he stares right at you and Gator as he says it. Gator goes rigid at that, so you squeeze his hand. You get it a little bit, but seriously, Gator is a grown man. He should stand up to his dad at some point.

During the meal after, Roy says to you and Gator, “Glad you two could make it.”

You guys come every single Sunday.

Then he says, “What did you think of the sermon?”

You nod, “It was lovely.”

Gator puts his hand on yours and nods in agreement. Then Roy asks, “And the premarital part? Mentioned that especially for you two. You can repent and repent but there are some things the Lord just won’t forgive ya for.”

God, the strength it takes for you to not roll your eyes. You just look at Gator, he’s the one that put you in this mess in the first place. He nods again, “Heard loud and clear. I’ve been thinking about it, praying on it.”

“It’s in your hands, son,” Roy says, “God and I have given you all the guidance we can, you just gotta get your shit together and listen.”

“I know, dad, I will,” he says, looking like a scolded puppy.

And you just look at him because this is just making it all worse. His dads just gonna be more pissed the longer they drag this on because Gator is not planning on marrying you, you’re fucking broken up!

You help clean up, like the women do at the ranch while all the men sit around the table and talk. Gator looks so stiff, on edge and you feel guilty. You’re the one who broke up with him, but there was only so many times you could tell him you were unhappy. He wasn’t doing anything to fix it. But you feel bad, so you rub his shoulder comfortingly between picking up things from the table. You play nice with Roy’s wife and daughters, along with her parents.

But you’re so relieved when Gator walks into the kitchen and says to you, “It’s time to go, darlin’.”

You have Gator some time to stew on the way home. You wanted him to feel bad. But as soon as you get in the door, you tell him, “You have to fucking tell him, Gator. I can’t do that shit anymore. I feel like they’re all staring at me and judging me and think I’m this big fucking whore just because you and I live together.”

“I know,” he whispers, sits on the couch and starts taking his boots off.

It’s quiet, you don’t like that. You want him to fight back, you realize. So you put your hand on your hips and say to him, “Well, fucking do it. Stop being a fucking coward.”

That seems to work, he stands and raises his voice, “I can’t fucking do it, you don’t get it. You’re just a fucking selfish lil brat. You ain’t ever thinking about anyone but yourself.”

“I spent way too fucking long not being selfish, Gator! I did— fuck, I’m still doing it for you, I can’t do it anymore,” you exclaim, your heart racing as you feel tears prickling your eyes. You always cry when you’re angry, you wish you didn’t. Especially because Gator usually bitches about it. Like he does now.

“Oh, my god, don’t start fuckin’ crying! I already feel bad, stop trying to make it worse,” Gator spits out, stepping closer to you.

“I ain’t doing it on purpose, Gator! I can’t help it, I just fucking cry when I’m mad,” you explain, wiping the tears away.

“Why are you so mad? Was I that fuckin’ awful?” he asks, stepping even closer and raising his brows.

You look up at him, hating that he can be so intimidating. Gator never gets physical, but he will yell at you. He’ll scream in your face until he gets what he wants. But you can do it too, can’t you?

“You were! You were really fucking awful! You never ask about my day, you never wanna talk about things, you never ask what I wanna do. It’s all about you and I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you argue back, poking his chest for emphasis.

His eyes drop down to where your finger is, and he smiles. It feels eerie, but also, Gator has a lovely smile and you can’t help but warm up to him a bit. Especially when he grabs your wrist and moves it behind your back, using his experience to his advantage. His other hand grabs your other wrist and he’s got you detained easily. You hate that it turns you on, but it does.

He leans down, you can feel his breath fan against your face as he asks, “Yeah? You want me to fucking worship you, is that it?”

Heat bubbles in your core, you inhale sharply and lean into him. You do want that. Your voice is shaky, quiet when you say, “Yes.”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he laughs, “See, that makes things a bit complicated, darlin’. I wanna be worshipped, you wanna be worshipped… how we supposed to manage that?”

“We can’t,” you exhale, “That’s why we’re broken up.”

“But you want me to worship you, and I want you to worship me. So we ain’t gonna be all that happy apart, are we?” Gator points out, and he isn’t wrong.

“Uh…”

“You want me, I want you. Why should we deprive ourselves of that?” Gator purrs, nose nudging against yours. His eyes are dark, needy again.

You swallow then, “‘Cause one of us is gonna be unhappy.”

“Compromise, baby,” Gator leans down an inch more, captures your lips in a kiss. It’s not urgent, it’s hesitant, like he’s giving you an opportunity to reject him. And it’s a bit of a compromise from him already. Giving you more agency in the situation. He compromises further by letting go of your wrists, but your hands immediately go into his hair while you deepen the kiss, messing up the gel cast. You like when his hair gets all floppy.

His hands cup your jaw, catching up with the pace, he licks against your lower lip and you open for him. Gator kisses you filthy, walks you backwards to the dinner table and pushes you back onto it. He stands, pushing your dress up and tugs down your underwear. You kick your heels off and aid in the movement, lifting your hips so he can expose your core. This is definitely a compromise. Gator never goes down on you. But here he is, pulling your ass to the edge of the table before getting on his knees. You spread your legs, gazing down at him in awe.

Those big eyes look up at you, large hands wrapping around your thighs as he inches closer. Gator kisses your pussy, tenderly. Then you feel his tongue, rigid as it moves up and down your folds. You gasp and cry out, watching him as he licks at you. His tongue circles your clit, teasing you. He won’t quite put his tongue on it, so you narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t tease, Gator, that’s not nice.”

“Who the hell said I’m nice?” he snorts as he pulls back, squeezing your thighs.

“No one,” you admit on an exhale, “but I want you to be nice to me.”

“Hmm,” he thinks on it, “Yeah, I guess you deserve it, huh?”

You nod at him, “I do. I’m so nice to you all the time. Just want you to be nice to me.”

“I’m nice to you,” he rolls his eyes, and then he finally gets his tongue back on you. Broad on your clit, moves his head up and down and then side to side.

Your back arches, feeling waves of euphoria run through you. Gator keeps his eyes on you, like he’s gauging your reaction. He needs the guide, because he really doesn’t ever do this to you. And it’s unfortunate because really, Gator is actually so good at it.

Curling his tongue around your clit, he pulls a hand from your thigh and you feel two fingers prod at your entrance. He gives a short laugh, because he feels how goddamn soaked you are. He pulls them away though, like he was just checking but then his tongue sinks down and slides into your center. You moan out, hand slipping into his floppy hair and you pull him closer. His strong nose bumps against your clit and the sensation makes your eyes cross.

Gator laughs again, but you like that he’s watching you so intently. He stays at it for a bit, tongue lapping at your hole. Slides in and out, while his nose continues brushing against your clit in the most delicious way. And you think, Gator looks really good like this, his mouth out of view but his nose rubbing against you while his eyes gaze up at your face. His brows lift with it, causing small wrinkles in his forehead. You tug his hair, writhing against his face.

Now, you’ve not had an orgasm in a month and Gator doesn’t usually eat you out, so it’s not a huge shock that you’re approaching a climax this quickly. But you are a little bummed, because you wanted this to last longer. So you pull his hair back, pulling him off.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you explain, chest heaving.

Gator squints at you, “Isn’t that a good thing? Why you pulling me away?”

“Don’t wanna cum that quick,” you complain.

“Takin’ that as a compliment,” he says before diving back in, licking enthusiastically. This time his eyes close and he starts basically making out with your pussy. Sloppy, yet firm. It pushes you over the edge, legs snapping closed and trapping him there. You shake with the orgasm, crying out as you tug at his hair.

“Fuuuck! Gator, yes! Oh, my god!”

You collapse, letting him go as you lay back on the table and attempt to catch your breath.

But Gator’s pulling back, standing up and undressing himself. Practically rips the buttons of his shirt off and then goes for his pants, “Okay, it’s my turn.”

You sigh and sit up, but his excitement is unfortunately cute. So you can’t be too annoyed. And really, you used to give Gator a blow job pretty much every day. He hasn’t had one in a month.

You stand then, pulling the hair tie from your rider and tying your hair up. Gator pulls his briefs down and his cock springs out, fully erect and god, is it gorgeous. You really did miss it. He leans against the table and you get on your knees, looking up at him.

“Thought about you doing this every fucking day,” he groans out.

With a roll of your eyes, you wrap your fingers around his cock, “See how I spoil you? All I’m asking is you return the favor sometimes.”

“I make you cum all the time,” he points out, his voice a little shaky as you squeeze the base of his cock.

“Uh huh, you do, but I want to feel like it’s all about me sometimes,” you tell him before rubbing the tip of his cock against your lips. You give him a lick before asking, “Think you can manage that?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyebrows furrowed with those needy eyes looking down at you, “Promise.”

You wrap your lips around him, licking against the ridge where the tip meets the shaft and Gator whines out. You have to admit you missed this. Turning him into a whiny mess was so fun to do. He grabs the edge of the table for support as you continue to tease at his sensitive spot. And Gator has a real pretty voice. Especially when he’s whimpering and whining. It’s so cathartic to get through that tough guy exterior and bring him to a desperate puddle. And honestly, it’s probably good for Gator too. He wasn’t an awful boyfriend all the time, sometimes he’d rub your feet while you made him watch trash reality television.

His hand wraps around your ponytail and he pushes you down further on his cock, the stretch makes the corners of your lips sting but that’s because you’re a little bit out of practice. You inhale through your nose and follow his guidance, sinking down on him until your nose meets the curly hair at his base. The musky aroma fills your nostrils, makes your eyes roll back because you absolutely love the way Gator smells. Whether it’s because it’s genuinely good or just pheromones, you may never know, but you bask in it as you swallow around him.

Gator groans, low and drawn out. Then he pulls your hair, dragging your lips back towards his tip. Repeating that a few times before he lets you decide the pace. Compromise. Look at him learning.

“Fuckin’ perfect, love the way you take it,” he mumbles out, head tilted as he watches you. “Like being a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You answer by swallowing around him again, blinking up at him with wide eyes because you do. You like when he praises you. Your hand moves from his thigh up to cup his balls, cradling them in your palm and he whimpers out. Looks down at you all pathetic and needy and fuck, you can’t let this man go. You’re a fool to think you could in the first place.

Pulling off his cock, you use your hand to stroke him while you move your mouth down to his balls. You lick, broadly at the seam before sucking one into your mouth. Gator cries out, head falling back a bit while his hips jerk forward. His stomach muscles flex and twitch as you roll his ball around against your tongue.

You move to the other, not wanting to neglect it as you continue stroking Gator’s pulsing length in your hand. He’s vocal, so vocal. A mess with it, really.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it, oh, shit, fuck, you’re such a good girl, holy shit…”

Now, you wrap your lips around his tip again and sink all the way down until your nose meets that mess of curls again. Gator thrusts into you and you let him, he fucks your face for a beat before he’s pulling you off, hand grabbing your ponytail.

“Fuck! Almost came, holy shit,” he pants out, lips turned up in a smile that makes you melt.

“Isn’t that the point?” you tease.

“Nah,” he pulls the hair tie from your hair and pulls you up, “That’s just the warm up, babe, you know that.”

He kisses you, which is also something he doesn’t usually do. Not after you’ve had his cock and balls in your mouth. More of that glorious compromise. He lifts you up, you wrap your legs around him and Gator carries you to the bedroom. He puts you down gently on the bed, crawling on top of you and continuing the kiss. Deepens it, licks into your mouth as he grabs the hem of your dress and starts to pull it up. The kiss breaks so he can pull it over your head, leaving you just as naked as he is. Your hands skate across his hairy chest, as his lips connect with your jaw and down your neck. Then, across your clavicle and move down to your breasts, he cups them in his hands, pushes them up as he plants sloppy kisses against your cleavage. Then he licks against your pert nipple, pulls back and blows on it.

You whine, back arching at the sensation. Fuck, he’s listening. He’s giving you what you asked for.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, before wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking. He licks again, eyes looking up to see how you react.

Biting your lip, you smile, nodding softly. Gator mirrors the smile, then moves to the other nipple. Licks and sucks, the pad of his thumb toying with the other one. Your body shivers from the stimulation.

“Feels so good, Gator,” you tell him.

He pulls back, pushes your hair back and smiles, “I know how to do that, ya know.”

“I do know,” you admit, reaching up to caress his face. He leans into it. Because he needs it. You know he needs softness, it’s the only way he can heal from his upbringing. You feel a little guilty.

Then he leans down and kisses you, writhes against you and you feel his cock against your pussy. Hot, rigid and pulsing. You meet the movement, grinding up against him. Gator moans into the kiss, rolls his hips a little harder this time. The tip of his cock catches against your clit and it’s your turn to moan. He stills, keeps the trajectory right and then rolls his hips again. Your clit rubs against the head of his cock and it’s delicious and heady. Makes your legs spread on their own volition, inviting the pleasure.

His hand moves between your bodies, gripping his cock as he guides the tip through your folds down to your entrance. He pushes, just slightly. Teasingling, he circles your hole. You gasp, Gator licks into your mouth as he simultaneously slips his cock inside you. Then, you moan in sync and you can feel the vibration of his voice in your mouth. Gator sinks in deeper, inch by inch, excruciatingly slow until he’s as deep as he can get. Your body tingles, warm with euphoria as you cling to his biceps.

Gator stills for a beat, licking and moaning into your mouth like the desperate and needy boy he is. Your hips roll up, though Gator’s own hips have you pinned down but you’re eager for friction. He doesn’t let you have it. He presses down a little firmer into you, grabbing your hands like he thinks you might do something with them. He pins them above your head, licks again, real filthy into your mouth. Your tongues meet, it’s sloppy, messy.

You feel anticipation building, needing Gator to move so fucking bad you might explode. But he doesn’t. He licks once more before he pulls back, “You my girl?”

“Huh?” you blink, confused by him.

“Are you my girl?” he repeats, looking down at you expectantly.

“Gator—“

“Tell me, tell me you’re my fuckin’ girl and I’ll give you exactly what you want,” he says, voice gruff, “But I gotta hear it.”

You swallow hard, you need him to move but you’re a bit stubborn. However, you’re realistic. This whole thing means you’re getting back together. So you lock your eyes on his, lick your lips and say, “I’m your girl, Gator. All yours.”

Gator grins, “Always were, huh?”

“Yes,” you confess with a nod.

He finally, finally, rears his hips back, dragging his cock back against your spongy walls before slamming back into you. The force of it punches a moan out of you, loud and piercing.

He lets go of your hands, moves his hand to your throat. Not applying pressure, but keeping a grip on you as he thrusts back and forth. The friction is exactly what you’d been dying for, Gator’s fat cock stretching you out in such a satisfying way. You can’t believe you gave this up for a whole month. Your hands move to his shoulders, then scratch down his back and he pumps in and out of you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as his cock drills deep into you and then he pulls out completely. You whine at the loss, but he slips back in.

Gator presses his face against the side of yours, moaning as he drives his hips in and out. Your lips lazily find each other’s, kissing sloppily. His hand reaches down, thumb finding your clit and he rubs quick, firm circles against it.

It’s not long before that powerful bliss finds you, crashing into your body in eye rolling waves. Your vision goes white as you writhe against Gator. When you come down from the high, he’s pulling out and painting your navel in thick white ropes. He collapses next to you and catches his breath, his spunk going cold as you lay there. But, he does something he doesn’t usually do. Again. Compromise.

He rolls over and kisses your cheek, cups your jaw and tilts you over for another soft kiss on the lips. Then he’s up and retrieving a towel to clean you up with.

As he’s doing so, you ask him, “So, now that we’re back together, why couldn’t you tell your dad we broke up?”

Gator sighs, tossing the towel to the floor. He puts his hands on your waist as he looks at you, “It’d be just another thing I failed at. Just another fuckin example of me being a fuck up.”

“Gator…” you sit up and caress his jaw, “You’re not a fuck up… life throws shit at you. Failure’s happen. It doesn’t mean you’re a fuck up. You’ve always managed to find a way, huh? You don’t give up. You adapt. You’re good, Gator.”

He can’t look at you, eyes aimed down towards the bed. He shrugs, “That ain’t how he sees it.”

You lay down, pull him with you. Hooking your leg over his waist, curling up into him and kissing his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you.

Then he says, “Plus, I knew you didn’t really mean it. Why tell him when we was gonna get back together?”

But even that was starting to slip away. The gap between his late night visits was increasing. Two times a week had turned into one. Once a week turned to maybe once a fortnight. He was getting busier with his new girlfriend. Or maybe he was losing interest in you. You didn’t know which was worse. 

You hated to admit it but that thought scared you. The one thing in this fucked up town that made you feel just a little bit in control was slipping away. Because Roy Tillman had deemed you as tainted, unfit to be wed because you dared to have ‘relations outside of marriage’. Whatever. It’s not like you cared about what Roy Tillman had to say about your sex life. Not when Gator Tillman used to beg to fuck you almost every chance he got. 

The days were hotter as summer arrived; the nights even more so. Your body feeling empty, no sharp knocks only your front door. You hated missing the nuisance that Gator was, making his way through your apartment like he owned it. Owned you.

It’s not like you needed him. This town had a specialty for men who’d fuck you in a heartbeat at night, then deem you as a slut the morning after, ruined for a husband. The hypocrisy was almost laughable, but you’d long outgrown the need to listen to what people in this town had to say about you. 

But anything that got your mind off of Gator fucking Tillman for an hour or two was worth it at this point.

Somewhere between a long, exhausting shift where you forced on fake smiles for poor tips, happily wiped away messes from patrons who were too drunk to even walk straight, he’d caught your eye.

His name was Theo maybe, or Leo, you didn’t really care. A familiar face at your bar, usually with his friends. Shyer than most of those loud, sleazy fucks who all eyed you as you worked. But he was cute enough. A friendly smile on his face. You gave him a once over - with his greasy blond hair and dorky glasses - and offered him a smile. A real one. Accidentally brushed your arm when you served him a drink. 

You weren’t inexperienced, far from it. But your lack of action in the dating pool between Gator’s usual presence keeping you busy and now, his extended absence, had you slightly off balance. Slightly out of touch. If it sucked, at least you got some practice out of it. 

“Just you tonight?” you asked, leaning over to grab his empty drink to refill. “Where are your buddies?” You didn’t really care much for the answer. His friends were gross, loud, messy. And more importantly, if he was alone, it was easier to get his attention. And that’s what you needed right now. 

“Ah, nope, just me,” he replied, after the initial surprise wore off that you were actually making conversation with him. “Got off work late, needed a drink… you know how it is.”

Sure. You could definitely work with that.

“I could keep you company,” you said, tilting your head, blinking down at him. “I mean… after I get off tonight. Or any other night.” 

A week later, you were sitting in the booth across from - Theo, you’d now learned - listening to him talk your ear off about … okay. Maybe you weren’t the best listener right now. But you were nodding at the right times, sipping your drink generously as you twirled your hair with one finger. Anything to show him you were interested. 

Two drinks in, Theo was still talking. Seemingly not picking up on your signals that you wanted to do anything but talk right now. You weren’t sure how many more hints you could drop about heading back to his place or yours.

With a soft sigh, you stood up, still forcing that smile on your face. It was your second date and, sure, you’d hooked up last time, and that wasn’t bad. But now he wanted to talk, get to know you more.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, “just getting a refill.”

And you very much needed it if the next hour was going to be filled with more talking instead of fucking. With a little wave to the bartender - one of your coworkers who already knew your favorite - you leaned against the counter, trying not to contemplate every life decision that had led you here. 

If you hadn’t let Gator get the best of you every time, maybe you wouldn’t be in this position. It happened one too many times - going out with a guy once or twice before you got bored, not giving them a chance to get to know you better. Because nothing fueled that fire in you like he did. And here you were again, on a second date with a guy you weren’t even that interested in just because you felt empty, because you needed to prove to yourself that you were still wanted. 

Then you heard his voice. 

“Oh, look who it is,” his voice was low behind you, sarcastic and mocking. “Aren’t you off tonight?”

A beat passed before you turned to glance at Gator over your shoulder, schooling your expression. He was in uniform, camo pants and deputy vest, that stupid black, tight muscle tee as always. 

“You keeping track of my shift schedules, deputy?” you asked dryly. 

“What? No,” he replied quickly, scoffing as he glanced to the side. Then he glanced back at you, giving you a once over, noticing the fresh drink now in your hand. “Got a call about disorderly conduct. Some desperate slut making a scene.”

You scoffed loudly at that. “You’re so full of shit.” 

“And you’re a whore, dressed like that.” he reached out, tugging at the thin strap of your dress, smirking when it snapped against your skin. 

You pulled back, glancing over his shoulder at Theo who was still sitting in the booth, checking his phone. Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed Gator talking to you yet. 

But looking at him was a mistake, because Gator immediately followed your gaze. 

“Who the fuck is that?” 

You folded your arms, pursing your lips. “None of your goddamn business.” 

“If he’s fucking you, then it is my goddamn business.” 

His nerve to seem self righteous, as if he had some kind of right over you, made you angry. 

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?”

A tense moment passed between you. The chatter from around you seemed to fade, both of you in a silent standoff as you stared at each other. Waiting. 

And then he snatched your drink, setting it down on the counter before he grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the bar. “You’re under arrest.” 

“What?” you said, dumbfounded, trying to pull away. But he didn’t even budge, just yanked you harder outside of the bar. “You can’t-”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he pinned your hands behind your back. The metal of the cuffs were cool against your wrists as he clicked them on, before tugging you forward to his patrol car. “Disorderly conduct, contempt, obstruction of justice. You’re sure gettin’ yourself some hefty charges tonight.”

“On what fucking grounds, you pig?” you snapped. “You can’t just-”

“Think you’re forgettin’ who runs this town,” he murmured in your ear before he shoved you into the backseat. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, sweet thing.” 

“Right,” you glanced at him. “Except when your daddy tells you not to.”

His eyes flashed at your words, and you knew what that meant. If you hadn’t completely pissed him off earlier, you surely had now. Maybe enough for him to actually drive you down to the station and book you in just to remind you that he had the authority to do whatever the hell he wanted. 

But you were past caring. Not when he’d interrupted your date and dragged you out of the bar in front of everyone. 

“How’s it going, anyway?” you asked once he sat in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine. “That girl of yours. Sweet little Virgin Mary herself.” 

“Shut up. She’s none of your business.” 

You could never tell if his hypocrisy was deliberate or he was just that stupid. 

“Oh, you’re getting defensive.” you mocked, scooting closer to the edge of the seat as he sped down the road. “Is she not doing it for you? Guess you can’t exactly get it up if they’re too easy.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ bitch.” he muttered, taking a hit of his vape. The fruity scent filled the car, making your nose scrunch with disgust. 

“Why were you hangin’ ‘round that bar anyway? You said it’s a shithole.”

“It is a shithole,” he grunted in response. “No wonder they hired ya.” 

“So why the hell were you there?” you pressed on. “The good girl daddy picked out still boring you?”

You could see the clench of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Why the fuck were you? That poor fella doesn’t know you’re an easy little bitch.”

“You just can’t fucking admit it, huh? You listened to your daddy and broke up with me. And yet you’re still here.”

“Does he even make you cum?” Gator scoffed. He wasn’t even listening to you now, more caught up in whether Theo was even good, whether he could satisfy you. Like that was any of his fucking business.

You felt your irritation rising, glancing out the window to watch the lights blur past. 

“Yeah, he did.”

A total blatant lie. It slipped out before you could even think; you were just so pissed off. That even though you were trying to do the right thing and move on from Gator, you were still here. Cuffed in the back of his car like he didn’t have a girlfriend; as if he wasn’t the one who broke things off in the first place. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ liar.” 

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause he’s bigger than you.” you snapped. “And fucks me better.”

Your face slammed into the seat in front of you as Gator pulled over to the side of the road, car screeching to a halt. 

He yanked open the door, shoving you onto your stomach across the leather seats, making you yelp softly. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he murmured, voice low. He loomed over you in the cramped space of the car, hiking your dress up. The very one you’d worn in hopes of getting Theo’s attention, which was now getting crumpled as Gator bunched it up around your waist to slap your ass. “You’re gonna shut up while I fuck you, and maybe I’ll let your pretty ass off with a warning.” 

Your knees dug into the leather seats uncomfortably. Your hands were still cuffed behind your back, wrists chafing slightly against the metal, your face awkwardly pressed down against the seat. 

“That’s real generous. Considering I haven’t done anything wrong.” you snapped. “Uncuff me.”

Gator scoffed loudly, one hand tugging at your cuffed wrists just to fuck with you. “Haven’t done anything wrong? You’re going ‘round town like a fuckin’ tramp.” 

“And that’s none of your-”

An involuntary, pathetic little squeak left your throat as his palm cracked down on your ass again, leaving your skin burning. 

“He fucks you better, huh?” he muttered, fingers sliding against your clothed cunt, pressing his thumb down on your clit through the thin fabric. “Really, darlin’? ‘Cause it feels like you’re real wet for me right now.”

Your cheeks were burning, shifting your hips, but he wasn’t giving you an inch. Gator’s rough hands gripped your sides, keeping you in place as he stared down at the state of your wet panties. 

“That’s-”

“So what were you gonna do tonight, huh?” he continued, sliding your panties to one side before he pushed two thick fingers inside your slick pussy. “Let that loser touch you like this? Or does he just stick his dick in like a fuckin’ dumbass?”

All you could do was moan in response, the way his fingers curled, making your head spin. 

And despite that, a breathy laugh let your lips, because finally, you had Gator right where you wanted. Fueled with ugly jealousy, fingers pressing into your sweet spot like he needed to prove something to you. 

“You sure you wanna know?” you asked. 

He didn’t respond, but his silence was enough of an answer. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, already starting to drool as his fingers stretched out your needy hole, pulsing around his fingers. You needed more. 

But he wasn’t giving you more. He stared down at you, hazel eyes dark as he studied your expression like he needed the approval that he was making you feel good. 

“You’re such a slut,” he muttered, voice low and raspy, fucking his fingers in deeper. 

The crackle of the radio chatter didn’t even deter him. Was he still on duty? 

You didn’t get the chance to ask him, because suddenly his fingers pulled out of you, leaving you empty. Then he was leaning down, licking a broad stripe from your clit all the way up. And all of a sudden you didn’t really care if he was still on patrol.

“Gator,” you said, because that’s the only thing your useless mouth could say as he sucked on your clit.

“Bet he doesn’t do this for you,” he was mumbling against your dripping cunt before his teeth grazed against your clit. A jolt of pain tangled with pleasure ripped through your body at the sensation. “Bet he didn’t even make you come, huh?”

“I…” you trailed off, a little too far gone to fully process his question. 

“It’s a simple fuckin’ question, darlin’,” he said, thumbs spreading your cheeks wider before he spit on your clit. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards at the sight of his spit dripping down your glistening folds before he dove back in, nose nudging your cunt as his tongue swirled around your throbbing clit. 

“Fuck you.” you managed to say between pants, but it came out breathy and soft. Almost like a plea.

“So much attitude, baby.” he smacked your ass again. “If you answer, I’ll take ‘em cuffs off you and fuck you proper.”

That made you pause. “No,” you finally admitted. “I was lying.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. “Good girl.”

When his mouth pulled away from your clit, you whimpered pathetically. Your clit throbbed, aching for more pleasure, more of his touch. 

The cuffs clicked off you finally, and you shifted to turn over, but Gator’s hands moved back to your hips. 

“Didn’t say you could fuckin’ move.”

You gritted your teeth, holding back another insult because his fingers finally slid back into your slick pussy. The wet sounds filled the cramped space of the car, fingers curling again. Pushing in and out repeatedly until you were moaning like the pathetic mess you always ended up being under his touch. 

“Fuck, Gator,” the words spilled out of your mouth with a rough groan as he leaned down to suck on your clit. “That’s- fuck.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “Fuckin’ come, baby, show me I’m better than him.”

Your thighs trembled, your orgasm hitting you fast, a strangled moan ripping out of your throat. White hot pleasure overtook your senses, but Gator didn’t stop; still thrusting his fingers as your walls squeezed around them tightly. 

“I’m always gonna be the best you’ve ever fuckin’ had,” he said as he finally pulled out of your dripping cunt. “You should know that.”

You did know that. You lived it. Every time you were with a guy that wasn’t him. But you couldn’t speak, still trying to catch your breath as he finally turned you onto your back. 

His eyes met yours, a smirk curling at his lips as he grabbed a fistful of your hair. “Say it. Say I’m the best you’ve ever had.” 

You tilted your head back, hips lifting off the seat as he pressed his hips down, dick bulging in his pants. The rough fabric pressed against your oversensitive clit and you were whimpering again. 

“What about you, huh?” you replied. “You wouldn’t be here if she was satisfying you.”

Gator tilted his head, hands clumsily tugging down his pants to free his cock, glistening under the low light. “Fuck that,” he muttered. “This ain’t about me. It’s about you bein’ a slut.” 

“You’re the one with a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, you think I fuckin’ want that?” he raised his voice. “That I want her?”

You huffed softly. “I think you still want me and just can’t admit it.”

His thumb slid inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. “Shut up.” He shut his eyes as you sucked on it, cock twitching against your thigh. “You’re so full of yourself.”

The silence stretched in the car as you stared up at him, drooling around his thumb. Then he shook his head, pressing his hips forward, rocking against you. 

“Say it,” you murmured, squeezing your eyes shut as his tip nudged between your aching folds, pressing against your clit once before he slid inside. “Admit it. That’s why you were at the bar tonight. Why you arrested me.”

“I said, shut up,” he said, louder, as he slammed into you, knocking the air right out of your lungs. “Fuck.” 

You couldn’t speak or think or even breathe, the car rocking violently as he snapped his hips forward, fucking into your pussy. Each rough thrust had you moaning louder, the curve of his cock pushing in and out of you. 

His hands were rough, fingers digging into your skin as he gripped your hips to keep you in place. Not like you had much room in the tiny backseat. Gator was panting, fucking moaning as he leaned down, lips finding yours. 

Then he bit down hard, eyes hazy as he stared down at you, and you moaned, tilting your head back. “This enough to show you what I want, huh?” he asked breathlessly, making that smug tone come out more like a need for approval. “This fuckin’ pussy. Every day if I could. Shit, yeah. Every day.” 

“Then do it,” you whispered, chasing his lips as he pushed one knee up so he could fuck into you deeper. “Everyday. All the time. I want you.”

Gator groaned into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours as he gripped your hair. Your words were only spurring him on, making him go faster. The car creaked and groaned with every thrust he was giving you.

“Bet you’d like that, little whore,” he was saying now, hands groping your tits through your tank top. “Think you can take this everyday? My cock fillin’ you up every mornin’? Every night?”

You couldn’t speak anymore, not with the way his hand slid down to circle your puffy clit while the other pinched your nipple. All while his cock stuffing you up, balls slapping against your skin like you were all he needed. 

“Fuck, Gator, ‘m…” 

“Yeah,” he groaned, thumb circling your clit faster as his tip nudged that sweet spot, making your walls squeeze tightly around his dick. Gator practically whined at the sensation, rutting into the same spot, his thick cock angling just right each time against your g-spot. “Yeah, I know, baby.”

You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood, muffling your whine as your second climax hit you even harder than the first. Your skin felt like it was on fire, the pleasure swirling in your stomach and your head dizzy. 

Gator’s hips stuttered, thrusts growing clumsy before he was spilling into you, too lost in his pleasure to think about pulling out. Thick, hot spurts of cum filling up your still fluttering cunt, making your toes curl. 

The car finally came to a halt, cock still buried deep inside you before he collapsed over your body. Your breaths mingled in the hot, heavy air. 

His hand brushed your hair back, blinking down at you with heavy lids. “Get up,” he mumbled, voice softer than it’d been all night. “I’ll drive you home.”

What he meant didn’t have to be said out loud. Not when you knew how his father was.