🧹

Chase exhaled, crossing his arms. “So what do you want to test?”

“I want,” House said slowly, “a better patient. This one’s boring.”

He spun in his chair, pretending to ignore them, eyes half-lidded in that way that meant he was thinking faster than he looked. The team fell into uneasy silence. Outside, Princeton-Plainsboro hummed its usual late-afternoon rhythm: nurses hustling, pages chirping, the distant murmur of the clinic.

The door opened. Wilson appeared, hair a little messy, tie slightly off-center. He looked hesitant, which was never a good sign.

House caught the look immediately. “If this is another lecture about social boundaries, skip it. I’ve already ignored five today.”

Wilson didn’t smile. “House… it’s about Vivi.”

The room stilled. Chase stopped fiddling with his pen. Cameron’s eyes widened a fraction.

House’s voice dropped, all sarcasm evaporating. “What about her?”

“She’s in the clinic,” Wilson said quickly. “Y/N brought her in. She’s—”

House didn’t wait for more. He shoved the office door open with unnecessary force and started down the hall, limping faster than most people could run.

Behind him, Chase muttered, “He didn’t even let you finish.”

Wilson sighed. “He never does.”

⸻

The clinic smelled like antiseptic and anxiety. House’s cane thumped against the linoleum in sharp rhythm as he cut through the waiting area, ignoring the startled nurse who tried to flag him down. His eyes swept the room once—then found them.

Y/N sat in one of the plastic chairs, pale and tense, a small bundle in her arms. Vivi’s tiny face was pressed against her mother’s shoulder, flushed pink, eyes glassy with fever. She was wearing her favorite yellow sweater, the one with a cartoon duck half-faded from too many washes.

House’s stomach did something unfamiliar and unpleasant.

He reached them in three long strides. “Okay,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “What happened?”

Y/N looked up, eyes shiny. “She’s hot—she started coughing about two hour ago and then she said her tummy hurt and she just… she looks so tired, Greg, I don’t know what—”

He crouched beside them, forcing his tone calm. “Hey. Breathe. You’re talking faster than an intern on espresso. Fever and stomachache. Got it.”

He gently took Vivi from her arms. The little girl whimpered but didn’t resist, resting her head against his chest. She felt too warm; her small hands clutched weakly at his shirt.

House pressed a hand to her forehead. “Yeah, she’s burning up. Let’s get a temp, vitals, the usual parade of unnecessary numbers.”

Y/N stood, wringing her hands. “Greg, is she—”

“She’s fine,” he said automatically. “Unless she’s not, in which case I’ll fix it. Perks of having me for a dad.”

The nurse approached uncertainly with a thermometer. House waved her off. “I’ve got it. Go… chart something.”

Within minutes he had Vivi settled on an exam bed, wrapped in a blanket. He took her temperature, checked her lungs, heart, and throat, each motion precise. His expression was unreadable, which only made Y/N’s panic worse.

“Say something,” she whispered.

House looked up. “She’s breathing. That’s a good sign.”

“Greg—”

“Relax. It’s probably viral.” He hesitated, frowning slightly. “But I want labs. CBC, metabolic panel. Rule out bacterial stuff before I start lecturing about hand-washing.”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Labs? You mean blood? She’s so small, Greg—”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You’re right. Let’s just ask her fever politely to leave.”

“Greg…”

House sighed. “It’s one vial. She’ll survive. You might not.”

Vivi sniffled. “Needle?” Her voice was small and frightened.

House leaned down until they were eye-level. “Yeah, kiddo. A tiny one. But guess what? I’m doing it myself. No nurses. I don’t trust them not to stab you in the wrong dimension.”

That earned a weak giggle. Y/N, despite herself, exhaled.

He prepped the syringe with the efficiency of long habit, murmuring under his breath to keep Vivi distracted. “Okay, tiny human, don’t flinch or the universe collapses. I’m told that’s bad.”

Vivi squeezed her eyes shut. He drew the sample quickly, one hand steadying hers afterward. “See? You didn’t even destroy the universe. Proud of you.”

Y/N managed a trembling smile. “You make that sound like a medical milestone.”

“Hey, we take our victories where we can.” He labeled the vial himself, already heading toward the lab window. “No one touches this but me. If any pathologist even looks at it wrong, I’ll amputate their curiosity.”

The nurse blinked, uncertain if he was serious. Y/N knew better—he probably was.

When he returned, Vivi was dozing against Y/N’s shoulder. House’s gaze softened. “She’ll be okay. Fever like that, it’s most likely flu. Worst-case, twenty-four-hour viral circus.”

Y/N nodded, though her eyes still glistened. “I hate seeing her like this.”

“I know.” He brushed a stray tear from her cheek with surprising gentleness. “That’s part of the parental contract you never read.”

That earned a watery laugh.

He sat beside them, pretending to check the chart but really watching both of them—the way Vivi’s breathing slowed, the way Y/N’s hands finally stopped trembling. For a man who avoided sentiment like infection, he felt dangerously close to content.

The corridor outside the lab hummed with fluorescent light. House leaned against the counter, a Styrofoam coffee cup balanced in one hand, the other absently spinning Vivi’s blood sample between his fingers like a coin.

He didn’t trust anyone else to touch it. Pathologists were fine for strangers, not for his kid.

Wilson appeared again, hovering at the doorway with that familiar look—part worry, part disbelief. “You realize the path lab exists for a reason?”

“Yeah. To screw up my daughter’s CBC.” House capped the vial and turned toward the centrifuge. “She gets better care this way. Besides, if something’s wrong, I get to yell at myself instead of someone else.”

Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re observant. That’s why you’re in oncology.”

He started the spin cycle. The machine whirred to life. Y/N sat on a stool nearby, arms wrapped around herself. The clinic’s harsh light flattened her face, washing out the usual warmth in her expression. She looked like she hadn’t blinked in a minute.

“Coffee?” House asked without looking up.

She shook her head. “No. I can’t… eat or drink anything right now. Not until I know.”

“She’s got a fever. Not a death sentence.”

“It’s not just a fever.” Her voice cracked a little, the way it always did when fear slipped through her self-control. “She’s burning up, Greg. She’s so small, and—”

“—and you think I’m not doing anything about it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Contrary to what the internet says, I actually do know some medicine.”

That earned him a weak glare. “Could you maybe, just this once, not be a jerk?”

House exhaled through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “No promises.”

Still, when the centrifuge stopped, his movements were careful. He pulled out the separated sample and turned toward the microscope, his posture shifting from sardonic to surgical precision. The shift always unnerved Y/N—the way he could become so still, so completely consumed by analysis, as if nothing existed outside that lens.

Minutes stretched. The only sound was the hum of the lab.

Finally, House spoke. “White count’s up. Slightly. It’s consistent with viral infection.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s the flu. Or at worst, something boring like adenovirus.”

Her relief came out as a breathy laugh. “So she’s going to be okay?”

“She’s going to live to whine another day. Still, I want a full panel and vitals overnight. Flu in toddlers can escalate fast.”

She blinked. “Overnight? In the hospital?”

He nodded. “We’ll monitor her fever, give fluids. She’ll complain, you’ll cry, and I’ll pretend to sleep through both.”

Y/N pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to hold in a sob that turned into laughter. “You always say the worst possible thing at the exact right moment.”

“It’s a talent. I don’t get paid enough for it.”

⸻

By evening, a small room was prepped. Pastel walls, a mobile of paper stars turning lazily in the air conditioning. Vivi sat on the bed, lower lip stuck out in a perfect pout, her teddy bear clutched like a shield.

“I don’t like it here,” she announced.

“You’re in luck,” House said from the doorway. “Neither do I.”

Y/N sat beside Vivi, running her fingers through the child’s hair. “It’s just for tonight, sweetheart. Daddy wants to make sure you feel better.”

Vivi turned her big, watery eyes on House. “Can we go home instead? You have the medicine at home.”

“Sure,” House said, deadpan. “Let me just ignore every pediatric protocol, pack you up, and tell the hospital to go to hell. Totally reasonable.”

Vivi frowned. “That’s not nice.”

He crouched beside the bed, his cane leaning against the rail. “Neither’s the flu. Now, here’s the deal: you stay, you rest, and I’ll let you pick what color bandage you get for your IV. Pink, purple, or the one that makes your mom cry the least.”

Vivi giggled despite herself. “Purple.”

“Good choice. Purple hides the trauma.”

He fitted the IV with deft precision, barely making a mark. Y/N held Vivi’s hand, her face twisted with tension that didn’t fade even after it was done.

House noticed. Of course he noticed.

“She didn’t even flinch,” he said softly, taping the line. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

“I hate seeing needles near her,” Y/N whispered.

“Yeah, I noticed when you turned green.” He straightened up, checked the saline flow. “You know, most moms would faint. You just look homicidal.”

“Don’t make jokes right now.”

“It’s literally the only thing keeping me from panicking too.”

That stopped her. “You’re panicking?”

House shrugged, eyes on the IV drip. “Internally. Very dignified. You’d be impressed.”

⸻

Hours later, the hospital had quieted into its nocturnal rhythm—machines beeping softly, distant voices echoing in the halls. House sat in the corner, flipping through Vivi’s chart, pretending to read but really just listening to the small noises she made as she shifted restlessly.

Her fever was down, but her body was fighting sleep.

Y/N tried coaxing her. “Close your eyes, Vivi. I’ll sing if you want.”

“No songs,” Vivi mumbled. “It’s scary.”

Y/N frowned. “Scary? Why?”

“The lights hum. The room smells weird. And the shadows move when I blink.”

House looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Fantastic. My daughter’s afraid of ventilation shadows. I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Greg,” Y/N warned.

He pushed himself up with the cane and limped to the bed. “Okay, kiddo. I’ll fix it.”

“How?” Vivi asked, sniffling.

“By abusing hospital property.” He reached up and flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow from the monitor. “There. Shadows can’t move if they’re unemployed.”

That earned a sleepy laugh.

But as soon as House turned to leave, Vivi’s hand reached out, catching his sleeve. “Don’t go.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

House paused. Then, without his usual dramatics, he sat back on the bed and carefully gathered Vivi into his arms, lifting her against his chest.

“Fine,” he murmured. “But only because your mom looks like she’s about to negotiate with God.”

Y/N managed a weak smile through her tears. “You really know how to comfort people.”

“I know how to tell the truth. It just accidentally helps sometimes.”

He carried Vivi out of the room, ignoring protocol and the nurses’ startled looks as they passed. The child’s IV bag dangled neatly from his hand, the line perfectly steady.

“Greg, where are you taking her?” Y/N asked, following quickly.

“To my office. She hates this room.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can. I have tenure.”

⸻

When they reached his office, the lights were dim, the air smelling faintly of coffee and old books. House set Vivi down on the couch, adjusting her blanket with unexpected tenderness.

“There. Best suite in the hospital.”

She blinked up at him sleepily. “It’s not scary here.”

“Yeah. Just messy.”

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching them—the man who rarely admitted fear, the child who saw right through his armor. Something in her chest loosened for the first time all day.

“Greg,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

He glanced over, eyes softening just enough to be seen. “Don’t thank me yet. She’s going to want pancakes for breakfast.”

Y/N smiled. “Then you’ll make them.”

“Ha. You think I can cook? Fever must be contagious.”

The clock on House’s office wall ticked somewhere between one and two a.m.—that dim hour when hospitals stop pretending to be awake and just breathe. The night staff moved like ghosts down the hallway, and the air carried the faint tang of disinfectant and coffee that had been reheated too many times.

House sat on his recliner, his leg stretched out, cane leaning against the armrest. Vivi lay curled on his chest, her small breaths warm against the fabric of his shirt. The IV tube ran from her arm to a portable drip stand he’d dragged in beside them. The monitor’s slow, steady beeping was the only thing keeping him tethered to the present.

Y/N sat nearby, tucked into the corner of the couch with her knees pulled up, watching them. Her eyes were tired but calm for the first time since afternoon. There was something oddly grounding about watching her husband—Gregory House, the man who had once argued with a vending machine for over an hour—sitting perfectly still so his daughter wouldn’t wake up.

“Never thought I’d see the day you voluntarily stayed still for more than ten minutes,” she whispered.

House’s voice came out low, dry, but softer than usual. “She weighs less than my guitar. I can handle it.”

“She’s been asleep for almost an hour. Maybe you should put her down and rest your leg.”

He looked down at Vivi’s face, her cheeks still flushed but not burning anymore. “If I move, she’ll wake up. Then she’ll start crying. Then you’ll start crying. Then Wilson will show up, and I’ll have to insult him for the hundredth time today. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You always know how to make tenderness sound like torture.”

“Occupational hazard.”

She stood, moved closer, and adjusted the blanket that had started to slip off Vivi’s shoulder. The touch was instinctive, maternal, and it did something small and sharp to House’s chest—something he wouldn’t name.

“She’s cooler now,” Y/N murmured, touching her daughter’s forehead. “Do you think she’s okay?”

House shifted the thermometer between his fingers. “Temperature’s dropped to ninety-nine. Still warm, but better. Flu’s losing.”

“Good.” She exhaled slowly, sinking back into the couch. “I don’t think I could handle another scare.”

House smirked faintly. “That’s parenthood. You get twenty years of miniature heart attacks and then college tuition.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “You make it sound so appealing.”

“Yet you married me anyway,” he said, eyes flicking toward her. “Questionable decision-making.”

Y/N smiled, soft but weary. “You were worth the risk.”

House’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual before returning to Vivi. “You should sleep.”

“So should you.”

“I’ll sleep when she does.”

“She is sleeping.”

“Yeah, but she might be faking it. She does that.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Genius is often misunderstood as ridiculous.”

He adjusted the IV drip slightly, his hand careful not to jostle her arm. Vivi stirred a little, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt before she settled again. House froze until her breathing evened out.

Y/N noticed the way his shoulders relaxed—the faint tension draining as if he’d been holding his breath. “You’re good with her,” she said quietly. “You pretend you’re not, but you are.”

House looked mildly offended. “Of course I’m good with her. She’s genetically half me.”

“That’s not the reassuring part of that sentence,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “She’s fine. I told you. Flu. Mild dehydration. The kind of thing people panic about on WebMD.”

“I wasn’t panicking.”

“You cried in the clinic waiting room.”

“That’s not panic,” she countered, smiling tiredly. “That’s called being human.”

House tilted his head. “Hmm. I’ll take your word for it.”

⸻

A soft cough from Vivi pulled both their attention back. Her little face scrunched, her voice hoarse. “Daddy…?”

House glanced down instantly. “Hey, peanut.”

Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep. “I don’t feel good.”

“I noticed,” he said dryly. “You’ve really let yourself go.”

She gave a faint giggle, too tired to fully laugh, and nestled closer. “My tummy hurts.”

“Probably because you skipped dinner. You’ve got to keep the blood sugar up if you’re planning on taking over the world someday.”

“I don’t want to take over the world,” she mumbled.

“Smart kid,” House said. “The world’s a mess anyway.”

He reached for the small cup of electrolyte water he’d brought over earlier and held it to her lips. “Small sips.”

Vivi obeyed, taking a few slow gulps before sinking back against his chest with a sigh. “Better.”

“Good. Don’t puke on me. This shirt’s vintage.”

Y/N gave him a look. “She’s three, Greg.”

“So? You’re supposed to start teaching respect for property young.”

Vivi giggled again. Her eyes were half-closed now, heavy with exhaustion. “You’re funny.”

“I prefer ‘devastatingly charming,’ but sure.”

Her tiny fingers played absently with the buttons on his shirt, a slow, sleepy rhythm. The office felt smaller suddenly, quieter. The dim glow from the desk lamp pooled around them, turning the edges of everything soft.

Y/N stood and moved closer, brushing Vivi’s hair back gently. “You should really let me take her for a bit. Your leg must be killing you.”

House shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re limping while sitting.”

“Yeah, well, consistency is important in parenting.”

She sighed, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “You never stop, do you?”

“Not until the sarcasm runs out. So never.”

An hour later, Y/N stirred awake. The lamp still glowed dimly, and House hadn’t moved an inch.

“How’s she doing?” she whispered.

“She’s stable. Fever’s holding. No signs of secondary infection.” His voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes. “She gets that from you.”

“Unlikely. I’m a coward. I just hide it better.”

“That’s not true.”

He shrugged, eyes still on Vivi. “It’s accurate enough.”

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the faint hum of machines outside.

Then Y/N said softly, “Thank you, Greg. For… all of this.”

House looked up, his expression unreadable at first. “I’m not exactly volunteering at a children’s hospital. She’s my kid.”

“I know, but…” She trailed off, voice cracking a little. “You dropped everything. You didn’t even let Wilson finish his sentence.”

“That’s because Wilson talks too much,” he said automatically, but there was warmth beneath it now. “And because—” He stopped.

Y/N tilted her head. “Because what?”

House sighed, looking away. “Because if something were wrong with her, I wouldn’t survive it.”

The quiet after that was different. Not heavy—just real.

Y/N’s eyes softened, tears threatening again. “You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

“I’m heartless and sleep-deprived. It’s a dangerous combo.”

She smiled through the tears, moving closer until she was beside him on the couch. Vivi shifted slightly, still asleep, her small hand brushing against both of theirs.

House didn’t move away. He didn’t make a joke. For once, he just let the silence sit.

Vivi’s small hand twitched in her sleep, still anchored to the fabric of his shirt. He watched her breathe for another long minute, then slowly eased his weight off the recliner.

His bad leg protested, but he ignored it and rose carefully, shifting Vivi into both arms. She murmured something incoherent, then settled again, head tucked beneath his chin. The IV line trailed behind them like a thin silver ribbon as he crossed the short space to the couch.

Y/N was there, half-asleep, her head bent toward the back cushion, hair spilling over her face. She looked worn out in a way that made something twist inside him—like guilt and love tangled together. He lowered himself beside her, wincing when the couch springs complained, and let Vivi rest between them, her little body warm and heavy.

For a moment he just sat, letting the sound of both of them breathing steady against the rhythm of the rain outside. The office smelled like antiseptic and coffee and baby shampoo. His own heart finally slowed.

He looked at Y/N again. Even in the dim light, he could see the faint smudge of exhaustion under her eyes, the way her hand instinctively drifted toward Vivi in her sleep, fingertips brushing the blanket to reassure herself.

He swallowed, the words rough at first. “You know… I’m not good at this. Saying things.”

She stirred, not fully awake, eyes fluttering open a little. “Hmm?”

House looked down at Vivi, then back at her. “I love you,” he said quietly. The words came out raw, stripped of their usual armor. “More than I ever thought I could. And—” He hesitated, lips twitching into something between a grimace and a smile. “Thanks for sticking around. With her. With me. All of it.”

Y/N blinked, still caught in the haze between dream and waking, but she heard him. A small smile softened her face. “You’re welcome,” she whispered, voice barely there.

He leaned closer. She shifted forward, meeting him halfway. The kiss was simple and tired and perfect—more a press of gratitude than passion, but it carried every long, messy year between them. When they parted, she exhaled a small, sleepy laugh.

“I love you too,” she murmured.

House let out a breath that sounded almost like relief. He settled back, one arm around Y/N, the other cradling Vivi. The little girl sighed, curling into the space between them. The IV bag gave a soft drip; the rain tapped against the window in time.

For once, House didn’t think about pain, or puzzles, or anything he could diagnose. He just let himself be still—his family bundled against him, the world blessedly quiet.

And there, in the faint glow of his desk lamp, all three of them finally drifted to sleep.

You’d barely made it to noon today before the dull ache in your lower belly had sharpened to feel like knives, twisting and radiating until you could hardly focus on anything but the pain. By early afternoon when the acetaminophen and extra coffee hadn’t worked, you gave in, informing Cuddy you needed to leave work early with a feigned smile as you tried not to apply pressure to your stomach. She didn’t need to ask the details; a look of sympathy and a nod was the confirmation she gave you to head home.

Part of you wished that Wilson could’ve come with you, but his role as head of oncology meant it was rare for him to get away. He was the sweetest boyfriend you could ask for, still managing to take care of you somehow, even in the hours of his absence – triple Doordashing pho, a pint of your favorite Ben & Jerry’s, and an extra box of pads to your shared apartment.

Wilson arrived home earlier than most weekdays, uncharacteristically leaving a stack of unfinished charts on his desk. As he stepped inside the apartment, sunlight still poured into the apartment he typically found illuminated by the glow of lamplight. The living room was quiet and he found you bundled on the couch beneath a throw blanket, the coffee table cluttered with the two empty food containers and a half-empty mug of chamomile tea.

“Still rough?” Wilson asks gently, coming to kneel beside you, fingers brushing strands of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, face scrunched as another cramp rolled through your abdomen. “Yeah… pretty sure my uterus is trying to kill me.”

He chuckled softly at your humor, but his brows were still furrowed in concern. “Scale of one to ten?” His gaze dropped down to the temperature control for your heating pad, making sure it was still on.

“Seven,” you muttered stiffly. “Even after the pain meds, tea, heat, a nap, comfort food…”

“Well, you’re just about pitiful, aren’t you?” Wilson teased lightly, real worry still laced in his tone. He pressed a warm kiss to your cheek before leaning back to observe you once again. “What are we going to do with you?”

You grumbled a bit at his sarcasm, but it did bring the focus away from your discomfort for a moment. “Not sure, I’m at a loss,” you groaned, shifting to support yourself on your forearm. “Maybe I just have to suffer. The curse of womanhood.”

“No, no. We can’t have that,” he insisted, his thumb tracing along the curve of your waist. Wilson’s eyes closed for a moment in thought, a soft hum vibrating in his throat as he sorted through different ideas in his mind. Then, eyes opening, a knowing smirk grew across his face.

“You know,” he started with a mixed tone of playful professionalism, “there is a treatment for dysmenorrhea that’s surprisingly effective. Evidence-based, even.” He raised an eyebrow at you suggestively.

You squinted at him, suspicious. “What? Some new prescription medicine I haven’t heard of?”

He shook his head, leaning in until his elbow was propped on the sofa cushion and your noses were nearly touching. His voice dropped into a low murmur as the word left his lips, “Orgasm.”

The word hung in the air and you felt your cheeks flush at the idea. “James, be serious!”

“I am!” He asserted, expression adamant. “Orgasms trigger the release of endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin. They reduce cortisol levels, relax pelvic muscles, and increase blood flow, which can significantly alleviate menstrual cramps.”

You thought it was so adorable when he rambled on like that.

“Mhm,” you murmured, continuing with both doubt and intrigue. “So, you’re prescribing… sex. As a doctor or as my boyfriend?”

“Both…” Wilson said in a near whisper, a bashful expression flooding his face. “Is that so bad?”

You scoffed at his admission, knocking him back with a light-hearted push. “You’re impossible!”

“No, I’m practical,” he countered, “Look, the science checks out. Pain medicine studies show that sexual activity can reduce menstrual pain by up to 50% and uterine contractions during orgasm help expel prostaglandins, the pesky compounds causing those cramps. Plus… it’s a lot more fun than popping another Advil.”

You rolled your eyes, but his earnest and caring gaze made your resolve waver. “You’re really using medical jargon to seduce me right now?”

“Is it working?” he asked, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. His touch was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of heat, and you felt your pulse quicken.

“Maybe,” you admitted softly as his lips hovered just shy of yours.

“Then let me take care of you,” he breathed, a promising tone in his voice. His eyes were warm and wide as he pleaded, “Please.”

Wilson’s insistence melted your restraint and you leaned forward in a rush to kiss him. Your lips met in a slow deliberate dance, immediately soothing your tense body and migrating the ache from your abdomen lower between your legs. His hands found your waist again, careful not to press too hard where you were tender as he lifted you from the couch, the heating pad slipping to the floor. You leaned into him involuntarily as you stood, the weakness of your limbs bringing your body flush with his, deepening your kiss.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own full of warmth and care. “If anything hurts, you tell me, okay? We’re playing this by your rules.”

You nodded in agreement, a bit light-headed from the heat of your kiss. “Good,” he smiled, voice low. “Now, let’s see if we can’t get those endorphins flowing.”

Before you could even let out a chuckle, Wilson had scooped you into his arms. It was seamless – one arm hooking beneath your knees while the other cradled your back. Your arms instinctively looped around his neck and you were overwhelmed by the comforting certainty he would handle you with attentive care. You murmured something about being perfectly capable of walking, but it was half-hearted at best—and he knew it. You enjoyed being pampered like this. His arms were steady as he began to walk towards the bedroom, every step purposeful, but unhurried.

Once inside, Wilson lowered you gently onto the edge of the mattress, keeping one hand at your back until he was sure you were steady. “Stay right here,” he directed, making a quick ‘stop’ motion with his hand as he dipped into the adjacent bathroom.

He came back with a navy colored towel in his hand, unraveling it from its folded position as he came closer to the bed. He laid it out carefully across the sheets, smoothing the fabric down until it was perfectly flat.

“Just in case things get a little messy,” he said with a suggestive wink. Your eyes went wide at the thought, but he pressed a reassuring kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. Lie back.” Wilson’s voice was soft as he nodded toward the spot.

You complied, crawling back to settle onto the towel-bordered region of the bed. Propping yourself up with a stack of pillows, you admired him quietly as he removed his dress shirt before moving to hover above your legs. You felt your heart back in your throat as his eyes locked with yours. There was something so vulnerable about opening up for him this way, it made every nerve stand on end.

“You’re still so tense,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your calf. “That’s not helping the cramps. You need to relax, breathe – let the muscles loosen up.” His fingers moved to dip just under the waistband of your pants, testing your response.

You swallowed, your breath catching as another wave of heat bloomed through your veins. “And you’re the expert on relaxing me, huh?” you managed, your voice teasing but shaky, betraying how much his touch was affecting you.

Wilson’s lips curved into a devious smirk. “I’m an expert on you,” he said, his breath now warm against your ear. “And I also happen to have highly intimate knowledge of the human body.” His words were laced with a rich and tender confidence. He pressed a kiss just below your ear before continuing, “See… it’s not just about the release. It’s about getting you there – slowly… thoroughly.”

“O-oh,” was all that escaped your lips. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you processed his words, but you couldn’t look away from him.

Wilson’s gaze didn’t leave yours as he made his way back down your body. His fingers hovered at the edge of your sleep shorts, lightly brushing along the waistband, each touch sending a chill across your skin. His eyes watching you, looking up attentively as he pressed a trail of firm kisses to your sore abdomen. The gentle heat in the caress of his lips soothed a bit of the ache, motivating a barely audible sigh from your throat.

“Are you still with me, angel?” he asked, soft and low, the tone settling deep within your chest.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, eyes closed in relief. “Always.”

Wilson pressed a final kiss to your hip as his fingers hooked beneath your underwear, the fabric sliding down your legs with ease. As the clothes fell away, he leaned back into you, pressing a warm open-mouth kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. The sensitivity of the area and intimacy of his kiss surprised you, blurring your thoughts with want and encouraging a soft gasp. After placing a few more kisses down your thighs, he nestled between them, taking a moment to revel in the sight of you laid open to him before bringing himself to touch you. When he did, though, Wilson’s motions were precise – his right hand rested lightly against your lower belly, pressing just enough to ground you, while his dominant left traced slow, tantalizing patterns along your inner thighs, coaxing them apart with a gentle nudge.

“Breathe for me,” Wilson instructed, demonstrating a pattern for you to mimic.

You tried, inhaling an uneven breath as his fingers grazed over the mound of your sex, light and teasing. He stayed there for a moment, massaging you gently and making his way down to where you wanted him the most.

The first touch between your folds was electric, two fingers sliding between them before separating, putting you on full display for him. The exposure felt obscene, but the deep groan that escaped Wilson’s throat at the sight was even more salacious.

“God, you have the most beautiful pussy…” he said in a near growl, the tension in his jaw signaling just how much he was holding back. “You’re perfect.”

He took a deep breath himself before continuing, fingers now on either side of your aching clit.

“Right here… this is your clitoris,” Wilson began, bringing the pads of one to graze against the bud slowly. Your hips bucked slightly, and your nipples hardened further under his precise touch. He continued, voice just above a whisper, “This is where I start. It’s sensitive, responsive – stimulating it will ease your tension as it boosts blood flow and triggers a flood of endorphins to melt that pain away.”

His touch was unhurried, rubbing circles against your clit until your pussy and thighs were numb with tingling warmth. Wilson’s eyes darted between the methodical motions of his fingers and your reactions – the moans escaping your lips, the tremor of your thighs, the way your hands gripped desperately at the towel below you. 

“Plus,” he purrs, “this always makes you fall apart so easily…”

As he continued to work your clit, switching to a figure-eight pattern, your mind was consumed not only by erotic bliss but by the intimate thought of just how well he knew you – your body, your needs, exactly how to make you feel better.

“I - I love you,” you whimpered, rocking into his touch.

Wilson kissed your hip bone and looked up at you, grinning. “I love you, too. Feeling good?”

You hummed in agreement, opening your legs a little wider for him.

“Ready for more?” his voice lilted as his fingers dipped lower towards your entrance.

You arched your back in an automatic response before the words quietly left you, “Yes…”

The tips of his fingers pressed into you, slowly sliding in and out, stretching you bit by bit until your cunt hit the base of them. You would never get over being full of him, whether it was his fingers or his dick, Wilson always felt like he was made to be inside of you.

He began to work you, softly applying pressure to your walls at a gentle pace. He had fingered you before, but never like this. It was sensual like other times, but slow and relaxing.

“I’m applying targeted pressure to the pelvic musculature to ease that deep-seated tension,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours as he pressed slightly firmer, maintaining the same deliberate pace. “Slow and controlled is key – too quick, and it could cause muscular contraction rather than the relaxation we’re aiming for.”

The blend of his authoritative knowledge and the sensual undercurrent in his tone was unexpectedly arousing – it made your walls clench around him, which immediately he took account of.

“Oh? You like that?” he asked, a blend of shock and intrigue in his voice as his fingers stilled for a moment.

You bit your lip, nodding, a flush creeping up your cheeks as your walls clenched again, betraying the effect his words had on you. “Please…” you whined, a desperate, sensual plea, as you shifted beneath him.

His eyes darkened, a spark of surprise giving way to a sly grin that sent your pulse racing. “Mhm… you really like the doctor talk, don’t you?” he teased, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate purr as his fingers resumed their slow, purposeful rhythm, each movement calculated to unravel you further.

“God, yes,” you gasped, trembling.  “Keep talking like that...”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning playfully authoritative as his fingers paused just enough to make you ache for more. “James, huh?” he murmured, voice low and laced with mock disapproval. “I think, given the treatment I’m administering, you should address me properly. Call me Dr. Wilson.” His tone was both mischievous and commanding, his gaze intense as he leaned closer, daring you to comply.

You whimpered, the shift in his demeanor sending a fresh wave of heat through you. “Fuck – yes, sir, Dr. Wilson,” you breathed, your voice dripping with desperate need, hips shifting to urge his fingers to move again. “Please – keep going… need you.”

His lips curved into a knowing, almost indulgent smile. “Good girl, addressing your doctor properly,” he murmured, his tone a perfect blend of teasing and reassurance as his fingers resumed their deliberate rhythm. “Now, I can proceed.”

You let out a soft, needy moan, your body melting under his touch at his words of praise.

“This next technique,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, velvety hum, “involves applying counterpressure to your uterine region to ease discomfort while keeping those pelvic muscles soft and pliant.” As he spoke, his free hand pressed firmly yet carefully on your lower abdomen, grounding you in a way that felt both caring and possessive. “Plus, it keeps you nice and open for me – lets you feel every single thing I’m doing to you.” Wilson’s voice was vibrating hot across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as his dominant hand continued its slow, deliberate kneading of your inner walls, each motion providing a balance of relief and pleasure

You could feel the weight of his gaze and could tell he was savoring the way your body surrendered to his touch, just how perfectly he could make you come apart. If that weren’t enough, the way he spoke, effortlessly switching between doctor and lover, made you even more susceptible to his efforts. 

“This kind of stimulation,” he rambled on, “encourages blood flow and releases a flood of endorphins, making you… hm, let’s say – excessively sensitive to my care.” His smirk was wicked with pride as his fingers pressed just a touch deeper, coaxing a soft moan from you. He tilted his head slightly in response, feigning professional curiosity. “You’re feeling that already, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Your body arched slightly, chasing the sensation, and he chuckled softly, a sound that was equal parts affection and mischief. 

“Oh, I can tell you are,” he teased. “Because I can feel it.” he added smuggly. “The way your muscles are gripping my fingers – that slick, warm response… it’s telling me everything I need to know.” 

His fingers shifted, sliding deeper with a purposeful curl. “Now, right here,” Wilson purred, full of confidence and desire as his pads brushed against the swollen area.  “Just along the pubic bone is your G-spot.” You felt his fingers curl inside you, stroking the swollen, sensitive area with firm, rhythmic pressure that made your breath hitch. “By working this area just right, I can draw out all that tension and make the pleasure build slow and deep… just how you need it.”

As his fingers knocked against the spot at an increasing pace, your hands slid beneath your shirt, pinching your hardened nipples for added stimulation. “Fuck, uh – Dr. Wilson!” you begged, your voice a raw, desperate cry, barely coherent as your thighs quivered uncontrollably. “It’s so good – please, don’t stop.”

Just when you thought the bliss couldn’t be more overwhelming, his lips found your clit, warm and soft, kissing and suckling with a tenderness that tore a gasp from your chest. “James!” you sobbed, breaking the role play as you struggled to process the dual sensation — his fingers curling expertly against your G-spot and the light, needy flicks of his tongue.

You could tell he was tempted to pull away, to explain his reasoning for bringing all the methods together, but your fingers threaded tightly through his hair, tugging his mouth deeper against you. “Don’t you dare stop,” you growled, commanding, thick with desperation.

He complied, deepening the pressure of his curled fingers and flicking his tongue against your swollen bundle of nerves with renewed intensity. A loud, unrestrained moan tore from your lips, your hips bucking wildly toward him as you unraveled completely, your body and mind consumed by the pleasure he wielded with such masterful control.

He watched you from between your thighs as you came undone, eyes rolling back in your head and sobs falling from your lips. Only when he noticed you right on the edge did he replace his tongue with his thumb, rubbing you while talking you through your climax.

“That’s it,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss the soft flesh of your stomach. “Let go, my beautiful girl... let your body do what it’s meant to.”

“Yes, so so close – keep going,” you whimpered, continuing to roll your nipple between your thumb and index finger.

“I’ve got you, I’ll give you everything you need.” The assurance in his voice made you relax further in his arms, sighing as he continued his reverent touches. Each movement of his hand stoked the fire building in your core and soon, the room faded, narrowing to just him — his touch, his voice, his tender care.

His breath fanned across your skin, mumbling praises. “You’re so gorgeous like this” his voice was thick with awe. “So perfect.”

Wilson’s fingers pressed deeper, finding that sweet spot with a precision that made your breath catch, the tension in your core shifting, coiling tighter, transforming into something exquisite. Your hips rocked instinctively, chasing the sensation, your fingers still teasing your nipple, amplifying every pulse of pleasure. Your thighs trembled, quaking under the intensity, and a raw, broken moan spilled from your lips, your hands gripping the towel beneath you as you rode the crest.

Wilson’s voice, slurred with passion, washed over you like a man intoxicated, his eyes locked on you, drinking in every shudder.

“That’s right, cum for me…” he rasped, voice thick with desire, “Just let it take you – God, you’re so sexy when you fall apart like this.”

His fingers slowed but didn’t stop, curling gently to draw out every aftershock, each motion tender and measured as he guided you through the waves of pleasure. His lips brushed soft, adoring kisses along your inner thigh, warm and reverent, as you quivered beneath him. Slowly, the intensity began to ebb, leaving you enveloped in a hazy warmth, your body still thrumming with the echoes of release. Your thighs shook faintly as you reached for him, fingers grazing his arm in a weak attempt to ground yourself, your mind floating in a blissful, serene fog.

Wilson shifted closer, his touch steadying as he slid up beside you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, breath warm against your skin as he eased your head to rest against his shoulder, cradling you with quiet care. You melted into him, the intimacy of the moment grounding you as your breathing slowly steadied. Tilting your head, you caught his gaze and smiled softly up at him, your face still radiant with the glow of satisfaction.

“Feeling those endorphins?” he asked playfully, admiring your flushed cheeks.

“Mhm,” you murmured, a contented hum. “Might’ve made me feel too good, Dr. Wilson.”

“Too good, huh?” he teased, his lips quirking into a smug, delighted grin as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face with his right hand.

“James,” you hummed, your tone turning flirtatious, a spark of bold want flickering in your eyes as you shifted closer, your body still humming with desire. “I think… maybe I need another dose. Something deeper.” Your words dripped with unashamed need and your gaze locked on his.

His jaw went slack for just a moment before lifting again, lips curling into a smirk as he leaned back slightly. “Another dose?” he said in surprise. “Well, darling, I can’t have you wanting for anything.” He paused, his gaze lingering on you, drinking in your flushed cheeks before shifting, standing from the bed deliberately. “Give me just a second,” he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping a few feet away to the sink.

The soft rush of water filled the bathroom as Wilson turned on the faucet, lathering his hands with soap. You watched him intently, your gaze tracing the subtle flex of veins along his forearms as his fingers moved with practiced precision. He didn’t mention the faint traces of blood on his hands, washing them away with the same steady, unflappable confidence he carried into every surgical scrub-in. There was something undeniably sexy about it – the way he remained unfazed, his calm acceptance of your body’s natural rhythm a quiet testament to his years as a doctor. To Wilson, this was just biology, and he wasn’t about to let it stop him from soothing your pain or indulging the intense, hormone-fueled desire that surged through you each month, drawing you to him with a nearly primal need.

Wilson glanced back, catching your gaze with a soft, playful wink. “Almost done, love” he assured, drying his hands with slow, deliberate care, the towel gliding over his skin before he draped it neatly back on its hook.

As he returned to you, he quickly settled back between your thighs, admiring the view of your bare pussy on display. “Now,” he hummed, opening your thighs slightly wider once again. “about that deeper dose you wanted…” His fingers traced a featherlight teasing path along the curve of your hip, sending a cascade of goosebumps across your skin. 

“James,” you gasped, closing your eyes at the sensation. Your body felt molten, pliant and yielding. 

When you opened your eyes again, Wilson was hovering above you, warm brown eyes locked on yours, pleading. “Tell me what you need… please,” he begged, his voice cracking slightly as the ‘please’ slipped from his lips. He wanted desperately to please you (like always), to melt away any last whisper of pain and replace it with bliss.

Your body, still thrumming from the high of your earlier climax, felt unbound, every nerve alive with want. “I need you – all of you.” The endorphins had left you fearless, weightless, your body a live wire craving the intimacy of him filling you. 

“Fuck… yeah, baby, anything you want.” His quiet groan vibrated against your throat as he momentarily shifted back away from you, slipping off his shirt and working down his boxer briefs before positioning himself above you once again.

He was achingly hard, his tip swollen and throbbing as he began sliding between your slick folds, teasingly grazing your entrance. The sensation of your soft warm entrance contrasting with the firmness of him sent a shiver of anticipation through you, a tingling spark that danced up your spine and coiled deep in your core.

A soft, desperate moan escaped your throat, “Mmm, yes…” Your back arched just slightly as you spoke.

“So ready for me, huh?” he purred, his lips brushing your jaw with slow, open-mouthed kisses. “You feel so good already – so warm and soft…,” His words were like a tender caress, opening both your heart and body to him further as you tilted your hips, urging him to press into you. 

He entered you with a slow, measured thrust, filling you inch by inch, the stretch rich and deep, a perfect melding of pressure and pleasure. As he settled fully within you, you gasped, your walls clenching around him as your bodies fused in a seamless, intimate union.

“O-ohhh,” your voice raw and trembling, hands finding his shoulders, fingers gripping lightly as he began to move. 

Each thrust was with a deliberate rhythm that sank into your core, drawing out every sensation. Every movement of him inside you was a warm, velvet pulse, the added slickness making each movement smoother and deeper. His hands roamed, one cradling your leg against his hip for an optimal angle while the other trailing up your side, fingers brushing beneath your shift to cup the curve of your breast.

“That’s it,” Wilson whispered, his voice a low, reverent hum, lips grazing the pulse point below your ear as he rocked into you, steady and deep. “You always take me so well...” His words of praise prompted you to tighten around him, drawing a low, appreciative groan from his chest. 

His rhythm stayed slow, each thrust a tender, deliberate act of love, pulling you deeper into a wave of pleasure that set every nerve aglow with intimacy. The room hummed with it – the soft, wet sound of your bodies joining, the faint creak of the bed, and your mingled, breathless gasps weaving a quiet symphony of desire.

“More, deeper” you suddenly cried, your voice quivering with desperation, fingers trailing down his back, nails dragging lightly as you pulled him closer, craving the weight of him, the fullness. “You’re… everything.” 

The pleasure sharpened as he responded. Wilson’s hand slid to your lower back, lifting you slightly to angle himself deeper, his pace growing a touch more urgent, each movement sending waves of pleasure radiating through you. Your body trembled under the intensity, eliciting a pitiful pleased whimper from you.

“Sh, shh… I’ve got you,” he hummed against your cheek, pressing you flush against . “I’ve got you, angel.” 

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit once again, circling with a skillful touch that rippled through your body until your muscles were loose and trembling. Soon, your clit was numb with aching pleasure and pressure began to coil tightly in your abdomen. His lips hovered over yours, breath mingling, as he watched you unravel.

“J-James!” you cried, voice breaking, your body bowing against him as all the sensations blinded you. The endorphins amplified every thrust, every brush of his fingers, into a symphony of sensation, causing your moans to rise, desperate and unrestrained. Your hands clutched at him, nails biting into his shoulder blades as you clung to the edge.

“Let go for me again,” he urged, lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss that tasted of sweat as he drove you higher. “I want to feel you cum around me.” 

His words, his rhythm, the heat of him, felt intoxicating and your climax crashed through you, a deep, shuddering wave that consumed you entirely. Your cunt clenched around him, your cries mingling with his groans as he followed, his release a warm, grounding pulse inside you, sealing the intimacy of the moment.

As the aftershocks rippled through you, your body felt heavy and warm. There was no trace of your earlier discomfort, only languid glowing satisfaction.

Wilson pressed soft, lingering kisses to your lips and then your forehead, as you separated, settling into the quiet hum of the room. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling you close, his steady heartbeat thumping against your flushed cheek pressed to him. 

You smiled, breathless, fingers tracing mindless swirls along his chest. “That… was beyond words,” you whispered, voice rich with gratitude, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

He chuckled, that familiar dry wit surfacing.. “Beyond words, huh? I’ll take that as a five-star review,” he teased. “How about a shower? Warm water to keep you this relaxed… maybe a little more pampering.” His fingers trailed lightly down your arm. 

The thought of steaming water and his hands gliding over you again making your pulse quicken. You laughed softly and nodded. “A shower sounds perfect. You gonna keep spoiling me in there?” Your eyes met his, with a spark of mischief matching his own.

you were unsure of how it happened, for the first thing you remember is arriving home from the dynamite taping, next thing you know adam’s head is buried between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to the bare flesh. the sensation of his lips, accompanied by the tickle of his beard made you shiver, your body naked and exposed to the chill of the winter air that had seemingly flooded throughout the bedroom. it was either that, or your nerves, you couldn’t exactly tell.

he took his time with you, as it was the first of many nights of him sampling your sweetness. his pupils blown wide with lust, complete void of those cornflower blues you were used to and oh so desperately loved, occasionally peering up at you, staring deep into your soul, almost like a man possessed, accompanied with the occasional flick of his tongue against your already sensitive clit. the appendage parting your soaked folds, exploring every crevice of your sweet cunt, the man was practically drooling at your taste.

“adam…” a small moan passed through your pursed lips, a desperate yet futile attempt to silence yourself, an act of which did not sit well with the faux cowboy. he wanted to hear you scream in pleasure, to beg him for release. but still, you kept a hand firmly plastered across your lips, the other intertwining into his loose golden curls, a sensation that made his eyes roll into the back of his skull with desire.

“you’re doing so well for me, darlin’”, he let a low groan escape his lips, the sound reverberating against your tight walls. he licked a hot stripe up against your dripping core, his tongue twirling around your clit, teasing and torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves. “such a good girl…so fucking wet for me…”

in what sounded as him inhaling a deep breath, he dove into your core, nipping and sucking at your clit, tongue exploring deeper into the crevices of your void, holding your hips down for extra leverage. his large palms softly kneading the flesh, the skin sensitive as he traced his calloused palms across the silhouette of your figure, pulling you closer against him, closer against his tongue.

you couldn’t take much more, this you knew for a fact. between the sweet praises he muttered against your skin, the wondrous violence his tongue provided between your thighs, you were about to lose it all. electricity shot through your thighs as they began to shake, your mind was in a daze, haphazardly gripping his hair with one hand, the other still firmly planted across your lips. he reached up, grabbing the hand that had been previously silencing your moans, intertwining his fingers with yours, the intimate detail did not go unnoticed by you.

“let me hear you, darlin’” he muttered through a soft moan of his own, your back arching in pleasure at the recurring vibrations from his voice, only aiding your impending orgasm. “let me hear how good i make you feel”

you could only whimper in response, followed by small mutterings of his name. he just knew you were on the brink of release, so close he could practically feel the pulse rising against his tongue, clenching around the appendage as your hips bucked up to meet him. yet you seemed hesitant, trying to suppress the sudden influx of pleasure that coursed through you. he kept his free hand on your hip, sliding up your waist, gently, reassuringly rubbing the skin, his other hand, still holding yours, sweetly drawing circles into the back your hand, sweeping across your knuckles with the calloused pad of his thumb.

“don’t fight it, doll…be a good girl and cum for me” not being able to hold back any longer, and in addition to his soothing words, you let go, allowing floods of pleasure to course through your veins, crashing over your body in tidal waves. he continued to devour your cunt, lapping up your sweetness like a man dying of thirst up until you had finally come down from your high.

you laid back against the mattress, chest heaving with shallow breaths, his head perched upon the axis of your thigh, a content smile crossing his lips. your cheeks flushed with heat, more or less from the embarrassment coursing through you from having made a mess on his tongue, a hand propping up to shield your face from his gaze.

he took notice of your sudden, reserved exterior, cocking an eyebrow in confusion as he propped himself up onto his forearms, your face fully covered by your arms in an attempt to avoid the situation entirely. he made his way beside you, gently smoothing circles into your hip, a look of concern crossing his lips.

“darlin’, what’s the matter?” he questioned softly, pulling you up against his chest. his skin was warm, it offered a comforting feeling, a homely one at that. adam, for lack of a better term, was a safe haven for you, his warmth, his protectiveness, it made you feel sheltered in the best possible way, so the fact you became so embarrassed over something so trivial was odd to him, even for yourself. your finally gained the confidence to pry your hands from your face, your heated cheeks still flushed an unnatural shade of pink, how found the sight rather adorable, smiling down softly at you.

“i made a mess…” you muttered quietly into his chest, mentioning your juices that had dripped down your thighs to the wetness that gathered lightly in his beard. his heart swelled as you buried your head deeper into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your frame, cradling you in his lap.

“baby…” he cooed softly against your earlobe, peppering gentle kisses to the skin. “don’t be embarrassed, it's a natural thing to happen”

“i love when you cum like that, doll. you know how good it makes me feel to know that i made you cum that hard!” he noticed the corners of your lips curve up into a small smile, his hands gently sweeping the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes.

“i know…but i still feel bad about it,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze for the second time that night. he gripped your chin gently, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“darlin’...” he began with a small chuckle “how many times do i gotta eat you out to prove that i adore you?”

you chuckled softly at his remark, lightly tracing shapes into his skin.

“maybe…once more?” you responded with a little more confidence than previously noticed. the faux cowboy leaned down, placing a much more heated kiss to your lips.

“well then, lay back, doll”

Kenny watched as the early morning light tinted your skin in its warm glow, eyes tracing every line and mark he could see. You were wearing one of his tank tops, the thing sitting loose on your frame. One of the sleeves slipped down your shoulder, revealing the fading green of a stubborn bruise from your last match and a scar from an old surgery. He remembered tracing it with his fingers one day only for you to comment that it looked ugly. God, he really wished you could see yourself through his eyes, there was nothing in you he thought was ugly. Every imperfection attractive in its own way.

God, he had really fallen hard. He knew it deep inside for a couple days already but now, as his fingers caressed your messy hair, it was clear as day. Fuck, this fling between the two of you had been going on for about two months now. Maybe it really was time he got to asking you about making it serious. He really wouldn’t mind waking up like this more often. Having your body on his, treading his fingers into your hair, and just enjoying a slow morning by your side. 

A noise outside his window disturbed your sleep and you moved a bit more aggressively now, bunching the covers around your waist. Kenny could see movement under your eyelids  as you buried your face further into his shoulder. A chuckle escaped his lips as you mumbled something unintelligible, eyes fluttering open slowly as you took your time to return to the waking world. Yeah, you definitely were not a morning person.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Kenny spoke into your ear, so close you could feel his breath, voice still rough from sleep.

You just grunted in return, feeling his chest trembling with laughter. His soothing voice, the gentle caress of his fingers in your hair, the warmth of his body under you, it all almost lulled you back to sleep. With great effort you opened your eyes, being met with his baby blues shining under the soft sunlight. A clear sky on a summer day wouldn’t look more blue, it was almost fucking wrong. 

“Morning,” you mumble into his skin, your own voice still strained from the lack of use.

Kenny laughs again and it vibrates through your skin and into your chest, shaking your whole being. He shoots you the most beautiful smile, brighter than the sun and somehow just as warm. The arm around your shoulders tightens more as he brings his face close to yours, noses touching and lips millimeters apart.

“Sleep well?” He asks but doesn’t wait for an answer, mouth connecting to yours just as the words leave his mouth. You only humm into the kiss as a reply, too busy as you feel him sucking on your bottom lip. Kenny doesn’t need to ask twice before you part your lips to let him in, welcoming the feeling of his warm tongue inside your mouth. 

The kiss is soft, lazy and sloppy all at the same time. You two slowly explore each other’s mouths, sharing in the warmth of the other’s body. One of your hands finds his jaw, feeling the stubble rubbing against your skin. The hand he has on your hair holds your head in place gently. There is no rush, no pressure, only a slow kiss that tastes like a lazy sunday morning. The blissful break in your busy life that you ever so often found in his arms.

You don’t know how long the kiss lasted but when it ends you still wish it wouldn’t have. Kenny rubs his nose against yours gently before leaving a peck on your lips and drawing his head back. You finally take a good look at him - now awake enough to take in what you are seeing. His curly hair is still disheveled, parts sticking to his face as he yawns, the corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly as he closes them. Shit, he looks so handsome, and feels so warm and you really don’t want to leave this bed. But Kenny has other ideas.

He turns around, pulling the covers from over you both as he tries to get up from the bed. It’s not even a second that he is gone. Not even enough time for Kenny to get his feet on the floor but it already feels cold without him. He was warm like a furnace, so much so that you could almost forget that winter had just started. But only so long as you stayed in contact. So, as soon as he moves away from you your arms find him again, latching tight round his torso as you rested your face on his back.

“What,” he pauses and laughs, turning his head to look at you, “I was gonna go make breakfast, got something against that?”

“I’m cold, you are warm, you can’t leave,” you say that as your arms tighten around him even more.

“Oh come on, it’s not cold,” he says, laughing again as he caresses your arm.

“You say that cause you are always at the temperature of a fucking car engine,” you mumble the words into his skin as you bury your face further into his strong back. “I’m cold, and not ready to get up.”

Kenny chuckles again, feeling warmth spread from his heart through his body at how needy you sounded. All he really wants is  for you to need him, to want him, and even just a tiny bit of the feeling was enough to have him set ablaze. How could he ever say no to your request?

“Alright, alright, I’ll stay,” you feel him sigh, whole body moving as he takes a deep breath when you finally let go. As Kenny turns back to you he has a mischievous smile, blue eyes dancing with a playful malice, “I’ll warm you up.”

Falling in bed beside you, Kenny lays on his side and sneaks one arm around your torso, pulling you flush against him. Once more you are enveloped in the warmth of his body and drowned in the smell of his skin. His large hand on your back bringing you so close that you can hear the powerful beating of his heart. Its rhythmic song almost hypnotizing. He buries his face into your hair, the hand on your back traveling lower. As it brings your hips against each other you feel something else. The clear shape of his hard bulge pressing against your panties.

Kenny breaths in the smell of your hair, groaning low and heavy as it courses through his body like a drug. His hand digging into your flesh and pulling you ever closer. Your body fit so well against him, it felt like a perfect match. His hand travels down, pulling your hips into his as he lightly presses his hard cock against you. If you are gonna stay in bed, might as well have some fun.

Snaking one arm under your neck and around your shoulders, Kenny pulls your face ever closer to his own. One of your hands moves to his chest as the other comes around his waist, caressing the muscles on his side. His mouth finds your ear, biting softly at the lobe and pulling a small whimper from your lips. The sound urging Kenny on as he moves to your face, kissing a sloppy trail from the side of your jaw back to your soft lips.

He doesn’t even need to ask for anything this time around, already finding your lips slightly parted and eagerly waiting for him. You sigh into the kiss as your mouths meet, moving one leg between his and pressing your hips into his heavy erection. Kenny’s hisses are silenced by the kiss, his hand moving from your hips to your ass, sinking into the soft flesh as he gropes with force. You moan and he can feel the vibrations even as his mouth swallows the sound.

This kiss is even sloppier than the first but equally as lazy, neither of you rushing as you taste each other. Kenny feels your fingers digging into his back, nails pressing against his skin. He bucks his hips into yours, the hand on your ass holding you in place as he seeks the friction he needs so much. The feeling of his cock rubbing against your body sending jolts down his spine.

Neither of you want to break for air but you both need to, though Kenny doesn’t stay long with his mouth free. As you part, his lips find your neck, biting at the sensitive spot right under your jaw. You cry into his ear and he grunts, deep and animalistic as he thrusts his hips into you again. This has you moaning out his name and he can feel his cock twitch in response to how it sounds coming from your abused lips.

His mouth travels down your neck slowly, nipping and sucking along the way. You draw a shaky breath, nails dragging across his side as you moan out again. It’s his turn to cry your name when you roll your hips into his, making his hard erection pulsate in response. His hand travels from your hips to your leg, fingers sinking into the skin of your thigh as your own hand drags down his back and down to his ass. You are pulling him further into you and if only he told you how unnecessary that was. If Kenny had it his way, he’d never let go.

A hard bite to the base of your neck has you crying and shaking. If this man leaves a mark you are gonna have to find a closed top to wear for your next match. Not that you’d have the mind to care about it right now. Especially not as his tongue soothingly licks at the spot he’d just dug his teeth into. His strong hands hold you in place as he rolls his hips against yours, you can feel his muscles moving as your own hand holds strong onto his hard ass. You snake your fingers from his chest up to his neck, delving into his curly locks and tugging lightly. 

Kenny responds by grunting into your skin, the sound husky and shaky as he rolls you both over. He hovers above you now, bearing his weight in one arm and caging your legs between his knees. When you look back at him the blue is all but gone from his beautiful eyes. Chased away by the inky darkness of his dilated pupils, a pool of desire and lust. You are pretty sure you probably look very much the same.

Lowering his face to yours Kenny brings you into a kiss again. His free hand snakes inside your shirt - his shirt - pressing hard into your waist as it slowly travels up. Your skin feels so warm against him, so soft, and something in him desperately wants to add a bruise of his own to the ones you already have. Though, he knows better than to mark you in a place you can’t easily hide. And he likes it better when only you two know the sinful bruises he has left on your skin.

When his hand finds your breast he gropes hard at it before pinching the nipple between his fingers. You moan loudly into the kiss and he does it again as your fingers tug at his hair hard now. God, he is so fucking hard already, feeling heavy and so fucking sensitive. Lifting your shirt up Kenny exposes your breast, parting his mouth from yours before his lips find the supple skin previously hidden. He sucks and bites making you cry out again, a broken sound so desperate it has him shuddering.

His hand leaves your breast and travels down to your hips, fingers slipping into the soft fabric of your panties before they find your pussy. You are so wet already and Kenny grunts, indulging in the feeling and the way your body shakes as his deft fingers tease your clit. It doesn’t take long for him to slip his thick digits into your eager hole, sinking them to the last knuckle as you moan his name again. You feel so good, so soft and warm in the most sinful way.

Kenny starts moving his fingers inside of you as his thumb finds your clit and you feel like you are losing your mind. His mouth on your breast and those thick digits inside of you driving you insane. He finds your sweet spot fast, calloused hand working you into a frenzy masterfully. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build into you, higher and higher with every passing minute. The pressure in your core building so tight, you can hear your moans and they sound too desperate, too needy to be your own voice. You want to shake and tremble but he has you caged under him with little room to move.

Digging your nails into his skin you can feel your body start to spasm, white stars taking over your vision as you cry his name like a plea. It’s growing and growing and it’s all too much. It’s like a torture as you feel your senses blurring and screaming at the same time until you finally fall over the edge. Your sight goes blurry and all you can feel is you and him as your orgasm washes over your body, muscles shaking as you feel his fingers sliding out of you. 

You sigh but only for a second before his mouth finds yours again and you give into the kiss. It’s gentle and warm and wet and you could get lost in this forever. The hand you have on his ass moves to slide under his boxers, finding his hip bone and trailing from it through the delicious V line down to his crotch. When your fingers finally find his cock Kenny hisses, shaky breath fanning your lips in the messy kiss. His length feels so hot and big on your hands as you pull it out of his underwear and you can already feel the wetness gathered at the tip.

Kenny’s free hand finds your thigh, large palm sinking into the flesh as he moves you around. He frees your legs from under him, hand moving to the inside of your tight as he pushes it up against your body. His mouth never leaves you as you line his cock with your pussy, feeling the head pressing against your entrance before he fully moves into you with one long stroke. It feels so good, you both moan into the kiss, staying still for a moment as you enjoy the fullness he brings. He is so thick, stretching your walls in the most delicious way and for a second you forget how to breathe.

You feel so good around his cock, like you were made for him and Kenny curses into your lips, biting and sucking as he regains his self control. It’s like you have a hold of his sanity and can take it away whenever you please, something scary and exciting all at the same time. He starts to move slowly, long strokes as he pulls out to the head before sinking down to the balls again. His cock drags your walls with every movement and it feels so damn good. By this point you are barely kissing, lips and tongues in a gorgeous mess as you both moan and cry with every movement.

He can feel your nails digging into his skin as your hand moves from his shoulder to his back, the one on his hair pulling at it hard. You feel so perfect, taste so good and fuck he wants to take you like this everyday. To feel your mouth on his, the sweat gathering on your bodies as your skin rubs together. He wants you wearing his shirts and crying out his name in bliss every morning and every night. To feel your pussy tightening around his length as it does now every fucking day.

It's not long before Kenny starts picking up his pace, setting a faster rhythm that has you whimpering and him grunting like an animal. His hips snap against yours with power as he drives himself fast and deep into your pussy, hitting your sweet spot, still sensitive from your orgasm. Every whimper and cry he pulls from you makes his hard length twitch. Kenny can feel the pleasure building within him, it rages inside his body almost bordering on agony. He keeps the pace, sinking his entire length down before pulling out again hard and fast.

You moan out his name and Kenny feels his cock pulsating hard inside of you, his self control faltering more with every passing minute. His thrusts speeding up as his precum mix with your wetness making sinful wet sounds with every thrust. He fucks you deep and rough chasing his high until his rhythm start to falter, his length twitching with every movement. It’s all too much and he can feel himself ready to burst.

Kenny moans out your name, slamming as deep down as he physically can. The sloppy sound of his cock slamming into your dripping pussy only driving him closer to the edge. His length twitching violently as he thrusts his hips into yours in a desperate haze. He feels all his muscles contracting, burying his cock into you to the hilt as he senses his orgasm hit him. His cock spasms with abandon as he shoots rope after thick rope of cum inside of you in a torrent that almost feels never ending. He paints your insides white, making sure to drain every last drop before pulling out.

You whimper at the loss of him and he chuckles, peppering light kisses on your face before falling on the bed beside you. Both of you are breathing hard as you just lay there for a few seconds, his hand reaching for yours and playing with your fingers. After he regains his breath Kenny turns to you, pulling your body closer to his own as your hand finds his stubbled jaw again. You get lost in his beautiful gaze, their gorgeous blue now having fully returned.

“You fully awake now?” He asks, voice back to its usual sound.

“Hmmm,” you humm in agreement before a yawn finds its way to your lips, “can’t say I’d mind waking up like this more often,” you laugh, eyes still closed.

Kenny stays in silence for a moment, basking in the beauty of your soft laughter before his lips move with a life of their own. “We could do this more often, you could stay around more, we could make this something,” when he realizes what he is saying it’s already too late. His throat feels dry and he can only hope the fear gripping at his mind isn’t as clear in his eyes when your gaze finds his.

“Kenny,” you pause, holding his eyes in your own with the powerful pull of the sea, “are you asking me to be you girlf-”

“If you want to,” he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence before he speaks again, though he soon regrets it as the moment of silence following has his mind reeling, “I mean -”

It’s your turn to cut him off as you pull his face into yours, lips crashing in a soft kiss before your eyes find his once again. “Yeah, if you are gonna keep waking me up like this I think I’d very much like it,” you chuckle and you can see his baby blues brighten even more, his smile spreading to his eyes as you feel his hand touch your face lovingly.