djostateofmind - Tumblr blog

djostateofmind · 12 days ago

Text

Apple and Tea

Travis "Teacake" Meacham x Stripper!Reader

CW: Unprotected p n v sex

Thank you to @sadhours for editing, coming up with my title and always bouncing ideas around with me hehehe. Also big thanks for letting me sign into your Kindle Unlimited since I forgot my book hehehe luf you.

Teacake has a way with words.

“We’re going in here?” Teacake came to a complete halt, his shoes digging into the chipped sidewalk as he stared up at the giant neon sign. He’d drive past this very place his entire life, yet he had never been brave enough to walk inside.

“I told you, man,” Dylan sighed in exasperation, “it’s not a big deal.” He stated calmly, though he was still wearing the same shit eating grin. Teacake’s words died on his tongue as hoots and hollers rang around him, nearly making him forget what he was about to say.

“You said we were going to a bar, not a strip club. There’s a difference. Actually, there’s a pretty big difference.” He said firmly, hoping he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. If he had known, he would’ve at least made some attempt to look better. He hadn’t even had time to shower since working yesterday. He’d been so tired when he’d gotten back that he had crashed on his lumpy bed as soon as he set foot into his room. He not only looked a mess, but greasy as well.

“Don’t tell me you ain’t ever been into The Wild Orchid, Teacake.” Dylan said dryly, looking amused. Almost like this had been his intent. Teacake scoffed quickly, not wanting anyone to see through him. Even though he was fairly certain they could.

“No, I can’t say I’ve been in here before,” he replied quickly as he gestured towards the building, “and besides, it’s a Monday. Ain’t nobody goin’ into one of these places on a Monday.” At least no one with good intentions, and he didn’t really care to be roped into that mess.

“You’d be surprised. You scared?” Dylan continued on, walking further ahead and leaving Teacake to rush forward. He didn’t necessarily care about being left behind either. Better to keep his eyes on them than get dragged into something else.

“Not scared, I just wasn’t prepared. You didn’t warn me. You know, like I didn’t bring that much cash. That’s it.” He mumbled as he dug into his back pocket, digging until he found his I.D., just to be prepared. He had a feeling he’d have a long night at the bar.

“Right.” Someone to his left snickered, though he missed it as he stumbled into the building. He winced as he adjusted to the very loud music, eyebrows crinkling together as he adjusted his eyesight in the darker room.

There were various neon lights throughout the room, though he was instantly drawn towards the bright red one that illuminated the stage. His stomach twisted into a thick knot before he quickly turned away, not wanting to linger on the girl that was dancing on stage.

“Hey, Teacake, where’s my teacake?” Someone else smarted off, making him roll his eyes as he mustered up the strength to smile. He wasn’t at all amused, but there was no point in arguing with any of them.

He knew he should’ve driven himself.

Going out with Dylan was a bad idea to begin with, and the feeling only grew once more of his buddies began to tag along. All he could think about on the car ride here was his little trip to Ellsworth, on how he had spent those nineteen months plotting on how to make his life better. Not that it had worked so far. But maybe if he stayed away from the others it wouldn’t matter. Maybe.

He camped out at the bar, making small talk with the bartender as he worked on his second beer. He was having a hard time looking at the stage, but he had an even harder time looking away. He felt like a child, like he was going to get in trouble for looking at something he wasn’t supposed to look at. Which was an insane thought, he was a grown man. But it still felt wrong.

“What’re you doing here all alone?” A soft voice snapped him from his thoughts, nearly making him jolt in surprise. He peered at you once, blinked, then looked at you again. Sure that he was dreaming. You looked like an angel, ethereal, completely different from the place he was sitting in.

“Hey, hi,” he replied, mouth agape as his eyes drifted over the high heels then all the way up the curve of your legs. Your pink lingerie wasn’t the most scandalous, but still left little to his imagination. Very little actually. The closer he looked, the more he realized that it was sheer. If he stepped any closer, he was sure he could see your nipples against the shiny material. He huffed harshly, “I’m not alone, my friends are over there.” He gestured over more roughly than he meant to, trying to keep his composure cool.

“How come you’re not?” You questioned softly, voice as sweet as honey as you furrowed your eyebrows together. He did his best to keep from staring into your eyes, sure that they were the prettiest hue he’d ever seen. He was suddenly glad that he was sitting down, though he felt a hundred different excuses forming on the tip of his tongue.

“I wanted a beer,” he replied calmly, trying to keep his heart from hammering too harshly inside his chest, “and like some fresh air. It’s crowded in here, you know, lots of dancing goin’ on. I didn’t want to get in the way.” He replied as he waved his hand in the air, feeling more nervous than he had in a while.

“Very crowded,” you agreed with a nod of your head, a hazy look lingering in your eyes. You were slightly wobbling, but he wondered if that had to do with the pair of heels that you were stuffed into, “would you like to go somewhere private?” You offered, leaning against the counter in such a seductive way he felt his head beginning to spin.

“What’s your name?” He asked instead, gulping harshly as his eyes drifted over the curve of your boobs. Just enough to look at your cleavage. He didn’t let his gaze drop further than that, not wanting to be disrespectful of course.

“Apple,” you responded, lips curling into a kind smile. It felt a little odd to think that the name suited you, but it really did, “and yours?” You asked in return, standing there patiently instead of running off to talk to someone else. Which he appreciated. He felt like a teenager as he observed the way you tapped your manicured nails against the counter, matching the rhythm to the music playing in the background.

“Teacake,” He introduced himself, feeling a little odd as he thrusted his hand out in your direction. He was suddenly glad for the dark room, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to see the way his face turned red, “is that your real name? Apple?”

“Is Teacake your real name?”

“No, it’s just a dumb nickname,” he explained briefly, “given to me by some even dumber dudes.” He added, not wanting you to think that he had come up with something so awful.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.” You replied as you squinted your eyes thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowing together as you squeezed your fingers around his own. He gulped hard, trying to ignore the electricity that raced up his arm.

“Long story, fairly annoying.” He told you truthfully, feeling like it wasn’t really worth the hassle. You gently released your grip from his, glossed lips still curled into a smile. He could see that your eyelids were covered in a thick glitter too, making your eyes twinkle.

“But I bet it’s still interesting,” you added kindly as you turned, resting your elbow on the table this time. He forgot how to breathe as he looked at you fully, eyes drifting across your curves and perky boobs. He turned quickly, covering his nerves up with a cough, “need a cough drop?”

“S’fine,” he replied rapidly as he brought his beer up to his lips, taking a few thick gulps in hopes that he would feel his confidence grow. He’d been drunk with all the other girls he’d slept with in the past, not that he planned on sleeping with you, it just made it easier to talk too, “just a tickle in the back of my throat. I’m not sick though, just a little choked up. I wouldn’t get anyone sick on purpose.” He added lamely, blinking roughly at the amused laugh that slid between your lips.

“You’re cute.” You stated, taking him completely by surprise. He parted his lips, used to being looked down upon. You didn’t do that. Then again, maybe he just looked like a fool who would cough up as many bills as you wanted.

“You’ve got kind eyes,” he spit out, all of his confidence melting away at your words, “and I like the way you talk. You’re really pretty too. And your outfit is nice.” He rambled on, wishing his tongue would stop.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a dance.” You tried again, manicured nails dancing across the snake tattoo on his skin.

“Sure, yeah. Of course. I would love a dance. Dancing is super cool,” he replied, lips curling into a smile, “like right now?” Teacake blinked roughly, realizing that you were waiting for him.

“There’s a private room over there.” You gestured towards it, giving him a small nod of your head.

“Okay, sure. Cool. Let’s go over there then, a’ight?” He rubbed his palms across his knees before he stood, wishing he’d ordered a shot instead of his beer.

“Follow me, handsome.” You took his hand, making his heart race inside of his chest as he took in the way his hand swallowed yours whole.

“Where do you want me to sit? Here? Or what about over there?”

“You can sit right there,” you instructed, lips pressed into an amused grin, “get yourself comfortable.”

“Sure thing, right,” he nodded as he sat down, “have you been doing this long? It looks nice here. A lot nicer than others, just assuming.”

“For a few months now,” you answered breezily, placing your hands on his shoulders softly, “comfortable?”

“Seems fun,” he continued on as he nodded his head, unable to stop himself, “I mean, not that I would do it. Not that there’s anything bad with this either, I’m sure it pays the bills and what not. Not that there’s anything wrong with liking dancing either.”

“Just sort of happened,” you replied as you brushed a nail gently across his cheek, “are you ready?” You asked, suddenly too close to him.

“Lady, I just want to say that I respect women,” he rattled off quickly, cheeks still burning, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anythin’, I didn’t even know we were going here. It was just sort of sprung on me, I mean I just woke up and -,”

“You talk a lot,” you stated with a little giggle, “it’s cute. I like it.” You seemed genuine with your answer, which was new.

“It’s a thing,” he replied, gulping harshly, “anyways, I just don’t want to pressure you into anything.” He finished his thought, watching the slow way you nodded your head.

“I appreciate that, but you’re the one paying for the dance.” You replied with a low laugh, looking all cute. He really, really hoped that he didn’t stink.

“Well-,” he thought about it for a moment, “right. I’ll keep my hands where you can see them, though. I’m a gentleman. Ma’am.” He added for good measure, holding his hands to his knees.

“I appreciate that,” you hummed as you moved his arms to his sides, “you’re very sweet.” You complimented him, making his stomach erupt with butterflies as you slowly straddled his lap.

“Thank you, Apple,” It took everything in Teacake to keep from gasping as he fully felt the warmth of your body spreading across his lap. His hazel eyes were everywhere as he analyzed every curve and inch of you, fascinated, “you’re like really good at this. Really pretty.”

“Shh,” you teased him, pressing your finger against his lips, “I want you to enjoy this.” You added earnestly, beginning to rock your hips to the music that was thumping in the background.

“M’okay,” he breathed out roughly, “but I am enjoying this. A lot. Like, you’re stunning.” His body was beginning to burn, not from his words but from the want that was growing inside of him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had someone talk through a dance before.” You admitted, pretty lips pulling into the brightest smile he’d ever seen. He faltered, nearly melting underneath your touch.

“It’s just a me thing,” he added quickly, feeling a warmth spread through him as he met your eyes, “like I said, it’s a thing.” His eyes flickered back down to your body, just briefly. He was still a gentleman. But it had been some time since he’d been with a woman.

Teacake’s heart was racing roughly against the crook of his neck as you leaned in closer, your panties pressed roughly against his suddenly too tight jeans. He curled his fingers into a fist, trying to keep from grabbing you as you rutted slowly against the half chub that was forming in his pants. He was so screwed.

“Howdy,” you read off of his neck, humming softly, “what’s the story behind this one?” You were whispering in his ear now, sending a chill through his body.

“Jus’ thought it was funny I guess,” he gulped harshly, “no real reason. I don’t know.” He very briefly felt tongue tied, a little lost in the sensation of the way you were moving against him.

“You’re trembling,” you whispered lowly, “are you nervous?” You pulled back slowly, hands falling against his stubbled jaw.

“I’ve only had two beers,” he spit out quickly, looking at you nervously, “well, barely a second one. Technically only one. Like, I’m pretty sober still or whatever.” He blinked roughly, wishing he could stop talking.

“S’that a problem?”

“I’ve never-, like while sober. I’ve always been pretty hammered,” he admitted, licking his bottom lip nervously, “not that it matters, I know you’re not doing that or whatever but-,” he began, only to be silenced by the feeling of your lips on his.

Your lips were smooth and sweet, slotting against his perfectly as he softened against your touch. Fireworks bloomed inside of his stomach as you kissed him, holding his face firmly as he moaned underneath you. You snagged his bottom lip between both of yours, teeth lightly dragging against his.

A smile spread across your lips at the way he groaned from your touch, your tongue flicking out against his mouth. He inhaled sharply as you traced the curve of his lips, his heart thumping roughly against his chest at the white hot lust that spread down his spine.

His cock was aching in his pants, throbbing at the slow way you continued to grind down against him. His fingertips were burning, desperate to feel your flesh against his skin. The desire to touch you was overwhelming, a feeling so intense that he couldn’t fight the urge anymore.

A little grin left your lips as you placed your fingers across his wrists, pressing his palms down rougher against your flesh. Sparks traveled up his arms, a little whine leaving his lips as the sensation rushed to his aching dick.

“Wait, wait, slow down,” he groaned as he stopped your motions, eyes snapping up towards yours quickly, “I uh, I really appreciate your work lady. I really do, s’great. Incredible. But if you keep doing that I’m gonna-, well, I’m close. M’sorry.”

“Just from that?” You laughed as you tilted your head, pushing your fingers through his bleached hair. He didn’t think it was as funny, not with the way his cock was straining underneath your weight.

“Sorry, m’sorry,” he apologized again, cheeks heating up, “like I said, you’re really pretty. And you know how to do your job. Fuck. Feels really good.” He moaned lowly, closing his eyes to bury his own shame as he rutted his hips up against your smooth flesh.

“I can make you feel even better,” you whispered against his earlobe, tongue flicking out against his earring. He shivered, flicking his tongue out against his bottom lip as you worked on unzipping his pants, “poor baby. Look at you. Let me take care of you.” You cooed, wrapping your fingers around his fat cock.

The pleasure burned inside of him as you spread his precum along the head of his cock, tilting your head down to spit across his length a second later. He hissed at the sensation, jerking his hips forward as you stroked your hand along the curve of his dick.

“You’re huge,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with lust as you looked back up at him. He shook his head, unable to speak for once as you dragged his cock along your clothed cunt, “wanna feel you inside of me. I’ll make you feel so good, y’want that?”

He nodded his head roughly, gulping as your hand squelched along his slick cock. He groaned lowly, biting down on his bottom lip as he continued to rut up against your hand. Your palms felt nice, your fingers firm against his skin.

“Hey, don’t get quiet on me now,” you smirked, giving him a knowing look as you tapped your free hand against his jaw, “what do you want?” You asked him, bringing your motions to a slow stop.

A guttural sound left his mouth as he licked the corner of his lips, inhaling harshly as he nodded his head again, “you. I want you. Can you fuck me? Can you do that for me, Apple?” He hissed, glancing down as you soft squeezed his cock.

You shifted yourself on your knees, leaving him to greedily grip at your ass. He enjoyed the feeling of your flesh against his palms, getting a brief look at your cunt as you pushed your panties aside. He jerked back as you pushed his tip against your hole, sliding yourself onto him.

Teacake was enamored with the way your face relaxed as you buried his cock inside of your slick cunt, pleasure etching on your features as you came to a slow stall. You whimpered around him, walls spongy and soaked. He was struggling to keep his own eyes open, though he didn’t ever want to forget how you looked right now.

“Ah, oh,” he felt his eyebrows rising in pleasure, his jaw relaxing as he became overwhelmed with the feeling of you, “Oh Jesus Christ. Oh holy fuck. Oh God.” He crooned, glancing back down to the way your cunt hugged his cock snuggly.

He’d had sex before, but he was positive nothing had felt quite this good before. Your fingernails dragging across his biceps as you let out a loud moan, sending a fresh spark of lust inside of him. You were so damn pretty, so tight around his dick.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whined, unable to help himself as you began to drag yourself up and down the length of his cock, “oh fuck. Fuck. You’re riding me. Oh my God.” His eyes snapped across the length of your body, unsure of where to really focus. He enjoyed the expression on your face, in your eyes; but he also enjoyed the way your boobs moved, how your pussy was leaking around his thick girth.

Your moans became louder as you gripped his shoulders tighter, nails digging into his skin in a nice manner. His fingertips were rough against your waist, beginning to thrust up with your movements. He hoped that you felt as good as he did, because your spongy walls were gripping him so tightly that he felt like he was in heaven. You were the closest he’d come to God.

“Fuck,” you whined, your sounds of pleasure mingling with his as you rutted your hips down against him harder, “yeah, that feel good? You sound so pretty. Makin’ me feel so good.” You praised, lustful eyes meeting his.

He cried out as he looked deep into your eyes, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips as he pushed his cock into you deeper. Your moans grew louder, whinier as you dropped your head down against his. He hissed, feeling himself beginning to fall apart.

The pleasure burned hot inside of him, licking at him as your cunt clamped down around his girth. You whimpered as you rolled your hips forward rougher, making him whine.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he moaned as he tugged you closer, his cock brushing against your bundle of nerves with each movement, “s’close. Gonna cum. Fuck, fuck. I’ll pull out, yeah. Yeah, fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.” He rambled out messily, beginning to see stars.

You gasped, keeping the same rhythm that was making his eyes roll into the back of his head. He didn’t want you to stop, wanted you to make him fall apart underneath him. He crooned, toes curling in his shoes as the pleasure hit him all at once.

His cock throbbed inside of you, aching as he came deep inside of your weeping cunt. He pressed up on his heels, unable to help himself as his body shook from his orgasm. His pleasure was loud, whiny as he painted your walls white.

“Fuck, fuck,” his lips parted, expression crinkling in bliss as he looked up at you in awe. You were perfect, a dream, “m’sorry. Sorry, fuck. Didn’t mean to cum inside, m’sorry. You just felt so good. Oh fuck, oh fuck I can see it.” He huffed, watching the way his spunk leaked out from your puffy pussy.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you chanted, making him squeak as you bounced along the curve of his cock once, then twice, “right there. Oh fuck.” You whined, coming to a slow stop as your walls trembled around his girth. He whined again, eagerly stroking your sides.

Part of the haze had washed off of him, just barely. Just enough that he knew it was pretty dumb to fuck you without a condom. Not that he had brought any anyways, but it was still dumb. And he still didn’t regret it. He liked the feeling of your cunt hugging his fat cock, made him want you even more. Again.

“I’m real sorry,” he began, chest rising and falling harshly as he fought to catch his breath, “I don’t normally do that, fuck. You just felt so good. Oh s’crazy. Wow.” He repeated, unable to look away from how the mixture of your cum was dripping along the length of his dick.

“What’s your name?” You teased softly, cupping his chin softly. You grinned, giving the corner of his mouth a kiss. He smiled goofily.

“Tea-,”

“Your real name.” You interrupted, making him nod slowly. His mind was so hazy in pleasure he had forgotten. Or maybe he’d hoped you had.

“Travis.”

“Travis, I like it.” You smiled, patting the side of his cheek again. He leaned against your touch, savoring the way you felt against him. How you smelt. He was hooked.

He’d have to see you again.

#travis teacake meacham #travis meacham #travis meacham x reader

122 notes · View notes

djostateofmind · 24 days ago

Text

pull the pin

4.9k words | Modern coworker!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

You and your coworker Steve have been dancing around each other for months. And now that you're finally single, it's time to make a move. (Inspired by that Deuxmoi post about Joe Keery: "the most passionate, gentle man with the dirtiest words and tongue", because it made me want to die.)

Notes: Reader has breasts and a vagina, unprotected sex/pulling out, oral sex (f receiving), piv, dirty talking, praise kink, lots of pent up emotions/sexual tension, mention of Reader's ex-boyfriend.

You've been toeing a line with Steve, playing a dangerous game of controlled cat-and-mouse. If you were asked, you'd both deny it. But the truth is, you've wanted Steve a lot longer than you should have. Caught his gaze lingering on you in meetings, hoped to God he didn't notice you staring slack-jawed while he did something as mundane as sorting the mail at the office.

You've met each other's significant others at bar crawls after work, and you never did anything you shouldn't have, or at least nothing serious or deliberate. Even when he broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago, you were a good girl and kept things above board.

Steve told you once, when he was late to work several months ago because they'd been arguing about the laundry, that he wondered if maybe they were only still together because they'd been together so long. His cheeks burned afterward, a rushed "I shouldn't have said that" coming out almost immediately, so you never talked about it again. Even after Jessica, whose desk is right beside yours, reported that he was single a few weeks later to all the girls in your department, gleefully darting her eyes in Steve's direction across the floor… Even after all that, it was just stray glances that meant more than they should have, or knocking your knee against his under the table at lunch, or choking on a gasp when he showed you something new at work and said "good girl" when you did it right on the first try. But you never made a move, and you didn't plan to.

He's your coworker, and you had a boyfriend.

Had. Had a boyfriend.

Until Noah completely blew it. You'd been on the rocks for a while - he was away at grad school, and you both struggled with the distance. And while you sat there, faithfully waiting for his phone calls and his good morning texts and denying you had any interest in sweet, handsome Steve from work, your boyfriend, as it turns out, was busy reconnecting with his high school sweetheart. Totally innocently, he insisted when you saw him interacting with her posts on Facebook. And then he removed his relationship status from his account. And then, one day, he blocked you and told you he'd deleted the account. But when you told this to helpful Jessica from work, she pulled his profile right up and turned the screen toward you, asking, "Is this him?"

And then tonight, when you were both two or three drinks deep, surrounded by your boss and coworkers, you told Steve. Just loud enough for him to hear you over the music, and just low enough that nobody else could hear, you told him you and Noah had ended things.

In any other circumstance, this might have been a neutral statement, but you saw the way he looked at you - the way his pupils expanded a little, dialed in. You don't even know what you looked like, what he might have seen in your expression, but you didn't miss the way he licked his lips, the way he leaned in just enough that you could smell the cologne on the collar of his brown, leather jacket.

You only just made it to your car when your phone lit up with a text message, all white and blue light illuminating your future transgressions. It only took one sentence for him to make his intentions clear.

I think you've got my wallet, his message read.

You both knew that wasn't true. And so the next phase, the real chase, was on. You sat in your spot in the parking lot, coming up with something plausible in case the company were to ever ask for your records. Your heart pounded in your chest in time with the rain on your windshield, and you finally sent back: Sorry, I'm already back home. Can you come and pick it up? Your follow-up text included your address.

And that brings you to now, waiting for Steve, knowing he's only a few minutes behind you. You've dashed through a quick routine - taking off your shoes and jacket, tidying the kitchen a little, and brushing your teeth again - by the time he knocks on your door.

When you open it and let him inside, your pulse races. You don't know what happens from here, how to get from Point A to Point C.

As it turns out, you don't need to know, because no sooner has he set foot into your house than he's taking your face in his hands, brown eyes burning with something both electric and dark.

You stumble backward, hands instinctually grabbing him by each side of the undone zipper of his jacket. "Steve." Your voice sounds foreign and breathy to your own ears, like someone who doesn't believe their own eyes. Like you think he might be a figment of your imagination, a dream too good to be true.

His jacket is damp from the rain, and his hair is, too, and the front door is still wide open when he rests his forehead against yours and hesitates, lips slightly parted and just a breath away from yours. His chest is still several inches away from yours, like his mind got a little bit ahead of him and now he's not sure he should be so forward. There's a lingering air of "should we do this?" in the space where a greeting should have been, but you've already made up your mind. You cradle the back of his head in your hand and pull him in. The air is thick with tension, like the thunderstorm outside has permeated the atmosphere of your house as well. And when his mouth descends on yours, that first touch is electric, so jarring and desperate that it feels like gravity's been multiplied, drawing you to him. You couldn't fight it if you tried.

Your heart hammers in your chest as he softens under your touch and tugs you in by the belt loops. You always wondered what it would be like, not just kissing Steve but to be held by him. Wondered if you'd be able to feel it in his touch, after all those stolen glances these last couple of years, the late night talks at the bar after your boss went home. Mused on whether his hands would feel as solid and sure on your skin as his thigh does when it's pressed against yours in your tiny cubicle. Well, you were right, but only partly - his touch is sure, but it's urgent, like he's thought about this every bit as much as you have. Like he needs you.

Somewhere in those first few moments, he nudges the front door shut behind him and begins guiding you backwards. One thumb slots into your belt loop, big hand wrapping around your hip as he goes.

He tastes like whiskey and honey and everything you've ever wanted. Because you've seen the way Steve treated Tamara. You've seen him hold her the way you've been dying to be held, the way he's holding you right now. If it were someone else, maybe that would bother you, the idea of him touching you like his ex-girlfriend. But this is Steve - warm, gentle, tactile Steve, and you've been dying to feel even a little bit of the warmth of his sunshine.

"Do you have any idea—" Steve pulls away, looking into your eyes as he eases you down onto the sofa. "—how fucking long I've been wanting to do that?"

Swallowing thickly, you watch as he shrugs off his jacket. As soon as it hits the floor, you pull your knees up to your chest, parting them enough for him to slot himself between them. "As long as I've wanted you?" you suggest, hands finding the buckle of his belt and dragging him closer.

You can already see him straining against the denim of his jeans, the imprint of him hard and mouthwatering. Your mind still feels a little warm and languid from the alcohol, but when you palm him through his jeans without even thinking about it first, you're moving on entirely on desire and instinct.

"Fuck, honey," he sighs, fisting one hand in your hair and pulling just enough to drag a moan from your lips. "Can I—"

He hisses when you begin unbuckling his belt. Your hands are careful as you tug his zipper down, but you look up at the sound he makes to be sure you've not hurt him. He doesn't look like he's in pain, but you ask anyway. "Is this okay?"

The way you look up at him through your lashes seems to do something to him, because his hips buck a little. "Oh my God, yeah. D'you—Fuck, where's the bedroom?"

He swipes a hand through his hair sloppily, pushing it back from his forehead, and you almost release your grasp on him, desperate to run your fingers through it yourself. When your breath hitches, it's like you can feel your lungs rattling against the cage of your ribs. "This way," you tell him, taking his hand in yours as thunder rumbles through the house. As you stand, a flash of lightning illuminates the room, a persistent flicker, thrusting you both into the light just long enough to remember that this isn't who you are in the daylight. Or, rather, that it wasn't.

It could be.

The air is alive with static electricity, and so are you, Steve's mouth only parting from yours just long enough to pull the camisole over your head. By the time you reach your bedroom, he's out of his Levi's, and you're down to your underwear.

You didn't dress up for Steve tonight, or at least not in a conspicuous way. You wore a skirt that was appropriate for work and a fitted, button-down top with a little flare at the waist - nothing super out of the ordinary. But you made up your mind this morning before leaving for work that you were going to tell him, that you were going to be prepared for the pipe dream of ending the night in Steve's bed. So it shouldn't be that jarring when Steve pulls back to observe you, gaze roving the thin material of your bra, a strappy little push-up you picked up last week. But in the lulls of the day, when you let yourself daydream about Steve's hands on your skin, exploring your new lingerie, you assumed it would maybe make him more excited, maybe signal to him just how ready you are. But you didn't expect it to be like this.

Because Steve groans at the sight of you, hands palming your breasts with reverence through the sheer fabric, and then he drops to his knees. You bury your hands in his hair, pulse racing as he presses kisses to your stomach, hands holding your hips. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me," he hums, sounding not displeased about the prospect.

Suddenly, he pulls you down by your hips, sets you down at the foot of the bed and remains on his knees, shuffling forward just a bit to close the gap.

"Steve," you gasp as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder.

"Did you dress up just for me?" he asks, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. His gaze is burnt caramel, hot where it follows the curve of your calf, on up to the juncture of your knee, and up to your thighs and beyond.

It's probably a rhetorical question, but when he's looking at you like that, you feel like you need to respond, need to tell him. "I always dress up for you," you say softly.

Your stomach tenses a little in anticipation as his big, soft hands press your thighs apart, exposing you further. "Yeah? You mean like that pretty dress you wore yesterday?"

Lightning cracks across the sky, and the room is turned electric blue as the light shines through your curtains. You nod, watching him leave another chaste kiss higher up your thigh, on the soft skin of the inside. He pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, easier for him to reach. His voice is low and sultry, smooth in a way you've never heard it before, as he asks, "And like that tight little skirt you wore today?"

Swallowing thickly, you nod again. You've done a lot of things for Steve tonight, whether he knows it or not. The berry scented lotion, the skirt he always seemed to notice most, the lingerie, the posturing - all of it. All of it's been for Steve.

When his nose brushes against the damp fabric of your panties, the sound you make is less a sigh and more a breath being wrenched from your lungs. It's not voluntary in the slightest. The way Steve was tearing your clothes off in the hall, you didn't expect this, didn't anticipate he'd even bother with foreplay. But maybe you just don't know Steve yet, or at least, not like that. Because everything about him screams intentionality and gentleness.

"Love it when you wear that one," he murmurs, pulling your panties to the side. He presses your thigh against the bed, opening you up as far as he can with your other leg over his shoulder. Then he presses a kiss to the juncture of your thigh and the strappy waistband of your panties, you whine a little at his touch. Something about the tone of his voice, all soft and wanting, has your hands shaking already. His breath is hot on your skin when he adds, "Oh, baby, you're so wet for me already. If I knew you needed me this bad, I would have taken care of you sooner."

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut at the thought as he continues. Your back arches just a little when his thumb drags a slow trail up from your entrance, through your slick folds, and circles around your swollen clit. "Could have drove you home. Could've stroked this pretty pussy in the passenger seat, maybe pulled over along the way if you still couldn't wait."

It's funny how just the sound of him describing the urgency, telling you you could have had him right there in the parking lot, makes you need him so much more now, while he's taking his time. "Steve—" Your hand curls around his bicep as his thumb circles your clit again. It's too direct, just a little too much when you're already so worked up. "—please, been waiting so long—"

"Oh, I know." His tone is bordering on patronizing, leaning just slightly more toward a coo, and hearing him like that makes you feel like your brain is running on dial up. "D'you think I didn't notice how you make twice as many trips to the printer as you need to, just so you can see me?"

No, actually, you didn't think he noticed. And just as you're about to tell him as much, when he buries his face between your thighs, tongue flattening to lick a stripe up from your entrance to the swollen bud of your clitoris.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, fingers weaving into his hair reflexively. You've pictured Steve a lot of ways; you'd be lying if you said you never imagined this. But when he flicks his tongue against your clit, it's slower, gentler than you imagined. In your head, everything was always frenzied, as desperate as you felt. But the reality of his touch is so much… gentler, slower, like he's savoring you even from the very first taste.

One-night-stands and first-times in the days of yore were always very trial and error, and obviously so. You'd have to tell your partner what you do and don't like as it's happening if not discussed in advance, either through gritted teeth when something hurt, or over laughter with a new boyfriend, or with trepidation with your first love.

Steve, you find quickly, isn't like that at all. His mouth is, first of all, absolutely sinful - hot and agile and—

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, hips rising involuntarily, chasing more more more. "Oh," you gasp, eyes screwing shut at the warmth blooming in your belly. You pull just slightly at his hair, knuckles pressed against the root, and a low moan rumbles from his throat, lips vibrating slightly against your skin. The wrist of your free hand twists above your head, fingers wrapping around the railing of the headboard for something, anything to hold onto. "'S good," you whimper, "so good, Steve."

There's a lot more finesse to Steve than you would have expected, the way he tries new patterns with his tongue, skillfully shifting from one technique to the next without pause. When he does come up for air, panting, he huffs out, "Do that again."

You tug on his hair again, gentle but firm, and that's when you see it, the way his big hand flexes as he palms the bulge straining against the confines of his briefs. Just as he shifts back into flicking his tongue against your clit, up and down, so direct the pleasure's almost painful, you moan with abandon, voice breathy and a little primal. You repeat his name like a mantra, like he can save you from the heat washing over your body, careening toward your orgasm too fast and too intensely.

"That's it, honey, let me hear you," he hums. Instinctively, like your body knows you shouldn't be finishing so soon, your thighs clench around his ears, trying to distance yourself a little from the overwhelming sensation building deep inside you. But try as your body might, there's no escaping him.

Steve's hands work quickly, grabbing your hips to push you farther up the bed, and when he kneels at the foot of the bed, he presses both your thighs flat against the sheets, opening you up entirely. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide when his mouth descends on you again, just your hips bucking against his mouth and thighs trembling, completely surrendering to the pleasure just as the first wave of your orgasm breaks.

You don't even hear the thunder rolling outside, pulse pounding in your ears. "Steve, Steve—" The sounds spilling out of your mouth are completely unintelligible. There's something you were going to say, but you don't have a clue what it was, or what you're even saying now, all the consonants soft and vowels trailing as he circles his tongue around the sensitive bud of your clitoris. It's just enough stimulation to work you through it, but indirect enough to keep you from crying out from overstimulation.

Your eyes prick with tears from the intensity of it all: the searing pleasure of your orgasm, the surreal edge of Steve's very presence in your bedroom that's setting in on the comedown, the longing pull coming from behind your ribs that feels like you just need need need more of him.

As the roll of your hips slows down, Steve presses a gentle kiss to your labia and looks up at you, eyes burning with desire and shining just a little with something that looks like pride.

His hand caresses your inner thigh, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there as he murmurs, "Taste so good, honey. Even sweeter than I thought."

Nobody's ever talked to you the way Steve does, with the kind of authoritative reverence in his voice - like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on and he knows you're all his. You've had guys try and talk dirty to you before, but they always seemed to over- or under-shoot—calling you names or sounding too embarrassed to possibly mean their words. But Steve, he can talk to you like this all night if he wants. From the smoldering look in his eyes, you think he just might.

The tears gather in the corner of your eyes, but you blink them away, reaching out for him, needing him like you've never needed anyone before. There's something about this dynamic between you - tense, like a fishing line pulled tight - that feels like it could break if you say the wrong thing. You want more of that authoritative but gentle tone of his voice, and his confident, attentive ministrations. When you told Steve you were single, you thought you were taking control of the situation, that maybe you'd be the one to shove him onto your mattress and tell him exactly what you want. But you weren't prepared for this side of Steve, cocky but so, so eager, so smooth and adoring all at once.

You need him, need more of him like you need to breathe. When he shuffles forward a little, crawling up your sweat-slick body to press a kiss to your lips, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in. He chuckles lightly against your skin, and while you might have worried that this hasn't affected him at all, the bulge grinding absentmindedly against your slick, aching cunt says otherwise.

His lips are soft and slick with the taste of you, but you don't mind - in fact, you find yourself chasing his kiss feverishly, craving more. So you're a little disappointed when he pulls back just far enough that his lips ghost against yours as he asks, "Was that everything you wanted?"

"No," you say, arms tangling beneath his to wrap around his shoulderblades, hands gripping his shoulders.

His eyes crinkle just a little at the corners as he grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, then another to your nose. "Oh, yeah? Was something missing?"

He's so smug, it drives you crazy, and you're about to tell him as much when he nudges his nose against the lobe of your ear, hips rolling against yours slowly, deliberately. Your response dies on your tongue, replaced with a breathy moan, your fingernails digging little half-moons into his skin.

Steve asks, "Did you know I had to get myself off in my car after we left the bar last Friday?" His hips cant against yours sharply, as though to punctuate his sentence, and your hole clenches in response, tightening around the mere idea of him. "Didn't even make it out of the parking lot, watching you move in that awful mini-skirt. Thinking how unfair it was that I couldn't bury myself in this pretty pussy because some dickhead in Missouri was wasting his shot with you."

A shiver runs down your spine at the admission, and with your eyes closed, you can see him, fist working over his cock, which you still haven't seen yet. "I want it," you find yourself babbling, seemingly no longer possessing any restraint or self-respect as you rut against his hard length. You're not sure if it's that his confidence is infectious or if you've just completely lost all your inhibitions, but suddenly, you're talking like he does, open and honest and completely without shame. "You can fuck me any way you want, Steve, I just need to feel you, please—"

"Oh, fuck." His eyes roll back in his head slightly, and his cock twitches against you, through your sheer panties, and you want him so badly you could scream. Within just a few seconds, he's completely undressed and dragging your panties down your calves before slotting himself back between your thighs like he belongs there. You wrap your legs around him again quickly, afraid to ever, ever let him go.

The flushed tip of his cock presses against you, and he laces his fingers with yours, holding your entwined hands to the mattress. "I'll be gentle, honey," he murmurs, kissing your lips.

And then he presses himself inside you with a slow, shallow roll of his hips. You expect it to sting a little - it's been a while since you've been with anyone beyond phone sex with your vibrator, and your vibrator is certainly not as girthy as Steve. But he strokes your hair, eyes shining with concern as he scans your face for signs of discomfort, and after a few shallow thrusts, he's more than halfway inside you.

"Oh, that's it, baby," he coos, gaze flickering down to where your skin meets his. "Taking me so well; I knew you would. So tight, honey, you have any idea how good you feel?"

You feel so full already that it's overwhelming, but you just open your legs up a little wider for him, craving—needing—all of him. And when you do, Steve takes the hint and realigns his hips, then slowly presses in again, taking you all the way to the hilt. You inhale deeply through your nose, trying to steady yourself, nails scraping down his back.

Pressing his lips to your hairline, he hums, "'S that okay, honey? You ready for more?"

Your stomach clenches, walls tightening around him, and you nod into the crook of his neck.

And then he rolls his hips against yours, still keeping those shallow thrusts from before, brow furrowing with pleasure. It's a slow few moments of him stretching you open, getting used to the feeling, before he lowers his hips slightly, changing the angle again. And when he does, you gasp at the sensation, the stimulation of that spot just behind your pubic bone that makes you see stars.

"Yeah? That feel good?" he hums, licking his lips. When you whimper in response, he slides one arm beneath the small of your back to support you, and then he's thrusting into you with intention, like he's chasing something. Each thrust forces a shaky breath from your lips, a little gasp at the feeling, and you take his face in both your hands, thumb brushing against his pretty cheekbone.

And then it's you who's pulling him in, kissing him slow and languid as his hips maintain a measured, steady pace. He doesn't taste like whiskey anymore, just tastes like Steve.

"Fuck, honey," he groans, burying his face in your shoulder. "I don't know how much longer I can last. You're so goddamn pretty wrapped around my cock."

You slide your hand between your bodies, fingertips finding the aching bud of your clit and rubbing circles around it in time with his thrusts. You're getting close again, can feel that tension coiling in your abdomen, easier this time after the first. When you whimper at the sensitive touch, Steve pulls back a bit, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and begins fucking you deeper, just a little harder than before.

You're moaning now with each thrust, back arching up into him, and then suddenly, you're bucking your hips against his with abandon. Steve hisses at the sensation of your walls fluttering around him, and then suddenly, he's gripping your hips and pressing you harder into the mattress, fucking you harder and faster as he chases his release. You've only just begun to climax when his hips stutter, pace becoming more erratic, and then you're scraping your nails down his back, leaving pink, swollen trails in their wake, and he's pulling out, abruptly spilling streaks of his hot, white release on your stomach.

He's breathing hard as he comes down, but that doesn't stop him kissing you breathless as your brows knit together, fingers still working your sensitive clit.

You feel dizzy on the comedown as Steve laves messy, open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, and after a few moments, he's reaching across to the nightstand to gather some tissues. He's gentle and attentive as he cleans you up, and you let him, watch him wipe away the evidence of his orgasm on your stomach.

Only then, when Steve lies down beside you and pulls you to his chest, does the intensity of the day settle into your bones. Eight hours at work, a couple hours at the bar, and who knows how long spent in bed with your coworker Steve Harrington.

Your coworker. You wonder what else he is to you now. A one-night stand? A friend with benefits? A lover? It's hard to say. But the patterns Steve's tracing into your skin feel nice and relaxing, and your eyes are heavy from a long, exhausting day.

As you curl deeper into his side, your eyelids flutter shut, and you ask, "Was that everything you wanted?"

You don't have to see him—you can almost hear his smirk. "Well, I wouldn't say everything," he says, then pauses. "I can think of a thing or two I'd like to try, but I'd call it a good start."

That draws a laugh out of you. So maybe not a one-night stand after all.

Then, he presses a kiss to your temple and asks, "Is it okay if I stay the night?"

"No, I'm gonna make you drive home in the pouring rain after giving me two of the best orgasms of my life," you say flatly. Now that you're listening, you can hear it, the faint patter of raindrop after raindrop falling on the roof above. When you open your eyes to smile up at him, you see he's already looking at you, brown eyes shining in the faint light from the window.

Then he lifts your chin with his finger and kisses you softly. It's not suggestive or even urgent like all the kisses before. This one is different - slower, gentler. And when you lay your head on his chest again, for the first time in a long time, you finally feel content.

394 notes · View notes