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katyswrites · 8 days ago

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 5 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, fingering, protected p-in-v, semi-public sex, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.6k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 5

You don’t see Steve for three days following the… incident. You had bolted as as soon as you were out of his sight, showering immediately when you got home. Maybe, just maybe, you could wash the self-disgust away. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You let the hot water wash over your skin, trying to forget the way his fingers felt, how he sounded, how he tasted.

You don’t tell anyone, not even Nancy when she comes home later that day. You keep to yourself, burying yourself in schoolwork. You avoid the station until your show on Thursday. You know that there’s a chance you might see him - he’s often hanging around in the recording studio, working on music. If you’re lucky, he’ll stay in there, and not wander into the lounge, or worse, the on-air studio while you’re mid-show.

Upon entering the station, you make a beeline for the radio booth, keeping your head down. You see a group hanging out in the lounge out of the corner of your eye, as always. And, as always, everyone is vying for your attention. You’re barely in the booth before people are hounding you with questions, or complaints, or forms to sign.

As you’re finally alone, lining up your records and CDs, you hear a gentle knock on from behind you.

“Yeah?”

You turn to see Eddie, bracing himself on the doorframe as he leans in.

“Hey - can I talk to you for a second?”

You gesture him in, half-occupied with setting up for your show.

“What’s up?”

He sighs, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.

“I need a favor.”

You stop, and turn to properly look at him, eyes narrowing. Eddie looks…apprehensive. Maybe even nervous - it’s not like him.

“What is it?”

He stares at you for a moment, hesitating.

“Please, spit it out, don’t leave me hanging -”

“- I need you to talk to Steve for me.”

You freeze, and turn back to organizing the pile of records on the desk.

“Why?” you ask, feigning nonchalance.

“He’s hogging the recording studio - he’s always in there, and we need it. We’ve got a bunch of new shit, and people have been asking if we have CDs at our shows.”

“Remember me when you’re famous,” you joke.

“I’m serious. How is he able to get away with booking it so often? I feel like he’s always in there -”

“I don’t know, probably abusing his power,” you mumble - you’re mostly being sarcastic, but a small part of you thinks it may be true.

“Well, I need you to get him out.”

You sigh, meeting his eyes again. “Why can’t you just talk to him?”

“I’ve tried - he just said to go to you and fill out the form to book it, or whatever.”

“Why don’t you just do that?”

“Have you looked at the schedule lately? Unless I want to bring the guys in and record at 3am -”

“Like you haven’t done that before -”

“Please?” he asks, his brown eyes doe-like, pleading in the way that never fails to work on, well, everybody.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine! Fine - stop looking at me like that. Is he there now?”

“Yeah, and the entire fuckin’ forseeable future, apparently.”

“Alright - I’ll do my show, and go find him after, alright?”

Eddie grins, and you know you’ve lost.

“Thanks - you’re the best -”

“Yeah, yeah - you owe me one.”

“You got it,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You spend the next two hours trying to not stress about seeing Steve again. You’re able to concentrate on your show, for the most part, despite uncharacteristically stumbling over some of your words as you read of the obligatory list of local concerts in the middle of your rotation.

Soon enough though, you’re ending the show and turning off the mic, the On-Air light dimming as you leave the room. It’s late, the station basically empty now. It’s usually around this time that people clear out, busy with club meetings, parties, homework, or whatever else. It’s where you should be, too. But, you made Eddie a promise.

It’s hard to know for sure if someone is in the recording studio until you get close to it - the soundproofing is decent enough that you can’t hear any noise happening inside until you’re practically pressed against the door. The only giveaway that it’s occupied is the glow of the light right above the door, marked with “Recording” in neon red lettering. You pause outside of the door - you hear the faintest sound of a guitar, and a voice singing - definitely his. After a moment of debating what to do, you knock on the door. No response. You knock a little louder - still nothing.

You pull the ring of station keys out of your pocket, fiddling with them for a moment. Maybe now isn’t a good time - you could always try and talk to him about this at the next meeting, or if you happen to run into him. The thought is only fleeting, though - he is acting entitled, like he owns the studio. You think about Eddie’s face when he asked you, and suddenly you’re pissed off - Steve Harrington doesn’t get to take up more space than anyone else, not if you had anything to say about it. So, without any more thought, you’re unlocking the door, barging into the recording studio.

His back is turned to you, sitting on a stool with a guitar in his hand - he wears headphones, and it suddenly makes sense why he didn’t open the door. He clearly still doesn’t know you’re here, too lost in what he’s doing. Whatever he’s playing - it actually sounds nice. It’s an acoustic guitar, and what he’s playing is a lot softer, gentler, than anything he played at his show. But you don’t let yourself get distracted, you can’t.

Instead, you take a deep breath, and tap him on the shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin, the guitar slipping in his hands as he whips around.

“What the fu-”

Then he registers exactly who is standing in front of him. For a moment, his eyes widen, and then they almost roll to the back of his head. He fumbles to pull the headphones off.

“Really, princess?”

You cross your arms. “I need you to stop hogging the studio,” you say bluntly.

“What about hi, how are you -”

You sigh. “I don’t have time for bullshit, Harrington. People are compaining that you’re always in here.”

“Are people Eddie Munson.”

“I - it doesn’t matter -”

“Ah - so it is,” he says, pulling the headphones off from where they rest around his neck, hanging them on the mic stand, more gently than you’d expect.

“Does it matter? Anyone in this station has as much of a right to this studio as you.”

“Right - I’m sure. Let me guess, Eddie gave you his big ol’ Bambi eyes, and you folded.”

“That’s not -”

“I honestly think it’s pathetic that your little boyfriend sent you here to come talk to me -”

You scoff. “He’s not my - Eddie and I have never -”

“Never what?” he asks, standing abruptly. “Never done what we did?”

You feel your face heat. “I’m not here to talk about that -”

“Oh, you hoped I’d just forget?”

“No - of course not - I just -”

“Just what?” he asks, taking a step closer.

“I’m not here to talk about that.”

He just smirks, in his signature way that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“Sure you’re not, sweetheart.”

“I’m only here because Eddie already came to you, and you sent him right to me -”

You stop, cutting yourself off. Suddenly, you feel idiotic for not making the connection sooner. You meet Steve’s eyes again, and he looks so smug that you swear you’re capable of killing him where he stands.

“Oh my god - did you do that to make me come and talk to you?”

Steve clasps his hands over his chest, feigning offense, but the devilish glint in his eye gives him away.

“Does that sound like something I’d do, sweetheart?”

“Do you get off on pissing me off? Huh?”

He just chuckles, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“I don’t even have to try that hard, and you get riled up so easily.”

“So? I - what even - it doesn’t matter -”

He takes another step closer, the already-small room feeling suffocating.

“You’re not mad at me, not really - I don’t think you ever were -”

“I can’t believe this -”

“I think you’re just pissed at yourself - you’re attracted to me, and don’t know what to do with it.”

You feel your face burn, and shake your head.

“Never - I’m not -”

“You are, sweetheart - I haven’t forgotten how you begged me to touch you -”

“That was a mistake -” you insist, your back hitting the wall. He leans close, one hand coming up to press to the wall beside your head, caging you in.

“If it was such a mistake, why haven’t you stormed out of here yet? I know how much you love to do that.”

You try to muster up a response, something clever, or at least intelligible. But, no words come.

“I don’t like you,” you insist.

“I know - I wasn’t talking about liking me. I’m talking about how I know turn you on.”

You can’t ignore the way your heart races, or how there’s a strange fluttering sensation in your stomach, threatening to move even lower.

You’re not sure who moves first - maybe you both get the same idea at the same time. But his lips are crashing into yours, and you don’t push him away.

He groans against your mouth, his tongue pressing against your lips. You oblige, giving him enough of an opening to slip his tongue in, and you moan, taking his face in your hands.

You hate to admit it, but you’re used to the way he kisses now, the way he tastes. You only reach up to run your fingers through his hair and tug because you know he likes it - the guttural groan that escapes him only confirms it. He tries to pull away, and you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. He gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you him go.

“Careful -”

You smirk. “Or what?”

His chest is heaving, and he’s not subtle about the way he looks you up and down.

“Anybody else in the station?”

You shake your head. “Nobody could hear us in here, even if they were.”

That’s all he needs to hear, and he’s on you again, his thigh coming up between yours as he presses you against the wall. You whine, involuntarily grinding on it as his lips find your neck.

“So fuckin’ needy -” he whispers, sucking the skin hard enough that you know it will probably bruise.

“Don’t you dare mark me up -”

“Too late -” he says, and you can feel how he smiles against your neck.

You huff, and in retaliation, reach down to grasp at the noticeable bulge straining against his jeans. He groans, shuddering.

“You’re evil -”

“I know,” you reply, unable to hide your smile as he meets your eyes again.

“I wanna touch you again -” he admits - his lips are swollen from yours, his breathing labored. You nod, not even bothering with even pretending you don’t want it, not this time.

Then you’re in his arms, and he’s surprisingly strong as he lowers you onto the floor. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the stool, laying it down beneath you.

“Really?” you ask.

“You want rugburn?”

You roll your eyes, letting him crawl above you, pressing you to the floor as he kisses you again. You don’t even try to protest as he reached down to unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips to let him pull them down as you kick off your shoes.

His lips are still on your neck as his fingers slip beneath the cotton of your underwear, only ghosting along your slit, a sharp intake of breath as he feels how wet you already are.

“So ready for me already, princess -”

“Shut up -”

He pulls back to look at you, grinning. “Make me.”

Your answer is your hands reaching between you to fumble as his belt, and his eyes widen.

“Whoa - wait -”

“What?”

“You’re sure?”

You honestly don’t know how to answer that - part of your brain still knows that this is a mistake, But, you’re wrecked with lust, with how good he looks right now, and how badly you’re aching for release from what’s building inside you.

“Ask me that tomorrow.”

It’s perhaps not what he wanted to hear, as disappointment flickers across his face. But it’s fleeting, and he just nods.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he says, his fingers rubbing along your folds more earnestly now. You moan, head falling back as his thumb finds your clit. Encouraged, he slips a finger inside, then two.

“Suddenly so quiet - usually I can’t get you to shut up -” he murmurs.

“You’re so fucking annoying - oh, fuck -”

“Yeah, you liked that?” he asks, his fingers brushing along a spot deep inside you that makes your hips buck.

“You’re so full of it -”

“Right now, sweetheart, you’re full of me -”

You want to slap him right across his handsome face, but instead you whine, feeling yourself clench around him.

He touches you just like he did in your office, remembering what you like, what makes your back arch and thighs shake. You grip his shoulders, searching for anything to cling to as he coaxes whines and gasps of pleasure out of you. You feel the familiar tug in your abdomen, clenching around his fingers, lazily pumping in and out of you. It’s too much, you’re so close, ready to explode -

Then, it stops. He stops his ministrations suddenly, his fingers withdrawing. Your eyes fly open, and you look up at him, chest heaving.

“What the fuck -”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I was close -”

“I know - but I don’t want this to be over, not yet.”

You can’t help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.

“You’re worried about coming in your pants again, aren’t you?”

It’s his turn to be embarrassed, his face tinged with pink as he avoids your gaze.

“No - I -”

“Oh, Harrington -”

“Shut the fuck up -”

You sigh, resting on your elbows as you sit up a bit.

“I mean - I can -”

“I’ve got a condom in my wallet,” he says quickly. You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded.

“Sorry - forget I said anything, I shouldn’t have -”

“Go get it,” you say quickly. He freezes, eyes widening. His mouth hangs open a bit, seemingly like he didn’t exactly hear you.

“Trying to catch flies, Harrington?”

He snaps out of it, shaking his head.

“Just shut up, I’ll get it -”

You watch as he spins around, still on his knees as he pulls the wallter out of his back pocket. His hands are noticeably shaking as he rifles through it, pulling out the foil packet. You realize - he’s nervous. You didn’t even think he was capable of that.

His belt is already unbuckled thanks to you, and he hurriedly unzips his jeans. You lay back, watching with curiosity as he undresses, the tent in his boxers leaving little to the imagination.

He catches your gaze, and smirks. “See something you like, sweetheart.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington -”

He can’t help but laugh, even as he’s removing the last piece of clothing from his lower half. It’s your turn to be at a loss for words, your eyes widening. You can’t even stop yourself, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

He’s practically beaming now. “Like what you see?”

You meet his eyes again, regaining some composure.

“I can work with that.”

It all happens quickly after that - he’s rolling the latex over himself, and coming back over you again. He pushes your legs apart gently, both of you still half-dresses under the fluorescent lights of the studio - all logic is telling you this is wrong, that you could get caught, that you’ll regret this tomorrow. But all of those thoughts dissipate as he pushes against your entrance, and oh.

He groans into your neck as he pushes inside. It’s a stretch for you, the breath knocked out of you as you take him. You both don’t bother with taking your time, not now. You’re still so worked up from how he touched you earlier, and from the moment he starts to thrust, you’re done for.

It’s all a mess of desperate moans and grunts, his hips slapping against yours. You can’t help how you cry out, and he can’t help how he groans your name as you envelop him. You fist your hands in his t-shirt, the soundproofed room absorbing any dirty things said as his cock slides between your walls.

His kisses you again, sloppily, and you graze your teeth along his lower lip again. His shuddering groan is enough to give him away, and you laugh.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Maybe - don’t bite too hard -”

You clench around him on purpose then, and his hips stutter.

“Fuck - don’t do that -”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll be done in a second, and I’m not gonna bother finishing you off -”

“Fat chance, Harrington - oh, god - not letting you leave here until I cum -”

He chuckles against your neck.

“So bossy, princess -”

But you can tell he loves it, especially as he picks up the pace, gripping your thighs. He looks down at where you’re joined, the way you’re sucking him in, and his eyes flutter shut - he’s so gone.

“Fuck - takin’ me so well -”

“Oh my god - shit - Steve -”

He groans, and nods.

“I know - I know - you close, sweetheart? Please -”

“Yeah - almost - harder -”

He obeys, thrusting into you more roughly, and you cry out in pleasure.

“Good girl - touch yourself -” he demands, his hips losing their rhythm a bit. “Show your clit some love for me - c’mon -”

You can tell from his labored breathing, by the way his fingers are gripping the soft skin of your thighs enough to bruise - he’s close. So, you do as he says, your hand snaking down between the two of you, biting your lip as you find your bundle of nerves. You hate how easily you’re doing what he asks, but it’s like a jolt of electricity is sent through you. You’re pulsing as his hard length slides in and out, coated in your slick, and it’s too much for you to take.

“M’gonna cum,” you breathe, legs shaking. “Steve -”

“I know - want you to let go - princess -”

You shatter, a scream erupting from you as your orgasm washes over you. Your body stiffens, back arching in pleasure as you flutter around him. You can’t think straight, not as he’s groaning like that, your name on his lips like a prayer as his hips stutter, then still.

He almost collapse on top of you, bracing himself with his forearm so he doesn’t crush you. For a moment, the only sound is your heavy breathing, his heart pounding against yours. He pulls back after a moment, meeting your eyes. He’s a wreck, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his face flushed and eyelids heavy. It’s like reality hits you both at the same time, and he’s slipping out of you. You sit up quickly, avoiding his gaze as you pull your panties back on.

It’s quiet for another moment, then he’s clearing his throat.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he says, addressing your fears before you can even voice them.

You nod curtly, suddenly much shyer than just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah - good idea.”

You feel him staring at you, and you just grab your jeans, standing to pull them back on.

“Give Eddie some studio space - you’re not allowed to use it more than 6 hours a week.”

He scoffs, and just stares at the floor as he nods.

“Fine - fine. Anything for Eddie, right?” he says bitterly. You look down at him, and sigh.

“I’m not fucking Eddie - and it’s none of your business if I am. Surrender the studio space - please.”

“I will, okay?”

You nod, jaw set tightly. “Thanks, Harrington.”

He meets your eyes for a moment, and shakes his head.

“What now?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Back to Harrington, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

He stares at you for a moment, and he almost looks truly angry.

“You called me Steve - while we were - don’t think you’ve ever done that before.”

You think for a moment, and remember, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Right - I was just - heat of the moment -”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says dismissively.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” he says, standing abruptly as he pulls his own pants back on. “See you around, princess.”

That’s as close as he can get to saying get out, and you just nod, heading to the door. You pause, clutching onto the doorframe.

“Hey, Harrington?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna meet here, same time, tomorrow?”

His face curls into a smile, a real one, before he catches himself and smooths out his expression.

“Maybe, princess,” he says, shrugging.

You hold his gaze for a moment, and nod before slamming the door behind you - you don’t allow yourself to smile in return, not until you’re out of his sight, turning the corner and leaving him behind. You ignore the fact that, for once, the idea of seeing him again wasn’t awful.

You definitely don’t confront the fact that maybe, just maybe, you don’t hate him. Not completely, at least.

author's note: hi everyone! I know it's been a while - enjoy this chapter! Full transparency, I am moving at the end of the month, so life has been pretty crazy. Once that's over, I'll be able to hopefully write/post more consistently! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated - writers like me really appreciate those things, they go a long way! This story has been bouncing around in my head ever since I saw Djo last month, so I'm excited for what's coming in the next few chapters!

#icymi <3

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katyswrites · 10 days ago

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 5 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, fingering, protected p-in-v, semi-public sex, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.6k

Playlist

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 5

As you’re finally alone, lining up your records and CDs, you hear a gentle knock on from behind you.

“Yeah?”

You turn to see Eddie, bracing himself on the doorframe as he leans in.

“Hey - can I talk to you for a second?”

You gesture him in, half-occupied with setting up for your show.

“What’s up?”

He sighs, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.

“I need a favor.”

You stop, and turn to properly look at him, eyes narrowing. Eddie looks…apprehensive. Maybe even nervous - it’s not like him.

“What is it?”

He stares at you for a moment, hesitating.

“Please, spit it out, don’t leave me hanging -”

“- I need you to talk to Steve for me.”

You freeze, and turn back to organizing the pile of records on the desk.

“Why?” you ask, feigning nonchalance.

“He’s hogging the recording studio - he’s always in there, and we need it. We’ve got a bunch of new shit, and people have been asking if we have CDs at our shows.”

“Remember me when you’re famous,” you joke.

“I’m serious. How is he able to get away with booking it so often? I feel like he’s always in there -”

“I don’t know, probably abusing his power,” you mumble - you’re mostly being sarcastic, but a small part of you thinks it may be true.

“Well, I need you to get him out.”

You sigh, meeting his eyes again. “Why can’t you just talk to him?”

“I’ve tried - he just said to go to you and fill out the form to book it, or whatever.”

“Why don’t you just do that?”

“Have you looked at the schedule lately? Unless I want to bring the guys in and record at 3am -”

“Like you haven’t done that before -”

“Please?” he asks, his brown eyes doe-like, pleading in the way that never fails to work on, well, everybody.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine! Fine - stop looking at me like that. Is he there now?”

“Yeah, and the entire fuckin’ forseeable future, apparently.”

“Alright - I’ll do my show, and go find him after, alright?”

Eddie grins, and you know you’ve lost.

“Thanks - you’re the best -”

“Yeah, yeah - you owe me one.”

“You got it,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

Instead, you take a deep breath, and tap him on the shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin, the guitar slipping in his hands as he whips around.

“What the fu-”

Then he registers exactly who is standing in front of him. For a moment, his eyes widen, and then they almost roll to the back of his head. He fumbles to pull the headphones off.

“Really, princess?”

You cross your arms. “I need you to stop hogging the studio,” you say bluntly.

“What about hi, how are you -”

You sigh. “I don’t have time for bullshit, Harrington. People are compaining that you’re always in here.”

“Are people Eddie Munson.”

“I - it doesn’t matter -”

“Ah - so it is,” he says, pulling the headphones off from where they rest around his neck, hanging them on the mic stand, more gently than you’d expect.

“Does it matter? Anyone in this station has as much of a right to this studio as you.”

“Right - I’m sure. Let me guess, Eddie gave you his big ol’ Bambi eyes, and you folded.”

“That’s not -”

“I honestly think it’s pathetic that your little boyfriend sent you here to come talk to me -”

You scoff. “He’s not my - Eddie and I have never -”

“Never what?” he asks, standing abruptly. “Never done what we did?”

You feel your face heat. “I’m not here to talk about that -”

“Oh, you hoped I’d just forget?”

“No - of course not - I just -”

“Just what?” he asks, taking a step closer.

“I’m not here to talk about that.”

He just smirks, in his signature way that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“Sure you’re not, sweetheart.”

“I’m only here because Eddie already came to you, and you sent him right to me -”

“Oh my god - did you do that to make me come and talk to you?”

Steve clasps his hands over his chest, feigning offense, but the devilish glint in his eye gives him away.

“Does that sound like something I’d do, sweetheart?”

“Do you get off on pissing me off? Huh?”

He just chuckles, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“I don’t even have to try that hard, and you get riled up so easily.”

“So? I - what even - it doesn’t matter -”

He takes another step closer, the already-small room feeling suffocating.

“You’re not mad at me, not really - I don’t think you ever were -”

“I can’t believe this -”

“I think you’re just pissed at yourself - you’re attracted to me, and don’t know what to do with it.”

You feel your face burn, and shake your head.

“Never - I’m not -”

“You are, sweetheart - I haven’t forgotten how you begged me to touch you -”

“That was a mistake -” you insist, your back hitting the wall. He leans close, one hand coming up to press to the wall beside your head, caging you in.

“If it was such a mistake, why haven’t you stormed out of here yet? I know how much you love to do that.”

You try to muster up a response, something clever, or at least intelligible. But, no words come.

“I don’t like you,” you insist.

“I know - I wasn’t talking about liking me. I’m talking about how I know turn you on.”

You can’t ignore the way your heart races, or how there’s a strange fluttering sensation in your stomach, threatening to move even lower.

You’re not sure who moves first - maybe you both get the same idea at the same time. But his lips are crashing into yours, and you don’t push him away.

He groans against your mouth, his tongue pressing against your lips. You oblige, giving him enough of an opening to slip his tongue in, and you moan, taking his face in your hands.

“Careful -”

You smirk. “Or what?”

His chest is heaving, and he’s not subtle about the way he looks you up and down.

“Anybody else in the station?”

You shake your head. “Nobody could hear us in here, even if they were.”

That’s all he needs to hear, and he’s on you again, his thigh coming up between yours as he presses you against the wall. You whine, involuntarily grinding on it as his lips find your neck.

“So fuckin’ needy -” he whispers, sucking the skin hard enough that you know it will probably bruise.

“Don’t you dare mark me up -”

“Too late -” he says, and you can feel how he smiles against your neck.

You huff, and in retaliation, reach down to grasp at the noticeable bulge straining against his jeans. He groans, shuddering.

“You’re evil -”

“I know,” you reply, unable to hide your smile as he meets your eyes again.

“I wanna touch you again -” he admits - his lips are swollen from yours, his breathing labored. You nod, not even bothering with even pretending you don’t want it, not this time.

Then you’re in his arms, and he’s surprisingly strong as he lowers you onto the floor. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the stool, laying it down beneath you.

“Really?” you ask.

“You want rugburn?”

His lips are still on your neck as his fingers slip beneath the cotton of your underwear, only ghosting along your slit, a sharp intake of breath as he feels how wet you already are.

“So ready for me already, princess -”

“Shut up -”

He pulls back to look at you, grinning. “Make me.”

Your answer is your hands reaching between you to fumble as his belt, and his eyes widen.

“Whoa - wait -”

“What?”

“You’re sure?”

“Ask me that tomorrow.”

It’s perhaps not what he wanted to hear, as disappointment flickers across his face. But it’s fleeting, and he just nods.

“Suddenly so quiet - usually I can’t get you to shut up -” he murmurs.

“You’re so fucking annoying - oh, fuck -”

“Yeah, you liked that?” he asks, his fingers brushing along a spot deep inside you that makes your hips buck.

“You’re so full of it -”

“Right now, sweetheart, you’re full of me -”

You want to slap him right across his handsome face, but instead you whine, feeling yourself clench around him.

Then, it stops. He stops his ministrations suddenly, his fingers withdrawing. Your eyes fly open, and you look up at him, chest heaving.

“What the fuck -”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I was close -”

“I know - but I don’t want this to be over, not yet.”

You can’t help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.

“You’re worried about coming in your pants again, aren’t you?”

It’s his turn to be embarrassed, his face tinged with pink as he avoids your gaze.

“No - I -”

“Oh, Harrington -”

“Shut the fuck up -”

You sigh, resting on your elbows as you sit up a bit.

“I mean - I can -”

“I’ve got a condom in my wallet,” he says quickly. You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded.

“Sorry - forget I said anything, I shouldn’t have -”

“Go get it,” you say quickly. He freezes, eyes widening. His mouth hangs open a bit, seemingly like he didn’t exactly hear you.

“Trying to catch flies, Harrington?”

He snaps out of it, shaking his head.

“Just shut up, I’ll get it -”

His belt is already unbuckled thanks to you, and he hurriedly unzips his jeans. You lay back, watching with curiosity as he undresses, the tent in his boxers leaving little to the imagination.

He catches your gaze, and smirks. “See something you like, sweetheart.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington -”

He’s practically beaming now. “Like what you see?”

You meet his eyes again, regaining some composure.

“I can work with that.”

His kisses you again, sloppily, and you graze your teeth along his lower lip again. His shuddering groan is enough to give him away, and you laugh.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Maybe - don’t bite too hard -”

You clench around him on purpose then, and his hips stutter.

“Fuck - don’t do that -”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll be done in a second, and I’m not gonna bother finishing you off -”

“Fat chance, Harrington - oh, god - not letting you leave here until I cum -”

He chuckles against your neck.

“So bossy, princess -”

“Fuck - takin’ me so well -”

“Oh my god - shit - Steve -”

He groans, and nods.

“I know - I know - you close, sweetheart? Please -”

“Yeah - almost - harder -”

He obeys, thrusting into you more roughly, and you cry out in pleasure.

“Good girl - touch yourself -” he demands, his hips losing their rhythm a bit. “Show your clit some love for me - c’mon -”

“M’gonna cum,” you breathe, legs shaking. “Steve -”

“I know - want you to let go - princess -”

It’s quiet for another moment, then he’s clearing his throat.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he says, addressing your fears before you can even voice them.

You nod curtly, suddenly much shyer than just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah - good idea.”

You feel him staring at you, and you just grab your jeans, standing to pull them back on.

“Give Eddie some studio space - you’re not allowed to use it more than 6 hours a week.”

He scoffs, and just stares at the floor as he nods.

“Fine - fine. Anything for Eddie, right?” he says bitterly. You look down at him, and sigh.

“I’m not fucking Eddie - and it’s none of your business if I am. Surrender the studio space - please.”

“I will, okay?”

You nod, jaw set tightly. “Thanks, Harrington.”

He meets your eyes for a moment, and shakes his head.

“What now?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Back to Harrington, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

He stares at you for a moment, and he almost looks truly angry.

“You called me Steve - while we were - don’t think you’ve ever done that before.”

You think for a moment, and remember, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Right - I was just - heat of the moment -”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says dismissively.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” he says, standing abruptly as he pulls his own pants back on. “See you around, princess.”

That’s as close as he can get to saying get out, and you just nod, heading to the door. You pause, clutching onto the doorframe.

“Hey, Harrington?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna meet here, same time, tomorrow?”

His face curls into a smile, a real one, before he catches himself and smooths out his expression.

“Maybe, princess,” he says, shrugging.

You definitely don’t confront the fact that maybe, just maybe, you don’t hate him. Not completely, at least.

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