#qcode | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

training4theapocalypse · 4 months

Text

Yes, chef (Jeffrey Steinberg x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 6k

Warnings / Tags: SMUT, Sex pollen, Established friendship, Friends to lovers, Mutual pining.

Summary: Most people in Evergreen think Jeffrey is an asshole. But you’re the only one who knows him from before - he was your favourite customer at your restaurant. And even if he's an egotist, deep down you know he's sweet. He even has a special surprise for you to take your mind off of the apocalypse.

A/N: Call me a men's rights activist because Jeffrey Steinberg did nothing wrong. (I'm joking - please never call me that)

Masterlist

Chapter text

You sit at the edge of the lake with an almost empty pack of cigarettes in your hand. The artificial sun sets in the distance as you feel the last cigarette in existence rolling around inside the confines of its battered cardboard prison.

Footsteps approach you on the grassy verge. You don’t need to look around to see who it is. You only have one friend in Evergreen who’d bother to come and find you. And as far as you can tell, he only has you. Unless he considers Cortex to be a friend.

“Do you think he put the lake here just to fuck with me?” you ask when Jeffrey Steinberg's footsteps come to a halt beside you but you still don’t take your eyes off the still body of water.

“Well, I think he put a lot of things in here to fuck with us,” says Jeffrey with a deep sigh as he lowers himself on the ground to sit next to you. “What makes you think the lake was one of them?”

“No fish.”

It catches you off-guard when Jeffrey laughs at this. You look at him seriously and it only makes his handsome but tired face break into an even wider smile as he laughs hard at your expense. You try to pout but it’s infectious. Your lips twist reluctantly into a smile as he rests on his elbows and leans back to observe the lake.

“No fish…” he chuckles, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, yeah, it would be pretty fucked up to trap a world-famous seafood chef in an ecosphere with an empty lake.” Jeffrey looks out at the water. “But it’s just a reservoir. For recycling and filtering the water supply.”

“You really get this place, Jeffrey. No wonder Fin wanted you here.”

“You’re clever too. I mean, your business acumen? You own an empire of restaurants -”

“Stop. We both know why he really wanted me here.”

Jeffrey takes a deep breath, carefully choosing his next words. “He was a real piece of shit. Or is, I suppose. If he ever wakes up.”

“You know how many times Fin tried to hire me to be his personal chef? I mean, he offered me a lot of money. I’m talking about generational wealth. It would make your eyes water.” Jeffrey raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe not your eyes. But most people’s. And I told him ‘No’.”

“See? Clever. Like I said.”

“So what does he do?” You press on, feeling like there’s steam coming out of your ears as Jeffrey lets you rant. “Let me die in peace with everyone I know? ‘Course not.” You make a disgusted noise. “I mean you guys… you guys are all essential to making Evergreen a success. And I’m not saying it’s right -” you add hastily when he opens his mouth to argue. “ - but you can see the logic. Me though? Cortex can synthesise food so he didn’t need a cook… No, he just wanted me here. Trapped for the rest of my life as a fucking servant.” You meet Jeffrey’s eyes behind the reflection of the sunset on his glasses. “I loved saying ‘No’ to him, y’know? I was like the one thing he couldn’t have. The thing that he couldn’t get by throwing money at.”

Jeffrey hesitates for a few moments. You suppose that before the asteroid hit Earth he used to be the kind of guy who got whatever he wanted by throwing money at it. “Is that why you haven’t cooked anything since you came down here?” he asks.

“It’s not much. But I suppose I still have my own free will.”

“Are those cigarettes?” asks Jeffrey, noticing you spinning the almost empty carton in your hands.

“Goes hand in hand with the industry.” You’d kill for a smoke break in the dirty alley behind a greasy kitchen right now. “But I’ve actually decided to quit.”

“You mean you had to quit. Unless Fin has a tobacconist down here that I don’t know about.”

“As long as there’s one cigarette left, I’ve chosen to quit. Free will.” You give him a small smile. “Is that stupid?”

“I suppose that all depends on your understanding of the concept of free will -” He stops himself when he sees your eyebrows raise. “I mean - sorry, I’ll shut up and stop ruining your attempt to have some autonomy.”

“Don’t be sorry. It must be hard being so smart - I guess you can’t turn it off.”

“Smart people know when to shut up and stop trying to prove themselves. I was just being a dickhead know-it-all.”

“I don’t think you’re a dickhead.”

“Hah, don’t say that in front of the others if you want to make friends,” Jeffrey says sourly.

“What do they know? They know you in here but I knew you out there. And out of all the rich assholes who came to my restaurants, you were my favourite.”

He chuckles and rests back on his palms. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You’d always get your assistants to book way in advance. Make sure you had a big plate of oysters waiting to impress woman after woman you’d bring in,” you smirk.

“God, I miss that,” says Jeffrey tilting his head back and looking at the sky. “Mostly the oysters but - ”

“- And you always left a huge tip for my staff.” You continue, preferring not to be reminded of Jeffrey Steinberg’s never-ending stream of previous conquests. “They liked you too. But Fin? Do you know the number of times I had Hannah calling my personal phone in tears because Fin wanted a table the same night or he’d fire her?” You roll your eyes. “As if I didn’t have a restaurant already packed with other billionaires and Saudi Princes that I could just bump.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Get Fin a table?”

“Well, yeah. But only because Hannah’s neck was on the line. It wasn’t so many years ago that I was in her position. Working for asshole Head Chefs who demanded the impossible.”

You put the pack of cigarettes back in your pocket and rest your head in your hands.

“It’s so gross to most people,” you say into your palms. “But I miss the fishy smell, even though I hated it at the time. And now I won’t get to smell it ever again.” You inhale deeply. Your hands smell clinically clean. Like hospital disinfectant.

“You still worked in the kitchen? I thought you’d have chefs to do that for you?”

“Of course I did. You think I put that jacket on for show when I came to your table to see you?” He shrugs. “I loved it. I loved being in the restaurant kitchen, preparing food. More than anything.”

“Well…” You look up and see him smiling at you, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s funny you should mention it. Because I have something to show you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oysters.

Nico was growing fucking oysters in her lab.

Jeffrey said she had needed them to harvest their large amounts of zinc and other nutrients for her experiments - scientific jargon that went over your head.

All you know is that you practically feel giddy as you and Jeffrey turn out the lights of Nico’s DNA bank and sneak along the corridor to the speakeasy.

You’re not sure why exactly you’re sneaking - Jeffrey basically runs this place. But you like that this is something for just the two of you. Something that the others can’t ruin with their chaos.

“Get some champagne and two glasses,” you say as the door to the speakeasy slides open.

“Yes, chef,” says Jeffrey when you run the cold tap behind the bar to clean the oysters. “Need anything else?”

“See if you can find a big plate and fill it up with ice.”

“What kind of ice?” asks Jeffrey looking at the fancy ice machine. “Crushed? Cubed? Ooh, spheres?”

“How many times have you eaten oysters on spherical ice in one of my restaurants?”

“Crushed. Got it.”

He puts the plate of ice on the bar and watches you from the other side as you shuck them.

“You know what they say about oysters though, right?”

“What’s that?” you ask absently, concentrating on sliding the knife between the shells.

“That they’re an aphrodisiac.”

Your knife almost slips when you look up at the stupid smirk on his face. You quickly avert your eyes back down at the task at hand. There’s no way you’d even consider starting any kind of romantic relationship down here. All of your previous relationships have ended badly - you can’t even begin to imagine how messy it would be if you were trapped in an Ecosphere with an ex-lover for the rest of your life.

“As if, Jeffrey. Even if you are the last fuckable man left on Earth.”

“Oh yeah? What about Axel and David?”

You shrug. Axel and David are good-looking in the way that most wealthy, successful men are but there’s something about Jeffrey with his rolled-up shirt sleeves, slutty little glasses and permanently messy hair that he’s always running his hands through, that makes you seriously reconsider your determination not to have a messy fling while you’re stuck here.

“This is a very dangerous conversation to be having while I’m holding a knife,” you tut, pointing it at him before resuming what you were doing. “Besides, I thought you were a man of science? You should know there’s no concrete evidence to say oysters really are an aphrodisiac.”

“That’s not what your Maitre D’ told me on Valentine’s night.”

“That,” you say, placing the two oysters onto the ice. “Is because if they say that we sell more. And the markup on these things is enormous.”

You slide the plate across the bar towards Jeffrey.

“Shall we?” he asks.

“No, let’s sit down over there.” You nod to the plush leather sofa behind him. “I want to pretend I’m in a nice restaurant, having a good time.”

“Like on a date?” He tilts his head.

You laugh. “Like two friends who have just finished a hard week at work. An exceptionally hard week. Grab the champagne, will you?”

You set everything down on the small table and sit down on the sofa. Jeffrey sits beside you and starts pouring champagne into two glasses.

“Give it here,” you say, gesturing for the bottle. “I wish we had fresh lemons or something acidic -”

“There’s Tabasco for Bloody Marys?” He nods at the bar cart.

“That’s more spicy than acidic…”

“Tabasco has a pH level of 4. It’s acidic.”

“Alright then, we can use Tabasco since it’s scientifically proven.”

“I sound like a dickhead know-it-all again, don’t I?” Jeffrey asks, getting up to find the bottle of hot sauce from the cart.

“It is kind of funny how you just can’t help yourself…” He sits down and passes you the Tobasco. “A few drops of something acidic and a tiny, tiny dash of champagne -” You spill a small drop of champagne onto each oyster. “Pairs excellently with Morecambe Bay rock oysters. So we can pretend that’s what we’re having instead of whatever lab-grown monstrosities these are... Ready?”

You pick up your oyster and Jeffrey does the same. You both tilt your heads back and swallow. As soon as the oyster hits the back of your throat, you feel warmth flooding through your veins. Every nerve ending sings. You suppose your body is just grateful that you’re finally feeding it with real, unsynthesised food. Even if it was grown by Nico in a lab.

“Even if these do turn out to be poisonous… what a way to go,” says Jeffrey. From the look on his face, you can see he’s almost as elated as you.

“Cheers to that,” you say, picking up your champagne glass and clinking it against his before taking a sip. “What champagne is this? No wait - let me guess!” You determinedly look away from the bottle. “Dom Perignon 2004?”

“Would you look at that? I’m not the only one who’s a know-it-all.”

The impressed note in his voice makes you beam. You look from the champagne label back at Jeffrey staring intently at you. And God, maybe it’s the dim light in here or the way he’s sitting with his arm relaxed on the back of the sofa but he looks… good. Maybe you’ve been under so much stress here in Evergreen that you’ve never really been tempted by how jaw-droppingly fuckable he looks.

It makes you wholeheartedly reconsider his suggestion.

“So if this was a date…” You begin and Jeffrey blinks at you as if snapping out of something. “What would your opening move be?”

He scoffs at you playfully. “I don’t need moves.”

“Oh, yeah? Women throwing themselves at you so often that you’ve forgotten the art of seduction?”

“Sort of,” he takes another sip of champagne. “I don’t know, I’d probably ask you what you did for a living. Are you a model slash actress? Or an actress slash model?”

“Ah, so in short, I’m not your type?”

“How many other chefs have been in Vogue?”

You feel flushed that he knows about your magazine features. But the heat creeping up your neck doesn’t stop at your face. It’s fucking boiling in here. Like a kitchen in the middle of a dinner rush on the busiest night of the year.

“And that works? Just asking them where they work?” You take another sip of champagne, hoping it will cool you down but the chilled liquid fizzes and practically sizzles on your tongue. Why is your mouth so warm?

“One hundred per cent success rate so far.”

“Go on then, let’s see if we can fudge those numbers.”

“You want me to try and pick you up?” He adjusts his navy shirt collar slightly and you can’t tear your eyes away from his Adam’s apple moving as he does. The heat you’re feeling spreads across your chest - you’re so warm that you want to rip your sweater off and toss it on the floor.

“Just for fun,” you say but you feel your heart beating so quickly in your ribcage that you’re sure it’s going to betray you. That he’ll notice.

“Alright.”

He moves in closer and you’re sure he must be able to actually hear the pounding in your chest. You can smell his aftershave from here. It’s sweeter than you’d expected it to be. Spicy vanilla with notes of tangerine. You could easily eat him for dessert.

“So what do you do, then?” he says, jolting you out of your daydream.

“I, um, I own a couple of seafood restaurants.”

“A couple? Yeah, right.”

“Well, a few.”

“I bet they’re extremely upscale. Not tacky like this place.”

“Some people would say that.” You smile. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a racecar driver.”

“A racecar driver who wears glasses?”

“Alright, you’ve got me. I’m actually a masked vigilante.”

“Jeffrey…”

“I manage a college radio station?”

“So you lie about what you do on dates?”

“No. But I probably should. Because I’m a billionaire CEO.” He rolls his eyes as he says the last two words like it’s an inconvenience.

“Now why does that sound like the least believable one on that list?”

He runs his hand through his tousled, dark hair and you notice a bead of sweat clinging to his brow.

“Are you warm too?” You ask and bring the chilled champagne glass to rest against your neck.

“It’s like a million degrees in here.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Cortex? What’s the temperature reading in this room?”

“It is twenty-two degrees Celsius,” says Cortex’s disembodied electronic voice.

That doesn’t sound right. It feels more like forty.

“Cortex, can you turn up the air conditioning?”

You feel a blast of cold air sweeping over your skin. As the surface of your skin cools slightly, you notice that the heat from your body seems to permeate from your core, like the heat is coming from deep in your pelvis. No external breeze is going to help whatever this is.

“It is now seventeen degrees Celsius,” says Cortex after a few moments of silence where you and Jeffrey both determinedly look at anything but each other. Your eyes dart around the room as if expecting to see the heat.

“Do you think it’s broken?” you ask, not feeling any less warm.

“Cortex is never wrong… You don’t think it’s food poisoning, do you?”

“If it were food poisoning, it would take longer than a few minutes to kick in. And you’d be feeling more than just warm.”

He doesn’t say anything. You wonder if he too is feeling more than just warm - and not in a food poisoning sort of way. You wonder if he also has a deep, throbbing sensation in his underwear that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

He pushes up his glasses to wipe sweat from the bridge of his nose. Those glasses. They’re so, devastatingly cute. You have a sudden, aching urge to see those glasses steamed up.

“Why do you still wear those?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the way your body is screaming for attention. “Surely a guy like you would get laser eye surgery.”

“Here.” He takes his glasses off with one hand and passes them to you. “Put them on.”

You do. And you can see perfectly.

“They’re… just glass?”

“Yep. I am the type of guy that gets laser eye surgery. I just like how they look.”

“You slut.”

He almost spits out his drink. “What?!”

“These are like the sluttiest thing a man can wear!”

Now that his glasses are off, you notice just how green his eyes are. You can’t imagine having eyes that beautiful and hiding them behind glasses all the time.

You push his glasses up your nose but they slip again.

Fucking hell, you’re on fire.

You feel a drop of sweat roll from the nape of your neck down between your shoulder blades, sending a shiver down your spine. You need to take off this sweater before you turn into a soaking mess. Although your torso isn’t the only thing that’s sopping wet right now - you shift uncomfortably, feeling the way your underwear is saturated.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m just - just too fucking warm. Here, hold this a sec,” you say and pass him your champagne flute so you can pull your sweater off over your head, taking care not to catch it on the glasses still on your face. When you disentangle yourself you find him staring, unashamedly open-mouthed at your chest.

You look down. Your tank top is almost entirely translucent with sweat and your hard nipples poke through the fabric. Why are your nipples hard? It’s the opposite of cold.

“Sorry,” you say and cover your tits with your hands. Oh fuck. Why does the way you touch your own body feel so fucking good right now? “I didn’t realise…”

“It’s okay. We’re all friends here.”

“I… I don’t think I can let go,” you say, feeling your chest rising and falling under your palms. “I think I need something cold.”

Jeffrey looks at the ice-filled plate next to you. “What -” He swallows thickly. “What did you say again about the science? About oysters not being an aphrodisiac?”

“I…” Your mind feels blank. Like a rosy mist is clouding your brain. “I can’t remember.”

“I just wonder if Nico maybe didn’t get the chemical composition of those oysters quite right.”

His eyes meet yours. They don’t look as bright green anymore. They’re impossibly dark. Like his pupils are trying to find light in a pitch-black room.

“Do you feel… turned on?” he asks.

You take a gulp of air and your hands jolt from the fresh intake of oxygen. “No,” you lie, feeling your hard nipples under your palms. “Just hot.”

“Yeah… yeah, me too.” He puts down the champagne flutes, grabs and handful of ice and holds it to his neck. You watch breathlessly as it melts against his skin, trickling down his shirt. You grip your chest helplessly, not daring to remove your hands and do the same.

He notices the way your eyes linger on him. “Do you want me to…?” He thinks the longing look is for something cold when in actual fact, you’re jealous that the ice gets to roll down his delicious neck. You nod and he takes another handful of ice. He gets on his knees and leans over you, pressing it against your neck.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine and sink back into the corner of the sofa, feeling the crushed ice melting against your throat.

You can’t do anything except grab your own tits and try to steady your breathing as he holds it against you. But even as you breathe, the smell of his expensive cologne breaches your lungs.

“Your - your cologne is nice,” you say in an attempt to make conversation that isn’t about how good he’s making you feel right now. “What kind is it?”

“It’s bespoke. There’s a - a place in Paris that…” He trails off and you realise the ice has melted completely and he’s just holding your neck. Jeffrey’s hand is furnace-like. But it doesn’t make you feel any worse, on the contrary, it sends a pleasant tingling sensation through your body. Like his touch is answering the unasked question that you’re screaming internally. “Did that help?”

“The ice didn’t… But this is.”

You hope he won’t force you to elaborate that his skin touching yours is the only thing that’s making you feel better right now.

“Me too,” he says but before you get the chance to respond, his knee slips on the leather and his hips fall between your open legs. You feel his hard cock pressing against the seam of your jeans, right onto your clit. “Oh, fuck,” he groans. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” But despite his babbled stream of apology, he doesn’t pull back.

Doesn’t stop.

His hand moves from your throat to lace the hair at the nape of your neck as he grinds himself against you. And you realise now, he’s getting the same relief from physical contact that you’re feeling. The only difference is that you’re restraining yourself much better than he is right now. And while Jeffrey might be kind of a nerd, he’s bigger and stronger than you. You’re not sure you could fight him off. Even if you wanted to.

“Jeffrey?” you say uncertainly - not because it doesn’t feel good but because you feel like you should for his sake. The irony isn’t lost on you that after all your complaints about Fin respecting your free will, you want Jeffrey to ignore it.

That you want him to pin you down and get off however he likes.

It seems to jolt something in him. “Shit.” He jerks his hips back slightly and your whole body screams in protest. “I don’t know what - I don’t know why I did that.”

Your pussy throbs. “Do it again,” you whisper.

“Wha - really?”

Jeffrey looks down from your face to your body and back again. You breathe deeply, trying to calm yourself.

“Unless - unless you don’t want to?” you breathe.

Jeffrey swoops down and shuts you up, kissing you like he’s been wanting to do it for fucking years. You can’t thread your hands through his curly hair the way you want to because his chest is trapping your hands firmly against your tits. Instead, you pant as his tongue licks inside your mouth. His teeth pull on your sensitive bottom lip, harder than you expected, but you like it. More than like it.

Jeffrey’s tongue slides down your neck, tasting the combination of sweat and melted ice on your skin. His hands push up the bottom of your soaked tank top and with reluctance, you release the comforting grip on your chest. Your discomfort is quickly replaced with pleasure when he pushes your breasts together with his own warm hands and sucks urgently on your nipples like he can’t decide which one he wants to pay attention to first.

You squirm underneath him. You need these jeans off. You need his everything off.

“Fuck - let me - let me see you,” you whimper.

“Mhm,” he murmurs and detaches himself from your nipple. “In a minute.”

He resumes his frantic sucking and slobbering all over your tits. The pulsing in your clit can’t be fucking ignored now. Every flick of his tongue against your chest makes your core clench and tighten.

“Please, Jeffrey.” You barely recognise the pathetic plea that leaves your lips. What he’s doing feels good, sure, but you need him to fuck you. It’s not just a want. You think you might spontaneously combust if he doesn’t start paying attention to your pussy.

He lifts himself off you and starts taking off his shirt. You watch his fingers undo every button as you carelessly yank off your jeans and underwear in one fell swoop and toss them into a pile with your shoes and sweater onto the luxuriously carpeted floor.

“Oh, god,” you say, in annoyance as he removes his shirt and you can see his muscular chest and toned stomach. “Of course you have abs.”

“And you’re mad about that?” he smirks.

“Because you have everything. You’re fucking… ugh, you’re fucking perfect.”

“Well,” he says, undoing his belt. “If that’s the case, you’re going to be really pissed off when you see this.”

That arrogant piece of -

Your train of thought is cut off when he takes his cock in his hand.

He’s right.

You’re furious.

Furious that not only does Jeffrey have a perfect face and perfect body has a fucking perfect cock too. Suddenly your mouth feels dry. You know a thing or two about dating men on Forbes’ Richest List - and all previous experience has shown you that the Venn Diagram of billionaires, tiny dicks and premature ejaculators is practically a circle.

But Jeffrey? It looks like Jeffrey is a fucking outlier. Well, at least on the first two.

“I hate you right now,” you complain, and lie back down, watching him stroke himself between your legs.

“I can change your mind,” he grins and lowers his head to kiss your stomach.

As soon as his lips graze your soft skin, your thigh muscles twitch. “Ah, fuck. No - wait. Just fuck me. Please,” you whine.

You don’t really understand why you’re saying it. If there’s something you love it’s having a powerful man with his face buried between your legs. God knows you’ve been through enough of them.

But something - something chemical - at the back of your mind is yelling at you that you need fucked. Hard. Now.

“You don’t want me to -?”

“Later,” you plead.

You don’t need to tell him twice. From the sight of his leaking cock, you know why. The same ache is pulsing through his veins.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he grunts, pulling you closer by the hips. Jeffrey runs the head of his cock along your dripping slit and you almost cry out with need.

“Just put it in - oh, fuck -“

The instruction on your lips is cut off when he pushes forcefully through your folds. As soon as he fully sheathes himself, he slides his hands under your shoulders, pressing his full body weight into yours as he starts thrusting into you.

Normally, you’re a perfectionist. Your profession demands it, of course, but your demands don’t stop in the kitchen. In the bedroom, you have a particular way of liking things to be done and you’re not shy about expressing them. But right now, for the first time ever, your body doesn’t care about the finer details. Your pleasure doesn’t need to be carefully constructed in the exact way and order you’ve previously always needed.

All your pussy craves is exactly what Jeffrey is doing to it - which is fucking pounding you with seemingly zero regard for your own pleasure. As soon as he feels your pussy squeezing around him, some kind of basic instinct takes over and he’s merely using you as a tight hole to fuck himself into.

“Jesus, fuck, Jeffrey…”

You wrap your legs around his little waist, opening your hips up further so he can drill right into your G-spot. Your walls clamp and convulse around him as every sloppy, wet thrust draws your orgasm closer and closer.

“Fuckfuckfuck - yesssss,” you sob through gritted teeth right in his ear. You can tell by the way his fist in your hair tightens at the noises you’re making that he loves hearing you moan so unashamedly.

And you’re right. Because Jeffrey never thought you’d be like this. Always keeping him at arm’s length as a professional acquaintance. Never anything more. A fleeting flirtation maybe once or twice in all the years you’d known him. But never any indication that made him think you actually liked him. Never anything that would have him guessing that one day you’d end up wriggling underneath him, practically fucking yourself up into him and whimpering in his ear.

You can feel your pussy leaking all over Finn’s leather sofa when he moans something raggedly into the juncture of your neck. Your name.

Oh - fuck.

You were sort of lost in the fuzzy, clouded haze of how good he felt you almost forgot it was Jeffrey Steinberg who was fucking you until you heard your name on his lips. Jeffrey Steinberg and his slutty, dorky little glasses and his perfect fucking body that you can’t even see right now because you’re staring at the wood-panelled ceiling.

“Let me - let me see you,” you pant and gently push on his shoulders.

Jeffrey lifts himself off of you and without pulling out, keeps fucking you on his knees with one of your legs over his shoulder. Fuck - this angle. He’s so deep. And, Christ, so beautiful. His toned body is sticky with sweat, right down to the smattering of hair covering his lower abdomen. You look down to see his thick cock sliding in and out of you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So fucking sloppy,” he groans, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he too looks over your body, watching your tits bounce with every slapping thrust into you.

His concentration face is cute. Devastatingly so. But something’s missing…

“Where’s your glasses?”

Jeffrey’s hand caresses your face and the heel of his palm moves the wire frames, making you realise you’re still wearing them.

“Do you want them back?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“You look slutty in them too,” he says and cups your face. He drags his thumb across your lip and you open your mouth so you can suck it.

“Mm-mm-mm…” Your hum around his thumb, stuttered by every pounding of his hips against yours gives you something to concentrate on. God, you’re so close. So fucking close. And you try to stop bucking your hips because you really, don’t want to cum just yet.

But it’s like Jeffrey is reading your mind.

“You gonna cum for me?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. Because instinct tells you that as soon as you both cum, whatever hormones Nico has pumped into these oysters will probably leave your system. And that this will all be over. That you’ll go back to being friends.

“Not - fuck - not yet.” Is all you can manage to stammer as Jeffrey’s hips continue their relentless pursuit into yours.

“C’mon, I can tell you’re close,” he says, right as your pussy clenches around his length. “We’ve been down here for so long. Aren’t you tired of waiting?”

“I don’t - oh, god… I don’t want this to be over.” Jeffrey looks at you so intently that you need to shut your eyes. It’s like staring at the sun - if you don’t look away you’ll get burned. “Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet…” The words keep spilling out like a mantra. If you keep repeating it, it’ll be true - right?

Wrong.

Everything pulls up in your core and tightens like a spring coiling. Oh, shit.

“This isn’t going to be over after you cum. It’s never going to be over. You’re trapped down here with me, remember?”

Fuck.

“Eyes on me,” he continues. “Look at me when you cum.” You look up at Jeffrey helplessly through his own askew, slightly steamed-up glasses still on your face. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for - for so long.”

Like this? With your flushed cheeks and messy hair and sweat practically pooling on your stomach from the heat? The corners of his mouth turn upwards in a gentle smile, showing off his dimples before he turns his head to kiss your calf leaning against his shoulder.

It’s so sweet. You’re done for.

There’s no stopping your orgasm now as you feel a surge of heat and the contracting of muscles in your abdomen.

“So - fuck - so fucking pretty,” he says through gritted teeth as he watches you squirm. The pleasant way you wriggle against him and force yourself to maintain eye contact spurs him on. He grabs your hips and fucks himself as fast and as deep as he can into you, pounding into your G-spot as you speed past the point of no return. “That’s it, baby, you can cum for me.”

Christ.

“Fuck, Jeffrey, I’m - fuck - I’m -”

But just what you are is cut off when your climax takes hold of you and shuts down your loquaciousness. Everything goes black and you barely realise what’s happening - all you can focus on is your pussy camping down and spasming around him. It’s only when you feel the sensation of his glasses pressed into your face do you realise Jeffrey is kissing you.

He grinds his hips deep into yours, cumming deep inside you as your own ecstasy sends fireworks ricocheting from your core right to your extremities.

.Jeffrey sits back on his knees again, his hips still rocking gently into you, forcing the combined mess of his cum and your wetness to spill down between your legs and all over Fin’s couch.

“Jeffrey, that was - ”

“We’re not done yet,” says Jeffrey smearing a wet thumb across your clit. “I told you - you’re trapped here with me.”

Your eyes roll back in your head.

You think you might need to revisit your Venn diagram.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jeffrey both lie, sprawled out and naked on the carpeted floor of the speakeasy. Both wet. Both sticky. Both trying to catch your breath. You have no idea where his glasses are.

Your mind feels clearer now and you wonder if his does too. You turn your head to look at him, frowning up at the ceiling.

“Jeffrey, are you alright…?”

“I’m worse than Fin,” he groans.

Worse than Fin? This is serious. In your eyes, nobody is worse than Fin. You prop yourself up on your elbow. “What do you mean?”

“Always trying to get what I can’t have.”

Your frown. “I don’t understand. What can’t you have?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He runs his hand through his hair in that stressed-out way he always does. “The fact you thought I was a good customer? When all I was doing was parading my dates in front of you in a stupid attempt to make you jealous.”

“You - you were?” The thought that Jeffrey didn’t just want you because he’s ingested god-knows-what chemicals Nico has pumped into those oysters sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.

He laughs at himself scornfully. “I never wanted to be there with them. I just wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

He’s startled by your tone. “What?”

“It took a fucking asteroid hitting Earth for you to admit you like me?”

“You never seemed interested!”

“What was I gonna say? ‘Hey, Jeffrey. I know you’re busy being a literal genius but I’m just about finished braising some fish if you’d like a meeting of the minds after this?’”

“Yeah? Well, what was I going to say to you? ‘Hey, I know you’re the most talented, in-demand chef in the world but can I take you to someone else’s restaurant?’”

“Uh? Yeah!”

“Oh.” You both look at each other and bust out laughing at the absurdity of this conversation. “I’m really not as smart as they say,” he says, closing his eyes in amusement.

You let the back of your hand fall on his bare chest, hitting him playfully.

“Well, I’m not exactly ‘in-demand’ anymore.”

“I wouldn’t say that just yet,” says Jeffrey with a smirk. Without warning he climbs on top of you. “I can be pretty demanding.”

#freddie stroma #evergreen podcast #evergreen #hidden signal: evergreen #hidden signal podcast #jeffrey steinberg #jeffrey steinberg x reader #qcode #fanfic

26 notes · View notes