RED FLAGS ā PART 2
CO-WRITTEN WITHĀ @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)
Summary: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever.
Rating: really fucking explicit
Warning/content:Ā unease around male character, inappropriate office behaviour, blowjob, semi-public sex. Please do not attempt to re-enact this, it will land you with HR.
Word Count: 9.3k (guys this was meant to be a short interludeā¦ idek)
Series Masterlist | Astrobootās Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemssā Masterlist
Something is wrong.
Youāre naked in your boyfriendās bedāthe very same bed where he took you apart some hours ago, desperate, worshipful mouth pressed tight between your thighs. But now heās staring down at you, that very same mouth set in an almost-disdainful line, eyes flat and blank.
Itās like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing a distorted reflection of reality. So many of the peripheral things are the same but the essence is different somehow. Off in a way that has your heart pounding loud in your ears.Ā
The difference is jarring in the same way that the still-healing wounds on his torso are.Ā Though in this low light, the bruising on his shoulder and the cuts across his chest donāt look nearly as bad as they did when you first saw them. Was it just the shock of their existence that made you think they were worse than they are?
He clears his throat and you realise with a start that youāve been silently gawking at his chest for the last several minutes. When your eyes fly to his face, you find him poorly suppressing an amused smirk. Heās never looked at you like that before; you werenāt even aware his mouth was physically capable of curving into such a snide expression.
You donāt know what to say to him. To this stranger of a man who has replaced your sweet, awkward Steven. Donāt know what to do with yourself either. In fact, youāre pretty sure youāre staring at him like a deer in the headlights, covers still clutched to your chest.Ā
His brows draw together, head tilting slightly to the side as he regards you, dark eyes sharp, almost predatory in a way that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, like an insect pinned to a display board. Your breath stutters in your chest, and a wave of goosebumps raises the hairs along the back of your arms.
Something is wrong, and you want it to stop. And if it wonāt stop, you need to leave.
But calmly. Years of experience with drunk blokes in pubs and with overly-handsy coworkers tells you to act normal. Make an excuse. Wouldnāt do to alarm him.
āIsā¦ umā¦Ā is your insomnia flaring up again? I should go. Iā¦Ā really need to be getting home anyway. Early morning at work, you know.ā Youāre babbling nervously, canāt seem to stop as you start to gather up your clothes. You hurry as much as you can without letting go of the duvet, unwilling to lose the only barrier of protection you have against him.Ā
āIāllā¦ umā¦ Just let meāā you stammer as you scoop your ruined tights into your handbag and grab your boots. You back prickles uneasily and you have to force yourself not to look over your shoulder and see if heās still standing there watching you. āIāll just get dressed and be on my way.ā
You donāt look at him or wait for a response. Things in hand and bedding still wrapped firmly around yourself, you scuttle across the flat like a deranged hermit crab, relieved to find that the doorway you spotted is, indeed the loo. You retreat inside, closing the accordion door firmly shut behind you.
Encased in the darkness of the small room, you listen anxiously for any noise from the rest of the flat, but all you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears. You fumble blindly with your handbag, pawing through the keys and makeup and all the other odds and ends that seem to accumulate despite your best efforts, cursing yourself for not being more organised.
Finally, after an infinitely long moment of listening to your breathing come faster and faster as you search, your hand closes around your phone, and you yank it free. Your fingers are clumsy as you thumb it open, turning on the flashlight so you can find the pull cord for the bathroom light and tug it down until the room flickers with a jarring glaring brightness.Ā
You squint down at your phone, and the familiar background screen of you and Steven looks back up at you. Something akin to guilt floods your chest when you pull up the Uber app to secure a ride homeāETA: 12 mins. Itās followed immediately by relief.Ā
You need the loo, but you feel too exposed to actually sit down for a pee while starkers. Itās ridiculous really, this isnāt a Hitchcock movie, and logically you know that no one is going to attack you from behind the shower curtain. Still you opt for dressing yourself as quickly as you can.Ā
Fully clothed and with your escape route secured, you feel a tiny bit better, but the tightness in your chest refuses to dissipate fully.Ā
You use the loo and wash your hands. Catching sight of yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink, you run a quick hand over your hair before giving it up as a bad job, less worried about your looks thanā¦ thanā¦ What is it that youāre worried about anyway?Ā Ā
Standing there staring at your reflection, peaky and fretful under the harsh light, you wrap your arms around yourself and wonder what the bloody hell is going on with you. Youāre being ridiculous.
Itās just Steven, right? Your sweet, caring Steven. Except itās not.
He hasnāt really even done anything untoward, and yet here you are, your heart in your throat, ready to jump out of your skin at the slightest provocation.Ā
He was just so oddly still. Loose and almostā¦ relaxed in a way youāre not used to from Steven.Ā
Maybe thatās it, you tell yourself, trying to pluck up the courage to open the door to the rest of the flat.Ā People sometimes act differently after sex. (Case in point: whatever is going on with you right now.)
Maybe this is just what Steven is like once he finally lets himself relax?
The thought warms you, makes the tightness in your chest relax marginally.Ā But the warmth fades as soon as you open the door to find him standing in the middle of the room, staring at you.
Heās dressed now as well in the well-fitted shirt and dark jacket, so different from his usual oversized clothes. You note absently that itās a good look on him, but the thought never truly takes hold because youāre too focused on his eyes, just as piercing as before.Ā Another shiver works its way up your spine. This isnāt just your imagination.Ā
Something is wrong with Steven, and everything inside you is screaming that you need to get out of here.Ā
Now.
āIāll justā¦ umā¦ wait downstairs, shall I?ā
He says nothing, and youāre glad, even though thatās wrong too. Steven always offers to walk you, but this time youāre just as happy to be away from him that much sooner.
Youāre uncomfortably aware of the weight of his eyes on you as you make your way to the door and start to unfasten the frankly ridiculous number of locks and deadbolts. Even for London this is a bit of an overkill, isnāt it?
Once you finally get the door open, you flash Steven one last wave and a quick, āsee you around.ā You duck out the door before he can reply, shutting it gently behind you. Resisting the urge to let your head thunk forward against the wood, you turn and head for the lift, still feeling odd about the whole interaction and vaguely on edge.
What was that? Why do you feel more like a witness fleeing a crime scene than a woman bidding a fond goodnight to her boyfriend?
It doesnāt help your nerves that the hallway is dark and empty and one of the lights keeps flickering, lending the whole space an eerie feel. You almost wish youād asked Steven to walk you down, but you want your Steven, awkward and openly affectionate, not the odd, mostly-silent man youāve just left behind in his flat.
You reach the lift and punch the call button, prompting a deep hum as the machinery starts to move. Youāre staring at the bright red LED light indicating which floor itās on, willing it to arrive when something grabs hold of your wrist. Hard and unyielding. The persistent grip makes you flinch, jerking your hand back and spinning around to confrontā¦ Steven.Ā
Heās right there behind you, looming over you, looking impossibly large and menacing, and your heart hammers in your chest. You take an involuntary step backwards and clutch your bag to your chest. Your back bumps up against something cold, and you nearly shriek before realising youāve backed into the door of the lift.Ā
God, what is wrong with you tonight!?Ā
Itās just Steven, you tell yourself, willing your rabbiting heart to slow down. (But itās not. Something inside you is still screaming that this is not your Steven. His eyes are wrong, his stance is wrong, his fucking hair is wrong.)
And you donāt know what you expect (the worst. Oh god, since when have you expected the worst from Steven?) but it isnāt for him to take a step back and hold his hands up in the universal gesture of harmlessness.Ā
Harmlessā¦ right. What a laugh. Right now he looks anything but. Exceptā¦
He regards you steadily, eyes dark in his too-serious face. Heās still too still, tooā¦ much to be your Steven, butā¦
Thereās something about the way heās giving you space. The way the stillness is deliberate now, controlled. Heās not trying to make himself smallerānot the way Steven always doesābut heās holding himself back. The power obvious in every line of his body is being restrained in an effort to reassure you, and itās enough to overcome the worst of your irrational fear.
Thereās a tilt of his head, as he gives you a nod, one that seems to say, āthatās right. Youāre okay.ā And as those dark eyes burn into yours, you can almost bring yourself to believe it.Ā
He seems to notice too, something shifting subtly in his face. His lips curve up into a small smile, but even that is wrongā¦ almost condescending. And he tips his head slightly to the right.
Itās then that you notice your cheap watch hanging from his hand, the stupid thing looking tiny and delicate in his thick fingers.Ā
Oh. Oh God. Youāve made a right idiot of yourself, havenāt you? Embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks. He must think youāre a complete nutter, overreacting like that over the return of a wristwatch.Ā
Your eyes shift from your watch back to his face, and thereās somethingāthe slightest quirk of an eyebrow or maybe the way that one corner of his mouth ticks up higherāthat turns the expression cruel, like heās having a laugh at your expense.Ā
The heat spreads and prickles up over the back of your neck, making your ears burn. Youāre not even sure anymore if itās nerves or embarrassment or something else entirely, but it rubs you the wrong way all the same, and annoyance comes to the forefront.Ā
Narrowing your eyes, you send him a look that would ordinarily have Steven withering, but it only seems to amuse the man in front of you.
āThanks,ā you tell him flatly, not quite daring to pop off the way you want to. Instead you hesitantly step forward into his space to grab the watch from him. The band pops apartāof course it doesāleaving you each holding half of the useless thing, and you have to scramble to grab the other half from his hand under his taunting gaze.Ā
What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Steven!? God, you just want to be done with this and far, far away from here.
Like the answer to your prayers, a loud ding sounds out in the silence, heralding the arrival of the lift.Ā
The doors open behind you, and you back in, unwilling to take your eyes off the man who continues to watch you with the same expression of condescending amusement.Ā Once youāre far enough in, you punch the button for the ground floor, and give him a perfunctory wave as the doors close between you, breathing a sigh of relief once the lift begins to move.
Still, itās not until youāre safely ensconced in the uber on the way back to your flat that you feel like you can finally take a full breath again. And as soon as you do, doubt floods into you along with it.
What in the bloody hell was that!?Ā
Why did you react that way? Somehow, in the veritable sea of red flags lining the road of your relationship with Steven, nothing else has set you off like this.
The whole thing seems surreal, and the farther from Stevenās flat you get, the less sure you are of what happened. Was he really even behaving oddly? Or were you the odd one for overreactingāpractically having kittens over your boyfriendā¦ what? Not fawning over you the way he usually does or nattering on about one of his interests in the middle of the night?Ā
Your logical mind is scrambling for some rational explanation: Itās not outrageous to think Steven might be out of sorts because he couldnāt sleep. Or perhaps you had an unremembered bad dream, and the anxiety bled over into wakefulness. Half two in the morning is not anyoneās best hour.Ā
But the way he looked at you there at the end, like you were nothing to himā¦
No matter how you try to explain what happened or excuse it away, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach remains the same. As does the fact that, for a bit there, for whatever reason, you were afraid to be alone with Steven.Ā
And thatās a giant fucking red flag if youāve ever seen one. One you donāt know if you can get past.Ā
You donāt get any sleep that night, and the entirety of the following workday is a fog. Thereās spreadsheets and Team meetings and more spreadsheets, and thank God none of it requires your active brain capacity, because you have none to give today. Your thoughts are entirely preoccupied with last night, and trying to decide what to do about Steven.
The logical part of you votes for cutting your losses and ending things now before you get in too deep. Part of you thinks itās already too late.
Your phone pings from your bag, and despite your uncertainty and everything that happened last night, your heart still skips excitedly at the thought that it might be Steven. Fishing it out, you unlock it, anticipating a text from Steven; expecting him to be checking in on you the way he always does.Ā
Except, itās not Steven.Ā
Instead itās an unsolicited picture of an unimpressive specimen of male genitalia taken under the most unflattering fluorescent bathroom light possible. Definitely not Steven.Ā
Hello, unwanted dick pic #13.Ā
God, this is what you would have to look forward to if you break it off with Steven, isnāt it? A return to the dystopian, post-apocalyptic landscape that is the London dating scene.
You donāt want to go back to unsolicited dick pics; questionable men, who are either lying about their marriage status or their profile picture; and blokes who leer at you like youāre a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the window display of a butcherās store.Ā
But most of all you donāt want to go back to dating strange random men, because you want to be dating Steven.Ā
You like Steven.Ā
You like his puppy dog eyes, and his awkward adoration, and his enthusiasm.Ā You like the silly texts that he sends you throughout the work dayā random photos of cute dogs on the tube or Egyptian artefacts with captions full of lame puns and emojis and the reason why he thought of you.Ā
You like all of it.Ā
You like Steven. You like Steven a lot. Before last night, you might even have said you were falling in loā (No. No, youāre not going there. Not right now.)Ā
But last night wasā¦ not good. Quite bad, in fact, wasnāt it? You can admit that now. In the space of that last quarter hour with Steven, he made you feel scared andā¦ andā¦ small. And you donāt know how to deal with that from someone youāre supposed to be able to trust.Ā
Donāt know if you even want to try.
God, youāre a mess.Ā
You shoot yet another glance at the wall clock, but itās still not half five.Ā
Youāve spent the last several hours counting down the minutes and seconds until you can clock out, but the more you check the time, the more it seems to drag on until you think the hands must be clinging to the face of the clock, slowing time itself just to taunt you.Ā
It takes an eternity and a half but then, finally, the clock ticks over.Ā
You gather up your belongings in a daze and bid your coworkers an absentminded goodbye before wandering off to the lift. You stare at your own reflection, distorted in the metallic sidewall as the lift descends, still fretting about Steven.
Do you want to break up with him? Keep seeing him? How the bloody hell are you supposed to know when you donāt even know what it will be like when you see him again?
When the doors open on the ground floor, you can hear that thereās some kind of commotion taking place at reception.Ā
āSir, Iām going to ask you one final time: Who are you here to see?ā The no-nonsense voice booms through the entrance hall of your office buildingĀ
Susan, the loveable old battle-axe of a receptionist, is giving some poor bloke a hard time again. Nothing unusual there. You can hear her barking out, āIf you donāt give me a name right now, youāre going to have to leave. This isnāt a bus stop, alright?āĀ
āSorry, Sorry.āĀ
Oh God. You recognise that voice.Ā Ā
āIām not loitering or anything dodgy like that. Iām just waiting for myā¦ girlāuhā¦ ladyā¦ umā¦ friend.ā
Rounding the corner, you see him.Ā
Puppydog Steven has returned. Heās wearing another novelty print button down and a hangdog expression. Back stooped and hunching into himself, heās standing in front of the receptionist desk, holding a bouquet of roses the size of a carnival prize in front of himself like a shield.Ā
āSteven?āĀ
At your voice, he turns towards you, hunching further over into himself like heās bracing himself for a blow. As you approach, you can tell heās nervous and unhappy in a way you havenāt seen since your first date, and your first thought is that something awful must have happened, because of the contrast between last night and now beggars belief.Ā
āThis one yours then, love?ā Susan asks, still eyeing Steven like he might be about to make off with the electronics.
āYeah, heās umā¦ Yeah. Thanks, Susan,ā you flash her a placating smile, then turn to Steven.Ā Ā
āSteven, whatās wrong? Why are youā,ā but you donāt even get the chance to finish the question before he interrupts you.
āIām sorry. Oh God, this is why I donātā Sorry, sorry. Iāā The words are disjointed, tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out, but clearly itās some sort of garbled apology. āLook, if Iā If I did something last night that made you uncomfortable, Iāmā Oh God, Iām so sorry.āĀ
In your peripheral view you can see Susan, working studiously at the corner of the reception desk that offers the best position for her to listen in on your private conversation with Steven. Youāre acutely aware of various other onlookers who seem to all have found reasons to loiter in the reception area as well. Unless you want to be the star of the workplace gossip blasted in the office kitchen tomorrow morning, you need to move the two of you somewhere less public, and quickly.Ā
āSusan, can you block off one of the meeting rooms for me?ā
She gives you a slightly dubious look, and for a moment you think sheāll refuse. Susan lives for any morsel of gossip to keep her entertained. But to your surprise, she does you a solid without any further prompting.Ā
āRoom 10, pet.āĀ
āThanks. Iāll owe you one.ā You flash Susan a grateful smile and make a mental note to get her one of those fancy coffees she likes from the cafe around the corner for brekkie tomorrow.
āCāmon.ā You grab the cuff of Stevenās shirt and tug gently.
Steven follows your lead, allowing you to pull him with you down the hallway of conference rooms. Rounding a corner, into a more secluded bit of hallway, you follow the corridor until you reach the last door in the row. The one to the conference room that affords the most privacy.
Swinging the door open, you all but shove Steven inside before closing the door behind the two of you. You flip the lock to ensure there are no unwanted interruptions before turning back to Steven.
āIām sorry, Iām so sorry,ā he starts again as soon as youāre facing him.Ā
āSteven, Steven. Itās alright,ā you interrupt, attempting to reassure him, because God, he looks miserableāevery inch the cowering puppydog, just waiting for the kick he knows is comingāand you canāt bear for him to look like that.
But he just shuts his eyes like looking at you is painful. He shakes his head, the set of his mouth all misery, and then your heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and lock onto yours with an intensity thatās startlingly reminiscent of the night before.Ā
āI justā Look, IāĀ Youāre the best bloody thing Iāve had in my life in a long timeāmaybe everāandā¦ and last night was amazing. Betterāway betterāthan anything I couldāve ever imagined.ā
Heās so open, so honest, gazing at you with large, pleading eyes. You feel yourself melting despite your earlier indecision on whether you should be done with him, especially when he continues.
āLast night was perfect,ā he says with fervent conviction, but then falters and looks down, apparently shy. You feel your heart squeeze at how adoring he is. āAt least, I thought so. You were perfect. And I got to fall asleep with you, which was perfect too. But then I woke up and you were gone. And Iām afraid Iāve bollocksed it all up somehow, the way I always do. Good olā Steven, canāt pull a bird to save his life, let alone hold onto one. And it never mattered so much before, but now it does because itās you, andā¦ā
And heās still talking, but youāre stuck on one particular part of that word vomit.
He saidā¦ he said that he woke up and you were gone. But thatās not right. You know thatās not right. He woke up before you, so clearly you were still there! Does heā¦ not remember?Ā
You almost ask. Almost say so directly, but something holds you back. Some lingering fear prevents you from bringing up your last unnerving middle-of-the-night encounter. An absurd worry that you donāt dare mention that other, wrong Steven for fear of summoning him back.
Instead you interrupt Stevenās rambling to probe gently, āI was gone when you woke up?ā
Steven nods.
āYeah, this morning. Mustāve worn me out ācause I slept straight through.ā He gives you a small shy smile that fades quickly when you donāt return it. āWas nearly late for work.ā
Youāre still reeling, your mind stuck on the bit where he doesnāt remember interacting with you in the middle of the night at all. (Maybe the idea of it being not your Steven isnāt so far-fetched after all?) But Steven doesnāt give you any time to consider; he barely even pauses for breath before barrelling on.
āI donāt blame you for leaving, of course, but I canāt help thinking that I mustāveāā he cuts himself off, gaze dropping to the floor like he canāt bear to look at you. āLook, youā¦ you have to know by now. How dodgy my memory is sometimes. Missing dates or showing up on the wrong day and all that, yeah? Sometimes things happen that I donāt remember. I do things that I donāt remember. And I canāt bearāāĀ
He breaks off, swallows hard, and finally looks up to meet your eyes. His gaze is serious and direct in a way that almost reminds you of last night, except that thereās no hint of that dreadful, supercilious amusement.
āI canāt help thinking that I mustāve done something, and Iāmā Iām sorry if Iā Sorry. Iā Just please.ā His eyes are huge, round and still so open and honest, and thereās something else there too as he continues, āPlease tell me that I didnāt do anything to hurt or upset you.ā
Fear. Itās fear youāre seeing in his eyes and written across his face. You recognize it now, and you think your heart might break over how scared he looks. Completely terrified over the idea that he might have hurt or upset you.
āStevenā¦ ā You hesitate, brow furrowing as you trail off, not sure what to say or how to describe what happened last night.
āOh. Iā Oh. I did, didnāt I?ā He looks vaguely sick at the idea and starts to back away, the hand holding the roses dropping to his side as he hunches into himself all over again, spewing apologies twice as fast as before. āSorry. Iām so sorry. Iāmā Oh God, what did I do? Whatever it was, Iām sorry. I wouldnāt everā Or would I? Guess I did, didnāt I? God Iāmā Iām so sorry. I canāt imagine why I wouldā¦ā
This whole conversation has been a lot to take in, but Steven is clearly distraught, set to go on self-chastising indefinitely for something that seems to be out of his control. You hate to see him this wayāitās painful to watch his quick descent into misery and self-hatred.
āStevenā Steven!ā You try to interrupt his spiral, but he doesnāt even pause. You donāt know what to say to break him out of it, so you stop him the best way you know how.
Surging forward, you grab onto the lapels of his jacket to hold him in place while you press your lips to his. Itās a little awkwardāSteven is still talking, mouth open when you make contact, and you misjudged the angle slightlyābut it does shut him up rather handily.
His eyes flutter closed and he melts against you with a moan so sweet that you want to tuck it away in a keepsake box and keep it all to yourself. When you pull back a moment later, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed, and heās wearing an expression like heās forgotten how to carry out the simple task of breathing.Ā
āItās alright, Steven,ā you soothe him and it is. With him anyway. Youāre not sure whatās going on exactly, but you know you loā that you care about Steven a lot and donāt want to lose him toā¦ whatever it is that happened last night.
He blinks, gaze focusing slightly as heās coming back to earth. Then he really looks at you. And the dazed confusion is coloured with something akin to hopefulness in those wide eyes.Ā
āSo, I didnātā¦ do anything to hurt you?ā Those round, pitch dark eyes are so sincere. So ridiculously vulnerable like he was never introduced to the concept of self-preservation. Steven is the living embodiment of wearing his heart on his sleeves to the point where you worry for him sometimes.Ā
You shake your head no, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of him, because when that sincerity is pointed in your direction you canāt help the swell of affection in your chest.Ā Ā
And itās true.Ā
He didnāt do anything to hurt you. You were unsettled at worst, and youāve got the beginning of a suspicion that somehow it may not even have been Steven you were dealing with last night at all.
āSo weāreā¦ umā¦ā he pauses and licks his lips, hesitating, and you try not to get distracted by the way his pink tongue slicks over the swell of his bottom lip, āWeāre good then, yeah?ā
You nod, smile spreading wider despite yourself. āYeah. Weāre good.ā
āYouāreā¦ Youāre sure?ā he presses. Heās still gazing at you with those dark puppydog eyes, uncertainty painted across every line of his face. One stray curl has furled up against his forehead as he bites down onto his bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh.Ā
You reach for him without thinking, wanting to reassure him, and you pull him in to plant another short, chaste kiss against his lips.
Eager for you as always, Steven meets your kiss. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours for a long moment, and then heās licking into your mouth with a hungry enthusiasm that has your knees ready to go out from under you. His free hand comes up to wrap around your back, and you bury your own hands in his riotous curls as he kisses you hard enough to bend you back over his arm.Ā
Stevenās kisses are always ravenous, but this time in particular, he kisses you like heās seeking salvation from your lips; like youāre water when heās dying of thirst, and heās determined to consume all of you that he can get before you change your mind.Ā Ā
You have to plant your hands on his shoulders, barely managing to pull away from his lips long enough to catch oxygen into your lungs. He releases you with obvious reluctance, and your knees are weak enough that you take a moment to be sure theyāll hold you before you take a step back to look him over, drinking in the sight of him.Ā
Collar askew, curls a frantic mess over his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in those big, dark eyes.Ā Fuck, heās so damned gorgeous.
And okay, yes, you want to reassure him, but youāre certainly not opposed to messing him up a little bit more in the process. Messy is such a good look on him after all.Ā
You sneak a quick glance at the wall clock aboveā6pm, after office hours.Ā
There may still be some unlucky souls still working upstairs in the office space, but no one is going to be using these ground floor meeting rooms at this hour. No one except you, that is, and you know exactly what you want to do with that privacy.
Grasping Stevenās collar, you tug at it to lead him further into the room.Ā
He follows without resistance, but clumsily, nearly tripping on the carpeted floor. Too busy staring at you to watch his footing. Heās like a puppy learning to walk on a leash, and itās adorable.Ā
You lead him to the mahogany conference table, and take the bouquet from his unresisting hand, laying it down gently on the table top before pulling out one of the large rolling office chairs. A bit of manoeuvring, and youāve got Steven standing in front of the chair with his back to the door, just in case.Ā
He gasps when you drop to your knees in front of him, and makes an abortive movement like he meant to catch you by your shoulders but was too slow, leaving his hand hanging there uselessly in midair.Ā Ā
The rough carpet scratches at your skin through your tights, but you keep your attention on Steven as you make quick work of unbuckling his belt.Ā
You can see the moment it dawns on him exactly what your intentions are. His eyes grow comically large, tongue darting out in a nervous fit to lick over the swell of his lower lip.
āWait, wait. What are youā? Thereās people outside. We canāt do this here, can we?ā He sounds scandalised, and it makes you want to show him just how scandalous you can be.
āItās fine,ā you tell him, nuzzling at the crotch of his jeans and breathing in the scent of him, before the soft whisper of the metal zipper being lowered fills the room.Ā
āWe shouāoh fuck, that feels soā¦āShouldnāt be doing this though, should we?ā
For all his protesting, Steven is already half hard, the incriminating evidence pressing against the front of his underwear. His throat constricts as he swallows, a nervous reflex.
You still, fingers hooked into the edge of his jeans and underwear, and peer up at him.Ā
āSteven. Do you want me to stop?ā
āNo.ā The response is instantaneous, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head. āI-Iā Donāt stop. Keepā¦ umā¦ keep going, please. If you want to.āĀ
āGood.ā You tug down the jeans and pants down over the ample curve of his ass to his thighs in one fluid motion, and his cock springs free from the constraints, rising to slap gently against his stomach.Ā
āThen sit down.ā You wrap both hands around his hips and give the gentlest of pushes, but he drops down so forcefully itās like youāve tackled him.Ā
Heās so distractedāeyes wide and shell-shocked and glued on youāthat he nearly misses the chair, not quite making it square in the seat. The chair wheels squeak noisily, as his momentum sends it rolling backwards away from you.Ā
You blink in disbelief.Ā
"Oh bugger. Sorry, sorry. Let me justā¦ā Steven, clearly mortified, tries to course correct, planting his feet to kick forward, but he miscalculates the trajectory and sends the chair into a spin instead. āOh god, Iām so sorry."Ā
Giddy relief fills your chest, and you canāt help the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. Dear God, why are things with the two of you always like this? Itās practically a comedy of errors.Ā
Still, if there was any doubt before, itās definitely gone now. This manāthe man in front of you, awkward and fumbling and sweetāis your Steven.Ā
You shake your head and climb to your feet, still smiling as you walk over to him. Planting your hands on the armrests, you force the chair to a stop. Stevenās horrified expression, now inches from your own face, nearly sends you into another fit of giggles.Ā
āStay,ā you order with a fond smile. āDonāt move. Just relax, alright? Iāve got you.ā
While Steven is normally very good at taking orders from you, this is one that he entirely fails to follow. His whole body remains tense, fingers flexing as they hover nervously in the air until you take them and guide them to the armrests where they grip and hold on tight.
You drop to your knees again and lean forward until youāre caged in by his spread legs on either side of you. Steven lets out a breathless gasp even though you havenāt so much as touched him yet.Ā
On your knees like this, your face inches away from his cock, you get an up and close personal view that you werenāt privy to the night before. The head is flushed dark pink and it shines slick with the precome thatās beading at the blunt tip.Ā
Even his cock is ridiculously pretty. Itās really not fair.Ā
This close the scent of him is even stronger, clean, with a hint of musk and something altogether Steven. Parting your lips, you ghost your breath over him, relishing the way he practically whines at the sensation, his cock twitching and jerking, more precome welling out to drip down the impressive length of him.
So sensitive, your Steven.
You dart out the tip of your tongue to lap up the runner of liquid. Itās a barely-there touch, but from the sound he makes, youād think you had punched him square in the solar plexus. The choked-out, pitiful sob makes the blood in your veins sing.Ā
You do it again, just to see if heāll make the same noise.
He does.Ā
Then again, and he moans, long and breathless, and it shivers through you. Makes you want to see what other sounds you can pull from him. But first you pull back for a moment.
āShall I continue then?ā you ask, pretty sure you know the answer already.
āYes, please. God yes.ā His voice is breathless, desperate, and you canāt help the self-satisfied smile tugging at your lips.
You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and it jumps in your grip, thick and hot and throbbing against your palm. You love how reactive he is. Looking him in the eye, you drag your tongue against your bottom lip to wet it for him. Then without further ado, you wrap your lips around him.
āShit. Oh bloodyāShit.ā His whole body stiffens under the assault of your mouth, and you can feel him pulsing on your tongue.
Closing your eyes, you savour the sounds he makes for you. Keen little noises and punched out gasps like youāre holding him under water and drowning him in sensations until he can barely breathe.Ā
His reactions, the way his cock twitches, the sweet tang of precome on your tongue; itās all perfect, and your stomach clenches with arousal and the aching need to touch yourself.Ā
Itās tempting, so tempting, to slip a hand under your skirt and indulge in your own pleasure, but you want to stay focused on Steven right now. Want to be able to take in every minute detail of his response to you. So you keep your hands wrapped firmly around the base of him as your mouth inches down, taking as much of him as you can before backing off again to tease him with just the tip of your tongue.Ā
"Oh God, oh God, that feels amazing. Youāre soāoh fuckāso good at thisā¦ I mean why wouldnāt you be? I meanā¦ oh God.ā Heās babbling. Fingers gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles have gone ghost-white. āPleasedon'tstop.ā
It is, possibly, the worldās worst and most adorable attempt at dirty talking. But it hardly matters. Steven is so responsive to your every touch, so obviously overwhelmed, that itās impossible to take his words the wrong way. Impossible not to be aroused by his enthusiastic reactions.
When you kiss the tip of him, he keens. When you swirl your tongue, tracing shapes against the sensitive head, heāll cant his hips upwards, in an attempt to get even deeper. When you grant him exactly that, letting him slide himself deeper into your mouth, his hands fly to your shoulder, fingers flexing there, digging in until theyāre just short of painful.Ā
And all the while heās watching you with awe, gaze locked on you, as though heās afraid to look away in case you disintegrate under his hands. As though he can hardly believe youāre real.
That look in his eyes makes you burn. Makes you want to do even more for him. To make him feel as good as humanly possible. So you suck and kiss and lick every inch of him you can, your hand wrapped in a tight fist around his slick girth to work what your mouth is unable to.Ā
One large, shaking hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb barely ghosting over the corner of your mouth where itās stretched wide around his cock before moving to your cheek. He rubs small, soothing circles over your cheekbone, gentle even as heās writhing under your mouth. The tender, doting touch sends pleasure skittering down your spine.Ā
Even now, with you on your knees for him, the man is trying so hard to hold back. To be careful with you. His hips barely hitching up to meet your mouth, as you lick and lap at every inch you can.Ā
āGod, look at you. Youāre so pretty. I canāt believe youāre actuallyāā He breaks off, gasping, then starts again, barely seeming aware of what heās saying, āYour mouth feels so good. So fucking pretty, you are. Can youā Can you take me deeper?ā Then when you hum an assent around his cock, āOh God, oh pleaseā¦āĀ
The words coming out of him arenāt even particularly filthy, but they affect you all the same.Ā
Heat blossoms in your stomach at how wrecked his voice is as he pants out how pretty you look over and over again. You can feel how wet you areādripping into the already soaked cotton of your knickers. You squeeze your legs together, moaning around his cock when the pressure makes your cunt clench around nothing.Ā
āOh. Youāreā? Fuck. Youāre enjoying this, arenāt you?ā Steven gasps out, and you pull back far enough to look up at him and shoot him a cheeky wink.
āGod, youāre amazing,ā he groans, thrusting up into your mouth just once, like he canāt help himself, then stilling. Whatever shyness or uncertainty had him tongue tied just a few minutes ago seems to be gone, and he starts to beg for you to āTouch yourself for me, love. Please. Fuck. Want you to enjoy yourself too. Please.āĀ
Hah. As though you werenāt already enjoying yourself thoroughly.Ā
Still, itās no great hardship to do as he asks, so you pull off slowly, teasingly, and sit back on your heels to look up at him. Collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and curls in complete disarray as those dark eyes burn down into yours, he looks gorgeously undone.Ā
God, and he says youāre the pretty one?Ā
You canāt help but lose yourself in admiring him for a long moment.
Too long of a moment, apparently, because his brows draw together and the light of uncertainty starts to flood those big brown eyes. His hands rise to flutter in the air, a sure sign heās feeling insecure.Ā
Quickly, before he has a chance to overthink things too much, you make a show of sliding one hand down to cup your breast. Between your office clothes and sensible bra, you donāt get much out of it, but youāve certainly captured Stevenās attention.
He looks utterly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, and his eyes remain glued to your hand as it continues its descent down your body, and up under your skirt. His swollen, shiny cock jerking and leaking precome in an entirely gratifying manner.
You press a hand between your thighs over your clothes and gasp when even that muted pressure sends pleasure streaking through you. Thereās an awkward moment as you scramble for the edge of your tights, and manage to drag them down far enough to wedge your hand under and into your knickers.Ā
The angle is cramped and uncomfortable, but so, so worth it to be able to rub slippery little circles over your clit. Fuck, youāre already so wet, and you canāt help but moan as you feel wetness leaking down between your thighs every time your cunt clenches.
āOh my days,ā Steven breathes, eyes as wide as youāve ever seen them as his gaze flits between your face and the hand buried beneath your skirt. He seems to have forgotten about his own arousal entirely, totally focused on you.
And, well, that just wonāt do.
When he looks up at your face again, you catch his gaze and send him a naughty smile before ducking forward and taking his cock in your mouth again.Ā
Steven lets out a gasping moan that sounds like itās torn from his very soul, and this time his hips rise to meet you, no longer holding back. Heās all instincts and hunger now, and youāre reminded of the Steven who took control from you last night and drove you to three orgasms so intense that they left your legs numb in their wake.Ā
His cock fills your mouth perfectly, and itās almost too much. You struggle for a moment to fit all of him, but then the two of you find a rhythm between you that lets you take him deep without choking.Ā
You rock your hips against your hand in time with his thrusts, and the muscles of your forearm ache as you chase your pleasure. It feels so good that you keep forgetting to time your breathing, but fuck, you barely care. Canāt help but love the burn of it down to your lungs. The taste of him, bittersweet and tangy on your tongue, is intoxicating and you could easily get addicted to this. To the uninhibited sounds heās making at your touch and the taste and smell of him.
Youāre overwhelmed, surrounded by him, head swimming with it. Or perhaps itās the lack of air that has reality going a bit woozy around the edges as you match each roll of his hips into your waiting mouth with a roll of yours rocking against your hand. Your world narrows down to his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ears, and the devastating ebb of pleasure pours through you, building higher with each advance and retreat.Ā
Itās too much and just the right amount because suddenly youāre there, right on the edge. Donāt realise that youāre moaning until the sound cuts off when you shove forward, desperate to take Steven as deep as possible. You roll your hips down one last time, pressing hard against your clit, and thatās all it takes.
You come hard, white hot bliss surging through you as you convulse on the floor of an empty conference room, Stevenās cock lodged as deep in your throat as you can take him.Ā
Dimly you hear Stevenās shocked āOh Lord, are youā? Oh my God!ā and then a broken, breathy litany of āOh God oh God oh God,āĀ but it hardly registers.
You hold there as long as you can, until your lungs burn and the muscles of your arm threaten to cramp and youāve wrung every last drop out of pleasure you can out of your orgasm.Ā
Finally, shuddering with overstimulation, you have to pull back. Pulling your slick hand out of your underclothes, you flex your aching fingers, chest heaving as you suck in a long overdue breath and then another.
āOh God, oh God, donāt stop.ā The head of Stevenās slippery, wet cock glances off your equally slick lips as his hips rise to chase your mouth, āPleasepleasepleaseā I needā Fuck. Please donāt stop.āĀ
His cock is twitching in your hand in protest from the sudden lack of attention. The length of it is dripping from your spit, precome flowing from the fat tip as if itās drooling, glistening under the ceiling light.Ā
You canāt help the shudder that works its way through you when your oversensitive cunt clenches at the depraved sight.Ā
If your goal was to make a mess of him youāve certainly succeeded.
To buy yourself time to catch your breath, you press saliva-slick kisses along his hardened length, relishing the way Steven descends completely into incoherence.
Half sentences and broken off words, begging for your mouth. Itās a far cry from the man who was all shy nerves, and worried about people being outside not so very long ago.
And you love it. You love it all.
The sounds heās making are intoxicating. You want desperately to hear how loud he can get, but thereās a little voice in the back of your head warning that this is not the place to let the volume become an issue.
There shouldnāt be anyone down by this hallway, but the way that Steven is carrying on, you worry the sound will carry far enough that your co-workers on the floor above, still in their offices, will be able to hear you two.
āSteven,ā you murmur, pressing another kiss to the fat tip of him, āI need you to keep quiet for me.ā
You tilt your head until you can sneak a glance at him. How utterly ruined he looks, chest heaving, rising and falling in tides, eyes dazed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You canāt help but smile, fluttering your eyelashes for his attention as you lap up the precome oozing down his cock with little kitten licks, savouring the way he shivers violently below you.Ā
You know youāre being mean. Heās so overwhelmed that he looks like he is going to jump out of his skin, but you canāt resist as you continue to tease him.
āYou donāt want me to have to stop, now do you?āĀ
He whines at that, and if you had the luxury of time and privacy, youād scold him again, drag out your fun and tease him just a tiny bit more.
āSorry. Iām sorry.ā Steven begs so prettily, shuddering below you as he stutters out, āIāIāll be good. Quiet, I promise. Please, please donāt stop.ā
āGood,ā you say, then you lean down again and take him back into your mouth.Ā
His hand flies up to his mouth, and he clamps a wide palm over it in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. It helps some, but you can still hear the muffled groan that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.Ā
Your previous established rhythm falls apart.Ā
His hips stutter into a staccato pace as he thrusts into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get deeper. The telltale sign of his sharp jaw tensing, the small muscle there flexing. Those gorgeous doe eyes roll to the back of his head, his face awash in pleasure.Ā
God, heās fucking beautiful like this. You donāt think youāll ever get used to the sight of him.Ā
From the way his thighs are trembling, you know he must be teetering on the edge even before he warns you with a hoarse and broken, āClose. IāIām close.āĀ
You hum, and the vibration makes him hiss like youāve burnt him. His hands come to frame your face, attempting to gently pry you off of him.
You let him pull you away just long enough to form words, hands still wrapped around him to replace the momentum with firm strokes to keep him on the edge, as he twitches and jerks in your palm.Ā
āDo you want to come in my mouth, Steven?ā
He shivers, his eyes are shut tight, and for a moment you arenāt sure if he heard you at all. But then he nods forcefully, choking out a rough,Ā āFuck. You canāt justā God. Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Please,ā that has the tip of your ears tingling.Ā
God, he sounds ruined.Ā
He also sounds loud, and he isnāt stopping.
āSteven.ā Your voice is flat, cutting through his desperate rambling. āShut it.āĀ Ā
A strangled moan tears out of him at your command, and somehow the suppressed noises heās making are even louder than when he was babbling.Ā
In a sudden fit of inspiration, you shove the fingers of your other hand, still sticky with your slick into his mouth. His tongue drags against you, and he gasps around the intruding digits. At the same time, you lean down to take him as deep as he goes, swallowing down the urge to gag when he hits the back of your throat.
His body goes rigid, throwing his head back and baring his long graceful throat to you with a muffled groan. He suckles at your fingers, mouth hot against your sticky skin, and you can feel it the moment that he comes. His cock pulsing warm and thick against your tongue, as he floods your mouth, tangy and slightly bitter.Ā
Itās quite possibly the hottest thing youāve ever experienced, and it makes you want to drag out that pleasure for him and ruin him even more.Ā
You hold him in your mouth, tongue lavishing at the stiff underside of his cock, your own fingers pressing against his tongue as he writhes underneath you. You donāt let up, drawing things out until his thighs are shaking violently beneath you and youāre sure that the overstimulation must be bordering on the painful.
Only then do you pull away, sitting back to take in the sight of Steven. Rosy-flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes boring into you. Heās staring down at you like youāve hung the stars and moon in the night lit sky one by one.Ā
All of a sudden, you find yourself feeling almost shy under that loving gaze. Flustered at the adoring attention from him. You feel silly to be the object of that devotion, while youāre still on your knees, knickers and chin equally sticky, and the remnants of his come still lingering on your tongue.Ā
You donāt know what to say or do next, but it doesnāt matter.
Before you can even try to figure it out, Steven surges forward, dropping down to his knees in front of you and closing the distance between you to crash his lips against yours. He licks into your mouth with frantic desperation, apparently uncaring that you still taste of his come.Ā
You can taste yourself in his mouth as well, as Steven devours your mouth with a hungry fervour that youāve come to associate with his touch.Ā
Itās sweet; itās depraved; itās ravenous.Ā
Itās all the contradictions of Steven himself wrapped into a kiss. And for better or worse, itās something youāre not sure you can live without anymore.Ā
Eventually he slows in his pace, until the one kiss dissolves into many, syrupy and languid in a way that makes the air around you thin. And thenā¦
āGod, I love you.ā He sighs the words gently into your mouth, so blissful and contented that it takes a moment for you to realise what was said.
You stiffen in his arms as his words fully register with you. Pulling away, you draw back enough to see Stevenās face, not entirely sure if you heard him right until you see the complete adoration in his eyes.
Oh. Oh wow, he really does mean that doesnāt he?Ā
The expression on your face must betray how stunned you are by his confession, because Stevenās brows draw together in concern and he immediately starts apologising.
āSorry. Should Iā¦ um. Should I not have said that? Not the most romantic moment, is it? Course itās not. Confessing after youā youāā he stutters, clearly flustered. āWell, after that.āĀ He flinches, face flushing bright red, and mutters, āGod, I sound like a right bloody wanker, donāt I?āĀ
Heās right.
This was hardly the perfect time, or a particularly romantic one. And he does sound like a bit of a wanker.
Your eyes meet, and he flinches, eyes worried and voice hesitant, as if he did something grievously wrong to offend you.Ā
āDid I make you uncomfortable? I did, didnāt I?ā He drops his gaze, as though he thinks heās committed some grievous wrong to offend you.Ā āIām sorry, we can pretend I never said it if thatās what you want.ā It clearly pains him to make the suggestion, but he makes it anyway. āI donātā I donāt want to lose you.ā
Thatās the thing with Steven.Ā
Heās all in.Ā
Whatever else he has going on, Stevenās never been half-hearted about this, about you.
He doesnāt time his moments or play tactics to win you over. Whether itās bravery or stupidity, you canāt tell, but heās always been open and vulnerable with his feelings, even that very first night at the restaurant, when his eyes lit up at the sight of you. Theyāve always been right there on his sleeve.
And right now itās clear to see that heās en route to having a complete nervous breakdown if you leave him hanging any longer without an answer.Ā
Youāve known for a while that you liked Steven, had feelings for him, and now thereās not a single doubt in your mind about how deep those feelings go.
āI love you too.āĀ
He looks up at you timidly from underneath those thick eyelashes with shock thatās shading into careful, dawning hope. His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he hesitates for a long moment, jaw working, like heās too scared to ask you to repeat it in case he misheard or youāre playing a practical joke on him.Ā
āYeah?ā he asks eventually, voice whisper-soft.
You donāt answer him with words.Ā
Instead you nod, pulling him close until you can kiss him again. Removing any lingering doubt that still might remaināfor both of you. Whatever yesterday night was, you meant every one of those three little words, and want to stay to figure it out.Ā
Itās you and Steven, red flags be damned.Ā
~ Continue ~
Dedication and Credits
To the city of London itself, can you dedicate a city? No? Iām doing it anyway. Iām finally home after 2.5 years of being away and I miss her so. Love of my fucking life.
@thirstworldproblemss my love, my best friend, my soul twin, clown sister. Thank you for being with me literally every single day the past year and almost a half in my pocket, on good days, on bad days, and on the boring-nothing-special days. Youāve kept me going all this time, and the best part of my gloomy days would be waiting for you to wake up half across the world and start our nonsense for the day. My life is all the better because youāre in it. Thank you for keeping me intact and in one piece all this time.
@frannyzooey the kindest, most talented, and most supportive person. You are so loved and truly one of a kind. You give so much of yourself wanting nothing in return and your presence is my life is such a gift. Thank you for always being there with a kind word when I was about to blow my freaking casket in the last year and a half. For talking me down, for being a pillar of calm and reason when I felt like dousing things down with gasoline and setting it on fire. Thank you for being you, I cannot wait to spam you with a million food photos from this day on, thatās my promise to you.
@jazzelsaur for your beautiful, curly avocado toast hair that smells like delicious onions. I love you, your baby whore š„š§
@radiowallet with your brilliant big mind. For you love of the comic and nerdy. For being so absolutely fucking wonderful and supportive and kind in a word that is anything but on some days.
@the-ginger-hedge-witch this is not a dedication. This is a call out, remember when you tried to character assassinate Brendan Fraser? Pepperidge Farm remembers. P.S. I love you dearly