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lilshoroscope · 7 months

Note

eddie taking you nice and slow in the back of his van ugh need

Need indeed 🫡

Your Van in the Field

Warnings: 18+ explicit content. MDNI.

Unprotected PinV (wrap it). Oral (f). Weed. Mutual pining. Possessiveness I guess but it’s from a loving place. Sexual markings. Sprinkles of praise, biting, hair pulling and finger sucking? We flirt with dacryphilia in this. Fluffy fluff fluff.

AN: Sooooo I got incredibly carried away with this and don’t know if it’s the vibe you wanted but I tried my best and this is what happened 😅 tysm for this idea! 🫶 idek if I hate this or not? Very long waffles, like wtf am I going on about, but we move x

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Rain. It hits the leaves in the field around him with pitter patters that harmonise with the soft clunks to his van. Nature’s tiny bullets firing at the disrupter to its parched soil. It had been hot in Hawkins, uncharacteristically so. Blades of grass had yellowed and flowers grew weary in the heat, bowing their heads in surrender to the sun. It felt how it feels right before you need a good shower of rain.

And now: green. Green showed the life of plants being quenched and the hope of air being cleared, although right now the humidity was thick. Kind of like the staleness of the air prior was putting up a fight, staking it’s claim on this land…but hey, maybe that was just the weed talking. Whatever it was, it frizzed his hair up.

He lay in the back of his van and it was quiet - likewise, uncharacteristically so. He liked the rain. Liked to hear it, watch it, smell it - it made everything seem so fresh and replenished. It felt calming to him and it was one of the only times he’d keep the radio off. Although, it was off more and more as of late.

He’d decked his van out when the rain started to hit more. When you started to visit more. Blankets and pillows - none of which matched each other, making his ol’ faithful look cluttered and a bit offensive to the eye with the array of fabrics and textures accenting the tarnish of oranges and greens, some navy and black to add to the senses too. But it was comfortable, and you favoured a plush sage green cushion that he kept to one side incase he was lucky enough to see you.

He had one burnt orange pillow tucked behind his own head, and one leg crossed the other as he hummed softly. He took a long drag of his joint, watching the paper disintegrate in red embers and crinkle away as he inhaled before blowing out slowly, the smoke dancing above his head as it almost became the same mist that housed the humidity.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he’d rolled one specially for you, telling himself it was for him later. And that he just kept it on your pillow so it wouldn’t be on the floor. The same floor that he’d covered in knitted blankets with different sized holes in them for what he liked to call character, not because you were a sucker for coziness and got cold feet. And he definitely told himself that the cardigan that you left here that time, the one that he tied around the back of his seat’s headrest, was there as a reminder to himself to give it back to you. You know, this time. He’d forgotten the last four times - he had! He swears it. He also leaves the little wild flowers you brought the other day shrivelling on his dash because it would be rude to get rid of them, not because when he looks at them he feels like you brought him flowers. Definitely not.

He couldn’t quite believe his luck that first afternoon - it had been raining then too, but was gloomy and cold. His offer to drive you home had been a stroke of courage he only found when he’d seen you alone, coat over your head ready as you pondered the best plan of action to run home in the rain. You worked in the cafe next to the mechanic shop he made his best of a living in (he took the job for Wayne, but secretly now loved it) and so seeing the familiar face made you bashfully accept his offer. He’d always been nice to you, of course. ‘Black coffee with three sugars to go cute guy from next door’

You’d chit chatted quietly to one another, politely at first, the rain’s song keeping any awkward silences at bay…until you’d started to make each other laugh. Until you drove past the pizza place you said did ‘the best pizza ever!’ and it happened to be his favourite too. Until before either of you knew it, you were sat in the back of his van, both damp with sodden pizza boxes discarded. And soon those boxes sat empty save a few crusts, the chats and laughs had turned into gazes that lingered with testing touches to arms and legs, which somehow led to kisses - new and unfamiliar, but teasing and excited. Small pecks at first until mouths opened and tongues squirmed. Until his lips were hot at your chill-bitten cheeks as they ghosted your face, thawing the skin, and your hands were warming the back of his neck. Fire in your bellies keeping you warm. Until he didn’t know where the line was, and neither did you, as to what you could both do next.

Until he really did need to take you home, as it had somehow passed midnight.

And from then? From then he parks his van here. The little spot in a quaint field by some trees - the same one where you’d shared pizza and kisses. And then one day shared music and cuddles. Another time, you’d shared bodies and fucked like bunnies into the night. The passings of seasons had seen many, many meetings where you’d unwrapped each other like presents, surprises and things to learn inside both mind and body - until that one night where you’d laughed so gleefully and for so long that both of your side’s had ached…and it happened. Without either of you knowing it, that time you both shared love. Like two teenagers who didn’t know better. And like teenagers, you danced around the topic, neither knowing what you meant to the other.

You had come to see him in the end, of course; the magnet pulling you back to the van in the field like always. You’d gently tapped the metal of the doors and god, you could practically feel your eyes light up when he lifted his head up to see who was there. If you were a cartoon, hearts would have popped from your sockets and you mentally chastised yourself for it. He grinned at the sight of you, shuffling up onto his elbows.

“Hi, I brought sandwiches” you beamed, presenting a plastic bag that was dripping with water before carefully removing some of the blanket area to place it down without getting them wet. He noted the way your clothes clung to you, and the wetness that held your hair, water droplets collecting at the end of the strands and soaking into your work blouse.

He was positively thrilled to see you. As always. He itched to wrap you up in him, the minimal space between you causing him actual harm - but he also itched to get you out of those clothes. It’s funny, really, but times like these are when he knows that this has definitely shifted from physical to emotional. Yes, of course he wanted you out of your attire for his own selfish reasons, your body his heaven and he was certain he’d done something incredibly noble in a past life to deserve to see it the way he does…but his first thought was to prevent you getting sick more than anything else.

So he listened when you told him about your day, and how you acquired all the sandwiches that had been ordered for some event and it had fallen through. And you listened as he told you about his day. You giggled at him when he told you about the royal fuck up he made on Mrs Up-Tight’s car bill and how he was definitely going to be sued as well as fired and then tortured and murdered when she found out.

And then he’d suggested it. Clothes off so they can attempt to dry. Please and thank you.

“I have nothing to change into” you’d pointed out after finishing a bite of a sandwich.

“You think I have all these blankets around for decor?”

“Well, it’s definitely not for decor” you smirked, eyeing the clash of colour, and he chucked a crust at you.

And with that, a bit too eagerly, you’d agreed on ‘naked blanket cuddles’.

“Ah ah - I wanna do it” he told you as your fingers went to the button of your pants, making ridiculously cute grabby hands at you, which made you faux roll your eyes as you come to stand in front of him. He shuffled onto his knees and you earned a pinch to your sides for that ‘sass’ as he’d call it, followed by a playful but scolding nip from his teeth at your hip as he began to drag the material down your legs. As if he’d started something he had to finish, his soft bites became a gentle suckle, and then pillowy lips latched harder and sucked their mark into your skin.

He undressed you like you were an intricate piece in a museum; like you were precious and expensive. The new bruise that bloomed on your hip almost seemed corruptive, like a vandalism of art, and it made his brain short circuit to see it there. But he handled you with such care that it sometimes had your eyes stinging with the threats of tears - featherlight touches he’d chase with his nose and lips, eyes closed as though savouring.

It would be easier to swallow any tears down when he’d make you huff laughs with things like walking his two fingers up your legs and talking to your thighs like they were people outside of you, a gentle hand squashing your face to one side as he whispered something beautifully dumb like ‘sssshhh, we weren’t talking to you’ before he’d trace his lips slow against your skin to leave another delicate bruise into the flesh inside. A fresh burial to a graveyard of his hickeys.

Now listen, he loved leaving his marks on you. Loved that you loved them. Loved remembering your escapades that caused them when he found them again, and so did you as you’d trace them fondly in the shower of a night. But, honestly? He also loved that while you were allowing him to visibly litter you in his affections, it meant that you probably weren’t letting anyone else see them. Nobody else settled between your thighs on nights he didn’t see you. He liked to think of himself as an easy going, not overly possessive guy - but then he met you, and the thought of you with anyone else knocked his stomach. And so ultimately, he keeps marking his territory.

Not that you’re his, of course. After all, you’re not together. He’s cool and breezy about the situation. You can see other guys if you want…’cause you’re not together. Completely your choice. As long as you’re happy. That’s totally cool. He takes it back, he just thinks hickeys are fun and you like them too and that’s it…because you’re not together and…

And if you are seeing other guys, he hopes they choke and die.

You knew none of his inner turmoil. You just saw the goofball talking to your thighs while biting and kissing at them, like normal. Making you lightheaded with the feel of his mouth but laugh with the tone of his words. But wow, he could also be so quick to turn things overwhelmingly sensual. Intense eyes upon you, the teasing glint glazing over with something a fraction away from lust: want. Plain and simple. He wanted you. From goofball to lover in seconds, but always beautifully himself.

He swiped his nose over your underwear covered clit that throbbed as if standing to attention, and he planted a soft kiss there before he attached his mouth over the fabric and exhaled, deep and controlled. Your body jolted at the hot air that seeped into your cunt before he hooked his fingers into the waistband and peeled the cotton from you.

He lightly pressed at your hip, guiding you back against the metal side of the van and following you towards it on his knees. He reached his hands up to pop open each button he could reach on your blouse, ghosting his fingers back down your stomach and leaving tingles chasing in their wake. You left the cheap work shirt on, just unbuttoned and open, bra peeking out from it’s curtains. He lifted your leg up and over his shoulder, calf and foot trailing down his back and he sponged a kiss to your knee before his lips ghosted at the flesh of your thigh, now cushioned in the junction of his shoulder.

He obviously left more of his marks as he went. He couldn’t help it - but he tried to be kind about it at least. Gentle, gentle, gentle until he lost himself in mouthing at you, and his teeth closed around your skin hard. You hissed out a gasp and he couldn’t help a smirk against you. Hickeys had a loving undercurrent of motive, he thought, but faint bruises in the shape of his shallow bite welts? They were purely just for his fun (and lack of self restraint) - they made his cock twitch.

Hearing your noises from above, even a ‘please’ sneaking from you, his patience run wore thin and he let out a soft groan before burying his tongue inside you. He lapped at you with purpose, and that purpose was to taste. It wasn’t desperate, though, more like content as he hummed into your centre, his tongue flat and steady as it licked a long stripe from your entrance to clit before swirling at the swollen bud. He sucked you into his mouth gently and he shook his head languidly from side to side and your body was spasming with the lightness in his touches, just how he knew you liked it. You were grinding down lazily onto his face and letting out noises that were fucking sinful but oh so lovely for him to hear. The hand he gripped your thigh with tightened to keep you to him, his goal of your orgasm in mind.

“I-fuck-I knew naked blanket cuddles were a ploy” you strained out, voice all high and breathy, your hand covering his that had snaked around to grope at the softness of your ass. He pulled away, a cocktail of your slick and his saliva stringing from you to his mouth and he nodded, tutting and eyebrows raising. Mock sympathy laced through the action.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to stop?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and resting it on your thigh.

“Don’t you dare” you admonished, hooking your leg firmer to keep him where he was. You fastened your fingers to his hand that covered the flesh of your ass and dragged it towards your centre, which had him scoffing as he ran his fingers through your folds, dipping one into your entrance and pumping carefully.

“Thought so” he teased, bringing his fingers to his mouth to suck you from them. It was the sexiest thing you think you’ve ever witnessed - it made you pause and take a minute to really look at the man between your legs: literally kneeling for you, hair a frayed disarray of a halo around him, lips puffy and glistening with you - it had you clenching around nothing. Your chest flooded, and god you were so in love.

Wait, what?

No. No, no, no. That would be foolish, wouldn’t it? You’re just casual. Easy breezy. Nothing serious and that was fine. And he probably wouldn’t want anything more anyway. No strings was best, for sure.

Your fingers come to comb through his hair, but your heart suddenly swells before your brain could work out why, stopping you from pulling him back into you momentarily. And the reason? Nothing short of ridiculous. It was that immediately you’d felt the texture change and it made you feel giddy, like a lovesick puppy because…your man’s hair gets frizzy in the humidity. That had your hormones fizzing. Ridiculous.

The logic in your brain hissed at you, saying that he wasn’t your man and how this new information was unbelievably stupid and unimportant - literally who cares about hair - but the heartstrings clearly in control here pulled at the mechanics of the corner of your mouth, and before you could stop it you were smiling down at him.

Oh yeah. You were in love with this man. Pathetically so. No doubt about it.

Fuck.

It was only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit that snapped you out of your trance. Two fingers in a ‘V’ to splay you apart for him as he attacked the swollen bud. Your head thumped back against the tin behind you, fingers tightening in his endearingly frizzy hair and you felt him push your leg on his shoulder open wider to spread you without needing his hands, because he was needing them to sink his ring clad finger into your centre. Crooking upwards, a soft moan rose from you as he found that spot - the one that had you reeling and had your legs quaking as they turned to mush. His tongue was relentless as he matched the new faster pace by entering a second finger as he suckled on your clit, and he was humming out in satisfaction at your mewls, the vibration against you exquisite.

Grinding your hips against his face with vigour, you chanced another peek down at the man who was wrecking you, and that’s when you came. His eyes were already on you, watching your every reaction to be sure he had you where he wanted you, and it was a beautiful clash of deep mahogany eyes mixing with the purple blossoms on your thigh. Your orgasm prickled over you and your body tensed as it went, back arching and grip a vice in his roots. He didn’t mind - he was moaning just as loud as you were at this point. Your chest heaved as you came down, literally, leg puddling beneath you and you let it happen. Sliding down the side of the van meant you got to be closer to him anyway.

Face to face now, you couldn’t help but kiss him. A messy, dirty kiss where the desperation flowed through you both like an electric current. Both of you buzzing. Your hands flew to his belt and you tugged him closer with it, pulling at the leather and clinking open the buckle, a ‘thwip' clipping the air as you slid it from its loops. You were both on your knees now, and your hands were incessant in feeling him, tickling the skin of his back before sweeping to his front in a cycle, before your nails settled to scratch at the bristle of hair that led into his jeans. His hands were tangled into your locks as he continued licking into your mouth, and he groaned at the idea of you tasting yourself from him.

“Off” you mumbled through kisses, popping the button and struggling to pull the jeans down his legs.

“I thought you just wanted to cuddle?” He jested in despite of his actions. He was pulling your head by your hair to one side to kiss you deeper, before sliding his wet lips down to your neck and beginning to leave his featherlight love there.

“Naked blanket cuddles, remember? You started this” you bit, but it left you breathless when he licked a long stripe up your neck, “please? I need you closer”

Shot. Right through the chest. Those simple words leaving your mouth like a bullet from the barrel of a gun and cracking him through his ribcage. Tearing him open and leaving his heart bared and vulnerable. In that moment, he knew a scary truth that didn’t really make sense, but he knew that you could have anything from him. Anything that you might ask for or want? You’d have it. He’d bleed for you, and that was slightly terrifying because you weren’t official, and he told himself that you probably didn’t even want to be. But you’re asking for him to be closer, and of course he’ll oblige. It’s impossible for him not to. But fuck it if he didn’t need you close too - right now and all times outside of that.

So, he let you undress him. Because he’d let you do anything you wanted. Break him into a thousand pieces for all he cared, as long as it was your hands doing the smashing, but he never feared that as your tenderness with him always rendered him speechless. He’d watch with his big doe eyes as your fingers and mouth would lightly trace over his tattoos and skin, disbelieving every time that this amount of thought was going into him by you. He felt seen when you were around him, and he would always feel fire behind your touch; you made him spark. He swears you can feel when a person is made for you - your body tells you so.

And when you kissed finally, everything just stopped.

Naked bodies flush under the heap of blankets, sage green and burnt orange pillows next to each other in the van beneath you, fingers wandering and tongues exploring what they already know but have become obsessed with mapping. The rain outside white noise, but also intensifying everything - every whimper felt private and concealed, like it was really just for the two of you under the coat of nature hiding you both away.

It wasn’t rushed. None of it. You treated each other like you had all the time in the world, touching each other with slow hands and mouths meshed together to just enjoy kissing. Switches from the ghosting of lips to hungry and hot - over and over. You were laying side by side, his arms tangled around you and yours in his new bushy hair, and he’d drawn your leg up and over his waist which you’d then firmly secured around him. It was almost like you thought he’d pull back if you didn’t keep him there - which was crazy, he thought, because he was going nowhere ever again.

“I missed you” he mumbled out in between kisses, an admission that he poured from his mouth into yours only, not even the air around was deserving of a drop. Though your smile was sugar sweet, your eyes held a sparkle that had his mind spinning, and you weren’t sure if your hips had started to rock against him before or after his sentiment - but they were now and he signed into your mouth as he jutted his own hips, feeling his cock prod the warm mess between those thighs he loved so goddam much.

“I missed you, too” you whispered back, one of your hands coming to thumb at his cheek. You felt the smooth skin, but noticed the small bumps of imperfection and blemishes under your pad and enjoyed feeling him so beautifully human. You reached down after a while and let your fingers wrap around his cock, earning a hitch of breath from him as you stroked him up and down, your thumb swiping over the tip before fondling a little at his balls too (you loved his cock, but his balls were your favourite to play with, if you were being honest. They got him sensitive and desperate). He let out a groan, tipping his head upwards to revel in your touch and when you attached your lips to his neck and suctioned your way up and down, it had him fucking shuddering.

“Let me taste you now” you nipped against his goosebump risen skin and it smelled of pure him, it made your mouth and centre pool, but he shook his head slowly. He wanted that, christ, he really did - but he knew if you got your mouth stuffed full of him he’d be cumming embarrassingly quickly with how riled up he felt, and he wanted to be inside of you.

“Won’t last baby, need to split you open - fuck” he was cut off by you running his length through your dripping folds, his cock sitting pretty along the seam of you and you began to rock your hips, your slick glazing his shaft like syrup as you slid forward and back, whining when his leaking tip would catch your clit. Two bundles of nerves shocking upon contact.

Annnd…he was fucked. Gasping for air already. He could feel the wetness and heat from your cunt clasp to him like the humidity stifled the van. Everything seemed to get hotter, and the rain seemed to bounce heavier. He moved his hips with you, his fingers coming to sift through your hair at your temples before they curled into fists and gripped at the strands. He smiled at your gasp, using your roots as handles to pull your head away from him slightly to see your face, and he shook his head again. This time, an act of awe.

“Fuckin’ beautiful” he breathed out , eyes scanning over your face with blown pupils and a small crease in his brow, “wanna feel you - please, please, please” and each ‘please’ was punctuated with a kiss to your cheeks.

And now it was your turn to have the air punched out of you. That was the thing with him, he knew how to melt you down into molten liquid that bubbled and frothed at his touches - but he could also be just as malleable for you, and luckily, he knew it made you crazy. Like when he pleaded for you? Flutters. To the heart and elsewhere.

The subtle pull at your hair paired with his words was his way of saying ‘put me inside’ without having to say it, and it didn’t take much guiding for him to easily sink into your gummy walls. You might have teased him for his impatience in another scenario, but somehow it didn’t feel right to interrupt the discussion happening between atmosphere and bodies.

A little twist of your hips had him bottoming out inch by glorious inch, your hair still threaded between his knuckles and he grazed your temple with a thumb; eyes trained on each other as he embedded himself deep within your body. His mouth was mirroring yours unbeknownst to him, every gasp and drop of your jaw he mimicked without even realising - two bodies really becoming one it felt, as you could no longer tell where he ended and you began.

A shaky breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding stuttered from you, because although you were more than ready enough for him to nestle inside, there was always an ache to the stretch his cock moulded into you. It had you feeling so fucking full, wincing slightly at the intrusion that contradicted the way your cunt gushed around him happily - but he always stayed still until you gave some sort of signal. Every. Damn. Time. You knew from experience not a lot of guys did that, just ramming in and out regardless, blissfully unaware of any discomfort you may feel, so it always made everything…nicer when he did it. Made you feel safer. Respected. Like he was more tuned in to you. Cared more, understood more - it was like he wanted this to be good for you.

Good for you. Just like he always was.

So you told him so. Told him how good he made you feel, how perfect he felt inside. How he was made for you, and how you thought you must be made for him too with how well he fills you. “So, so good for me.” your voice cooed into his ear, and he almost lost it when you uttered a “thank you”. You told him while pressing love into the skin on his face. Your lips a sponge compressing soothing affection to his emotional scars. Healing.

A whine whistled at the back of his throat at your praise. He told you that he tried, that he wanted to be good for you because you’re always so good for him: taking him so well, letting him mark you up even though he knows you like it, for sounding so pretty when you cum for him - and because he knew it made you crazy, a little degradation always tickling a part of you, he thanked you for letting him use you up like this.

It had you beating around his cock, causing throaty groans to rumble from him which made your stomach sear with nothing other than arousal. It always felt like he was back where he belonged whenever you’d keep him snug within your walls, your blood running so hot it could be cold at the thought of you being able to pull sounds like that from him simply because he “can feel you squeezin’ me, fuck”. He released your hair and it left your scalp stinging, but only in mourning for his touch, which he offered relief from when he connected your foreheads.

You were wrapped around his cock so tight he felt himself needing to choke. He felt himself shiver when you started to pepper your kisses to his face. Gifting him with them like you couldn’t help but and it had you humming, all content and happy. When he pulled you even tighter against him, a small thought of logic in the back of his head somewhere feared breaking you, but the rest of his brain couldn’t resist you being this close. Your lips traced the shell of his ear, and the flicker of your soft moans whisped into him, your breath fanning at his skin and setting his body static and…well, he might have been embarrassed at the pathetic noise that tickled the back of his throat if it had escaped.

His hips struggled not to buck and you could feel it, the small tremors in his muscles as he fought against the urge to pound into you. You knew it was time for him to move - no, you needed it to be time for him to move, the ache of stretch having turned into an ache of need that throbbed around him. So, you sucked his earlobe into your mouth, suckling lazily at the flesh that felt cold on your tongue and you wiggled your hips gently: a nudge. Your signal to him. Move.

There were times he might be in a certain mood, and he’d work you up to get you all flustered and desperate, refusing to move to see if he could pull some begging out of you. But right now, he knew it wasn’t that kind of night - he didn’t want it to be. He just heeded your request, pulling out fractionally to dip back up into you, the head of him already grazing that beautiful spot that had your toes curling and a dazed smile spreading across your features. The noise you let out was almost one of relief, and you felt the pillow of his cheek gather slightly beneath yours, the tell tale sign he was smiling too.

He set a steady pace, enticing a push and pull of gasps and a chorus of shaky, thoughtless noises of pleasure. Gentle hands accompanied by faces that smush into each other’s like doves might nuzzle on a concrete balcony in the sunset, one where it’s quiet despite the bustle of the city below - it was so personal that it almost made you shy. The rain continued it’s fall outside of the van and the blankets around you felt sensitive as the fabric brushed against your skin, almost overstimulating as the only feel or sound you wanted was him.

He gave a much harder thrust and your head lolled back, a moan pushing through your chest like his cock had punched it from you. Delightedly, his lips were on the column of your throat like he’d been waiting for it forever, his teeth grazing lightly at your skin and sloppy kisses being mouthed there. He held back though, remembering your agreement: no marks on your neck.

He maintained his firmer movements, hard slams in but slow and dragging pulls out. He could feel everything. Every ridge that lined you and coated him. The way you clung to him and cried out had his own toes curling, and the only thing stopping him from filling you to the fucking brim was distraction. So he ducked down and lapped at your nipple before moving to sink his teeth into the side of your breast. Not hard enough to be painful, but enough to make you sing and keep him busy with something other than pumping you full. And christ, you were whiny. Clutching at his hair with merciless fingers and voice cracking every now and then. So, of course, he continued his dizzying movements.

Over and over and over again.

Desire took over him and the more you arched back, the more he tipped over you, fucking himself further and further into your cunt as he followed. Now writhing beneath him, his hand grips your leg to drag you completely under, spreading you wide to continue the bullying of your spot. His waves engulf you as you lay on the sea bed ready for the current to sweep you with it - happy to have him drown you. But it was you that drowned him as the lewd noises filled the room, his cock squelching through your cream. It would’ve been mortifying if it wasn’t so fucking sexy for both of you to hear. In fact, it had him panting out a “fuck, listen to that” as he cast his eyes to where you met to get a good look.

The way his cock plunges into you, his heavy presses into your magical spongey area, it had you mewling and twitching into him. He draped his body over you, and used his whole weight to push deeper. Deeper than you thought he could get, rolling his hips with a skill that he’d mastered especially for you. His hands had come to cradle the top of your head, his shoulders framing you and his forearms holding him up. You’re wrapping your arms and legs around his torso and pulling, grappling at him so that as much as your skin was connected to his as possible. Smoothing your hands down the expanse of his back, you whimper as you feel the muscles ripple under your touch, his body wracking with each ragged breath he takes; it has your heels digging into the soft of his ass, causing his pubic bone and thatch of hair to brush deliciously against your clit.

“Fuck, angel, takin’ me so well. Like me close, huh?” he rasped into your ear, a groan following his sentiment as your walls quivered around him. It was the ‘angel’ that did it this time. You loved him calling you his little nicknames - internal squealing causing havoc in your chest whenever it happened. Nodding, a small ‘mmhmm’ squeaks from the back of your throat, pathetically really, and you dig your hands into his hair to bring his lips to yours as if to prove it - suddenly needing to taste him more than anything.

The hot kiss which was all tongues and teeth reflexively bucks your hips, and you rotate them up to join his rhythm when you hear the growl that thunders from his throat and the teeth that puncture your lower lip - not enough to draw blood, but honestly? You don’t think you’d care if it did. It had you both panting out gasps and thankful cries which in turn had that very same tongue and teeth kiss turning into lips that lingered as frantic breathing merged into one between you; literally oxygenating you both, it seemed, and you clutched at each other with a tenderness that went against its desperate motives.

His hand laced through yours and slid up to pin your arm above your head, his other hand still at the top of your head but his fingers were weaving themselves back into your hair and tugging with strength that was just enough. The pressure his hips were driving into you was shockingly enough for your climax to tip-toe up on you, coil forming like a heavy swarm of flutters in your stomach. But, of course, he knew that. He could read it from your body - or his fingers would’ve been toying with your clit ten minutes ago. It was difficult to breathe in the best way, and he was cooing his soft “so pretty for me”s and “love seeing you like this”s into your ear.

But the man who knew more about your body than anyone, the man who could play you like his instrument…when he panted out your name, it was like he both didn’t realise he’d said it and like he hesitantly wanted to get your attention. It was unsure…but he was never unsure with you. You replied with a ‘hmm?’ all breathy and sweet, and when he didn’t answer you, you peeled open your eyes that you hadn’t realised you’d shut - and there he was, looking down at you. He was flushed and it bled into his chest, eyes blown black and lips blushed and puffy with an expression of…admiration? Desperation? Realisation? Worry? You couldn’t quite work it out, and your brow furrowed faintly as your hand brushed caresses his face.

Another pant of your name, as if building himself up for something, but he was quiet when he began, “I…I think…”

He nearly said it. He really very nearly fucking said it. And he didn’t think, he knew. Those three words prickling at the tip of his tongue like it was a wrestle against whether the muscle formed them or not. It was too soon, wasn’t it? It was also ridiculous, right? You weren’t even together. He just knew that the times you visited him in his van were his new favourites. That he missed you more than anything on days you didn’t arrive. The days that your shifts were swapped or the days that you had other plans. The days you didn’t know that he waited here after his shifts, just incase. He just knew that he nearly fucking said it, and he really fucking meant it.

He also knew that your fingertips were scorching him, branding him as yours in a way that he doesn’t even think you realise.

“You think?” You offered gently. His pace had slowed back to his initial shallow dips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting between yours - but he felt your once spasming walls start to relax back to a hug around his cock and knew he was losing the orgasm he really wanted to get you to.

So he chickened out. Of course he did.

“I-I think you need to finish before I do, sweetheart. Getting hard to hold on over here” coward.

Your eye twitched and he grew cautious as a kind smile was presented to him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You knew. You knew he wanted to say something else, but before you could press it further he quickly picked his pace back up to that eye rolling pressure in a way that was so sudden it took you by surprise. His hand left the nest of your hair and flew to your leg, hitching it higher than the other up his torso and that’s when he really started to fuck into you.

Your nails dug into his hand that you held as his hips slammed hard, and he brought his free palm to rest at your throat. He wasn’t squeezing, but he knew you loved feeling the heat of his hand on such a sensitive area, and he was right as he watched your head crane back so he could cover the skin of your neck more. It wasn’t too fast, but the firmness about his thrusts had you crying out. Had your brain emptying of any coherent thoughts. It felt amazing, and you were on cloud nine, but he was busy trying to find that button to press that makes you light up. That makes you shatter.

A shift. To the left. A bit further up. He knows it’s here somewhere - he feels it swell and pulse against his head every time he’s tucked inside of you. His teeth grit to keep his composure at the way your ridged walls pull at his cock….a tiny extra angle of his hips up and…

There.

Your mouth hangs open and fingers skim with claws bared to dig into his shoulder, etching angry, red lines there and so naturally, he pounds into it. He can’t help but grin when he hears your noises cut off, a silent moan echoing somewhere inside, jaw stuck open on its hinges, but he quickly takes advantage of your mouth being agape. Fingers on your neck come to slot in between your lips and he groans when you suck on them without being told. Coating and drooling around them as you whine from the back of your throat. He takes his fingers away from you, and you try to follow them which makes him chuckle almost incredulously - because goddam he can’t believe it’s him making you feel this way - before he’s rushing to swirl circles into your clit and that’s when he knows he’s got you on your way.

The cry that was trying to break free finally emanates from your lungs and seems to seep through your entire being as you grip at him in every sense. Arm tight, hand cutting the circulation off in his, legs wrapped, cunt a vice. You’re still making your pretty sounds beneath him, and he sees your glossy eyes and knows he’ll probably bring those tears out when you cum. His cock twitches inside of you. There’s a part of him he worries is fucked up, because he wants to make you wail. Wants to make you to cling to him and cry heavily and it could be any time now - he knows you’re close, your walls being charged with fucking asphyxiation of his dick.

“Oh, I can feel that. C’mon, let me feel you soak me” he whispers down to you, and he didn’t realise how forcefully he’d been pressing into you until you choke a ‘don’t stop’ and your free arm is flinging above your head to brace yourself against the back of the van seats that he’d nearly fucked you into, moving you across the floor with every strong delivery of his hips. His fingers speed up their circles to your pulsing nub and you use the new leverage as resistance to gyrate back down onto him; his jaw could break its that tense trying to hold out for you.

Your breast are jiggling for attention as they bounce with every slap of his hips into you, and so he obliges their silent plea, mouth watering as he laves his tongue over the pebbled bud of your nipple. An almost pained noise leaves you: it’s the wail he wanted. The dam breaks and he pants against your chest, resting his forehead there as he feels your body quake and seize as your orgasm crashes into you. Your nails scrape down the material of the seat your hand still clutches to, and he loves that he has you wrapped around both of his seats. Your cardigan still hanging from the back of his and you clinging for dear life to the other.

He pulls his head up to watch you writhe and shake beneath him and doesn’t even realise his hips still. Too overtaken with the view he has to even think about his own orgasm. He’s in-fucking-fatuated with you, and he could just melt at the fact that he still holds your hand securely in his as you fuck yourself on him through your high. The rain outside still trickles down the windows of his van like the slick down the insides of your thighs and the sweat down your neck.

He notes that he was right, stray tears that avoided the puddling on your cheeks raced their way into your hairline. Rain into grass. Tears into hair. You’re crying for him like the sky does for it’s ground. Sobbing as your chest wracks from the overwhelming feelings ricocheting around your body. His cock is straining and he doesn’t know whether to hate himself for it, but you look so pretty with your glazed eyes and splotched skin. God, in this moment, his own emotions are too much for him, and he doesn’t know whether to cry himself or absolutely fucking ruin you, and he ponders it while tacking his thumb fondly at the diamonds on your skin, bringing the glitter to his mouth and sucking, tasting the salt.

He’s so caught up in you and that fact that he was able to give you that orgasm so intense that it made tears stain your face, that it makes his body pliant when you bend your leg around his waist and use the momentum to topple him over onto his back, sitting pretty atop of him as your overstimulation screams - but you want him to cum more than anything, and so you bounce. You ignore the protest that burns your thighs as you drop your hips down with purpose, hearing the squelch of your bodies and his eyes are rolling, noises from him filthy. His hands come to your hips and they grab bruisingly, pushing and pulling to assist you in your movements and you swell with pride as his head drops back with a clunk and a loud groan rips through his chest.

“Need you to cum, wanna feel you fill me” you purr down to him, lip popping to a pout and hand coming to rest on his chest, the other mimicking his earlier move and resting at his throat. And just like that, there’s a spasm of his hips and a tense of his abdomen beneath you. His warmth is coating your walls and it has your cunt locking down around him, taking everything he has from him. Milking him for all he’s worth.

His face is a picture - more than that, it’s art. You can’t help reach one hand out to let your fingers trace him. Over his sweat glistening forehead, over his swollen lips that you smush around slightly, flipping your hand so the back of it runs down his cheek. His eyes are lulling and he’s puffing deep breaths as his fingers remain cemented into the flesh of your hips. His chest is heaving…and then it’s shaking as he lets out a joyous laugh.

“Holy shit” he huffs a little exhale of a chuckle, clearly spent, and you giggle back down at him as he finally lets go of your hips that he’s marked with finger shaped marks, your skin sticking to his fingers slightly before they separate. He paws at your wrists to pull you down to lay flat atop of him, the feeling of your breasts on his bare chest has you both sighing and you didn’t expect to be pulled in for a kiss, but the sloppy, lazy smooch you were now a part of was one you couldn’t help but bask in.

Your face tracing resumes, with the added feature of playing with the ends of his hair once you’d pulled back. His softening cock slips from you, and it makes you wince at the feeling of emptiness. You shiver at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, and he must’ve thought you were cold as he pulled the blankets higher around you and reached for the joint that, in the end, did find the floor - and that’s how you were for the rest of the night. Passing the joint back and forth between you, listening to each others voices or just the rain as you kissed and held each other, feeling skin brush against skin. Soft squeals as he’d tickle your sides and gentle gasps as you’d nibble on his neck.

You didn’t want your time to be up with him, but soon you were feeding the last of the sandwiches to his ready and waiting open mouth as he eyed the road he was driving you back home on, the rain spattering and spitting at the windscreen and bouncing off the concrete. Although he didn’t really have crumbs to clear, you’d affectionately swipe at the corners of his mouth after he’d finish the section you’d fed him, and he’d chase a peck to your palm.

You were down bad.

It was suffocating. Your chest hurt sometimes to look at him with all the emotions that bubbled under the surface. And what’s worse is, you felt like you knew what he was going to say before. You ached to hear it, because then you’d know it wasn’t too soon for you to say it. And shit, you fought daily not to slip and spill your secret to him. But honestly? Did you care at this point? Your van rendezvous had turned into the highlights of your weeks. You’d impatiently watch the clock tick on your shift, the shifts where time had started to stand still, only for your stomach to shock with electricity with every step you took to your van that was always waiting in your little field for you.

Your van. Your little field.

Bad. Very, very bad.

What was this to him? It didn’t feel like hook ups in the back of his van. It didn’t feel like you were just a quick fuck. But…even you were, you don’t think you could stop.

But no. There’s something about the twinkle in his eye when he looks at you, isn’t there? You can feel the charge behind it and it’s almost too much to maintain any sort of eye contact when his brown orbs are burning into you. Gleaming like a clear night sky, stars glittering on their canvas. There’s something about the way he holds you, touches you. The way your bodies writhe together and the way he responds to your touches - you’ve noticed the hitches in his breath and watched the goosebumps that cheat his skin. It’s the way you laugh together, and it’s definitely the way his dimple is giving him away as he attempts to bite back the shy smile at the pad of your thumb swiping at his mouth, selling him out to the point he had to kiss your palm quick to mask it.

And so when he pulls up outside your house and you make to go inside, like many a night before and what you hope is many a night after, it’s out of your mouth before your brain even has time to stop it. Before it manages to cage it to keep it safe, frantically grappling to fortify your emotions and arm you. But the secret is impatient, and it’s been brewing and plotting. Swarming like a silent poison in your veins, it’s been tricking your tongue to act against its sanctuary and work on fighting rationality - escaping it’s clutches. Because, that’s the point isn’t it? It’s not rational. It never could be rational and it’s played to it’s strengths. It thanked the humid air and drizzle that made you feel less alone and prayed on your vulnerability to the moment.

And, it was the only thing that cut through the protection that nature provided you as soon as it left your lips. Clearing the air and drying it up just like the saliva in your mouth. Nerves settling and making everything static.

You kissed him like normal. A long, passionate kiss that had you licking into each other’s mouths and nuzzling noses, dropping gentle pillows of lips in pecks afterwards as if you couldn’t get enough. Quite frankly, it was sickeningly gross. But you were too happy to care.

“Bye” you slotted between pecks.

“Bye” he’d replied, eyes still closed and no efforts made by him to stop kissing you, to the point you’re giggling and his arms are tightening around you over the console as you try and move, a playful whine leaving him as your hand tries to grab at the handle to open the door. And then you’re giggling more as you’re squirming out of his grip and dropping down onto the gravel with him practically laying flat over the two seats with an arm outstretched to you dramatically. And you’d gone to wave like normal too when you reached his side window, but you’d noticed it had been wound down and he’d popped out of it like a jump-scare and pulled you back into another kiss that you both chuckled into. As you said, gross. Very, very gross. He even had a fucking magazine in hand to hold over your head to shield you from the drizzle - tooth rotting sweetness that you loved to hate.

And…then you said it.

That’s when the air stilled. When your stomach dropped as though the butterflies that flitted there all evening died and thumped to the pit of it.

“I love you” against his lips.

Like a fool. Like a lovestruck idiot.

And it was out there now with no going back. The secret thriving in the chaos of silence that lasted a second but spaced into hours. It just hung there in the air like the humidity had. Mocking you.

And…you took off. Of course you did. Right into your house - not giving him time to reply, if you think about it, but you had to get out of the suffocation your own words had brought upon you. Straight up the stairs you ran, into your room and when your door was quietly clasped shut, you paced the carpet with wide eyes and a pounding heart, nibbling anxiously at your fingernails.

Him? He was sat unmoving. Heart beating against his chest and it had rooted him to the spot. He hadn’t a clue what to do next, to the point it froze him in time. He couldn’t go after you, you still lived with your parents and he doubted now was a good time to knock. You also seemed to not want to see him right now. Should he call? Not now, it’s late. In the morning? And say what? Over the phone? No.

But it was out there now. In the van that you’d both somehow made your shared space. The words uttered and it couldn’t be undone. Movement coursed through him again as the slow motion seemed to skip back to real-time and catch up with him, bringing him back. He lent back against the headrest, and felt the soft cotton of your cardigan brush his neck.

A smile quirked his lips. That traitor of a dimple cratering in his cheek. He really hoped you’d show up to his van in your little field tomorrow. And god, he prayed that this time he didn’t chicken out.

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