Archive of Our Own

"Hey—woah!"

"Hi, Robbie—come on in!" you call into the hall, pushing Robert aside to let the people behind you pool their way in. "Right over there on that wall, please. We'll take it from there." You press Robert into the kitchen, kissing his stubbly cheek while he shakes his head in surprise.

Hands grip your shoulders firmly, and you look into warm brown eyes, seeing their surprise. "Hey, what's goin' on?" He asks, ducking and peeking around to see who exactly you invited into his apartment.

"Hi, hi," you pet his sides, letting your hands rest on his hips. He wiggles in your grip, looking over your shoulder. You look around your feet for your not-so-little favorite furry friend. "Where's my Beef?"

"Uh, Beef's with Chase—don't ignore me, please."

"Oh—some guys said they would deliver the furniture I found you—Robert!" You cut him off, eyebrows raising before he can object or deflect with another self-deprecating remark. "We talked about this," you remind him gently. "Remember?"

You'll remind him of the messages on your phone if you have to.

"Superheros need—what?"

Your Robert huffs a defeated laugh, fingers rubbing his forehead as he fights off a smile, "beds. They need beds." His hand falls, and he pinches his nose bridge a second, opening his eyes after a few breaths and nodding. "Just—"

"Robert," you draw out his name, tilting your head down and raising your brows. "You remember."

"I do, I just—" he gapes, sighing with a palm touching his forehead. "That was last week. . . You—You have a quick turnover, sweetheart." A smile worms its way on your face, and instead of words, you snuggle under his chin, letting your hands slide around his lower back. He's accepting in his own, weird way.

The first time you came over to Robert's place, you expected the worst. You hear things, you listen to the Z-Team when they tease their mousy dispatcher, you know the homes of bachelors—but seeing is believing. Robert was a hero after all and—

Stepping through, you were surprised he even existed. Nothing. No creature comforts. Barely any food. . .

You get that the paycheck of the average hero isn’t exactly life-changing, but you didn’t expect it to be this dismal. Your new—boyfriend, or whatever he prefers to be called, lives like a monk, though at least monks have a set place to rest their heads.

"So, this is the base of operations," Robert said, his chuckle fading awkwardly as your worried, concerned expression remained.

"Right. . . I, uh," you remember casting your eyes up, down, and around, "the lighting in here is—immaculate. Great natural light, and uh, plenty of light sources," your fingers touched the surface of a pink Himalayan salt lamp. There was a smooth spot, one from the chubby little guy lying on the only available pillow.

Of course. Kind Robert, taking care of the Beef more than himself.

You didn't breathe a moment, looking for the good things. A roof over his head. . . A full bathroom! Uh—

"It's terrible, I'm sorr—"

"Please! Don't be sorry!" You stepped over to Robert to comfort, a white bulb from a lamp with many branches hitting your cheek on the way there. You sputtered a second, sneezing from the dust it kicked up, before meeting his eyes. He laughed before you, smile wide and bright, and you joined in a second later, petting Beef that jumps on your leg to join in the antics.

"Alright, okay," Robert's voice was sweet in a manner that leaves your tummy feeling warm, breathy at the edges, and gentle. "I guess I need your help around here."

"That I can do."

"Nothing too crazy."

"Baby, you won't even bat an eye," you ease, petting his cheeks and kissing his nose. "We may have to splurge on a bed, though—nothing major, just—heroes need their sleep too, right?"

The brown eyes of your whatever-he-wants-to-be-called at the time crossed, looking at you, and you smiled when he pressed his forehead to yours. "Right."

You tried not to hesitate before the three of you headed back to your place. There were things that needed doing around the house, the kind only a big, strong guy could handle, and maybe you mentioned not wanting to be alone. It’s stayed that way because it’s convenient—close to work, already furnished, and. . .

Well, all that until technically now.

It kind of sucks. Turning Robert’s place into a home means you can actually go over and stay, but it also means no more face masks, no more long soaks in the bathtub while he rubs your feet, and no more of your familiar moody lighting. You already miss seeing him curled up in your cozy bed, eye mask and bonnet on, snoring softly, surrounded by fluffy blankets, pillows, and your emotional support plush.

. . .You don't think you'd survive prolonged boyfriend-air. His trials with girlfriend-air had too many people suddenly 'noticing' him at work. Gavin told you this since you're his favorite person to gossip with, of course. About girls asking Chase for tech help while looking over the partition walls like lost kittens for his attention, and boys trying to impress him in ways that make you thank heavens you're no longer on the market.

What would boyfriend-air do to you. . . Chase them away? Would it be obvious? Is it like—scent-marking?

You ponder over the potentially risky vibe of Robert’s possible boyfriend-air snapping out of it when you hear footsteps shuffling behind you. “Everything’s up,” someone says, and you spin around to meet the moving coordinator’s gaze, offering a smile as you pull a few bills from your bra. They’re. . . warm. You murmur an apology, but he just grins. “Ma’am, money’s money. Have a good one.” With a casual wave, he slips out, the door clicking shut as a welcome quiet settles over the room.

Robert looks at you amusedly, and you lift your shoulders, dropping them with an upside-down smile. "Need a buck?" you ask cheekily, fitting your hands under your bust, pressing and lifting, shimmying your shoulders.

"You are such trouble," Robert chuckles, chucking your chin as his eyes fail to leave your chest. They meet yours after taking their fill, and your breath hitches a second.

And you're the trouble?

You drop your hands, smoothing his shirt out while biting the inside of your cheek. "Anyway, look at the stuff I found," you take a calloused hand in yours, pulling the man behind you to the boxes.

"Did you buy all of this?" Robert asks, a touch skeptical and unnerved.

"Hell no! This is out of my work card."

"Sweetheart—"

"Blazer forgets I don’t actually need medical supplies, so cash just piles up," you say, waving your free hand. "Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be glad someone put them to use for her favorite dispatcher." You wink, laughing at his scoff and eye-roll. "We’ll be fine. She can just call it a write-off or something.”

"Yeah, whatever—I am not Blazer's favorit—"

"But you are—and it's okay, because you're my favorite, so I totally get it." You let go of his hand, pushing a box aside to tug forward the smaller one behind it. Robert laughs, shaking his head, leaving you smiling as you shift the rectangles and squares. "Plus, I'm one of her favorites too, so don't feel too special." You look at him from the corner of your eye, grinning at his raised brow and expression.

He looks like he wants to pry more, maybe argue, but instead, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline. "Of course not."

"Mhm, of course not," you kiss his chin, pushing him away before he can take your face in his hand and make you kiss him properly. You don't need that distraction now, not with him looking so fine in the morning light. "Her favorite HR disasters. . ." You scrunch your nose up at him, giggling a second later. "You have a toolbox, right? Men have those lying around, I've heard."

The man across from you rolls his eyes, and you wonder when they stopped fighting in wars before remembering you like having your sweet Robert around more than his bouts of 'sassy spells'. "I do," he says, moving to a closet to find what you've asked for.

"Good. Now, I'm doing the little ones, and you, Mr. Mecha Man, get to do the big ones." You blow him a kiss, squatting and tearing open the first box with your key.

"Okay—hey, wait!" you hear a clatter before his muffled voice clears. "This feels like a form of sexism."

"Sure, but I think we'll survive."

🤖

Watching Robert at work is undeniably attractive. His tousled hair and the casual way he grips screws between his lips catch your attention, as does the flex of his forearms while he twists the tools. The way he moves, squats, and shifts, occasionally revealing glimpses of skin, is hard to ignore.

Magic Mike didn't need to have strippers, just men like him, working on shit like bar stools.

Plus, you admittedly have a competency kink. There's nothing sexier than a man who knows what he's doing and doesn't need the attention of others to properly perform his task. And this is Robert. Possibly one of the most capable men you currently know.

You accost him sooner or later.

"Sweetheart—" he laughs, nose bumping against yours as you drag him this way and that, "wait a second, baby, what are ya doin'?" He huffs a bit when you push him back, and you hiss right after, having kicked a barstool.

"Oww," you whine, pushing the man backwards as you lean on him, "ow ow oww," your favorite curse of choice leaving your lips softly as you hop a bit.

And Robert—head-spinning, too-sexy, so-fine, all-yours, Robert—takes your weight eagerly, kissing your lips as your lips turn down a little. "Oh, poor baby," he teases lightly, kissing you again when you open your mouth to argue.

And sadly, the distraction works.

Only a few shuffles of your feet and you reach your destination—the bed. Your hands press down on his shoulders, making him grunt softly as he parts his lips with yours with a pop, sitting on the edge and looking up at you. Oh, those big brown eyes, the smattering of freckles under them, beside them, over his cute nose—everywhere—that smart, kiss-reddened mouth.

. . .He's in danger.

"Robert. . ."

"Yeah?" he asks, drifting hands over your hips. You forget when you want to say for a second, his warm, dry palms soothing under your shirt and up your sides. He tugs the hem, and you let him help you out of it, tossing it near the upside-down hamper before humming as he cups your tits.

"Mmm," you intone, circling your fingers around his wrists before letting them drag down to his forearms. Your finger teases the edge of his sleeves, and you lick your bottom lip while gathering a breath. A squeeze at your tit has your brain buffering, and the ticklish ghost of his thumb on the lace bordering your bra makes you forget how to form sentences. "You think it's okay?"

"More than," he mutters, slipping his finger under the lip of the fabric to see a peek of your areola, the soft skin rubbing on his fingernail.

"We'll be safe?"

"Safe?" Robert tilts his head forward, letting your fingers pinch the collar of his shirt, allowing it slip over his head as he shakes it off in the same direction as yours. "Baby, we'll be so safe," his hands replace themselves, squeezing a second before he moves then to your sides, pulling you in to press kisses to the stiff buds under thin fabric. His warm lips make you feel like you’re melting.

You shiver, threading your fingers through his mussed hair as you squirm between his legs. "It's soft?" you ask, breathily.

"Oh, never, sweetheart," his mouth opens, and he swipes a bold lick over your nipple, leaving the fabric hot with a wet heat that lingers. "Not with you around." Another round of kisses, another lick, Robert pulls back, brown eyes, filled with his pupil, "wanna see?"

You nod, moving when he presses against your hips to have you slide down next to him. Balanced on the edge of the bed, you let one hand brace yourself as you lean into him, prisoner to his pull. Taking your hand in his, he guides it to the front of his sweats, helping you stroke as he catches your face in his free hand, tilting your head to kiss you deeply. Breathy moans are fed into your mouth, and you squeeze, feeling heat spreading under your palm.

"Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck," he says tightly, hard and throbbing under your palm. His curses buzz across your mouth, and you bite his lip, leaving him whining a bit.

"I wanna ride you, Robbie," you whisper, trying to meld with him, meet and stoke the flames of his pleasure. "Real bad."

"You can," he says, eyes closed tight as you change the rhythm. He's so cute, you want to give him the world on a platter. "You so can."

You wonder how big a platter it would take to serve you up. And if Royd would be willing to help with the whole serving part. You could get him a cute little bow tie and suspenders. . .

Your fingers trace over scars and marks, "And after, I want you to do that thing—"

"Which—which thing, pretty girl?" His stutter makes you feel like you'll float from Earth. You let your fingers tighten again, kissing his cheek as you try to string together a sentence. "There are a few you—"

"—the one with your tongue and fingers," you gasp, his hand having left yours to press between your squeezing thighs. They fall open, knees touching again as you squirm at his touch. You're a mess, you can feel it, you know he can feel the sticky heat. "Where you have me between your—your legs. And—after that, the one with you ly-ing down," your voice whittles off at the end, thin and weak.

Robert presses a rumbly whine into your throat, one that makes you throb and slick more. You know he feels it under his fingers, and because of it, you earn another pleased rumble, this one lower and a second longer, in the junction of your neck, having you break out into goosebumps. "The one with you over me?"

"Mhm, that one."

"Depends. You wearing your panties?"

"Whatever you want."

"Panties," he says, laying you down to shimmy you out of your sweats, thumbs tracing the mismatched panties you wear. Basic things, cotton, older than your bra. "On," he decides, heatedly, looking to your eyes for your approval.

And you nod, wiggling the pants from your feet, slinging them across the corner of the bed. "On—okay, on."

You flip positions, your fingers dragging his sweats down until he pops out, and then a little more because you love his thick, furry thighs. He stretches under your gaze, reaching for the newly built nightstand, pulling the drawer, and fumbling a second for a—

"No condom," you nearly hiss at the thing being shown to you, its garish packaging making your lip curl. It's the gag ones Victor got you one day after having heard you at the party, Punch Up condoms, because of course he would be associated with dicks.

"No condo—? Baby, you asked to 'be safe' a second ago—"

You shake your head with a pinched expression, half-listening. Safe? No, that was—your eyes catch Robert's dick, spit precum on his belly, right into the hair he's started to keep a little unruly, and you're left more than distracted. You end up snatching the garish metallic square from his palm to throw across the room since you can't get the words to come out right. It lands sadly, scratching somewhere between the cardboard boxes stacked at the door.

"Okay, okay—"

You're being weird—primal. Oh god. The boyfriend-air! It's getting to your head. You haven't even stayed overnight!

Embarrassing!!

Sense comes to you like a wave of clarity at the tone, and you lock eyes with Robert, taking a breath to think over the want flooding your system. Shaking your head, you lick your lips, "Robbie? D'ya want. . ?" you point timidly to the cardboard landfill.

The man smirks, shrugging. "Not really," another spill of pre in now glistening pubic hair. Truth.

"Okay," you nod, feeling your ears fill again with cotton. "'Kay."

"Okay."

"Okay," you repeat again, dragging your panties to the side and hovering over him. He's helpful, holding himself up, lining you as best he can with lust-quivery fingers. It's a great job, though, and you both groan at the first touch, him from the warmth, you from the stretch. "God, okay."

"I didn't—we didn't—" Robert pants, hand fisting in the new sheets. "You okay?"

"Very," your voice is pitched high, but you are okay. You think.

Robert is just. . . sometimes a little 'unfriendly' to take when you're not stretched before. Frankly, he's not Mecha Man for his height; it had to go somewhere. And that's more than okay! You don't mind a bit of work, no worry about the deep burn, no, no, no. . .

You spit on your fingers, lifting up and rubbing them over his shaft, hopeful that you'll soon be wetter than both of you can stand. It's happened before, more times than you'd like to admit, but now, you find yourself waiting on that miracle.

"Oh, fuck, pretty girl, you feel s'fuckin' good," Robert slurs, and yeah, that praise may have been what you needed. You feel the flood of warmth pass through you, ending where you open for him sinfully, leaving a staccato heartbeat in your clit, another rush of heat after. It feels so nice to be understood.

A few more of those, and they'll have to call Niagara waterfalls the second biggest in North America.

You bounce over him, letting spit and your combined cum put in the work, slicking him up for you while you mindlessly grind. "You too," you say, pressing another inch further before lifting three, and sinking down three and a half as many more. A soft sound is pressed from you, and you feel your fingers tingle and shake. "Robbie, Robbie," you repeat softly, knowing the man under you will blush and go as mad as you. "Robbie, want you so deep."

A groan is your answer, the tick of hips another. Another inch, two out, three in, you can feel his hair tickling your inner thighs. You're close.

"Want you in my fuckin' belly, I swear."

His hands shake, his shoulders leaving the bed at the jerk from his abdomen like he's been punched. "Please—don't say that," he squirms, shaking his head. He looks at you with pleading fawn-colored eyes, unable to keep his gaze from burning you with its intensity.

It stirs something in you, something that aches and hungers. "Want that. I want it."

"Pretty girl, you're gonna have—it-it soon. You're doin' so—good," Robert's words fail a bit, and when you look, he's flushed to his ears, hot and sweaty under you, pretty brown eyes rolling around the ceiling like it holds your futures. "You're gonna take it—" Blushed down his chest, nipples peaked and stiff.

What an angel.

"I have before," you mutter, lidded eyes closing before you force them back open. Dry hands scramble for your waist, and you lean into the touch, pleased by his show of care as he presses you up. Not off of him, just from collapsing. He knows you’re itching to catch a glimpse of his handsome face from where you are. What a guy. "I've taken you before, I know I can—again," you hiccup, thighs burning as you shift closer. "I'm close," your fingers move from their comforting hold on your tits to his heaving belly, pressing into the soft health he's gained, before moving again—between you.

If Robert could cover his ears, you think he would. Instead, his brows talk for him, drawn tight as if he can't stand to think about what you're saying, what you're doing.

You brush fingers over what's left, smiling dopily a second as your head tilts forward. "Robbie," you draw out, seeing his shut eyes. "Robbie—feel, baby," he keens from the name, removing a hand from your waist to slip between you. "You feel?"

His wrist moves under your clasped hand, muscles and sinew moving powerfully as he follows your instruction. "I—I've been feeling, sweetheart—fuck. You're tryin' t'kill me—" You press his hand further, knowing you draw nearer to trapping it between you if he doesn't move.

"No, I'm not," you nearly whine, lifting an inch, dropping—to him. Your cunt flutters, and you feel a wave soak between you. Robert's fingers wiggle, pressing into the sensitive outside of your pussy, making you gasp at the brush on your clit. "Oh, my goodness."

"Baby—" He slips his hand away the best he can, the back of his hand wet and sticky now.

"Oh my goodness," no matter the number of times, the first full stretch will always be stellar, ear-ringing, toe-curling, mouth-slacking, unfailingly good. You roll your hips, and the sound leaves you, unbidden, sharp and light. Your center gives out, and you realize you’re falling before either of you has a chance to react.

Still, you circle your hips, eyes darting beneath your lids as your torso slowly drops to meet his. "Hold me," you whisper, eyes opening a touch to see Robert, to make sure he's heard and understood your soft call, "hold me tight." You keep lowering, slow from the full feeling in you, near overwhelmed already,

Robert, good for it as always, wraps you in his arms when you touch him fully, moving his chin to give you a space at his neck, panting and throbbing in you all the while. "Got you, sweet girl," he says. "Still me."

"I know."

You know. And like that first time in the conference room, it makes things worse. In that 'holy shit' way.

Nothing more to say, you feel the twinge in your gut tells you to keep going. There's something you're chasing, and staying still won't bring it closer, no matter how mind-numbingly comfortable. A roll of your hips and color splashes behind your eyes, leaving you whining. Your nose presses into Robert's neck, a patch of hair he missed shaving, scratching your cheek, bringing you back to Earth.

"Robbie," you sigh, tucking your hands into his gasping sides, arching your back, and letting it relax. Another burst, another tug to the elastic around your navel. "Oh, you feel so good in me, gosh. Hittin'—so much. You're jus' so fuckin'—"

"Baby, baby, baby," you hear repeated, the same way you do when you start feeling particularly fucked dumb. Warm fingers crawl their way down your back, cupping your ass and helping you move, just barely. "Baby, baby, oh jeez."

You huff a weak laugh. "Good jeez?" You ask, digging your nails into his sides as he twitches and fucks into you shallowly. You can hear how wet you've gotten, and. . . yeah, jeez makes sense.

"Good. Great. Exceptional—"

"Robbie," you giggle.

"—Jeez. I promise."

You let your hips down a touch harder this time, feeling the zing of it shoot up. It traverses over your skin, through your spine to the base of your skull, down to your fingertips that squeeze. Mouthing over lines of stretch marks on Robert's shoulder, you moan, feeling your nipples tighten and press into the warm chest beneath you. "Mkay," you mutter, trembling, knowing you're on your last few minutes.

A quiet utterance of his name has him humming yours back, his fingers stroking over your skin. "My girl's so soft," he says, whining at the end from your walls fluttering around him. "You're so close, aren't you?" Your nails dig in a touch before you nod.

Your eyes feel heavy, and after a few rolls of your hips, you finally remember how to speak. "What gave me away?" you puff out, biting Robert's shoulder to ground yourself. You're very close, grinding your clit into the solidness of Robert, into the pillow of hair that covers him, leaving him wet and you trembling.

"I just know how you feel when you're close," the man beneath you shifts, cupping your ass and feeling your languid, but feverish, tempo. Your hips clap down, and you feel him stiffen under you a second before forcibly relaxing. "I know the feeling. I've—I've felt you cum on my dick," you gasp, fingers squeezing him. "On my f-fingers," another helpless gasp, another squeeze, this one from your thighs around his slim hips and waist, constricting him. "On my tongue."

"Which—" you moan loudly in his ear, shifting on your knees, feeling almost fussy from how he speaks to you, about you, knows you, feels in you. "Which is your-your favorite?" A whine follows your question, building up into a yowl that Robert shivers from. His skin breaks into gooseflesh under your cheek, and in your daze, you attempt to lick it away.

There's a buzz that's only gotten louder in your ears, a rushing current under that, beating wildly in your head.

"'M not ranking that, baby," Robert says, fingers digging under the curve of your bottom. "Could never rank that. Not how you feel good—not when it makes me feel this good." You press up weakly, sweat-wet cheek sliding against his until you meet his eyes. "Every-fuckin'-time." You've always thought of them as being so damn pretty. Dark, filled with humor and warmth, gentle. They don't look at you, they caress you, hug you, hold you dear—and you don't care how cheesy that sounds!

Even now, filled to the brim with lust, you can see the sweetness that Robert so rarely shows.

"Every time?"

"Every."

"Even when you can barely take it. When-when I can barely take it? When you can't make me squir—"

"God, baby, your mouth—" Robert lifts your bottom, settling you over him a touch heavier, somehow deeper though he hasn't moved an inch in your direction. "Ev-e-ry."

"I-I wouldn't force you to choose," you whisper, rushed and slurred, catching your breath as it's pressed from you, "I'm close, Robbie. Real real close," your hands shift, arms curling under Robert's shoulders as your hips stutter through circles and lifts. Fingers digging into surely sore muscles, you're granted a broken groan, Robert throwing his head back as his pretty eyes close. "Robbie," you whine, desperation edging your senses. Shaking, you can't stop shaking, you bump your forehead into his chin, bringing him back to you.

"I hear you, pretty girl," he says, and you can now feel his forearms flexing on your sides. You didn't realize he was still helping you up and down, and his grunt of exertion from a sharp thrust now has you too aware. "G'head, baby, I feel you clenchin' down," he slots his mouth with yours, sloppily kissing you, though you have little control over your lips.

Your lips hover over his and—"'M there,"—it's half a whisper, but Robert hears it, and seals his mouth over yours, swallowing your moans as your body stiffens and rolls through your orgasm. Your tongue touches his, and he licks over it, slowly transitioning to panting into your mouth when neither of you can consciously participate in kissing. You cry softly through it, shivering and pulled tight, eyes squeezed shut as you try to think straight. Your ears ring, and again, you can barely tell up from down.

An impossible challenge you have.

"There's my sweet girl."

Made impossible-er. . .

That's not a fucking word. Things are pretty tough for you at the moment.

"Robbie," you sob, jerking slightly as light returns to your senses. Ears buzzing, you hear your stilted little cries, sobbing once again when your knees give, and you're plastered to his body. Oh—he's still thick in you, still hard. You say his name again, head lying over his shoulder as your mouth drools. "Want you t'cum, too."

Robert's chest vibrates under you, and you shiver again, feeling drained but still so excited. You get this way about him, who wouldn't? The cuteness-aggression in you has nowhere to go, so you end up softly fluttering around his cock again, leaving you subject to another Robert-whine-moan-groan-whimper.

Who cares. He feels good.

"But you're—I don't wanna—"

"Robbie—"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Fuck me," your fingers clench, and you feel your hips tilt in anticipation. "I know what 'm sayin'. I want you to." You rise onto your knees, unsteady, wobbly, chest pressed into his still, but it would work. Robert's smart.

When he digs his heels into the bed and drives you up a few inches more, you squeal softly. You weren't expecting a quick turnover, but—it's Robert. Why would you ever expect something normal from him?

He makes easy work of you, hands clasped under the fold of your hip, driving you down as much as his hips force you up. He rolls into you, touching sensitive things that your body collects and feeds. Like starting a fire, the kindling in you catches from his coaxing, and you know you're doomed.

You can't say a thing. You moan softly instead.

You're soaked, he is too, as it would happen, messily bouncing you over his hips, skin slapping and sticking messily. Toes curling, you bite your lip, feeling your eyes roll back in your head.

"You're close again, sweetheart," Robert says, and you feel him twitch in you thickly. "I feel it."

"You, too," you whisper.

"Still want me to cum for you? In you?"

Chants of excited agreement leave your lips, and in the scant seconds he hears it, he's cumming too, shooting in you hotly. You feel the warmth shoot up your spine again, and in the aftermath, you hum, snuggling into his neck as he pants and shakes under you, slim hips still fucking up, deeper and deeper and deeper.

Robert doesn't announce when he cums, he hasn't when he's fucking you, it's just a feeling. A flood of warmth, a full feeling, his dick twitching madly in you, his soft whistle as he comes down. He stays on the edge of hard for a few more minutes, and you both have come to decide you like the feeling of sticking together like this a bit longer. When you both can stand it, that is.

Today is one of those days.

Robert's hands stroke up and down your back, one drifting further up to play with the hair of your nape. You want to purr at the feeling, but can't, so you hum softly and wiggle. He hums back, the end turning into a rumbly chuckle. Nosing at his throat, you smile, toes curling as he touches a bit firmer, forever sweet on you.

But you can't let him think you're too sweet; you'd lose the pull you have over him. A small swivel of your hips, and your knees squeeze his hips as overstim flows through you like a tsunami. The poor man beneath you, too, hissing, nails catching on your lower back, dick jerking and milking inside of you.

"Menace," you giggle, yelping as he swats at your ass lightly.

"Always," you say, pressing a firm kiss to the vein jumping on his neck. It thuds under your lips, and you feel your head get cottony again.

Robert. . . you're overcome with the need to doodle his name in your journal.

You lie there, sleepy and sated, sighing softly when he slips from you finally, shivering from the flood of cum that leaves your body.

There are no words exchanged as he shifts you to the bed, pressing a chaste kiss to your ear. You curl up like a kitten in his warm spot as you watch him leave, eyes trained on his cute butt. He slips through the door, and you listen intently as he explores his freshly stocked bathroom, a soft smile forming at the sounds of his discovery. You hear the safety seal of some wipes tear after a time, and hear him padding back to the bedroom. He's wiping himself quickly, catching your eyes, and smiling at you.

"Open up?" He asks, of course, holding your eyes as he grasps your knee and pulls it a touch wider. "It's cool," he warns, looking down as he wipes you gently, brown eyes flitting over you again and again to check on you. Your eyes fall shut at the repetitive movements, and you let him take care of it.

The trash liner in the corner crinkles, letting you know he's thrown the wipes in, and you stay soft and silent as he pulls open drawers.

"How did you organize this?"

"It's my passion," you whisper, lolling your head to watch him slip on a pair of tighty-whitey's. "Cute," you whisper again, sticking your tongue out as he throws you an annoyed look. He brings back a shirt for you, having you sit up so he can slip it over your head. It’s something he’ll grow into (hilarious), resting comfortably across your thighs.

Robert nudges you over on his Full-sized bed (the only thing that would fit), curling around you and keeping you close. You shift in his hold, wiggling, earning his tuts. "Careful, baby. You should rest."

You should, but it’s not necessary.

. . .you choose this once to hold your peace. You can reset his refractory period with a kiss, and if you want it, you will get it.

Lying still, the life outside makes its way in, sounds bouncing wall to wall from the open window; a cement truck, distant sirens. Your speaker still sounds softly, playing your Mom's Saturday cleaning playlist.

Erykah Badu drifts in and—

"The bed?" You mumble incoherently. It startles Robert, who must have thought you were resting already.

"Huh?" fingers you know well tighten on your hand, the other under your head opening gently. "What are you talkin' about, sweetheart?"

"The bed," you repeat, dumbly, thinking of how to say what you need.

"You talking nonsense?" Robert asks, sounding sleepy. "What's worryin' you about the bed?"

"It needs to inflate," you piece together, "like over 48 hours or somethin'." The man behind you goes still, thinking, before moving closer to you.

"Okay?"

"So. . ." you draw out, eyes blinking sluggishly. "Do you think it'll still be safe? I asked you earlier."

". . .oh-kay I think we had a little miscommunication."

In the end, your worry gets the better of you, and Robert moves you both to the small sectional you found in his favorite blue. You rest there only a few seconds before you're compelled to kiss him again, and he looks at you drolly, understanding his nap would be cut short from the burst of energy you gave him.

"We should christen these surfaces, too. Don't you think?"

"My pretty girl, you are such trouble. . . fingers or tongue first?"