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myokk · 2 months ago

Text

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving)

a/n: or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be. I've been working on this for a MONTH more or less, ever since I drew the sketch that inspired it🫶 (I'm the world's slowest writer)

The first time Sebastian Sallow interacted with her after the fateful events of their fifth year, he fell for her.

Quite literally.

Maybe fell on her is more aptly put - Sebastian Sallow is not one to mince his words or say what he doesn't mean, after all. But, in the years to come, he always insists that he fell in love in that moment.

It was inexplicable. One moment, he was walking around, perfectly content with his loveless, boring life, and the next, his every waking moment was painful. Nobody had ever told Sebastian that being in love would physically pain or consume him so.

It all started like this: one moment, he's walking (well, striding) to Crossed Wands. Fine, he's running. Running late already, for the first meet-up of his last year. But - he isn't to blame for being late. He needed to check on something in the library - during his Transfiguration lesson, he had a hunch about something Professor Weasley had said in passing, and of course he had to go and check to see if he was right before he could even think about besting Leander in the inaugural duel of the Crossed Wands season but now, with how late he is - how many minutes ago had it started? - oh, Merlin, it's already been ten whole minutes and what if they've started without him (not that he can blame them) and -

Sebastian is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he collides with a strange obstruction in his way. He was just checking his father's old pocket watch, had only looked away for a split second and he could have sworn that, unless he was mistaken (which he never is), there wasn't a statue in the middle of the suspension bridge. And yet, he has run headfirst into something or someone, and now they are both flying through the air, books whirling around them in a flurry of pages and Sebastian unconsciously puts his arms out to grab her before they hit the ground and now he's holding her tight against him and they land with a loud, ungraceful thud, but at least she's not hurt.

Sebastian shakes his head to clear it after the impact that - miraculously - doesn't seem to have been as bad as it could have been, all things considered, and -

He freezes.

What has he done?

He's pressed up against the most impossibly lovely person he has ever seen quite possibly in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as she glares up at him in indignation, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, making her face glow. Is this what the muggles mean when they say that they were struck by Cupid's arrow? Her hands scrabble uselessly at his chest as she tries to extricate herself from his grip. It's useless. Sebastian is completely frozen in place as he stares down at her, and he can feel his own face heating up at his inability to get off her. What's wrong with him?

"Sebastian," she repeats, and this time her voice registers in his brain. He realizes she has been talking to him this whole time, and as he stares at her face without comprehending - he couldn't have a coherent thought right now even if he wanted to - he sees her eyes dart quickly down, looking at where their bodies meet before she brings them back to his face, a deeper blush coming over her. "You -"

Oh, Merlin. It's her. He blinks and it's like the fog has cleared from his mind - almost, but-not-quite - and he realizes who he has unceremoniously crashed to the ground with him. The spines of the textbooks they are lying on top of dig into the arm that's pinned under her body and his other hand...he realizes (to his almost-horror) that to any students or professors walking by, it would seem as if they were caught up in quite the scandalous extra-curricular activity because his other hand is actively caressing her breast. Well, that's how it would look to any passerby, anyways.

Because there is no way he would be caught dead in such a compromising position with her.

The two of them haven't spoken since the events of their fifth year - the Year-That-Shall-Not-Be-Remembered-or-Acknowledged - and he had been perfectly content with his plan to continue this strange sort of ignoring that they had played all last year. Both of them pretending that they hadn't become impossibly close after only knowing each other for a few months - a closeness that he had gone and ruined by not knowing when to quit. All he had known to do back then was push push push because why couldn't she see things the way he had? The betrayal he had felt when she had gone behind his back to find her own way to cure his sister, and that one stupid word uttered in the heat of the moment, had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and he would not allow himself to think about how much he missed her. Still misses her.

Just like he will not think about the fact that she is pressed beneath him in a compromising position, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares up at him in indignation. He continues to stare at her. Maybe his mouth is agape. She's stopped trying to get out of his grip and is resting her hands on his chest, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to push him off of her.

"Sebastian. Your hand," she repeats. "You're -"

Finally his idiot brain decides to wake up and Sebastian realizes with horror just how aroused he is at the moment and how did he never see her like this before? He gets up in a flash, pushing her back against the pile of books they're lying on top of, wondering if he can subtly adjust his robes without her realizing and then he makes the very grave mistake of looking down at her and she's still very much red-faced, propping herself up by her elbows and she looks so disheveled and lovely lying on top of the pile of books.

His idiot brain has now woken up completely, and how is it possible for one hormonal, eighteen-year-old wizard to be so embarrassed? He knocked her to the ground, pushed her further back in the books in his desperate attempt to get away from her, and now all he can think about is how to hide his arousal. Shameful, really. Sebastian quickly crouches down to help her pick up all of the books but she shoves him away and glares at him with an annoyance that he's never seen before.

"I can do it myself, thank you very much," she says with a huff, gathering everything they spilled up into her arms. She grabs the book Sebastian is holding out of his hands and he inhales sharply at the touch of her fingers grazing his.

Did someone - Garreth, maybe - spike his pumpkin juice with Amortentia during lunch? It's the only explanation he can think of as he stares blankly down at her. How else would he find her so beautiful, so breathtaking, when the last time they had interacted, Ominis and Anne had had to act as intermediaries for the two of them?

"Well," she says finally, slinging her school bag over her shoulder once all of her books have been unceremoniously shoved inside of it, "it's been...nice seeing you again, Sallow. I hope you had a good summer holiday."

And with that, she quickly turns and walks away in the direction she had been coming from, leaving a very confused Sebastian behind. He watches her as she walks away and her long, swishing braid is the last thing he sees before the door closes behind her at the far end of the bridge.

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

He does not go to the first Crossed Wands meeting that afternoon after all.

She has not had a full-night's sleep since he somehow cursed her mind and her thoughts a week ago, and she can feel herself slowly slipping into insanity. A curse is the only answer that makes sense, the only thing that gives a conceivable answer to all the wicked dreams she has been having since that moment, dreams that cause her to wake up sweaty and breathless and needing him in the middle of the night in a way she has never felt before. She has been an absolute mess, a disastrous version of her normally quite put-together self, and she is not happy about it.

He's sitting next to her now - they were partnered up by the evil Professor Onai in their first NEWT Divination class of the year - and she's holding herself rigidly, arms tight across her chest, in an attempt to not accidentally touch him. Lately, every single time they make fleeting eye contact across the table during breakfast, or when they pass each other in the hallways, a shiver runs down her spine at the unfamiliar look in his eyes and she has to avert her eyes before it's too much.

Divination has never been a favorite subject of hers - too impermeable for her tastes. She is only taking it at the NEWT level because, during her career counseling with Professor Ronen at the end of her fifth year, he had said that if she wanted to be an Unspeakable she couldn't just work with logic (a preposterous thought, but as a sixteen-year-old she hadn't seen any recourse in arguing with the Ministry's requirements). She supposedly needs to get comfortable with the intangible as well. It doesn't mean she has to enjoy it, though: she doesn't, and never will. The Divination classroom is dark and stuffy, tucked away in one of the highest towers of the castle, and the nauseating smell of incense always coats her nasal cavities long after the class has finished. She finds her thoughts getting muddled in the haze of candle smoke and swirling orbs on the shelves around her - magic somehow always feels thicker up here - and the presence of a certain someone whose knees keep brushing hers under the tiny table they're sharing, a certain someone who has - improbably, inconceivably, impossibly - hit a growth spurt that summer and now towers over her and had encompassed her completely when he knocked her to the ground, isn't helping her concentration at -

"This week, we are going to review everything we learned together last year," Professor Onai says, after the class had rearranged itself based on her instructions. Sebastian shoots a look at her as she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it and sits up straighter. She hopes that Onai's lecture will help her concentrate and clear her mind a bit. If she has something to focus on, to try and think of and remember, it will be better than him. Anything would be better than Sebastian. Onai gives an appraising look to each table before continuing her speech. "As your NEWTs are at the end of the year, we need to make sure you are as prepared as possible. Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty. Today we're going to review the art of palmistry. I should hope that you do not need the aid of your textbook to help interpret the lines in your partner's palm but in the case that you do -"

She chances a glance at Sebastian before getting out her copy of Divining the Undivinable from her bag and wishes she hadn't. He looks uncomfortably big sitting on the tiny tea chair across from her, barely any hints of the boy who had completely swept her away two years ago visible on the sharper planes of his face. When had he - had they - grown up?

Sebastian Sallow was - is - charming, and that had been her downfall. She had successfully avoided his charms the year before, and she wasn't going to let that happen this year, no matter how much her body rebelled against her mind and resolve. Because, as she reminds herself, Sebastian Sallow is also manipulative, and cold-hearted, and selfish.

"Well," she says archly, opening her book. She will not look at him. "I suppose I am still quite ignorant of the practice of Divination, so do forgive me if I have to double-check my readings in the textbook."

He says her name as she opens the book, and she ignores him. He says her name again. She continues to ignore him. He grabs the book from her hands and puts it the correct way for her. She was looking at it upside-down. Her cheeks heat up and she continues flipping through the pages, as if nothing has happened. She finds page two-hundred and thirty. She pretends to be interested in what she sees.

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

"Do you want to start, or should I?"

These are the first words she has voluntarily spoken to him - not including the events of last week, which do not count as they were most decidedly not voluntary - since he called her ignorant a year and a half ago. He somehow looks surprised to see that she has addressed him, and for some reason this fills her with rage and a strange sort of confidence. Why shouldn't she be able to talk to him?

"Here," she says, putting her hand out towards him, palm up, ignoring the strange fluttering feeling in her chest when he gently grabs it with one of his. Sebastian looks up at her, waiting for her to continue speaking, and were she not looking at him so intently she would have easily missed the bob of his throat as he swallows nervously. "Show me how it's done."

Her breath catches in her throat at the small, mischievous smirk he shoots to her before he bends over her hand and gently starts tracing the lines on her palm with the fingers of the hand that's not holding hers in place. His touch is feather-light and somehow soft, despite the roughness of his fingers as they drag over her palm. Every nerve in her body seems to have moved to wherever he touches and all of the bravado and anger she had just felt is quickly melting away. When she finally finds her voice, she hates how soft and breathy it sounds. She can't look away from the sight of his larger hands caressing hers.

"Well? What do you see? Do you remember the different lines? Because I -"

She falters. The murmurs of their classmates blend together in the background and the dim lights of the candles...the hazy, thick atmosphere and his proximity and the barely there touches of his rough fingertips on her sensitive palm are altogether too overwhelming and she needs to get out of there. She's supposed to be angry with him. Furious, even. Holding this grudge has been the only way she has been able to have any sort of power over him this past year, and yet...all she can think about at the moment are the sinful dreams she's been having lately where he presses her against a wall, desperately kissing her lips, her neck - even she knows that there has to be more to it - but what?

Sebastian blinks as she snatches her hand away like it's been burned and - oh, Merlin - she shoves the textbook back into her schoolbag and almost knocks the candle on the table over and wouldn't it be awful if she had started a fire? But she can't think about any of that now in her haste to just get out of the claustrophobic Divination tower.

Vaguely, she can hear Professor Onai asking her if everything is fine and she's not sure but she thinks she mumbles something about needing to go to the Hospital Wing - that's a good enough excuse to leave, isn't it? - but then she hears his voice, deep and cutting through the fog in her mind -

"Don't worry, I'll take her and make sure she gets there fine." A muffled response from their professor and then his voice, just as clear as before. "No, I don't know what happened..."

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice as she gazes into his deep, brown eyes. He can tell she doesn't mean it and doesn't make any move to listen to her. Why can't she hold on to the rage? A muggle quote about anger floats through her mind: Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. What a sweet poison her anger at Sebastian had been, while it lasted. She tries telling herself that he must still feel the same as the evening he had called her ignorant (ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her of the letters of apology he had sent (that she had burned without reading), the times he had tried to get Anne or Ominis involved and apologize for him) - because why couldn't he just tell her himself? Maybe she had shut down any and all attempts he had made to repair the rift that he had caused in the first place, but she had been right to be so angry with him.

But oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

She knows she's behaving wantonly, snogging Sebastian Sallow in the middle of the hallway where anyone could come across them, but third period has only just started and besides, she has had a week of restless nights being tortured by thoughts of him. A week of a few hours of sleep found here and there. Just one kiss should be enough to help her get over these strange feelings, right? She only feels like this because having him lie on top of her after he crashed into her - that satisfying weight of him - the friction of his thumb brushing against her nipple - had made her realize just how stupid she had been, holding this grudge against him for -

She whimpers in protest but it quickly turns into a moan as his mouth moves away from hers and down to her neck. He pulls at her tight collar desperately - she hears some seams ripping - to give him better access to it, and she finds herself arching her back and pushing her body closer to his as he nuzzles her neck with his nose before giving it open, sloppy kisses. When he hears her, he moves back to kissing her, greedily capturing every breathy moan that comes out of her mouth, but the noises coming from him are matching hers, and at the sound she feels an unfamiliar clenching deep in her stomach. Her fingers come up to his hair, going through the silky curls over and over - how are they as soft as his lips? - and he slowly pushes her back until she's sandwiched between his warm body and the cold stone of the wall behind her.

He lets out a low, frantic growl as a hand goes to grip the back of her head, holding her in place as he slants his mouth over hers. He tastes like cinnamon and...like something forbidden. What has gotten into her? She hates him, and yet...

They have abandoned any pretense of propriety - had they ever even been trying? - by this point. His tongue swipes across her lips and then she is completely lost to him, to every sensation of his mouth, and tongue, on hers. His large hands - the wicked hands that had been caressing her palm and had caused this whole mess in the first place - have moved to her waist and are pulling her even closer to him. When he pulls away briefly, she whines in protest, opening her eyes to glare at him. The sight of him, flushed and breathless, his eyes wide and pupils dilated - must match her own appearance because she sees the same hunger she feels in his eyes. She has never seen Sebastian Sallow so disheveled, but she finds she quite likes it and tugs on his curls with a whine. He obliges eagerly, bringing his mouth back to hers.

She's pressed as tightly against him as she can possibly be, and yet it still isn't enough. Her back arches once again, trying to find something, and then he slots one of his knees between her legs. She moans at the friction caused by his movements, can feel an unfamiliar slickness forming at the juncture between her legs, and this seems to spur him on further as his kisses get more desperate and sloppy. She moves against his leg, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, gasping into his mouth, when -

They freeze. Even if they are fully, completely, absorbed by...whatever this is, they can't ignore the strange, metallic clanking sound coming from their left. Sebastian pulls his head back from her slowly, reluctantly, breathing heavily, and looks over to see what the noise is. She wants to, but all of a sudden the horrifying reality of what they've been doing sinks in and oh god what if the noise is a person? Someone who has now seen her in what might possibly be the most mortifying moment of her life - desperately snogging Sebastian Sallow - and she finds she can't look over. She tucks her head into his neck to hide her face as she listens.

"I demand that you get away from her at once, you knave! Cease your attack!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but she's certain that it doesn't belong to any of her classmates. He almost sounds...medieval, but -

"I made haste when I heard sounds of distress coming from down the hallway," the voice continues, "and it appears I have arrived not a moment too soon!"

She brings her head away from Sebastian's shoulder but still refuses to look over at whoever is speaking, instead choosing to stare at Sebastian's face. He's still deliciously flushed from their snogging, still breathing heavily, but now he looks terribly confused. His brows are furrowed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with a response to the outrage currently being directed at him.

The unknown man is continuing his diatribe, almost not even stopping to breathe as he gets more and more worked up, and she hears some more clanking as he reaches a particularly exciting moment in his rant. Sebastian looks increasingly confused, but still shields her with his body, not moving away from her at all despite the accusations.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks over to see who it is.

The man who has been reprimanding Sebastian so boldly is none other than Sir Cadogan. Although she's never interacted with him directly, she often hears him yelling at his pony as she passes his portrait on her way to Divination. The knight is standing between two witches having tea, who are glaring at him quite angrily as he gesticulates wildly - every movement of his sword comes dangerously close to their display of cakes and sandwiches and it looks like he has already broken some plates. His armor is ill-fitting and loose on him, which explains the terrible noise.

"You rascally knave! I assure you that you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you do not unhand the fair maiden."

He brandishes his sword again, and the woman closest to him quickly snatches her tea cup away to save it from being broken as well. "Come now, Sir Cadogan," she says, exasperated. "Can't you see that these two are in love?"

The other woman joins her protests, nodding vigorously. "Yes, exactly that. Leave them be!"

"Nonsense," he exclaims. "I too have succumbed to my baser instincts on occasion and I can assure you that this is decidedly not what is occurring."

As Sir Cadogan continues to alternate between lecturing her and Sebastian, and directing his two attention to the ladies who are defending them, she looks back to the boy in question. Sebastian is looking down at her, a bemused smile on his lips and she feels a twinge in her chest. His face is still so close to hers that if she wants to, they could be snogging again with barely any effort and her eyes briefly flicker down to his tempting mouth before going back to his eyes, but...

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

He had somehow managed to manipulate her again, because there is no way that this situation could have happened otherwise. All of a sudden, the anger she's been feeling for the past year and a half - that had left for a brief, blissful moment - surges again, and she pushes Sebastian away from her with as much force as she can muster. She almost feels bad as the happiness in his face turns to confusion, then frustration as he realizes she's getting away from him.

"Stay away from me," she hisses, picking up her discarded schoolbag from its spot on the ground. As she stalks down the hall, she can hear Sir Cadogan cheering on her bravery over the ringing in her ears.

She has a lot of thinking to do.

Sebastian Sallow's List of Priorities (in no particular order):

Figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate;

Figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this bloody Charms essay before tomorrow; and

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

Sebastian sits in an undisturbed corner of the library - nobody ever comes to this table because it's tucked away between shelves of incredibly dense magical theory books - and is twirling his quill in his fingers, watching the ink splatter on the list he spent his precious time writing instead of the Charms essay he should be working on. He's far away from the first-years who like to congregate by the windows and watch the leaves fall softly to the ground rather than study for their classes. He's made especially sure that he is far, far away from her.

It's not his choice, mind you, but he needs to be a gentleman about these things. If she needs some time and space to figure out that she's as crazy for him as he is her, fine. But even Sebastian Sallow's patience runs thin, and he's not sure how much longer he can give her to come to her senses before he snaps and takes matters into his own hands. If things were up to him, the two of them would be sitting far too close together now in this secluded corner, and maybe he would need to put a hand over her mouth to ensure her complete silence as he runs a hand up her thigh.

Now that he knows what delicious sounds can come out of her mouth - sounds that he caused - he's been having a hard time concentrating on, well, anything. Sebastian surreptitiously glances across the library to where she's sitting and studying with his sister and Imelda. Ever since the events after their Divination class, Sir Cadogan has taken it upon himself to follow Sebastian around the halls of the castle, tripping through frames and disrupting their inhabitants as he lectures Sebastian on love. The tea party women had managed to convince the knight that he had disrupted an amorous exchange, and Sebastian fervently wishes they hadn't.

The whole school is abuzz with rumors about who it could be. Nobody has even come close so far with their guesses, but Anne and Imelda are having too much fun teasing him about it. Somehow, she has managed to avoid suspicion - he wonders how this is even possible, since she's never been able to hide what she's thinking. He makes eye contact with her - has she been staring at him this whole time? - and she flushes before looking over to Imelda, who's laughing too loudly at something Anne's just said. Sebastian can't tear his eyes away from her profile, his eyes following the curve of her eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips as she smiles at her friends, her eyes as they dart back to him, her cheeks as she turns an even darker shade of red as she realizes he's still watching her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and rests her chin on her hand as she tries to look absorbed in what Anne is saying to her.

Sebastian wonders if she's thought about him as much as he's thought about her. Judging by how she had snogged him back, he's positive that she feels the same way, but then he remembers how she had looked at him before she fled, and he's not so sure. He sighs as he looks back to his list, bringing his quill back to the third item and ripping the paper as he crosses it out again. His mind has been going in circles since that moment and he doesn't know what to think. He slowly puts everything into his schoolbag before heading out of the library for yet another freezing cold shower that hopefully tempers his now-permanent state of arousal whenever she's around.

He doesn't notice her eyes following him as he walks out of the library.

He doesn't hear her hurried excuse to Anne and Imelda as she shoves her things into her bag and rushes to follow him.

He doesn't hear her light footsteps as she gets closer to him.

When she puts a hand out to touch his arm as he waits for the moving staircase to stop, with a soft, "Sebastian" accompanying it, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He was so absorbed with thoughts of her, that to see her standing at his side, closer than she had been since they kissed was almost his snapping point.

"Can we talk?" she asks, looking almost embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. She instead looks determinedly at his collar. He thinks she probably notices that he swallows nervously before acquiescing, but she says nothing as she turns and starts hurrying away from him without waiting to see if he follows her.

She must know that he would follow her anywhere at this point.

They weave through hallways - Sebastian vaguely wonders where exactly they're going - before reaching a little alcove, hidden by a suit of armor. She looks around before pulling him into it. It's almost curfew and the halls are never that busy when the weather is as beautiful as it has been these days - the end of September seems to be clinging on to the summer for as long as possible.

Her lips are on his before he can even ask her what she needed to talk with him about, hungry and desperate. Sebastian is too stunned to pull away - not that he would actually want to. Her arms wrap around his neck, keeping Sebastian close, slender fingers sliding through his hair.

"What," she says breathlessly between kisses - almost not even moving her mouth away from his enough to be able to enunciate properly, "are you doing to me? I haven't been able to think for the last month."

Sebastian smiles into her mouth, wondering if she knows that she's repeating the very thing he told her two weeks ago. Maybe she has been thinking of him all this time - he almost hopes that she's been suffering as much as he has. Instead of responding, he moves a hand to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss. His other hand moves to her waist, gripping it tightly, pulling her flush against his body and she gasps into his mouth. He slowly moves her closer to the window alcove behind them, snogging her senseless the whole time. She moans into his mouth which just spurs him on further - her skirt rides up to her hips as Sebastian trails a hand up her stockinged thigh and they both gasp when his hand reaches skin. Her skin is so, so soft and her breathing gets faster as he continues to caress her inner thigh, closer to the bend between her thigh and her center. Sebastian wonders if she's ever been touched there before by someone else and jealousy flares up inside of him at the thought.

In one swift move, he scoops her up and places her so that she's sitting on the window-ledge, the dusky light of the sunset illuminating her from behind and making her wispy flyaway hairs a golden halo around her. Sebastian's breath catches in his throat - has he ever seen anything so beautiful as her in that moment? - she's staring up at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing shallow and anticipation in her eyes. "You're," he starts saying and his throat goes dry. He brings a hand up to tuck the errant lock of hair - the one she had tucked earlier in the library - behind her ear and she leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again with wide eyes. "You're perfect."

She smiles faintly and pulls his head back down towards hers and now she's brushing her lips against his, teasing him, before it's too much and he grips the back of her head, holding her in place as he crushes his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. Her knees are on either side of his waist, and she desperately grinds her core against his throbbing erection and they both groan at the friction. Sebastian moves his hands down to her thighs again as he kisses her, slowly caressing his way up and pushing her skirt up further until it's completely bunched around her waist. She gasps into his mouth at his first tentative touch after he pushes aside her undergarments. Sebastian swipes a finger up her slit, through the slick that coats it, and then he starts circling her clit with slow, even strokes. She shivers against him - at his touch - clinging tightly to his shoulders and gasping into his mouth as he continues.

Every little noise coming out of her mouth, feeling how wet she is, how the slickness keeps growing growing growing makes Sebastian hungry for more - it isn't enough -

Slowly - so slowly - he wants to savor this moment - he lowers himself until he's kneeling between her legs and he looks up at her. Her face is deliciously flushed, all swollen lips and hair in a wild cloud around her face and all she can do is stare down at him. Her chest is heaving and she tries to close her legs - hide what is exposed to him - but he holds her thighs firmly in place on either side of his head. He turns his head and kisses her inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue across where he's just kissed, moving closer towards her slick center.

"Oh," she breathes, not-quite-a-word, not-quite-a-gasp, when his mouth reaches her center and hovers over it, lips slowly teasing her the way she had just teased him. Sebastian tentatively runs his tongue up her slit; the loud moan she lets out when he reaches her clit makes him stay there, applying light and not-so-light pressure in equal measure.

Her hands are scrabbling at his hair, digging into his scalp, ruining his earlier attempts to make it look presentable, hopefully attractive, for her these days. She's pushing his head deeper into the space between her legs, starting to rock herself slightly on his mouth, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He eagerly laps up her slit, and the obscene wet noises as he continues combined with her whimpers and barely-spoken profanities "oh-yes-fuck-yes-there-please-" are making him hard beyond belief. He's straining against his trousers, begging to be let free. Without moving his face from her, he unbuttons his trousers and starts palming himself, using the slickness weeping out of the tip as lubrication.

She's abandoned all control at this point, grinding herself into his face as he laps her up, and it's driving him wild - knowing that he's doing this to her - causing her to be so undone. Normally she's so poised and aloof, never letting any real emotion flicker across her face, so to see her so desperate and needy and wanting him so -

Sebastian's gasping into her, tongue deep inside of her, "ohmygod" he hears her whisper, her hips driving into his face when she shudders and goes still, pulsing around the tongue that's deep inside of it. He slows down, smiling as he continues to run his tongue up her slit until she's responsive again. He kisses her inner thigh and hears her moan before getting up, caressing a finger down her love-struck face and leaning his head down to kiss her deeply. With his other hand he's still touching himself - the thought that she can taste herself on his tongue driving him crazy - and he starts rubbing its blunt head against her swollen clit. She takes it out of his hand- he groans at the feeling of her soft hands (the hands he had held a week ago in Divination and pictured doing this exact thing) tentatively caressing his length before she begins to slide it up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness.

Sebastian has surrendered all control to her - resting his hands on either side of her hips on the windowsill, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and thrusting with her movements as he loses himself in the sensation of sliding through her slick folds. He can feel his release building building building, and when he finally comes, all over her perfect, pink center, it feels like a finally.

Sebastian feels so, so heavy as he pulls his head away from her shoulder, as if he could fall into a blissful sleep right there, in the little window alcove where they've hidden themselves away. The sun has now set completely and they're in shadow as they stare at each other, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the tiny space.

"Sebastian, I..."

She's staring at him with an unfathomable expression on her face, still holding him in her hand, her other hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They look down and he feels his face heat up even more at the mess he's made - he quickly pulls out his wand and cleans her up, before looking back at her, giving her a wry smile as he buttons up his pants and helps her off the ledge. "What did you want to talk to me about, again?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and looks away, but she can't hide the small smile that's growing on her face just like she can't help her eyes that keep wandering over to his. He knows the growing smile on his face matches hers - did that really just happen? She reaches over to lace her fingers through his as they walk around the suit of armor. "I - it's not important."

"Come on," he says, not being able to resist the opportunity to tease her - he's somehow managed to break through the barriers she's set up around her, and he's not about to let the opportunity slide. "Surely that's not what you had in mind when you..."

Sebastian trails off as he sees the expression in her face turn to one of horror - he didn't think his teasing was that bad, was it? - but she's also pulling her hand out of his like she's been burned and -

He follows her gaze, to where it's fixed at the end of the hallway and he knows that once again his face mimics hers. He will never live this down.

Standing at the end of the hallway and looking like two cats who've just found a huge dish of milk, are his sister and Imelda.

Misery.

Complete and utter misery are what she's feeling, if she has to put it into words, which she does. Writing things down always helps her out, helps her organize her thoughts into some sort of order. Except...this time around, it's not really helping. She can't seem to make any sense of her feelings for Sebastian.

She looks over the muddled mess of words she's written down - stream of consciousness, incomprehensible babble - and sighs. She's been dreaming of falling in love since she was a young girl - Jane Austen will do that to you - and can't believe that now that she's had her opportunity, it has to go and be with Sebastian Sallow. Because it has to be love, hasn't it?

There can be no other explanation for the painful way her stomach twists itself up whenever she catches a glimpse of him these days, the way he's consuming her every thought - even when she's dreaming she can't escape him. She can't get the sight of his tousled curls between her legs, his mischievous, warm brown eyes looking up at her as she had the most mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm of her life - none of the times she's touched herself have ever come close to the sensations he managed to evoke.

Every time she's walking through the hallways between classes and hears his loud voice as he jokes with Garreth, or Ominis, about quidditch or Merlin-knows-what her eyes snap to his face as if he were the sun, and she a sunflower searching for its warmth. And he is most decidedly not the sun. He has the tendency to snort when he laughs, and he laughs too much, especially at his own jokes. Sometimes he talks while he eats. He always twirls his quill between his long fingers in the most annoying way, splattering ink onto any parchment unfortunate to be caught underneath. But he also...

He also always goes out of his way to prepare Ominis's Potions ingredients (why Ominis decided to take and was accepted into NEWT level is a mystery to everyone), occasionally stops to play a round of gobstones with Zenobia when he has the time. Sebastian can often be found in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, resting his face on his hand as he idly flips through the pages of some book, looking altogether too handsome as he does so. And when he stretches and yawns at the end of every Arithmancy lesson - like he is now - his shirt lifts up a bit and she can see a tan sliver of his stomach and -

Snapping in front of her: she blinks and looks over: when she sees it's Imelda her face immediately turns beet red and she grabs the paper she's been doodling on and rips it to shreds as fast as she can.

"Are you fantasizing about a certain annoying someone?" Imelda asks with a wicked grin, dramatically looking over her shoulder at the certain someone in question. He's still stretching, blinking sleepily; when he notices the two girls watching him he flushes deeply. Her stomach twinges again at the sight of him noticing her - has he thought about her since that moment as much as she has? What would she do if he had? Or...if he hadn't? - and she focuses instead on the paper she is currently destroying.

"Imelda," she hisses, glaring at her best friend, "stop."

Imelda does not stop.

Imelda doesn't stop during their walk to Herbology, and she does not stop as they set up their planting stations, and she most certainly does not stop as they mutter charms over their plants.

Ever since she experienced the most wonderful moment in her whole life, followed by the most mortifying, Anne and Imelda have not stopped pestering her about it. They've finally solved the 'Sir Cadogan Puzzle' - I knew it was you all along, claims Anne - but if they truly knew what had happened between her and Sebastian, she's afraid the two of them would simply combust. She loves them dearly, but they never know when to stop, and they've been pushing and poking and prodding her for more information the whole week. She has managed to remain tight-lipped and, she hopes, mysterious about the whole thing, but she's getting tired of the teasing.

"Really," Anne says, wiping her forehead and leaving a trail of dirt behind, "if you would only talk to him, I would stop bothering you. Promise."

"Yes," chimes in Imelda, on her other side, wrestling the leaves of her own plant into submission. "You know, after we saw the two of you holding hands and looking at each other with stars in your eyes, I'm really starting to doubt that you hate him as much as you claim."

"Were the two of you snogging in secret all of last year too? Because, I'm starting to get annoyed thinking of all the times I had to talk to my brother for you because of your stubborn pride."

Does she still hate him? She certainly thinks she should, but then her thoughts get terribly confusing as she continues to think about him, and she realizes all of her old hatred has long since faded. Anne has forgiven her brother, Ominis has forgiven him, and all that remains is her.

They should talk, but she doesn't know what to say.

She's afraid that maybe the man she's been inventing in her mind this past month is simply a figment of her imagination - a fictitious being created by an accumulation of stolen glances when he doesn't know she's watching, someone who all of their classmates seem to like, someone who is very different from the fifteen-year-old boy she had that terrible argument with all that time ago. Maybe he doesn't actually exist.

She would be crushed if he's hiding the fact that he still holds on to that desperate darkness that had driven him to save Anne by any means necessary.

And so she keeps her space. She watches him from afar, feeling the hatred slowly melt off of her, falling more in love every day, but too cowardly to make the next move.

Anne and Imelda continue bantering on either side of her, not noticing - or, more likely, not caring - that she isn't participating.

Sebastian's hands are sweating. He wipes them on the inside of his robes as he glances at the girl next to him. She's holding herself rigidly, but she did this to herself, sitting next to him at dinner as she had.

Well, sitting next to him hadn't been completely her idea if he's being honest. He'd been having dinner with Anne, and the two of them were dying of laughter as she recounted seeing Duncan Hobhouse get tormented by Peeves earlier that day. One moment, Anne had been demonstrating what she had seen using her potatoes and green beans as props, and the next, a particularly evil grin had lit up her face as she pushed her plate away with gusto and jumped to her feet, calling her over.

"It would be such a shame for these potatoes to go to waste, seeing as I have a very important meeting to attend," Anne had said, after pushing her friend into the very tight space at Sebastian's side. "Never mind the mess, I can assure you I didn't actually eat the food..."

And with that, Anne had flounced away, Imelda on her arm, the two girls cackling to each other as they snuck wicked glances over their shoulders at the couple.

A couple who is now steadfastly avoiding each other and trying their hardest not to even brush elbows. Sebastian is altogether too aware of her presence, has been for the better part of a month, and his patience is dangerously close to snapping. He keeps getting maddeningly close to finally getting her to open up to him - had actually achieved it for a few blissful moments - just to have it be taken away again. It's almost embarrassing how many times he's thought about their encounter. She had been everything he'd been dreaming about and more - soft, responsive, just as desperate as him - so why has she been avoiding him so thoroughly?

Yes, he's caught her staring at him more times than he can count, with that same unfathomable expression she had before, almost dreamy - wistful - could it be love? But he knows that it's preposterous, wishful thinking on his part. If it were love - if she felt the same crazy, tumultuous emotions that he was feeling constantly - she wouldn't be so cold towards him. Even if she was staring at him more than ever before.

He doesn't notice as she slips a folded paper into the book sitting next to his plate, but he does notice that she sits next to him for barely five minutes, not even touching the food that Anne has so graciously left her, before she gets up and slips away without so much as speaking a single word to him, or even looking in his direction at all.

Sebastian's sitting in a nearly empty common room after curfew, flipping through his book as he normally does this time of day, when she sees him pause.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, watching him from the corner she's tucked herself away in, she feels ready to pass out from nerves. Her heart's ready to burst out of her chest as she watches him curiously pick up the letter she slipped in his book earlier, brow furrowed. She wrings her hands nervously as she watches him read the letter and flip over the page to see if there's more, and then he goes back to read it again from the beginning.

She wasn't expecting him to read it a second time, let alone a third time, still with an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe she should have positioned herself closer so she could see every emotion flickering through his face as he reads - she's too far away to see anything and she curses her lack of foresight. If she moves now, he'll see her, and she doesn't even know what she was thinking when she wrote the letter, when she managed to convince Anne to help her get close to Sebastian earlier that night during supper, when she moved herself to sit in this corner just so she could watch him find and read the -

"Hello."

She nearly jumps out of her skin with a muffled shriek at the sound of his voice so close to her. Why does she feel almost guilty when she looks up at him? She's so, so afraid.

Emotions have never come easily to her. Showing them is something she's not sure will ever come naturally - Anne and Imelda can laugh and shout without a care in the world, but she always holds herself back. Hides a small part of herself away, that only she knows about. Baring herself completely to Sebastian in the letter she feverishly wrote the day before was like ripping out a part of her soul and giving it to him to keep. Once the words were written down, there was no way to take them back, not that she wants to.

But what if he rejects her?

Her eyes get hot and tears cloud her vision as she stares up at him, still wringing her hands together over and over, feeling like she's positively going to burst with the force of the emotions roiling around inside of her. Why did she think this would be a good idea?

Now he's kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his bigger, rougher ones - reminiscent of that fateful day so long ago in Divination when he had flustered her so - and a thumb is gently wiping away the big, fat tears she didn't even realize were rolling down her cheeks and she lifts her face from watching their intertwined hands and gazes tremulously into his eyes.

They are so, so gentle and warm and full of love, but the emotions are still too much for her and she can't stop crying for some unfathomable reason, so the kiss they share is wet and lovely and full of incredulous laughter.

"I love you too," he whispers between kisses, over and over again, until the words almost lose meaning - but these words could never lose their meaning when they come from him.

In the years to come, they always bicker about who was the first to say it. Sebastian says that writing doesn't count - that his words are the ones that decide who is the victor in this small argument - but she always just smiles at his insistence, knowing that he's kept her letter tucked inside whatever book he's reading since it first fell onto his lap.

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taintandviolent · 10 months ago

Text

Bitchin' ; Peter Maximoff x rollerskater!reader

summary: You always wear your silver rollerskates. But, when Peter Maximoff decides to check out the roller rink's arcade, and spots you... It's fate. At least, Peter thinks so. word count: 4.2K words! w a r n i n g s: brief use of Y/N, shameless smut, smut without plot, public fingering, public handjobs, dry humping, kissing, neck kissing. a/n: requested - I lost the original ask but the anon wanted a rollerskating reader who Peter was obsessed with! Honestly, this is my very first Peter fic so if there's anything that isn't in character or canon please mind your business and pretend you do not see it.

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

The disco ball twirled above, casting little squares of light over all the skaters like pieces of confetti. You grooved to the music while carefully maintaining your balance. The rink was buzzing with celebration; at least three birthdays amongst other parties were being held there.To you, it was merely another Saturday night. Skating had become more or less a therapeutic activity for you; it was a way to unwind after the day. The stresses floated away behind you as you circled the rink. Thankfully, it was also aerobic in nature, so you were getting your daily exercise in as you decompressed. Not to mention, it was funner than hell.

So, this wasn’t Peter’s usual hangout. But, the rink had a Centipede and a Dig Dug machine, so why not? The light from the machines blinked, reflecting off his eyes. New highscores were easily beaten when the bar was set so low. Come on! Did they even try!?

To his right, he heard a cacophony of giggles and chattering as a cluster of young girls sped his way, their hands full of drinks. To avoid a collision, Peter was forced to turn around, making way for the girls as they passed. And as he did, two flashes of silver caught his eye.

Those same two flashes of silver zipped around the rink, catching the neon lights from above. Peter’s dark eyes followed them as they circled and eventually, trailed up the shapely legs that they were attached to. You had a bangin’ body, that much was evident. He watched you as you skated around and around, your legs weaving in and out of each other with skill. You weren’t hugging the perimeter, scared like some of the other girls. You were confident, and in your own, bodacious skating world.

Nah, he thought. No way. But… What if fate is totally intervening, dude? What are the chances that I clock a girl with silver roller skates if it wasn’t meant to be? C’mon…

As his thoughts raced, you veered off from the throngs of skaters, heading towards the wall near the tables. Chalking it up to destiny, Peter couldn’t argue with himself any further. It was now or never. The moment to strike, the moment to make his move…was right now.

Your skates hit the wall with a thunk-thunk. Your drink was right where you left it, and still cold enough to sweat. As you sipped, you spotted a guy on a mission, making his way in your direction, maneuvering through people as they passed him. Silver hair? Silver… everything, really. Interesting coincidence. You turned around, unsure, but nobody else was seemingly aware of him. So, you weren’t mistaken, he was headed straight for you.

Once he got to you, he said two words. Two words.

“Bitchin’ skates.”

That same dorky smile that he wore as he made his way over to you was still plastered on his face as he stood in front of you now. The same one that, contrary to his probable assumption, you weren’t turned off by. Quite the opposite; you thought it was adorable, endearing even.

“Uhh…” You brought the plastic straw to your lips, buying yourself time. You sucked in a mouthful of soda, raising your eyebrows at him and he raised his back, grinning inwardly. Something about you had clearly caught his attention; he wasn’t leaving. Unfortunately for him, you were ten kinds of anxious and fourteen kinds of nervous when it came to talking to guys. You leaned over the wall, looking at his feet; a pair of silver shoes. You gulped down more soda, and pulled the straw from your lips.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, babe. Just cause I’m not skatin’ doesn’t mean I’m uncool.”

You sniggered, rocking back and forth on your skates. You set the soda down on the same table you retrieved it from and gave him your undivided attention. Even though you hadn’t really thanked him for the compliment, it didn’t matter, he wasn’t deterred. “So uh…” He leaned in, angling his face towards yours. Your gaze flitted to his lips for a nano-second, before you darted back up to his eyes. “My name’s Peter.”

He’d clearly expected you to tell him your name, but you remained silent, clamming up at the very heavy flirtation that he was laying on you. Had you really just forgotten your own name? Clearing his throat, Peter inched closer still, now practically leaning over the wall that separated the rink from the dining area.

“You come here often, nameless cutie?” Okay… that was cheesy. Too fast for you to notice, he rolled his eyes, silently chastising himself. Much to his delight though, you didn’t skate off, laughing hysterically, shucking him off like some idiot on the school yard. You stuck around and gave him a cutesy, coy little nod that went straight between his legs.

“Yeah… I do. Every Saturday night. Um… My name’s Y/N.”

“Guess I need to start comin’ around on Saturday nights…”

“Why’s that?” You questioned, pumping the straw in and out of the lid, the plastic creaking with the action. You knew the answer. You were willingly lining him up for a compliment that you’d let land real nicely. “Hm?”

“Well…” He shifted his weight, leaning his elbow on the railing. “Clearly all the babes come through on Saturday nights. Case in point.” He gestured to you with a nod of his head.

“Thanks,” you muttered to the floor. Some people scooted around you, bracing themselves on the wall. New skater, obviously. Peter paid them no attention; his gaze was iron-locked on you.

“For the compliment on your skates or that absolutely bogus pick-up line I just tried?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a blush crawling up your neck. “Both… actually. Silver has always been my favourite colour.”

Now Peter was the one blushing. “Was that a… compliment? Or uh…”

“Could be.”

“Could be?”

“Yeah.”

“What do I gotta’ do to make it one?”

You considered this. Really, he didn’t have to do anything more than what he’d already done. He was silvery and ultra-cute, and the way his lips curved up into a smile every time he looked at you had your knees turning to Jell-o. Plus, he was wearing a RUSH shirt. RUSH was cool.

“Skate with me.”

Say less, he thought. Before you had a chance to process it, Peter raced over to the rental counter, coming to a halt just before the swinging door. The girl behind it was too involved in a fashion magazine to attend to him - and if he was polite enough to wait, the speed at which she was gonna’ move would’ve been excruciating. Peter snatched a pair of skates in his size, tucked his shoes in one of the empty cubby holes and took off back towards you. You had just barely finished blinking by the time he was sitting at your table, arms folded on the railing.

When you opened your eyes, he was sitting instead of standing. You furrowed your brows and peeked over the wall. He was laced up, ready to go.

“How did you…”

You knew. Even though he hadn’t disclosed it and you hadn’t really seen him move, you knew. You’d heard about mutants, but the thought never captivated you enough to look too deeply into it. To you, they were just regular people – well, not regular people – but people all the same. People with lives, people with feelings.

But this guy… this guy was really cool.

“Well, come o–”

Again, before you’d even finished blinking, he was in front of you, cheesing. “You were saying?”

You weren’t sure how else to acknowledge his power, so you’d do it honestly. You nodded once and said: “Bitchin’.”

“Bitchin’,” he affirmed. “Bitchin’.”

You dipped forward, reaching for his fingers. His large hand was warm and inviting, and immediately enveloped yours. For a moment, the two of you didn’t move. The second he laced his fingers in between yours, your arm went numb, buzzing with electricity. You weren’t sure whether or not that was a part of his mutantness, or just… your own body responding to this very cute guy touching you. Probably the latter, but you weren’t about to sever the connection to discuss it.

Peter looked flushed, but masked it with a charming smile and a quirked silver eyebrow.

“Oh, we’re holdin’ hands now?”

“Well, yeah,” you started, dismissing it as though it was the most normal thing in the world. You beamed, flashing him a smile before pulling him into the flow of skaters. It was hard to imagine that you, with your utterly awkward sense of self, had suddenly taken the lead and were now in control of the situation. “You know how to skate?”

“Uh… sorta.”

“Well, here.” You spun around, now skating backwards. You held out your free hand, wiggling your fingers towards his. Peter did a double-take – was he really going to be holding both your hands? No questions asked? His already-fast heart thudded in his chest. This was too easy. Fate, man. It’s fate.

“Come on, don’t be shy. You had enough confidence to come up to me earlier… don’t back out now.”

“Wha-?! I’m so not!” He looked offended. You couldn’t help but laugh at that, and grabbed his hand at the wrist, pulling him closer to your body. You then noticed that his knees were locked in true beginner form. He looked stiff and slightly unsure.

“Relax, baby…” You cooed, coaxing him through the motions. “Just move with the groove…”

Slowly, Peter’s dilated eyes crawled up from his skates to yours, and up your divine lookin’ legs. They made their way up your torso before finally coming to a stop on your face. Inside, his heart was hammering against his ribs. Had you just called him baby? Baby? Hoh’ boy…

Peter composed himself from the impromptu melting you’d caused, he straightened up, relaxing his knees to push into the skates. As the two of you had abruptly picked up speed, you glanced behind you to make sure you weren’t going to run into anyone. Thankfully, he seemed to be navigating pretty masterfully. Peter had his bearings. In fact, thanks to his quick reflexes, he’d gotten his bearings approximately seventeen seconds ago, but you didn’t need to know that. That might’ve prevented the absolutely stellar physical contact he was experiencing now.

“Yeaaaaaahaaah, Peter! Just like that.” You cheered him on, happy to see that he was loosening up and moving in a much more natural way. For Peter, your smooth voice was doing wonders… but in the wrong way. Or the right way. No. Right way for the wrong situation. Okay, so what? Your syrupy, praising voice was going straight to his crotch.

“Hey, can we uh… Can we go faster?” He asked. You nodded, preparing yourself to take the lead, but before you could make the necessary changes in speed, Peter spun you around, snaking his arms around you from behind, hands resting gingerly on your abdomen, just above your hips. It was a risky move, he knew it, but it just felt so right to do… and after a few seconds, waiting on bated breath, no protests fell from your lips.You weren’t about to shoo him off, not with the way his grip was sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Ready?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to. He continued moving his feet, skating them back and forth. With a quick motion that pressed his chest into your back, Peter took off, narrowly avoiding some dude in neon dolphin shorts. He pushed you, navigating both your bodies around the rink at record breaking speeds, speeds so fast that nobody else even registered you two moving. Around you, people were still moving, but slowly. So slowly. You were nothing but fluffs of air as you passed them. It was terrifying; you’d never moved that fast on roller skates in your life.

After a few laps, you gripped his veiny forearms pressing them tight against your hips. “Okay! Okay!”

Peter tipped his toes, letting the stops drag against the polished linoleum floors. You two slowed down abruptly until you were back in sync with the rest of the rink’s patrons. Your hair was wind-blown, tousled locks fluttering back into place.

“You okay?”

“Oh my god,” you breathed. “That was…”

“Wicked?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed, wetting your throat. You had some other choice words, but you weren’t about to crush his spirit. His toned chest was rising and falling into your back, and for a second, you leaned your head backwards onto his shoulder. You caught yourself in that embarrassing moment of weakness and jerked your head forward again. “S-sor–”

As quickly as you two had stopped, Peter pivoted you on your skates, and crushed his lips against yours, pressing into them tightly. His lips were warm and melted into yours, but the shock of the kiss had you frozen. After a few painstaking seconds, he pulled away, a look of terror plastered on his face. His eyes searched yours, desperately.

“Shoot… Did I totally misread that?”

You licked the remnants of him off your lips, humming in satisfaction. “No… no you didn’t.”

Peter bounced on his heels, nodded, and glanced at your lips again, wanting so desperately to be back against them, but he’d play it cool, and wait for you to make the next move.

“Peter, I um… think you’re really cute. But next time… can you give me a warning when we’re gonna’ go hyperspeed?”

“Next time?” He chuckled low, rubbing the back of his neck. He liked the implications that there’d be a next time. “Y-yeah, sure, babe.”

Silence fell between you two, and while neither of you spoke, a lot was being said. The way he gazed into your eyes, the way that you gazed back… that was the thing about chemistry. It found its way in, no matter how quiet you were. Your heart fluttered in your chest, your stomach muscles tightening instinctively as you looked at him. Peter’s strong hand flexed on yours, gripping your fingers and yanking them towards him. The stops on your skates bumped into his, knocking him backwards slightly.

“Peter...” you started, nervously chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah?” Bless him. The eager, almost desperate look in his dark brown eyes told you he was ready for whatever you were gonna’ throw his way. Preferably, another heated kiss.

You wanted to, desperately, but swallowed that fiery urge, suddenly hyper-aware of the people zipping around you. At present, no one was tossing insults your way, but if you two lingered on the rink any longer without skating, you suspected they would. Nervously, you chewed your lip. “We should probably um - get off the rink...”

He agreed with an excited but wordless nod, and towed you in the direction of the opening. Adjusting to the feeling of carpet beneath your feet, you moved behind him, thankful for his hand.

As you passed the video games, both of you stopped in front of one of the party rooms. This one, unlike the others, was off to the side, and dark. Inside, there was nothing but a table with some chairs, and a few leftover party decorations pinned to the walls. Both you and Peter stared at the empty room.

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“I dunno. Just what exactly are you thinkin, Peter?”

He smirked.

By the time you’d exhaled, Peter had twisted the handle, tugged you inside, and pressed your back gently against the door, shutting it. He hovered over you, face inches from yours, looking down at you with a wanton, heated gaze. With one hand flattened against the wall by your head, Peter flexed the muscles in his forearm, showing off just slightly.

“Hey,” you said, gazing up into his dark, inky pools.

“Hey back.”

You wasted no time in kissing him. This time though, you went at him with parted lips, exhaling over his lips. Peter moaned softly into your mouth, overcome by your scent and taste. Everything about you was unreal; from the way that you tilted your head to get close to him to the way that your fingers clawed at the front of his jeans, desperately hooking into his belt loops to pull him closer to your own hips. Coming up to you was the best decision he’d made in weeks. Maybe months. Maybe even friggin’ years.

Peter’s tongue swirled around yours, pausing to pepper softer kisses on your plush lips every few seconds. “Mmmm-hm…” Another eager kiss. “Babe, you’re totally…”

“What, bitchin’?” You finished for him, teasing.That had been the word of the night, seemingly.

In response, Peter kissed you again, pulling you in at the waist. He rutted his hips against you desperately, grinding his half-hard cock into your groin, hungrily seeking out friction. At the whisper of his powerful thrust, you paused, flattening both hands on his chest.

“Wait, lemme take off my skates,” you started. “I don’t want to fall…”

“If you do, I’ll catch ya’. Promise.”

The confident lilt in his voice was enough to make you trust him, or maybe it was the way that he completely wiped your stream of consciousness by brushing the bridge of his nose against the nape of your neck, peppering tiny kisses along the feverish flesh.

Peter bucked his hips against you again, forcing himself against your fingertips, pressing them into the denim. You took his enthusiastic dry humping as a green light, and unbuttoned his pants. You followed with the zipper, and you heard Peter mutter something under his breath. Whatever it was, it sounded massively excited.

“What was that?” You asked, coyly.

You wrestled with his jeans, fingers exploring deeper, slipping through a bush of silver and ventured further down, stopping only to take hold of his cock at the base. It was hot to the touch, and now, rock hard. Really…. You thought, smirking to yourself. His interest in you wasn’t superficial, this dude really wanted you. You gripped a little harder, watching intently as the muscles in his jaw feathered and clenched.

“I said uh, um… it was… Hoh’, babe…” You started stroking and Peter’s head lolled back between his shoulders, a broken moan hitching in his throat. “Hoh’ my god…”

You kept stroking him, your thumb massaging the veiny underside of his swollen cock. Every pass of your fingers brought another breathy whimper from deep within his throat, and your core tightened further. He was putty in your hands, desperate, whining and begging for more.

“Just like that, babe…” He bucked his hips rhythmically and brought his other hand to the door, bracing himself.

“Want me to go faster?”

He looked at you, quirking a brow as if to say, “Really?”

So you did. It took all of three seconds for Peter to start quivering above you, almost vibrating. Peter dropped one hand, his thick fingers dragging across the ruched elastic of your shorts, pads fluidly slipping over the satin fabric.

“Can I…” He paused, clearing his throat. “Can I touch her?”

You loved that he called her her. Cute. You exhaled a moan through your nose and bit down on the corner of your lip. Meeting his gaze again, you nodded excitedly. Peter’s hand pressed against your stomach and dove downwards, slipping over the front of your shorts. At first, he stroked her from the outside, feeling the warmth that radiated from between your folds. But he moved fast, in all ways, and soon, he craved a different sensation. Quickly finding the waistband of your shorts again, he dipped inside to find the hem of your underwear, pausing only to run his finger along it, before slipping past it.

“Ohhhh…” He groaned, feeling the blistering heat of your cunt, and the beginnings of the pre-cum that had made its way up to your folds. “Oh, okay. Silver really is your favourite color.”

You laughed into his neck, walking your feet out slightly to spread your cunt for him. His fingers grazed your clit, circling it delicately a few times before he moved to your slit, manipulating the wetness that greeted him and coated his fingers. Peter inserted his middle finger, pumping it in and out carefully a few times. You moaned through closed lips, a weak attempt at muffling the sounds, should anyone hear.

“Wanna’ see something cool?”

You, breathless and starting to sweat, nodded.

“Fffuck, you’re so wet… uh, sorry - okay. Prepare to be wowed.” He hoped. At least, he was fairly certain that you’d never experienced what he was about to do.

Half a second passed. Then Peter’s finger slid in and out of you so fast it almost felt mechanical, drilling into you at inhuman speeds. Your jaw dropped, pupils dilating. He wasn’t joking – but maybe selling himself short. You were a little more than wowed.

Abruptly, you pressed your ass against the door, pulling his slippery fingers from you. “St-stop, I’m gonna’ c-cum if you keep doing that.” Shocked at your honesty, you felt your face flush.

“Oh?” He slipped another finger in, murmuring happily at the way your slick walls clenched around them. Peter brought his thumb forward so that with every pump of his fingers, the pad of his thumb bumped into your puffy, tender clit. You couldn’t help but whine then, the dual-stimulation overwhelming your senses.

He continued, winding the coil in your tummy tighter and tighter. You moved into him just a little bit closer, plunging him in just a little bit deeper and wrapped your free arm around his broad shoulders, desperate to bring your bodies tighter together. Although his hand enveloped your pussy, you could feel the repeated grind of your own hand as you jacked him off.

Peter continued, mercilessly, delighted that he had you coming undone in front of him. Sweat streamed down your neck, winding its way down into your cleavage – which, by the way, he was absolutely devastated he couldn’t see. His gaze was locked on your tits then, watching as they rose and fell with each laboured breath you took. Suddenly, your hand went slack around his dick. You focused on nothing in particular as white hot flashes darted across your vision. Peter groaned into your neck as you came around his fingers, warm, wet…

Your knees buckled, the wheels of your skates rolling forward. Just as he promised, Peter caught you strongly with his free arm, and pinned you against the door with a soft thud. You gasped, gripping him hard, pleasuring him with a new found fervour. You stroked his cock with long, deliberate strokes, paying special attention to his reddened head. Pre-cum, lots of it, leaked from the slit, and you eagerly spread it until his whole cock was slippery. Peter squirmed against your body, his fingers still slipping in and out of you at high-speed.

“I’m gonna’... I’m gonna’....”

“Oh, so you cum fast too?”

Your teasing was all it took for Peter to lose it. Every muscle in his body clenched, his eyes rolled back as his dick spurted sticky, white ropes over your hand and into the fibres of his jeans. You loosened your grip, letting the natural throb of his cock bump into your stomach, leaking against your skin.

Knock. Knock.

In a nanosecond, Peter had both of your appearances returned to normal as though a mutual jerk-off session hadn’t just happened. But ohhhhhh, it had. It definitely had. Even though the boner had totally faded, his cock still felt like it was throbbing. He laced his fingers with yours, and threw open the door, pretending to search for the light switch.

“Hey, this room is off-limits…” The girl said, looking slightly annoyed. Peter recognized her; the same one from the rental booth. Guess she finally had to make her rounds.

“We were just – “ you stammered, trying to find a feasible excuse.

“Checking out the room for a party.” Peter interjected. “Is food provided?”

The girl seemed taken aback by such a simple question. “Uh… y-yeah. We do pizza or hot dogs.”

“Sick, thanks.”

With that, Peter yanked you from the room, skating back towards the arcade machines. You looked out towards the rink; it had slowed down substantially, and likely, would close soon. Time had flown while you were in there with him.

Once you two had stopped, you turned to him, running a single finger down the front of his shirt. It was still damp and warm with his sweat. A small smile curled its way onto your pink lips.

“You got a pen?”

Thwip. Thwip. He was back, fingers wrapped around a blue pen, which he held out to you proudly. With a satisfied smile, you took his hand, flipped it over, and wrote your number on the inside of his palm, near the meat of his thumb.

“Call me?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Not maybe. He was for sure gonna’ call you. He’d call you the second he got home – well, no. Maybe not because he’d get home way before you. But. He shook his head slightly, dislodging the distraction.

If Peter had his way, he’d bust his next nut inside of you.

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