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abrcmswrld · 1 year ago

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Only With Your Eyes | Burt Fabelman x Neighbor!Reader

Word Count: 3017

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), slight recognized age gap, voyeurism, questionable risqué activities in the window, fingering, squirting (to an extent), general smut stuff, GN reader (no use of she/her) BUT feminine clothing described

Author’s Note: and so i said to myself “what if burt accidentally watched his neighbor change through their window but liked it”,, next thing i knew this was a thing,, i had no idea how to end this and im not totally happy with it and it’s probably ooc but idc ITS SMUTOBER BABY!

Your blood turns ice cold as you glance toward his figure in the window. He's dressed in night clothes. His glasses glare as his eyes lock with yours before he jerks his gaze away.

Shit.

He saw you. There's no doubt. You quickly pull the loose night shirt over your head and close the curtains. You can feel your heart racing. He probably thinks you're a creep. A slut. Just parading your body openly for anyone to see. Didn't you have the decency to consider the lingering male gazes that romped around the neighborhood? Gazes from husbands with wives who would certainly tear into your character had they known their sweethearts' eyes had been glued to your nude body without care.

Did he have a wife? You find yourself wondering. It's a small apartment, you think. You'd never seen a woman enter his unit. You're almost certain he had children. You'd seen the teens and young adults entering the unit before. You'd even heard the laughter coming from his driveway as he embraced them in hugs.

It’s intriguing. It should be horrifying. You just unintentionally flashed your neighbor, you should want to crawl under your soft sheets and never be seen again. But instead, you find yourself wanting to know more about his mundane life.

II.

He's peaked your interest. You're not sure if he'd like to hear that. He's decently older than you. Old enough to have children in their late teens, but it doesn't stop your gaze from falling on him through your bedroom window as he walks to the set of mailboxes outside the complex.

You practically memorized his routine. Not that you meant to. It's just hard not to. It hardly changes. He goes to work at the same time, returns home at the same time, checks his mail at the same time. So after weeks of watching you decide to switch things up for yourself. It wouldn't hurt to visit the mailbox a little later in the day.

So you do. And just as you expected, he did too. It's awkward. He says nothing, only smiles in your direction. You smile back. He's handsome up close. The scent of his cologne tickles your nose in the best way possible. You break the silence, introducing yourself.

"I live in the building unit across the way from yours."

A blush rises to his cheeks. He's flustered and you figure it's because of the incident from weeks ago. But he's polite. He doesn't chastise you and instead acts as if he had no idea of your mistake.

"I'm Burt. It's nice to meet you. I don't normally have time to converse with neighbors."

You stare at your feet. You can't even think of what to say after that. The tension lays thick in the air between you two, but he's a gentleman. Perhaps you should...

"I'm sorry for..."

He swallows thickly.

"Um-I'm sorry for not introducing myself sooner, Burt. It's very nice to finally meet you."

You outstretch a soft hand for him to shake and he does. He has slightly calloused palms and a firm grip that feel so nice against yours.

You don’t keep him long. Better to ease into it, you think. You feel a little giddy as you walk quietly back to your own unit.

III.

It makes your heart race the next time you catch his gaze through the window. You're starting to pull the curtains shut, but his gaze causes you to hesitate and pause briefly, one hand still fisting the coarse fabric of the curtain.

He simply stares up at you. And you're sure he sees you staring right back. Suddenly there's a spark in your stomach that makes you giddy. You leave the gap in the curtains and turn to instead peel your shirt over your head. You face away from him at first. The burning in your cheeks and the flush on the tips of your ears prevents you from meeting his gaze or checking to see if he had even kept watching you.

You pull your skirt and tights down the length of your legs. You're bare with only under garments covering your goose-bumped skin. It's cold in the room. Something inside you longs to feel warm calloused hands rubbing the lengths of your body. Taking care of you.

You turn to face him.

He stares right back at you.

His expression is focused, but in particular you notice that his hand have remained at his sides. As if you were a piece of art in a museum, and he is satisfied to view you from a distance without letting hands wander where they shouldn't.

You can't help but give him a smile as you place a hand on the glass of the window.

You turn to display the way that your fingers work the clasps of your bra open, excited to show off for him but, when you turn you find that he has pulled the curtain shut. You can't find it in yourself to be hurt. Instead you grin and pull your curtain shut as well.

What a gentleman.

IV.

He still doesn't make an effort to speak to you. It's not that you think he doesn't like you or is possibly annoyed by your late night "shenanigans," he just goes about his day as if nothing had happened. Still only a friendly neighbor whom you spot leaving every day work.

He was driving you insane. You had dreams of him lately. Dreams in which he had actually touched you. Dreams in which he had kissed your flesh and caressed you with haste. You'd always wake up feeling sweaty and needy.

So you decide you're done waiting around. You've never been a perfect baker, but the cookies you make are good enough to be given to him, and it gives you an excuse to talk to him. Actually talk to him.

You take a deep breath before you knock on his apartment door. It takes a moment, but he eventually comes to the door. He's still dressed in work clothes: dress pants, a crisp shirt, and nice tie. You swallow sharply before speaking.

"I made cookies. I was wondering if you were busy."

It comes out so fast he looks almost stunned as he tries to decode your intentions. "You...want to come in?" You're practically bouncing on your heels. "Yes! Yeah. I thought it be nice to...get to know each other."

He smiles softly and steps back, letting his front door open a little wider for you to slip into the apartment with him. It's nice. Tidy. Although not thoroughly decorated. He seems to be a logical man, not quite one to put so much thought into the creative expression of interior decorating.

You gently sit the tin of cookies on the table and turn to face him. "I..I hope you're not opposed to chocolate chip." He laughs airy and soft and shakes his head. "Chocolate chip is good."

He pauses for a moment and hesitates before speaking, "It's good to speak to you again." You already feel the flush pulsing into your cheeks and you smile.

"I wanted to speak to you more. I see you a lot. But we never speak."

He raises a brow as he listens to you speak. Oh you see each other. He knows exactly what you're alluding to, but neither one of you can bring it up explicitly. He sits in the chair across from you and gestures for you to do the same.

"You have kids?" You gesture at a photo of Burt and a boy, no older than a teenager. Burt smiles. "Yes. He's my son, Sammy. I have daughters too." You nod and smile. "They seem like good kids. I see them when they come here sometimes. Just from across the yard. They always looks so happy to see you."

He nods. "I sure would hope so. They are good kids." Silence falls between the two of you for a moment. There's an awkward tension. You can see it clearly now, he's not wearing a wedding ring. But the issue still seems like a giant elephant in the room. "And a wife?"

It comes out a low whisper, and he gives a confused look. "I'm sorry, what was that?" You clear your throat and prepare yourself for the potential embarrassment. "Uh...A wife? Do you have a wife?" He raises his brows and his mouth opens slightly. He seems slightly shocked that you had asked, and you can only hope he isn't completely offended at the prying question.

"No. Not anymore."

It's clearly a sore subject for him. You can see it in the way his mouth forms a straight line. You can only whisper. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry like that." He shakes his head and places a hand on top of yours where it rests on the tabletop. "It's okay, really."

He's looking right at you and you feel the pressure of his stare immediately. Paired with the warmth and softness of his hand, you almost feel your brain short circuit. But you stare back at him with wide eyes. Suddenly you're thinking of his gaze through the window and the way he had taken in the sight of your body. Your cheeks are burning hot.

"I've not overstepped a boundary these past couple of nights have I?"

You blink at him, shocked that he would even allude to the previous nights. You shake your head slowly and practically gasp in an inhale. "No. Have I?" He chuckles and smiles. You feel his thumb caress the meat of your hand. "Not at all."

You can't even believe that the two of you are speaking about this. A little part inside of you expected you both to ignore it and pretend you can't done anything, especially something so voyeuristic. His hand moves from your hand to your cheek, brushing a small piece of hair out of your face. His touch lights your skin on fire.

You quickly stand from where you had been sitting across from him. He looks stunned, shocked, maybe even nervous. You walk closer to him, closer and closer, filling the space until your shins hit his. "Is everything okay?" You hardly let him get the question out before you're leaning down to kiss him.

You feel almost childish and overly bold. But his skin against yours lit a fire in you where he had already placed a spark through the window days prior. You're thankful that he's quick to kiss you back. Thankful he doesn't push you away.

You place yourself onto his lap, legs dangling off the side of his thigh and an arm wrapped around his shoulders to hold yourself upright. You feel his hands fall onto you hips and you can't help but smile into the kiss.

When you pull away slowly, his eyes are locked onto yours. You can practically see his gears turning as his mouth remains slightly ajar. He says nothing, just continues to grip the meat of your hip. You break the silence,

"I want you to kiss me more. Is that alright?"

As if he received a sudden burst of strength and energy, he raises from his seat, picking you up off his lap and placing you down onto the table in front of the two of you.

He towers over you as he kisses you, feverishly, starved like a man who hasn't felt this sort of affection in years. You let your hands grip his arms as he ravishes you. It's everything you wanted and could've ever imagined. Your kind, reserved neighbor whom you've wanted so bad finally reaching a breaking point in his lust for you.

You smile into the kiss, secretly feeling a bit of accomplishment wash over you. His hand is traveling up, up, up your skirt, caressing your thigh and resting his fingers dangerously close to your aching core. You gasp into his mouth.

"This is okay?"

His inquiry is soft and whispered and his eyes are pleading. You nod your head quickly. He furrows his brows and closes his eyes as his forehead rests against yours, "I need you to tell me. Tell me you want me." It sends lightning bolts of arousal straight to your core. You're sure your underwear are ruined. You nod quickly, "I want you, Burt. Please..."

The last word strains out into a whine from you. You sound pathetic, and you hope he will take mercy on you just this once. His fingers inch closer to your soaked underwear, the pads of his fingers brushing your clit through the fabric. Your nails dig into the wood of the table.

He's staring at you, intense, the slightest bit of intrigue behind his eyes. "There?" His question comes as he makes loose circles around the clothed bud. You squeeze your eyes closed and nod.

He continues his light touches on your clit until you can no longer hold back a choked off moan. It seems to spur something in him as his hands are quick to move to grip the waistband of your underwear at your hips, slowly sliding the soiled fabric down your legs.

He brushes his fingers over your folds, spreading them slightly, as if he's observing the science of it all. "So perfect..." It's a whisper and, it leaves a shiver running down your spine. A finger prods at your entrance. Your eyes squeeze shut and you can't help the whine that escapes your mouth as his finger slides deeper into you.

It doesn't feel real. Even after the absolute show you had put on for him at your window, you could've never imagined having his hands on you in such an intimate way. But you love it. He touches you like it's a totally new experience. Like you're something for him to pick apart and figure out.

The fog of your thoughts clears immediately as his finger curls upwards and into the most sensitive spot inside you. The gasp you let out is pathetic, but you hope the blissed out smile on your face is enough to comfort any worry he may have. "Burt-"

He cuts you off as he works his finger against that spongy tissue, "I'll take care of you. Let me take care of you..." His lips are so close to yours once again, but he holds your face with his free hand. You nod your head, "Yes..."

You can feel that tension deep within you. A rubber band ready to snap at any moment. But you're desperate to hold it back. You haven't even touched him yet. You reach a hand around the back of his neck, reaching up till your finger tangle in short, neat hair.

"Wanna touch- wanna touch you." It comes out broken with a whine.

He responds quickly and wordlessly, letting his free hand fall to his belt. You close your eyes, the desperation and anticipation becoming too much for you. He moves his hips closer to yours. You let your knees rest on the sides of his hips as he finally pulls his cock free. Its vulgar. In the privacy of his own home, yet displayed for him on his own kitchen table. His eyes are dark with lust, but his hands are careful as they touch you.

You let your hand wrap around his cock. You revel in the gasp he lets out as your skin makes contact. He's soft and warm, and you never want this to end. You're desperate to make him finish before you inevitably give into the lighting strikes his fingers are brining to your core.

You had been so open through the window, beginning to not care what other's would think if they had saw you, but you find the thought daunting in this moment. Burt and yourself panting over each other on his kitchen table. A divorced father, and a younger neighbor who had so openly given themselves to him.

It washes away when his lips meet yours again. It's not hurried. Not rushed or sloppy. It's deep, with a sense of care that makes you shiver. He's not some college guy, willing to fuck and immediately kick you out. You're reminding of what had drawn you to Burt in the first place. Older, yes, but with a sense of care for the things that he held close. You could see it in the way that he so graciously greeted his children, and in the way that he kept his house neat even while living alone.

He liked to figure out how things worked. What makes the world tick. You can see it in his eyes as he brushes different spots inside you and glances back to you with a curious eye. You know he gets his satisfaction from understanding the inner working of the things he surrounds himself with. You can see it in his eyes as you gush around his fingers, and the way he gasps with wide eyes as you helplessly drip onto the table and floor. You can’t help the way your legs tremble through your orgasm. You feel pathetic.

You cannot help the blood that rushes to your cheeks. It’s embarrassment. But he doesn’t seem to see it that way as his cock twitches in your hand and spurts hot finish over your knuckles. He leans down to kiss you but can only gasp and groan into your mouth.

You’re already shaking under him. Sticky and damp. Debauched. Fear strikes through you again. This is a not a dream, not a playful glance through a pane of glass. You’re covered in each other.

“I-I’m sorry…”

You half expect him to hastily forgive you, usher you to redress, and push you right out the door, never to speak of it again. But he doesn’t.

Instead he kisses you again. And the way his fingers grip your figure close to his makes you believe this won’t be your last time in this situation. You can’t bring yourself to be ashamed anymore.

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