#manual treadmill | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chaseadrian · 2 years ago

Text

left unattended

It's past midnight at your gym security job, and the cute member who's been coming around for months slips off the treadmill. What starts as a panic quickly turns into something a lot more exciting. [masterlist]

pairing: adrian chase x f!reader tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, strangers to lovers, injury, casual voyeurism if you squint, semi-public sex, somewhat canon compliant, this does use my headcanon for adrian's healing factor, cunnilingus, fingering, protected sex, cute ending word count: 7.1k+ a/n: no, this isn't a joke, it's my best boy's birthday and i wanted to do something!! hope yall enjoy!

The back office at the gym was a jail cell. A tight, stuffy room with air conditioning that blew up at the ceiling and rattled a loose tile incessantly. There you sat, an envoy on wheels in front of four cheap monitors, overseeing the entire gym. Members weren't even aware the place was staffed after sunset, the sparse three or four gym goers coming to lift in peace.

That's how you like it, locked in your trashy little back office with snacks from the vending machine and the whole place mostly to yourself. Got a lot of reading done, and sometimes...sometimes, something interesting happened.

Tonight is one of those nights.

You'd seen him in the gym now and again when the sun was far gone and the night was settled into its typical peaceful terror. Dark brown hair, wire-rim glasses, always in a baggy shirt and black sweatpants. Sometimes he'd come in with a sheen of sweat already, his hair sticking to his forehead and the glasses askew, but as long as he did his reps without strangling himself, it wasn't much your business what state he came in.

The one thing that really stuck out was that he scanned his member card at the empty desk when he came in. It was already required at the card reader by the locked front door, but he always scanned it twice. A little peculiar, but better than the guys who thought midnight meant they could have their shirts off while they sweat all over the equipment.

You shudder to yourself in the room watching one of those exact men hop around from machine to machine without wiping them off. It isn't your job to clean up after grown men, but when he leaves, you still slump out of the chair with a grumble and make a quick trip around the floor, rag and disinfectant in hand.

There were horror stories of diseases transmitted via gym equipment, and the thought alone is enough to keep you scrubbing.

The sound of a muffled beep from outside stops you in your tracks, however, and you all but throw the supplies away as you dash back to the office.

A second beep from inside the gym settles the lingering nerves, and you sip your water as you watch Glasses slip into the locker room. You prefer not to assume the worst of the guys who work out at night, but this one seemed especially harmless. If he'd seen you, it wouldn't have been the scariest thing in the world.

You throw your feet up on the desk and recline in your chair as he comes out of the locker room, heading for the treadmill. He pushes his glasses up before he starts running, adjusting a pair of wired earphones as he finds his rhythm.

The picture on your monitor isn't exactly high definition, but he's got a nice profile, good stature. He runs with a little pep in his step. You can see his reflection in the monitor to the left, camera centered on a row of mirrors in front of the weight rack. He grimaces as he runs, bottom lip pulled down, teeth gritted.

Watching him breathe in through his teeth jumpstarts your own manual breathing. You close your lips and focus on pulling breath in through your nostrils, eyes trained on the stranger running on screen.

You watch him do the same as he slows the treadmill half a mile’s speed, one heavy breath out to reorient himself.

His eyes flick around to the nearest camera, or at least, it looks like they do, and for a second it's like he's in on the moment, breathing with you.

Shaking your head, you laugh quietly to yourself and flick your thumb over the pages of your book. All you could do during the night shift was imagine, these sappy, fantastic words carrying you away, sometimes head over heels.

You'd never heard Glasses speak, didn't know his name, and he was unaware you even existed.

He's just a cute stranger on a treadmill, and you're just bored.

You watch him speed back up, fumbling with his earbuds once again, when he loses his feet out from under him.

You gasp, sitting up and rushing out of the back office before you see him settle into his fall.

“Oh my god, sir, are you alright?” You keep a couple foot's distance. He isn't twisted or bent in any weird ways, by all appearances he just fell flat on the floor, but you'd rather not risk the liability by touching him before he asks for help.

“Ow, motherfucker.” His voice has a kick to it, with an edge of irritation, and he starts pushing himself up with the arm that landed under his torso. “Shit! Ow!”

You give him a wide berth as you come around to turn the treadmill off, the emergency clip crumpled at the bottom of the cupholder.

“Sir, I work here, I'm the night security officer, can I help you get up?”

He extends his free arm toward you, “This arm is the uninjured one.”

You wrap it around your shoulder, settling your hand on his back and supporting him best you can as he wobbles up. There was weight to him that you didn't expect, and couldn't surmise based on the squashed ratio of the office monitors.

“There's a first aid kit in the back, okay, and I'll call you an ambulance if —”

“No! No hospitals, I'm sure I'm alright. Just need a nap.”

He favors his arm as you guide him to the manager's office, parallel to the security office and tucked away from the floor.

“A nap is probably the last thing you need...if you have a concussion or—or a broken arm—”

“Mm-mm, didn't hit my head.” He lets you sit him down on the cheap couch in the office. Your boss said it was for wooing investors, but it's been a nap couch more than anything. Now it served as a half-assed gurney.

“Sir—”

“Adrian, my name is Adrian.” There was a coarseness to the way he spoke now, like the shock and hurt had settled into anger and impatience.

It felt informal and just too personal to use his name, the spirit of customer service holding tight to formality and pleasantries. Still, you relented, knowing pleasantries were the least of your worries right now.

“Adrian, you're bleeding from your lip, and your arm...”

He licks his bottom lip, smearing the blood away with his tongue, and his nose scrunches in response to the taste.

“I'll take an alcohol wipe.”

You dart over to the first aid kit on the wall and return with gauze, wipes, and a handful of bandages. Sitting down on the coffee table opposite Adrian, you pull back when he reaches for the supplies.

“Sorry, I have to administer first aid care if you don't want me to call an ambulance. They made me take a whole course and everything.” You slip on a pair of gloves.

“Understood, laying back down, and just so you know, I'm not allergic to latex.” He settles into the corner of the couch, cradling his arm, slowly circling his wrist, then his shoulder, his fingers pressing along the bones to feel for pain. He watches you tear open the alcohol wipe.

“We don't use latex gloves, but thanks. This will probably sting, sorry.” You press the wipe to his lip, and his nostrils flare, but he keeps from hissing or flinching, if he'd had the notion to do so at all.

Wiping the blood from his lip, you replace it with the gauze, “Once we get this bleeding stopped, we can see how bad it really is. When you ran your tongue over your lip, did it feel like you busted it? Just nod or shake your head for me, don't talk.”

He shakes his head, and you catch sight of his eyes for the first real time. It isn't so much the glinting pale green as it is the way he keeps them open, wide and alert, like a deer in headlights. He doesn't seem afraid, just aware, watching you as you press the gauze into his lip.

“That's good.” You gingerly nod, “And the arm? You don't think it's broken?”

He shakes his head again, and stretches the arm out in front of him, wincing, but circling his wrist to show off the mobility.

“Okay, okay, don't do that. You could have a hairline fracture or something, you landed on it right?”

He nods.

“Could have pinched a nerve or bruised something. I'll have to write up an incident report, especially since you don't want an ambulance called. Are you sure you don't want me to call?”

He nods again, and you press a fresh piece of gauze to his lip, dabbing to be certain the blood has stopped.

“I'm gonna take a look at your lip now, do you mind?”

“All yours.” His voice is still low, and he lets you tilt his face this way and that as you inspect the lip. His breath hits you as you tug his lip down to check the inside, a small hitch before an exhale, his body stiff for that split second.

“Alright, it's not totally busted, looks like you bit it during the fall, but just the outside punctured. There's really not a good bandaid for lips, unfortunately, but it should scab soon.”

You get up to toss the used supplies in the trash, and pull a sheet from the bottom drawer of the desk.

“I'll need your autograph on this guy once I've filled it out, sound good?”

Adrian half smiles at you, and shakes his head, “I don't sign anything without a lawyer present.”

You stare at him and press two fingers to your forehead, sighing, “I—okay, I'll have to call the general manager then, and—”

“Gotcha! Just a joke, you know, to lighten the mood. This is all pretty serious, but I'm fine, really! I just need a nap.” He settles horizontally on the couch, blinking hard, “I'll sign your paper after, deal?”

There's a pause, and he squints his eyes at you, “C'mon, are naps illegal here or something?”

“Well, no, but it's really dangerous for you to nap right now, I'm sorry, sir, but—”

“Great, then you can just watch me sleep the whole time. If I start dying, wake me up, but I'm one-hundred percent sure I'll be okay. I've fallen hundreds of times in my life.” He yawns, “And my name...” His eyelids slide closed, “...is Adrian...not 'sir.”

Before you can protest again, he's passed out, and you watch his chest rise and fall steadily. You grab a pen from the desk and sit on the floor next to him, scribbling out the incident report, your free hand hovering in front of his mouth to keep track of his breathing.

It's a short report, you stare at the last sentence, bolded with your pen: MEMBER DENIES EMERGENCY MEDICAL TRANSPORT AND ASSUMES FULL RESPONSIBILITY OF INJURY UPON LEAVE FROM THE PREMISES.

You sit for several more minutes, rereading the report, watching Adrian's breathing. The arm he hurt slowly falls from where it lays atop his chest, settling parallel to his body. He doesn't wince in his sleep, and his lips stay parted, a quiet snore vibrating past his mouth.

His sweat dried hair curls over his forehead, dark strands shining under the warm table lamp light.

When the adrenaline calms, and you aren't so immediately terrified of Adrian's state of injury, your thoughts again begin to wander.

He sleeps so peacefully on the couch, his features—objectively pretty whether you agree or not—still as he breathes, strong jaw giving way to a muscular neck, collarbones peeking out from the loose neckline of a too-big tee.

This man is gorgeous.

His little visage in the monitors didn't do him justice, a tiny grainy thing that lost the detail of his eyelashes, and the curve of his arms.

You aren't sure where to put this ill-timed, odd-placed attraction to the injured, sleeping man in front of you. You're sure it's inappropriate on some degree, unachievable on another.

He stirs for the first time and you jump up into one of the chairs around the coffee table, rereading the report again and again as he blinks awake with a quiet groan.

“Morning, were you watching me the whole time I was asleep?” He has a real smile, and you watch him push up to sit with ease, weight on his injured arm.

“You told me I should, so...” You slide the report closer to him, and offer the pen, “Deal's a deal.”

“That it is.” He scans the paper, muttering to himself, and nodding in approval. “Yeah, I'll take responsibility. I'm good as new, anyway.” He reaches for the pen with the injured arm, and signs the paper.

“Your arm sure is doing better.” You slip the paper into a folder on the desk, and drop the pen back in its place.

“Told you it would be.” He pushes himself up and walks over to you, placing both hands on either hip. “Sleep is the best medicine, after all.”

“Pretty sure laughter is the best medicine.”

He laughs at that, “That doesn't make any sense.”

You chuckle alongside him, a little charmed and a little thrown off.

“You're not wearing a nametag, you know, and you never introduced yourself.”

Adrian shifts gears faster than anyone you've ever seen, and you stutter in response, “Oh, right, well I don't really interact with the members so I just don't bother.”

“Long name.”

He smiles again, and you laugh before finally offering up your name.

“That makes more sense. Now onto the second most important question.” He leans in, hands still on his hips, “Can I see the security footage of me falling?”

“I— well, I can't take anyone into the security office...”

His features go crestfallen, and he looks away from you. Something about disappointing him drives a stake through your chest, and you're eager to wipe that upset from his face.

“B-but, I can take video of it on my phone and show you.”

As quickly as his demeanor falls, it lights back up, and he leans against the desk, crossing his arms, “I'll be awaiting your return!”

You tut, “Can't have anyone in the office without supervision either, you can wait out on the floor.”

“Say less.” He hops up and hurries out of the room.

You pop across the hall into the security office, rewinding through footage on the attached laptops. It doesn't take long to find movement amidst the minutes of stillness.

It was a hard fall, and you're genuinely amazed he made it up with minor scuffs and a possible bruise.

Flicking your gaze up to the current monitors, you see Adrian pacing the rows between machines, weaving in and out, doing figure eights at random. He pauses to look around, finding the nearest security camera, and he gives a quick wave before pointing toward the locker room. He shakes his hand over his mouth, like someone drinking from a glass.

If you were thinking differently, it could be something more suggestive, but the thought doesn't cross your mind. Not even for a split second.

Crossing the gym floor, phone in hand, you knock at the doorway to the locker room, “Adrian, you in here?“

“Yep, and I'm totally decent.”

“Well, I'd hope so.” You find him sat on a wooden bench, screwing the lid back onto a sad looking water bottle.

“Well, it is a locker room.” He says it without attitude, just an apparent fact that yeah, he could've been indecent in here.

You sit down next to him, and he scoots closer, your shoulders brushing together briefly, “It was a pretty bad fall, brace yourself.”

You're not exactly sure what reaction you were expecting from him, but the raucous laughter that follows the video isn't it.

Adrian leans back, his hand on his stomach, and he just about slips off the bench before catching himself. You're not sure you've ever heard such true laughter before, not for a long time, at least.

“Can I see it again?” He can barely get the words out, but you play it again, and he continues to lose it. The laughter echoes in the tile covered locker room, and you can't help yourself when you start to laugh as well.

Covering your face with a hand, you catch his gaze, laughing together for several minutes before you have to find your breath. His hand is on your shoulder, steadying you both, not harsh, just stable.

“Oh, man,” His voice has lifted, and he shakes his head, “You've gotta send that to me. Please tell me that's allowed.”

“Yeah, sure, nothing in the rulebook that outlaws that.” You cool with the last dredges of your laughter, cheeks warm and smile lines firm in your face. “Here, put your number in.”

He hands the phone back to you, having sent himself a text that says 'Hi Adrian!'

You send the video right then and there, watching as he pulls his phone out from his bag with a smile. He loses it with laughter upon replay, and he texts back a string of merman emojis.

“Merman? Didn't even know that existed.”

“The ocean is full of crazy stuff, Aquaman is really just the tip of the iceberg.” He slips his phone back into his bag, and turns to you, a smile stuck on his face.

You smile in response, too awestruck to speak. He has the enthusiastic cadence of a party clown, with none of the added discomfort. You actually feel at ease sitting here with him in the late hours of the night. Panicked beginnings aside, he'd woken with what seemed like a new lease on life, and pulled a total 180 on you.

He shifts the conversation when you break eye contact, his firm stare warming your cheeks and kicking up butterflies.

“My friends and I go to this bar on Saturdays, you should come and tell the whole story to them! The video is cool and all, but nothing beats an eyewitness account, it'd be so badass.” His voice sounds genuine, but it's a pretty big leap from one moment to the next.

“I—” You let out a quiet laugh, wanting to jump at the opportunity to see him somewhere in the actual, real world, and not immediately following a potentially catastrophic fall. There's no way he's serious, though, and you shake your head without meeting his eyes.

He swings a leg over the bench and scoots closer, “Are you shy or something? You were totally cool and collected when I busted my ass an hour ago…” Pondering for a moment, he frowns, “Oh, or do you not want to drink beer with me and my friends? It's your choice, but I gotta say you'd be missing out, one of my friends is a lesbian so she can get us into a bar where the beer tastes like skittles.”

You laugh again, and meet his eyes, “I just kinda thought you were joking about that.”

He furrows his brow, “No way, dude, it really would be badass! And maybe my best friend would finally get off my ass about finding another chick to join the crew.“

Getting carried away, he animates with his hands, and changes his voice, “He'd be all 'Wow, Adrian, where'd you find this babe, that's so awesome of you.' and I'd tell him how you came to my rescue like a minor league superhero, then you can tell them the rest of the story.”

Catching your unwavering eyeline, he straightens his posture, “Or, y'know, something totally different and more casual.”

All you can do is laugh. You're being pulled between calm familiarity and daunting giddiness. By all accounts, you should have returned to the back office, bidding Adrian goodnight and hoping the nap truly was some magic fix-it.

But here you were, sitting in the sterile, silent locker room next to him, in a pause that only grew more tense with each passing second.

“I'm in.” You finally speak, swallowing the nerves that thrum in your chest, “As long as you actually do introduce me as the babe that saved your life.”

You extend a hand.

Adrian lights up, and he takes it, “Deal.”

A good handshake should last two or three seconds, based on every job interview you've ever had, but Adrian shakes your hand for a long, long time. His smile remains enthusiastic, but you're almost certain he's slowly pulling you in with the tight grip of his hand.

You let it ride, inching closer on the smooth lacquered wood of the bench, almost invisibly.

His eyes stay wide as he makes his first obvious move, leaning in, your hands close to his chest.

“Would it be weird if we kissed right now?”

Your breath hitches. The question comes out of thin air, but with the constant whiplash of your entire time knowing Adrian, it isn't a complete surprise. You part your lips to respond, a weak stutter escaping.

“Wait—”

There's an immediate disappointment that pounds in your heart, and you watch Adrian's eyes flicker around the locker room. He leans closer, “Are there cameras...in here?”

“No.” You whisper, and then, a little louder, “To both questions.”

The slow smile of realization crosses his lips, and before you can even decipher why, he's kissing you.

It isn't rough or quick or even with very much passion, but it's a good, solid kiss. He wraps his hand around yours, cradling them between your chests, smiling through it. This doesn't have the familiarity you felt sitting next to him, but it wasn't lighting you up inside either.

It was a first kiss, truly. Bumpy and awkward, and you found your mind rewinding through the night, wondering how you ended up here. How you'd managed to find the one gym weirdo who put you at ease and was cute enough to kiss so early into an official meeting. Another part of you felt like a creeper, having seen him so many nights, having fixated a little when you got restless with your books.

You pull away, and he searches for your lips with his eyes closed before accepting the loss, still holding onto your hand.

“Adrian, I know we honestly literally just met, but I feel like I should tell you something.”

“Okay.” He sits expectantly, his glasses askew.

“I've been watching you in the back office for like, a long time.” Your eyes settle on your intertwined hands.

He tuts, and rolls his eyes with a smile, “Of course you have, it's your job.”

“No, like, you specifically. I dunno, you're the cutest person who comes in during the night shift, and it's pretty boring back there most of the time. It just felt weird because I've known of you for a while, but you didn't even know I was here, and, I don't know, I feel like a creeper kissing you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “You think I'm the cutest person? I kinda thought you were kissing me out of pity, like, maybe you're afraid I really do have a concussion and could die.”

You laugh, “You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?”

He shakes his head, “Nope, don't need it.” Leaning in, there's an excitement in his voice when he next speaks, “I will take another kiss, though.”

The next kiss is less awkward, and Adrian's free hand coils around your waist to pull you as close as he can get you on the bench. He drops your hand and slips his fingers around the back of your neck, enveloping you with his touch.

This feels like the kind of kiss that happens more than once. You knot a hand in his shirt, and rest the other atop his thigh. You're certain he had you tight in his grip, but the hand on his thigh was more a mental ground than anything else, your fingertips squeezing his musculature.

You could get very easily carried away in a kiss like this, and with Adrian's hold tight around you, it doesn't take long to decide you'll go as far as he wants in this locker room.

Slipping a hand in his hair, you tug him away from your lips, exposing his throat. Your eyes meet his as you drag your mouth up towards his cheekbone, dotting kisses around his face, down to the edge of his jaw, and finally to the pulpit of his neck. The faintest trace of salt is stuck on his skin, a remnant of the workout that led you here, and you latch your lips to the spot until all you can taste is skin.

When you pull back, there's a rosy pink mark, and his eyes are glossing over. You peck his lips with yours, and he blinks hard, leaning into the direction your fingers graze against his scalp.

His eyes catch yours, and as he comes back to the moment, you see the faintest flicker of his eyelids, the slightest kick of his eyebrow.

Without a word, he tugs you into his lap on the bench, and you fumble at the sight of his arms flexing around you.

He's cute alright, but the bits of his body that you can see are absolutely outrageous.

His hands find home on your hips, and he leans backward to lay on the hardwood, pulling you down with him, your breath connecting your mouths before you can find enough footing to kiss again.

You don't need the guidance of his hands to start rocking back and forth on top of him, the need that follows his tongue in your mouth is more than enough to get you going, but the burning touch of his fingerprints isn't unwelcome.

Between kisses he mutters, “You comfortable? Your legs spread just right?” It should come off more facetious than it does, there's a layer of desperation to it, a desire to please.

You hum into his mouth, “Mm, for now.” And he chuckles at the response, whispering, “Good, and you're sure there are no cameras in here?”

“Certain, but we can move somewhere else if you're nervous.”

He shifts a hand from your hip to your hair, running a fingertip along the hairline, his thumb over your eyebrow. He taps you on the nose, “Not nervous, just don't want you to lose this cool job because of me.”

You lean down for another kiss, and slip a hand under the hem of his shirt, “It'd be worth it.”

Adrian shuts up then, letting you slide the shirt over his head and toss it into the open bag beside you. You knew on some level he had to be muscular—he came to the gym five times a week, but you still aren't prepared for the breadth of his muscle. His pecs are spattered with light freckles, and he has a harsh farmer's tan on his arms.

You sit back on his lap, just admiring the view, circling your hips a little to watch him squirm underneath you.

He giggles, the faintest blush blooming under his cheeks.

“Wow. I—wow.” You exhale.

Tugging you back down, Adrian shushes you as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, kissing from your pulse to your clothed shoulder. Your skin underneath almost burns for his lips on you, and you wrench off the branded gym shirt without his prompting.

“Woah, I thought I was the eager one.”

You shush him now, and with the decision made for him, his hands roam over the warm body you've given him.

He doesn't ask when he slips his fingertips underneath the cup of your bra, his palm over your breast, the other hand fiddling with the clasp. When it snaps free, he's quick to wrap his mouth over your exposed breast, tongue swirling around the field of nerves, just faintly sucking.

Grinding your hips down harder, he pulls back from your chest with a pop! and his eyes drag down your body.

“I can't believe this is happening.” He breathes, both hands coming over your breasts now, sliding up slowly to watch how they fall back into place when he lets go. He seems mesmerized, and you draw his attention by pulling a hand up to your mouth, and letting him slip two fingers over your tongue.

You haven't exactly been dreaming about this moment, not really. It's more an intrigue, a curiosity. Adrian wasn't a crush, just the cute boy at the gym that got you through your boring night shifts sometimes.

And yet, he was here, laid out in front of you, his fingers in your mouth, and his cock hard underneath you.

In your wildest dreams you wouldn't have imagined this much.

Everything you do seems to mesmerize him, and now he watches with awe as you swirl your tongue around his fingers, his interest cut with moans as you grind on his bulge.

His hips languish towards you, not bucking exactly, just pushing, an almost involuntary side effect of the desperation that's spiraling in him.

You take the soaked fingers from your mouth and guide them down to the hem of your track pants, watching as Adrian's eyes follow with excitement.

He's all but given himself over to you—there are little moments when you can feel him trying to gain some control, but he just as quickly falls back into this quiet hypnosis, eager to please and ready to do whatever you want of him.

Guiding his hands over the wet folds of your cunt, you rest his first two fingers on your clit and circle them just so.

Adrian wrests free from your grip in this moment, sitting up and forcing you backward on the bench. He hovers over you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot and harsh, but still with a smile, “I know what I'm doing. Just because I'm in awe of your body, of your tits, of that fucking hot tongue of yours, doesn't mean I'm clueless.”

He tugs down the waist of your track pants, pressing sloppy, wet kisses from the center of your pelvis up between your breasts as his fingers slide along your lips, slick with saliva and arousal. He circles your clit before slipping back down towards your entrance, and he presses two curled fingers inside you. The instant shot of pressure has you arching your back up off the bench, but he sets his free hand firm on your stomach, forcing you back down.

You curse and writhe as he fucks you with his fingers, his thumb stretching up to circle your clit best it can, little nicks of flesh that drive you crazier than if he were to go full on.

The harder you fight, squirming under his touch, the deeper you can hear his smile as he coos at you.

“That's it,” and “Good girl,” and “I told you, huh?” as you struggle underneath his hold.

Adrian lets his weight settle onto you eventually, swallowing your moans with his kisses, the cotton bulge of his sweatpants grazing your thigh. You reach blindly for it, and he lets you palm him over the fabric, his touch on you faltering just barely before his resolve steadies.

The ebb and flow of his fingers doesn't grow stale, but you do grow more desperate, and with each kiss you wish more and more that it was his mouth between your legs.

“Adrian, mm, fuck, can you—”

He pulls away, slowing the rhythm of his fingers, and you jerk up against him.

“Jesus, use your mouth. Please, I need it.” You choke out, and you hear his smile once more. It seems to never go away.

“Anything for my guardian angel.”

The pet name shoots a warm spiral in your belly, and you know you've no right to even be referred to as anything heavenly, especially not now, but fuck if it doesn't sound good with his cheerful cadence.

He lays his tongue flat over your lips, shaking his head left to right to settle it into your folds and hit as many nerves as he can as he licks up once, twice, three times before he lets the tip run over your clit.

The feeling is white hot, a mess of spit and flesh and his warm, spongy tongue. Adrian stares up at you as he works, his gaze menacing from this angle. He seems pleased to keep his eyes fixed on yours, but the angle cranes your neck uncomfortably.

You let your head fall back on the bench with a thud, pressing your hand hard over your forehead to push away the beads of sweat that form. Your free hand slips into his hair, combing through the strands, and grabbing tight when you can no longer keep rhythm.

His hands wrap tight around your thighs, keeping you latched to his mouth, and if you were asked, you couldn't even wager a guess as to what he was doing down there. His spit pooled on the bench, and he sucked two wet marks into one of your thighs, the faintest nip of teeth punctuating them.

“Am I gonna make you come?” He asks, breathless and muffled from between your legs, and all you can do in response is whine and grip his hair tighter, pushing him into your cunt, “Fuck, I love those noises you're making.”

You feel one of his hands leave your thigh, and he moans against you, a deep, shuddered breath that hits your pussy in a way you're sure he didn't intend to feel good.

“Adrian, you know I'm gonna take care of you, right?“ You can barely get the words out, staving off the impending orgasm that coils in your body. ”Don't make yourself come yet, I wanna do it.”

The groan that he emits in response is hungry, and the slick noises of his tongue on you grow filthier, louder, faster. He hums against you, and as he slides a hand up your stomach to hold you down again, you lose it.

Arching away from the bench and into his hand, your moans echo off the lockers, legs shaking in a wave that starts at your stomach and radiates out through you. They're quick, successive pulses, and if Adrian's hold on you wasn't so strong, you're sure you would've rolled right off that bench.

He laps up the viscous mixture of spit and arousal until the touch grows overwhelming, and you have to tell him it's too much.

“Come here.” You say, and he swipes a hand over his sheening mouth as you sit up and tug at his sweatpants, kissing around the harsh lines of his pelvis.

“You don't have to—”

You shush him, pressing your lips around the outline of his bulge as you drag the fabric down. Staring up at him, you watch his wide eyes flicker between you and the near exposed erection, his hands dead at his sides.

You're certain you look the same way he did when he was playing with your breasts, mesmerized and taken aback by the hot stranger that's allowed you to touch them. His erection springs out from the boxers that come down with his sweatpants. It isn't the largest you've ever seen, in person or not, but it's swollen and dripping with precum, and it jumps when you faintly smear the precum over the tip.

Standing back up, you tug Adrian to your lips with a hand around his neck, the other slipping up and down the length of his shaft. He whimpers into your mouth, and your cunt starts to throb.

“We're gonna fuck, right? Oh, please tell me you want me to fuck you. I have a condom in my bag, if you want that.” Adrian pulls back from you, his Adam's apple straining hard in his throat as he regains some sense of composure.

You laugh, and nod, and it's all Adrian needs.

He pushes you backwards towards the cheap excuse for a vanity, and you hit the edge of the counter before he lifts you up and sets you on it.

Breaking to rifle through his bag, you spend this moment taking in the sight of his entire body. His cute, hapless face and wide eyes are antithetical to his broad musculature, but the dimples at his lower back make you smile. He turns around with a wrapped condom in hand, waving it at you with a half smile, pushing up his glasses.

His lips latch to your neck as he gets his hands under the backs of your knees, letting you fall into the mirror, body curved as he slots himself just in front of your entrance.

He pulls away and rests one of your legs atop his shoulder so he can roll the condom over his length, and fuck if he isn't sensitive. He shudders just doing that, and you wonder how easily he could come if there was nothing between you for protection.

Grabbing at your legs, he tugs you onto his cock, your ass half on the counter, mostly supported by him. The tendons in his neck strain as he lets out a string of quiet expletives, and you gasp at the full pressure of him inside you. He turns his head and kisses the side of your knee, bucking his hips forward slowly at first.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, leaning forward to envelope you best he can as he picks up the pace. He's just shy of your lips, but he takes the offering of your thumb in his mouth, fingers splayed over his cheek.

You grind your head back against the mirror, focused on your breathing, moans escaping on each exhale.

You don't know that anyone has ever felt better inside you.

Adrian fills you up entirely, his pelvis rutting against yours, the head of his cock like a ball of lead inside you that hits over and over again, muddying your insides.

He finally finds your mouth, his tongue pushing between your lips and slipping around without rhythm or care. These kisses are sloppy and desperate, interrupted by whimpers and curses and Adrian's tendency to wander down to your breasts.

Digging your nails into his lower back, you push him impossibly closer, and his teeth sink into the flesh of your chest, tongue flicking over the hard bud of your nipple. He stops fucking into you and starts grinding his pelvis instead, cock buried deep inside you, and the friction of his skin on your cunt sending shockwaves down your legs. If the pressure wasn't enough to get you close again, the byproduct of his movements was.

You grip him tighter, hold him closer, you want every inch of his skin on you, sticking and sweaty and so harsh it'll hurt to peel away at the end of this.

Adrian licks from your nipple up your chest, along the side of your neck before latching his lips to the edge of your jaw.

“Fuck, I'm—shit—” Your hair musses up against the mirror, and before you can get a full sentence out, you're shaking under him again, the pressure in your gut rising up through your body, like a string tugging you toward Adrian, your body arching until your spine feels like it's going to snap in two.

He breaks away from your neck, kissing you through the second orgasm, his hands squeezing underneath your knees.

You barely register the gasp he lets out into your mouth, but you're riding the last dredges of your climax when you feel his rhythm falter. He lets one of your legs slip out of his grasp and rest in the crook of his elbow as he braces himself with a palm on the mirror.

Through gritted teeth he moans, sucking in harsh air, and he rests his forehead against yours as he comes, still pumping inside you through it, pulling every last bit of pleasure he can from the moment. You feel it pool beneath your entrance as it slips from the opening of the condom, fucked out and overflowing.

As he regains some composure, he gently sets your legs down, his hands gentle on your hips to keep you from sliding off the counter, slick with sweat.

“Maybe I do have a concussion,” He pants, leaning forward to give you a soft kiss, “Something that good only happens in my dreams.”

You laugh, and kiss him again, “This is the last time I'll offer an ambulance.”

He meets your gaze, fingers smoothing the back of your hair, and he shakes his head, “I think you healed all my ailments.“

There's more laughter, more kissing, but eventually you peel away from each other, and it does hurt, but Adrian takes your hand and doesn't let go.

“Are there showers in this place? I never thought to look because showering in public is a biohazard if I've ever heard one.”

You nod, “Yeah, the women's are used less though, so they're cleaner.”

Rifling through the pocket of your track pants, you pull a small set of keys out and open up the supply closet in the locker room, tossing a towel to Adrian before wrapping one around yourself.

He gathers your discarded clothes and his bag, following you into the other locker room with his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

The running water fills the silence of the gym, and you both crowd under the spout, sighing at the warmth.

It's a quick rinse, Adrian combing his fingers over your scalp, you pressing a kiss to the hickey you'd left earlier. Neither of you say anything, all shy smiles and admiring glances.

When you get out, he roughs the towel over your head and you dry each other off before sitting in the warm steam of the room in the damp towels. You're opposite him in the hallway by the showers, legs against each other.

“So, you're going to come to the bar, right?” He asks, fiddling with a loose thread.

“Deal's a deal.”

He smiles, “I'm glad you saved my life.”

You roll your eyes, but his voice is earnest. There's something special about him, you're certain, and you really think he'd give you the chance to figure it out. He doesn’t seem like a one and done kinda guy, his eyes glistening as he stares at you. You could get attached to this kind of casual admiration.

You crawl over to sit next to him, taking his hand, “Hey, maybe one day you can return the favor.”

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase smut #adrian chase x you #adrian chase fanfic #adrian chase #my writing #mine

160 notes · View notes