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The overhead lights are dim, casting a golden haze across the living area. Someone put on a Spotify playlist three hours ago and forgot about it, so a lo-fi remix of some 2000s banger hums softly in the background. Alexei is face down on the rug, snoring into a bowl of Wheaties. No one’s checking if he’s alive. That’s how you know it’s a good night.
You're curled up on the corner of the couch, one leg tucked under you, nursing your drink and watching Yelena try to out drink Walker, who looks like he's questioning every life decision that led him here.
“So,” Yelena says, planting her glass down like she just won a duel. “I don’t understand the appeal of this ‘truth or dare’ but I’m told it’s American tradition, so.” She gestures grandly. “I demand experience.”
A groan from Bucky. “You’re already drunk.”
“I’m fun-drunk,” she corrects. “This is the time for secrets.”
Ava raises an eyebrow from across the room. “That’s exactly the kind of sentence that ruins lives.”
Still, everyone relents. You’ve been through worse bonding rituals. First few rounds are harmless: Walker has to prank call Val, Ava admits to hacking a Stark drone to spy on her ex, Bucky refuses to answer a truth and takes a shot instead. Bob’s curled up in a beanbag like a sleepy cat, hood up, legs folded. He’s sipping something suspiciously pink and clearly trying to stay under the radar.
Yelena narrows her eyes at him.
“Okay, truth,” she says. “Bob. Are you a virgin?”
You choke on your drink.
Bob blinks, eyes widening behind his hair. “What?” he says with a breathy laugh, sitting up a little. “Wow. Okay. Straight for the throat.”
“You give off vibes,” John adds helpfully. “Like, weirdly pure. Like a choir boy who’s scared of boobs.”
The group laughs. Bob scratches the back of his neck, grinning awkwardly.
“I mean… no,” he says eventually, eyes dropping to his drink. “I was a literal meth addict in my teens. Statistically speaking, it’d be weirder if I hadn’t.”
A moment of stunned silence. Not heavy- just unexpected.
“Oh,” you say, trying to sound casual but it comes out weirdly high pitched. “Well. That took a turn.”
Ava blinks. “Damn. Okay.”
Bob chuckles softly and lifts his drink in mock salute. “Don’t do drugs, kids.”
You glance down quickly, pretending to fuss with your glass. Your ears feel hot. Yelena clocks it immediately.
“What was that look?” she asks, pointing at you. “You made a face.”
“I always make faces,” you retort, aiming for deflection. “It’s part of the charm.”
“Not that face,” Bucky murmurs, watching you over the rim of his glass.
“Oh my god,” Walker grins. “Wait. No way.”
You groan. “Don’t even start.”
“You’re the virgin?” Ava asks, more curious than mocking. “Huh.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You didn’t not say it,” Yelena says, eyes lit up with delight.
You bury your face in your hands. “Can we go back to bullying Bob?”
You let your hands slide down your face, peeking out between your fingers like a guilty raccoon.
“Okay, fine,” you mutter. “Yes. I’m a goddamn virgin. Congratulations, everyone. You cracked the case.”
John lets out a triumphant whoop. “I knew it!”
“You absolutely did not,” you shoot back. “You thought Bucky was a virgin two weeks ago.”
“He gives off monk vibes!”
Bucky doesn’t even look up. “You give off unpaid child support vibes.”
Yelena nearly spits her drink. “Oh my God, he does!”
You groan and flop back against the couch cushions, face burning. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Relax,” Ava says, her tone dry but not unkind. “Nobody’s shaming you. It’s just rare to meet someone who hasn’t, that’s all.”
“I just...” you hesitate, thumb grazing the rim of your glass. “I never really found someone I felt… safe with. Like, fully safe. And I don’t want my first time to be some obligation or accident. I want to feel sure.”
The teasing ebbs, replaced by a more thoughtful silence. You expect someone to crack another joke, but surprisingly, it’s Yelena who speaks first.
“I had sex once,” she says, adjusting how she’s sitting. “It was… fine. Not bad. But I only did it because I thought I was supposed to. Like it was just the next thing. You know?”
You nod slowly.
“I realised afterward I didn’t actually want it,” she continues, her voice quiet but certain. “Wasn’t about him. I just… don’t feel that kind of thing the same way. I’m ace. I just didn’t know it then.”
John blinks. “Wait. You have had sex?”
She levels a look at him. “One time, and it was like eating plain oatmeal. Technically fulfilling, but mostly boring.”
Ava snorts. “That might be the best description I’ve ever heard.”
The mood softens into something more genuine, the teasing falling away in favour of mutual understanding. You glance toward Bob, who hasn’t said much since his unexpected meth mention.
He catches your look and gives you that warm, lopsided smile, shy around the edges. “I think,” he says softly, “it’s cool you’re waiting. Means you’ve got standards.”
You laugh, a bit bashful now. “Yeah, well. High standards might be why I’ve been single since high school.”
Bob shrugs. “Could just mean you're not wasting time on the wrong people.”
There’s a pause. A beat too long to be casual.
You’re not sure what to say next. But something about the way he’s looking at you- not intense, not flirty, just kind- makes your stomach flutter.
“Alright,” you say at last, clapping your hands to break the tension. “Let’s move on before this turns into a therapy circle.”
“You started it,” Ava teases.
“And I’ll finish it- by asking Bucky if he’s ever cried after sex.”
Bucky stares. “You think I’d answer that in front of Walker?”
John smirks. “Bro. I’ve cried during.”
“Oh my God,” you and Yelena say in unison.
The laughter swells again, the mood lifting. But even as the game rolls on, you catch Bob glancing at you now and then. Not prying. Just… aware. Like he sees something in you he recognises in himself.
And for the first time in a while, that doesn’t make you feel self-conscious.
It makes you feel seen.
————————————————————
Dragging Alexei to bed had been a group effort- one involving Bucky’s super soldier strength, Ava’s muttered curses, and Walker documenting the ordeal like a nature documentary. By the time his massive form was deposited face first onto his mattress, everyone was yawning, stretching, and peeling off to their respective corners of the Tower.
And then… it was quiet.
You turn back into the lounge and find Bob still sitting there, tucked up in the same beanbag chair he’d sunk into hours ago, his drink long abandoned on the floor. He’s watching the window, where the New York skyline pulses softly in the distance- light pollution and fog smudging the stars.
You clear your throat gently. “You stuck?”
He blinks, then looks up at you with a lopsided grin. “Oh. No. Just, uh… comfy. Didn’t want to break the beanbag’s spirit.”
You chuckle and settle onto the couch nearby, curling your legs beneath you. The room feels different now- like it’s exhaled. The air’s cooler, calmer. Just you and Bob, surrounded by the evidence of a good night: empty glasses, a couple of blankets, someone’s sock.
“You okay?” you ask after a beat. “You got real quiet after your whole… anti-drug PSA moment.”
Bob shrugs, glancing at the window again. “Didn’t mean to kill the vibe. Just kind of… slipped out.”
“I mean, you did completely derail the virgin joke.”
“Was I supposed to lie?”
You grin. “Nah. It was a power move, honestly.”
He gives a breathy laugh, then looks back at you. There’s a little pink in his cheeks- not from embarrassment, just the residual warmth of alcohol and being looked at too directly.
“I wasn’t trying to show off,” he adds softly. “I just… I know I seem kind of… naive? But I wasn’t always like this.”
“I don’t think you’re naive,” you say, voice gentle now. “I think you’re… trying. Which is more than most people do.”
He studies you for a moment, like he’s not used to being seen that clearly.
“And hey,” you add, nudging his foot with yours, “thanks for not joining in on the virgin roast.”
“I’d never roast you,” he says seriously, then immediately backtracks, eyes wide. “I mean- not in a weird way! Not like, uh, sexual roasting, which is- god, I don’t think that’s a real term- ”
You burst out laughing. “Bob.”
He groans, flopping sideways in the beanbag like he’s trying to disappear into it. “Ignore me. I’m made of 40% anxiety and 60% alcohol tonight.”
“You’re doing fine.”
You both fall quiet again. The silence between you isn’t awkward. It’s soft. Warm. You look at him, really look at him- his face relaxed in a way it rarely is, his hair a mess, his hoodie rumpled like he’s been living in it for days. And yet somehow, right now, he looks more real than anyone you’ve ever met.
“You know,” you say quietly, “I wasn’t embarrassed because I’m ashamed. I just… didn’t expect to talk about that tonight.”
Bob nods slowly. “I get that.”
You hesitate, then add, “But I’m glad you were there. You made it feel… less like something to be embarrassed about.”
He gives you that shy little smile again- the one that tilts just slightly, like it’s trying not to hope too much.
“I’m glad you stayed up,” he says.
“So are you going to sit in that beanbag forever, or come sit with me like a real person?”
He pauses. Then, with the kind of exaggerated groan, he stands and pads over to the couch. He doesn’t sit too close- but not far, either. Just enough that your knees brush when he turns toward you.
“I like being around you,” he says suddenly. Quiet. Honest.
Your chest tightens- pleasant and terrifying.
“I like being around you too,” you reply, voice low.
The silence stretches again, but it feels different now. Thicker. Buzzing with something unsaid.
Bob leans back against the couch, his shoulder just barely brushing yours. He stretches his legs out in front of him, socked feet crossed, and sighs like he’s trying to let go of something heavy.
“Do you ever think about…” he starts, then trails off, eyes on the skyline again. “How weird it is to want something normal? Like, desperately want it, even when you know you’re not built for it?”
You glance at him, brow raised. “That’s… a big question for 3 a.m.”
He smiles, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah. Sorry. Alcohol brain.”
“No, I get it,” you say, quieter now. “Sometimes I think I’m chasing normal like it’s a prize, like I’m gonna unlock. But the closer I get, the more I realise I don’t even know what it looks like.”
Bob lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest a while. “Exactly.”
You both sit there for a while, letting the quiet fill in the blanks.
You glance down and realise his pinky is just barely touching yours on the cushion between you. Not quite a hold. Not quite nothing. Just… proximity.
“You really think I have high standards?” you ask, teasing gently. But you’re not just teasing. Not really.
Bob looks at you, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “Yeah. I do.”
He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s not even a question.
Your throat feels a little tight. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“It is a good thing,” he says. “You deserve someone who makes you feel safe and wanted and- ”
He stops, suddenly self-conscious.
You tilt your head, curious. “And?”
He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Just… someone who doesn’t make you feel like you have to explain yourself all the time.”
You’re quiet for a second. Then: “Have you ever had that?”
Bob blinks, the question hitting a little harder than you meant it to.
“No,” he says finally. “Not really. I don’t… trust people easily. And when I do, I tend to scare them off. Or lose them.”
You nod, heart thudding a little. “Yeah. I get that.”
There’s a pause. A long, lingering one.
You can feel the warmth of him beside you, the way your hands are still almost but not quite touching. You’re hyper aware of every inch of space between you- and how much you don’t want it to be there.
He turns his head slightly, like he’s about to say something else.
And then he doesn’t.
Instead, he exhales and nudges his knee against yours gently. “Can I tell you something kind of stupid?”
You smile. “That’s my favourite category of things.”
He laughs. “Okay. Um. Tonight? When you said you were a virgin… I didn’t think less of you. At all. I just thought…” He hesitates, the words getting tangled somewhere near his mouth. “I thought… whoever gets to be that first for you? Is really lucky.”
Your breath catches.
“Bob…”
He shakes his head, still smiling, still awkward. “Sorry. That was probably too much.”
“No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”
The space between you hums, full of unsaid things. You’re not touching- still not quite- but it’s close enough now that all it would take is a single inch. A single breath.
You shift, angling your body ever so slightly toward him, and Bob mirrors the movement instinctively. He’s still smiling- that soft, earnest smile of his- but there’s something in his eyes now. A kind of openness you haven’t seen before. Like he’s peeled back a layer just for you.
“I don’t know if I believe in lucky,’” you murmur, “but I think I’d rather have right.”
He nods. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
You’re close now- close enough to smell the faint scent of citrus from his drink, the clean laundry of his hoodie, and something else underneath it. Something that’s just him. Familiar. Calming. Warm.
Your pinkies brush again. This time, neither of you pulls away.
You can feel the nerves coming off him in waves- not anxious, exactly. More like someone who doesn’t quite believe they’re allowed to want something good. Who’s waiting for the catch.
So you close the gap. Just a little.
Your shoulder nudges his gently, and his breath stutters. He turns his head to look at you, and for a long, fragile moment, neither of you speaks.
Then you say, very softly, “I don’t think you scare people off, Bob. I think maybe… you’ve just never had someone who saw you before the damage.”
“You do?” he whispers.
“I do.”
It’s not a confession. Not a declaration. But it is something real, placed delicately between you.
Bob blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he’s trying not to cry. And then, slowly, his hand moves. Not rushed. Not even confident. Just… deliberate. He lets his fingers slip between yours, a quiet interlacing of hands that feels so impossibly tender it almost hurts.
Your pulse flutters in your throat. But you don’t look away.
He shifts again, turning more toward you, your joined hands resting between your thighs. His other arm moves behind the couch, not quite touching you- but there.
“You make it easy to talk,” he says finally. “Like I’m not gonna mess it up just by existing.”
“You’re not,” you murmur.
You lean your head, just slightly, toward his shoulder- testing the weight of this closeness. He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he turns toward you, breath warm against your hair.
For a minute, there’s nothing but the sound of his heartbeat, steady and present beneath his hoodie. Yours answers in kind.
“You wanna stay here for a bit?” he asks, voice low, careful. “Just… like this?”
You nod against him, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. I really do.”
So you do.
Just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s quiet, the city lights flickering like distant stars.
————————————————————
The first thing you notice is the weight.
Not heavy- just warm. Solid. Comforting.
You blink against the soft light bleeding through the windows, your lashes clumped and your face half buried in something soft. Your brain is fogged, slow. Everything aches in that pleasant, post party way, and the couch cushion beneath you is unreasonably comfortable for a place not designed for sleep.
Then you shift- and feel it.
An arm draped over your waist. A chest rising and falling steadily against your back. And a hand- his hand- still laced with yours, tucked between your bodies like it belongs there.
Your breath catches.
Bob.
You turn your head just enough to see him- curled behind you, hoodie bunched, one leg tangled lazily with yours. His mouth is slightly open, his hair a tousled mess across his forehead. He looks younger like this. Softer.
And so incredibly peaceful it almost breaks your heart.
You lie there for a long moment, watching the way his lips part with each breath. The air between you is warm and slow, charged in a way that isn’t electric, but grounding. Like waking up wrapped in safety you didn’t think you’d ever get to have.
Then he stirs.
His brow twitches first, followed by a quiet inhale. His arm tightens just a little around your waist as he shifts, chin brushing your shoulder.
You freeze.
“...shit,” he whispers a second later, voice rough with sleep. “Did I pass out on you?”
You laugh softly. “Technically, I passed out on you. So if anything, I owe you rent now.”
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s bracing for embarrassment. “God, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t- I didn’t mean to- ”
“Bob.” You squeeze his hand gently. “It’s okay.”
He peeks one eye open, sheepish. “Are you sure? I’m not, like… crushing your spine?”
“No spine damage. Just the emotional kind.”
He makes a strangled little laugh and hides his face against your shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
“You like it.”
He groans again, but this time it’s muffled against your hoodie. When he speaks next, it’s barely audible.
“This was… really nice.”
You smile to yourself. “Yeah. It was.”
You feel him shift a little closer, his body relaxing again like he’s trying to delay the inevitable moment where you both have to get up and face the day. You don’t move. You don’t want to.
Then his voice comes again, low and vulnerable. “You still feel safe?”
You pause. Let the question settle in your chest.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”
You and Bob are still curled together on the couch when the peace is shattered.
The door to the lounge creaks open with the sound of someone trying- and failing- not to be loud. Then:
“Oh for fuck’s sake.”
You turn your head just in time to see Ava shuffle in wearing sunglasses and a hoodie pulled over her head. Walker stumbles in behind her, eyes bloodshot, holding a bottle of Gatorade like it’s his firstborn child.
Trailing after them, as if emerging from a goddamn musical number, is Alexei.
“Good morning, everyone!” he announces, beaming like the sun. “Ah, what a beautiful day. I have done a hundred push ups and three eggs- raw, like real man.”
Bob makes a muffled wheeze against your shoulder. You’re too stunned- or maybe too comfy- to move.
Ava lowers her sunglasses just enough to glare at Alexei. “I hope a bird shits on your face.”
“Thank you, Ava. Your concern is charming as always.”
Walker collapses into an armchair and winces. “Why is the light so aggressive?”
“Because you’re hungover and a disgrace,” Ava mutters, slumping next to him.
That’s when her eyes land on you and Bob. She freezes. Squints.
“Oh no,” she says, slowly. “Did we interrupt… something?”
You and Bob both stiffen at the same time, then turn to look at each other.
You’re still holding hands.
Bob’s arm is still around your waist.
And you both look thoroughly cozy.
“No,” you say quickly. “Nothing happened.”
Walker groans. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
Bob groans and buries his face in your shoulder again. “Can I die now?”
Alexei strides past with a whistle. “This is adorable. Good for you, Robert! Did you get to second base?”
“Jesus Christ,” Bob mumbles, voice completely muffled.
You laugh helplessly, trying to sit up, but Bob’s arm tightens instinctively. He’s warm and flustered and so clearly doesn’t know how to handle this level of attention.
Ava crosses her arms and leans against the counter. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you two slept through Walker’s snoring.”
Walker flips her off without opening his eyes.
Alexei heads to the kitchen, humming, cracking another egg raw into his mouth. “Ah, young love. So nice. Warms the heart.”
You glance at Bob.
His cheeks are flushed, but he’s smiling shyly as he finally pulls back, giving you space to sit up.
He keeps hold of your hand though.
Bob leans over and murmurs with a sheepish smile, “Remind me to never fall asleep in public again.”
You smirk. “No promises.”
————————————————————
The rooftop is quiet.
The city hums below, but up here, it's all rustling leaves and fading sunlight. The garden is overgrown in places- half maintained at best- but there’s something comforting about it. Like the Tower tried to be alive once and still hasn’t quite let go.
You’re tucked into one of the benches near a half-dead lavender bush, knees pulled to your chest, a blanket draped around your shoulders. The last of the orange-pink light spills over the skyline, and the wind brushes your hair back from your face.
You hear the door creak open behind you.
Then: soft footsteps.
Then: “Hey.”
You turn your head.
Bob stands there, a little sheepish, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, the other carrying two mugs.
“Brought you tea,” he says. “Well. I brought tea. One of them can be yours if you want it.”
You smile, already warmer. “Depends. What’s in it?”
He hands you the mug like he’s offering treasure. “Mint. I didn’t poison it. Swear.”
“Damn. Guess I’ll drink it, then.”
He sinks down onto the bench beside you- careful not to sit too close, but not far either. Your thighs almost touch.
For a while, you both sip in silence. The breeze lifts the edge of the blanket around your shoulders, and without a word, Bob tugs it gently, spreading it over your lap too.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says softly.
You glance at him. “No I haven’t.”
“You disappeared after breakfast.”
“Everyone was being insufferable.”
He smiles, eyes dropping to his mug. “Fair.”
A pause.
“I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t make things weird.”
“You didn’t.”
“I slept on you. I cuddled you. I held your hand.”
You laugh under your breath. “Bob. I think we were both there.”
He looks at you then. Really looks at you.
And it’s quiet again- but a charged quiet, full of things neither of you is saying.
“I liked it,” he says, so softly it almost disappears in the wind.
You turn to face him, pulse fluttering. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It felt… safe. With you.”
Your stomach does a slow, nervous flip.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “I know I’m not… good at this. Relationships. Or- or knowing what people want. I get too quiet. Or too intense. Or I say something weird and ruin everything.”
You reach out before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers brushing his wrist.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” you say gently. “You made me feel… seen. And safe. And like I didn’t have to pretend.”
His eyes flick up to yours, wide and unsure.
“And maybe I want more of that,” you add, voice low. “If you do too.”
His breath catches.
You see it in his face- the flood of thoughts, fears, hopes- all warring beneath the surface. But then he nods, slowly, like he’s choosing to believe you.
“I do,” he whispers.
There’s a pause. A breath.
And then he lifts his hand, tentative, and brushes a strand of hair from your cheek.
The touch lingers.
You lean into it.
“I don’t wanna mess this up,” he says.
“You won’t.”
He slides his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, your head resting lightly against him, it feels like a promise.
Bob’s arm is warm around you, tentative but solid. The blanket slips down a little from your shoulders as you shift closer into him, the edge of your thigh brushing against his.
He’s quiet.
Not uncomfortable- just thoughtful. Like he’s savouring the weight of this. Of you.
You tilt your head, just enough to look up at him, your chin brushing his shoulder.
“Hey,” you say softly.
He looks down at you.
“Can I…” You hesitate. “Can I kiss you?”
Bob’s eyes go wide for a second- like you just short circuited his brain. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then nods once, quickly.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I… please.”
You both lean in.
It’s… not perfect.
Your noses bump first- awkward and uncoordinated- and you both freeze, blinking.
“Shit,” you whisper, pulling back half an inch.
Bob’s already laughing- quiet, breathless. “Okay, okay, that was so bad.”
“I panicked!”
“You tilted left- who tilts left?”
“Everyone tilts left!”
“You caught me off guard!”
You’re both laughing now, shoulders shaking as you hide your face in his hoodie. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head gently, steadying you.
“Okay,” he says between chuckles. “Round two?”
You look up again, eyes bright with laughter. “We can’t possibly do worse.”
“Don’t tempt fate.”
This time, you move slower.
And when your lips finally meet- soft and searching and just a little shy- it feels like everything you’d been circling around for days finally clicks into place.
His lips are warm, hesitant at first, but then he sighs against your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for years.
He doesn’t rush it.
There’s no sudden grab, no heat that flares too fast.
Just the sweet, steady pressure of his mouth moving with yours, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek like he’s still not entirely sure you’re real.
You break apart after a few long, tender seconds- barely.
Your foreheads rest together, your hands still tangled in his hoodie.
Bob’s eyes are closed. He smiles, soft and crooked. “Okay,” he murmurs. “That was better.”
You grin, breathless. “Yeah. That one felt… kind of like everything.”
He opens his eyes and looks at you, like he’s still memorising.
“I’ve wanted to do that since last night,” he confesses.
You reach for his hand again, threading your fingers through his. “So why didn’t you?”
His voice drops to a whisper. “Didn’t want to mess up the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves around you. But neither of you moves.
Not yet.
Not when his thumb is brushing soft arcs against your hand. Not when his gaze still holds yours like a question half answered.
Not when something is beginning to settle between you.
Something real.
————————————————————
The weeks go by, filled with half-said things and hands that never quite let go.
It’s not sudden, whatever this is becoming. It unfolds like morning light, soft and certain.
You start seeing him everywhere, and not just around- but with you. Sticking close at movie nights, hovering behind you in the kitchen under the excuse of “just looking for mugs,” showing up at your door with snacks and a shy little smile like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be this happy.
There are moments.
Tiny, perfect ones.
The way he always reaches for your pinky first, not your whole hand- like he’s asking permission to want more.
The way he knocks his forehead lightly against yours when he’s proud of something you said, his smile so close you can feel it on your skin.
The way you start finding his hoodies tucked into your laundry, and realise he’s been leaving pieces of himself behind without meaning to.
There’s a kiss in the hallway that barely lasts a breath- stolen between sarcastic jabs from Ava and Yelena shouting about someone stealing her last protein bar.
A kiss at the end of a long day, when his shoulders are heavy and his voice is quiet, and he doesn’t want to talk, just needs to feel you.
You learn his patterns- how he overthinks texts, how he forgets to eat if he’s anxious, how he hums nervously when he’s about to say something that matters.
He learns you too- your moods, your sarcasm defence mechanisms, the little way your nose scrunches when you’re trying not to cry.
One night, he falls asleep with his head in your lap while you’re both watching something terrible on the couch. You run your fingers through his hair the whole time, and he never stirs. You don’t move until long after the credits roll.
Another night, he drags you out onto the roof with a blanket and two mugs of hot cocoa, pointing out the stars you’re pretty sure are satellites.
You tell him it’s cheesy.
He tells you you’re beautiful when you laugh.
The first time he calls you “mine,” it slips out so softly, in the middle of a laugh, you almost miss it.
But you don’t.
You look at him, and he looks scared for a second.
Until you whisper, “Yours,” like it’s the easiest truth you’ve ever known.
And then- just like that- it’s not just kisses and lingering glances.
It’s a slow surrender.
A falling that feels like floating.
A trust that builds in small, sturdy pieces- like scaffolding around something worth protecting.
————————————————————
It’s quiet.
The kind of quiet that settles after laughter, like the room has exhaled. You’re lying on Bob’s bed—half beneath the covers, the other half tangled with him. The TV is still playing some old movie you both stopped pretending to watch twenty minutes ago.
Bob’s hand is on your waist, fingers drumming softly, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you but isn’t sure where to go from here.
You turn your head to look at him.
He’s already watching you.
You smile. “That movie was terrible.”
He grins, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, but you laughed. So it was worth it.”
There’s a pause. A heartbeat.
Then, softly, “Can I kiss you?”
You nod.
He leans in slowly- no rush, no pressure- and kisses you like he’s still a little surprised he gets to. Like he’s memorising you one touch at a time.
It’s not rushed.
Not urgent.
Just sweet. Deepening slowly. His hand brushes your cheek, his thumb skimming along your jaw, and you melt into him- closer, hungrier, but still holding back.
You pull away first, breathless. “Bob?”
He leans back slightly, searching your eyes. “Yeah?”
“I think I want to… tonight, I mean. With you.”
He freezes, blinking like the words haven’t quite registered.
“You mean…”
You nod, nervous now. “Only if you want to. I just… I trust you.”
His face softens instantly. He sits up a little, brushing your hair back from your face, cradling your cheek with his palm.
“You’re sure?”
You swallow. “Yeah. I’ve been sure for a while.”
Bob leans his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. His voice is a whisper now. “Okay. Then we’ll go slow. As slow as you want. You just tell me.”
You nod again, heart thudding in your chest.
Then he kisses you again, deeper this time, his hand finding your hip, his touch feather light. When his mouth trails down your jaw to your neck, you shiver, breath catching in your throat.
“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s good. You’re… really good.”
He smiles into your neck. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
You laugh, the sound dissolving into a quiet sigh as he shifts on top of you, holding himself up carefully, his body a gentle cage around you.
You reach for him, hands trembling slightly, and he catches them.
His fingers wrap around yours, gentle and grounding, before he lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. He lingers there, then slowly draws your arms up, helping you peel his hoodie over his head. The fabric clings a little to his undershirt, which follows next, revealing the lean, surprisingly defined torso beneath- soft around the edges, but with clear muscle underneath. A sleeper build, just like you’d always suspected.
You run your hands lightly over his chest, and he shivers under your touch.
“God,” he murmurs, smiling. “You’re already driving me crazy.”
Your cheeks flush, but you laugh a little, breathless. “We’ve barely started.”
“Exactly,” he says, voice warm. “That’s what’s killing me.”
He leans down and kisses you again, slower this time- his lips parting yours carefully, teasing at the edges of deeper things. His hand finds the hem of your shirt, and he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes.
“Can I take this off?” he asks.
You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah.”
Bob kisses your temple before gently easing your shirt up, his fingers brushing the skin of your stomach as he goes. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. You lift your arms, and the shirt comes off with a soft rustle, leaving you in your bra.
He stills, just for a moment.
His eyes move over your body with quiet reverence- not possessive, not greedy, just… awestruck.
“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re beautiful.”
You duck your head, suddenly shy under the weight of it.
But Bob gently tilts your chin back up. “Hey. No hiding. Not from me.”
He leans in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft hollow just beneath your ear.
“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, his voice low now- intimate. “You still feel okay?”
“Yes,” you whisper. “I… want this.”
He nods, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “Then let me take my time with you.”
He shifts to straddle your thighs lightly, his weight careful, never pinning. His hands move to your back, thumbs brushing soothing circles as he reaches for the clasp of your bra.
“Okay?” he murmurs again.
You nod. “Okay.”
He unclasps it slowly, letting the straps slide down your arms before easing the cups away from your chest. He pauses, watching your breath catch.
Then his eyes lift to yours again. Soft. Adoring.
“There you are,” he whispers.
You flush under the heat of his gaze, but he doesn’t look away. He leans down, lips brushing along your collarbone as his hands caress your sides. Every movement is slow, exploratory- like he’s learning you by feel.
Then his mouth moves lower.
He kisses the swell of one breast, lips soft and reverent, before gently drawing your nipple into his mouth.
You gasp- your hand flying to his shoulder, clutching.
“Too much?” he murmurs, looking up.
“No,” you breathe. “It’s just- I’ve never- ”
“I know,” he says, kissing your sternum. “I’ll take care of you.”
He moves back to your breast, alternating between soft licks and kisses, his tongue warm and slow against you. His other hand palms your other breast gently, thumb brushing in soft, lazy strokes over your nipple, watching every little reaction like it’s sacred.
“You’re so responsive,” he whispers. “Every sound you make is perfect.”
You arch into him without meaning to, a breathy moan escaping you. You can feel yourself already melting beneath his mouth, tension giving way to heat.
He switches sides, giving equal attention to your other breast, slower this time- dragging it out like he wants to savour you forever.
“You okay?” he asks again between kisses.
You nod, breathless. “It feels so good…”
Bob smiles against your skin. “Good. That’s what I want. I want to make you feel so good.”
His mouth leaves your breast with a final kiss, warm and lingering, and he trails downward- pressing soft, kisses along the curve of your ribs, your stomach. His hands stroke over your sides like he’s trying to calm every flicker of tension from your body, like worship is a language he only speaks with you.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing the dip of your navel. “Everything about you…”
He kisses just below your bellybutton and glances up at you.
His hair’s falling in his face, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted- and still, still, he checks in.
“Still okay?”
You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. Please don’t stop.”
A little smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “Not planning to.”
His hands slide to the button of your jeans, his fingers moving with careful slowness.
“I’m gonna take these off now,” he says, as if asking permission again with every word.
You lift your hips for him, nervous but excited, and he leans down to press a kiss just above the waistband before popping the button open.
Your breath hitches as he tugs the zipper down, the sound loud in the stillness of the room. He looks up at you again, waiting for the slightest sign of hesitation. You give him none.
Bob hooks his fingers in the waistband and starts to ease your jeans down- inch by slow inch- kissing every bit of newly revealed skin as he goes.
The curve of your hips.
The softness of your thighs.
He doesn’t rush a single second of it.
When he finally gets them past your knees, he helps you kick them off and lets them fall somewhere off the bed. His hands glide back up your legs, warm and wide, until they settle at your waist again.
You’re left in just your underwear now, your chest rising and falling fast, but your nerves are being steadily drowned out by the heat building beneath his gaze.
He settles between your legs, still fully focused, still in awe.
“God,” he murmurs, fingers brushing lightly at the tops of your thighs. “You’re gorgeous. Every single part of you.”
Your breath stutters.
You’ve never felt seen like this. Touched like this. His voice, his mouth, his hands- they’re all deliberate.
He leans down and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, right near the edge of your underwear. Then another. And another. Each one softer and slower than the last, until you're trembling under him.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just relax for me. Let me show you how good this can feel.”
You whimper, your hands curling in the sheets.
And he’s not even touching you where you need him most- yet.
Bob kisses your thigh again, just a breath away from the edge of your underwear now. You’re trembling beneath him, thighs twitching as heat coils low in your belly, anticipation lighting up every nerve.
He looks up at you, his breath warm against your skin. “Still good?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “God, yes.”
His fingers stroke lightly over your hips, and then- so slowly you barely feel it at first- he hooks them under the sides of your underwear.
“I’m gonna take these off now,” he says, voice low and reassuring. “And then I’m gonna taste you.”
Your whole body shudders.
He leans in to kiss your stomach again, just below your navel, as he begins to ease your panties down. The fabric drags along your skin, slow and soft, until you’re fully bare beneath him.
His gaze drops, and when it lifts again, he looks wrecked already.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “You’re so beautiful.”
You squirm under the attention, flushed and shy, but he leans in to kiss the inside of your knee this time.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “No hiding. You don’t have to be embarrassed. This is all for you, okay?”
You nod, unable to speak, breath shallow.
He spreads your thighs gently with his hands, keeping his touch firm but never forceful- just guiding, like he’s been dreaming about this for weeks and wants to savour every second.
And then he leans in and kisses you- there.
You gasp, hips twitching at the sudden, overwhelming pleasure. It’s warm and soft and so much more than you expected- so intimate you could cry.
Bob groans low in his throat at the taste of you. “God. You’re perfect.”
He licks a slow, teasing stripe through your folds, then presses his tongue flat against your clit in one long, languid stroke. Your whole body jolts.
“Too much?” he asks, lips still brushing you.
“N-no,” you breathe. “Just… intense.”
He smiles against your skin. “That’s the point, sweetheart.”
He starts slow- broad strokes of his tongue, dragging over you in unhurried circles, tasting you like something decadent. One of his hands slips into yours, holding tight as he works you open with his mouth.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs, between strokes. “Every little sound you make- fuck, I could do this all night.”
You moan, high and helpless, your thighs starting to close around his head.
He doesn’t pull back.
If anything, he leans in further, groaning as he flattens his tongue and suckles gently at your clit.
Your hips roll into him instinctively, and he hums his approval.
“That’s it,” he praises, voice thick with lust. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”
You’re shaking now, overwhelmed with pleasure. He shifts slightly, adding a finger- just the tip at first, testing, then easing it inside slowly while his mouth keeps working you in slow, deliberate circles.
“God, Bob- ” You arch under him, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m- close, I think- ”
He presses a kiss to your clit. “Then let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”
One more slow swirl of his tongue, and you break- back arching, thighs clamping around his head, a cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm hits hard and deep.
He doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it all the way through, until your hips stop trembling and your fingers go limp in his hair.
Only then does he pull back, slow and gentle, mouth shining, his eyes dark and soft and full of you.
He crawls back up your body, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone- every inch of skin he can reach before finally kissing your lips again.
You can taste yourself on him.
And you’ve never felt so wanted.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
You nod, still dazed. “That was… incredible.”
Bob smiles, brushing your hair from your face. “You deserve everything to feel like that.”
He kisses you again- slow, tender, deep- and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, still holding your hand.
“Think you’re ready for more?”
Bob is still leaning over you, lips swollen from kissing, eyes warm and searching. His hand strokes your cheek, slow and steady, like he’s still tethering you to reality after pulling you apart with his mouth.
You glance down- just for a second.
He’s still wearing his pants. His hoodie’s long gone, his shirt somewhere off the bed, but his jeans and boxers are still on. The tenting in them is… obvious.
And it hits you, all at once- you’ve never actually seen a guy in this setting. Not like this. Not hard. Not up close.
You feel your cheeks go warm again.
Bob notices immediately.
“What is it?” he asks softly, thumb tracing along your jaw.
You swallow, eyes flicking back to his face. “I’ve never… I mean, not really. I’ve never actually seen one. Not… hard.”
He blinks, then softens, immediately pulling his hand back slightly like he doesn’t want to push.
“That’s okay,” he says, voice gentle. “You don’t have to. We don’t have to do anything else tonight.”
“No,” you say quickly, then hesitate, biting your lip. “I want to. I just… I don’t really know what I’m doing. I had this one moment in high school. This guy asked me to give him a hand job behind a rec centre and it was… traumatic.”
Bob blinks. “Oh my God.”
You laugh, covering your face. “He gave me all these instructions like I was working a vending machine. He said, and I quote, ‘Like you’re trying to start a fire.’”
Bob wheezes. “Please don’t start a fire down there. That would ruin the mood.”
You peek at him through your fingers. “Promise.”
His expression softens again, turning more serious. “Do you want to see me? You can. I’d really like that. But only if you want to.”
You hesitate, then nod.
“I do. I just… might be awkward.”
“Good,” he says. “I’m great at awkward.”
You giggle, and he leans in to kiss you- quick and reassuring- before shifting to kneel beside you on the bed. His fingers go to the button of his jeans, and he hesitates, eyes on you the whole time.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe.
He undoes the button slowly, slides the zipper down, then eases his jeans over his hips. He leaves his boxers for last- pausing just before, giving you one last look for confirmation.
You nod again.
And he pushes them down.
You don’t know what you expected.
Maybe something intimidating. Clinical. Weird. But what you see is just Bob- flushed and hard, yes, but still him. Still familiar. His cock curves slightly, thick and flushed at the tip, resting heavy against his thigh.
He’s breathing harder now, like exposing himself has his nerves on edge too. His fingers twitch where they rest on his thighs.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod. “I’m just… trying to look without staring.”
“You can stare,” he says, smiling shyly. “I’m kind of hoping you will.”
You laugh again, tension breaking. “It’s just new. I’ve never, like… touched one outside of that really uncomfortable high school fumble.”
Bob exhales a warm breath, eyes softening even more. “You can touch me, if you want. I’ll tell you what feels good. Or I can just lie here and let you explore. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
You hesitate only for a second, then reach out- carefully, like you’re handling something fragile.
Your fingers wrap around him, gentle and curious.
His breath catches audibly.
You look up. “Good?”
“Very good,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut. “Your hands are so soft…”
You give a tentative stroke, watching his expression, and the way he shivers beneath your touch makes heat bloom between your thighs again.
“This okay?” you whisper.
He laughs, breathless. “I’m going to say yes to literally anything you do with that hand, but yes. Very, very okay.”
You experiment with the pressure, your touch growing bolder. His hips twitch slightly, and he moans low in his throat, his hand tightening in the sheets beside him.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “Feels so good, baby.”
You look up at him, heart thudding.
And for the first time, you think- you know- that you want all of him.
You keep your hand moving around him, more confident now- watching how every little shift in pressure, every stroke, makes his breath catch and his hips twitch. He’s panting softly, his eyes glassy with lust but locked on yours like you’re the only thing holding him to the bed.
But then his hand gently wraps around your wrist, stopping you with a soft groan.
“Okay- okay,” he pants, laughing breathlessly. “Enough of the hand stuff or I’m gonna embarrass myself in under two minutes.”
You smile, your heart thudding in your chest, drunk on the sound of his voice all thick and needy.
“Sorry,” you say, not sorry at all.
He grins and leans in to kiss you, deep and open mouthed, and the second his body presses flush against yours again, something in you shifts. The nerves are still there, but they’re quieter now- drowned out by warmth and trust and the aching need to feel all of him.
“Bob,” you whisper, breath catching as he kisses down your neck, “I’m ready.”
He freezes, just slightly, lifting his head to meet your eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low but serious. “You can say no. You can say not yet. I swear to God, I’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure,” you say softly, threading your fingers through his hair. “I want you.”
His expression softens, something in him visibly unraveling at your words.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah. Okay.”
He pulls back for a moment, leaning over to the nightstand. He opens the drawer with shaking hands and fumbles a little before pulling out a small, crinkling packet.
You blink, surprised. “You have condoms?”
He looks up at you with a sheepish smile. “Ava made a comment about my ‘vibe’ and tossed a pack at me two weeks ago. I didn’t argue.”
You giggle, tension easing again, and he tears the foil carefully with his teeth, then rolls the condom on with practiced hands.
When he looks at you again, his voice drops to a whisper. “I’ll go slow. I’ll stop if anything feels bad. Just tell me.”
You nod, heart racing, legs parting for him instinctively.
He shifts over you again, kissing you once, then twice- slow, anchoring kisses, like he needs to remind you you’re still here, still safe.
Then his hand moves down, careful and deliberate, guiding himself to your entrance.
His other hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. “Look at me.”
You do.
His eyes are dark, but not wild. They’re soft, full of something that makes your chest ache. Reverence. Want. Something you’ve never been looked at with before.
“I’m gonna go slow,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “Just the tip first. Let your body get used to me.”
You nod, heart pounding.
He shifts his hips, pressing in- just barely. You feel the pressure at your entrance, the way your body stretches around him. It’s not painful, just… new. Full. A burn that teeters on the edge of pleasure.
Your breath catches, and immediately he stills.
“Okay?” he whispers.
You nod quickly. “Yeah. Just… big.”
He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
You laugh too, breathless, your body relaxing just enough for him to slide in a little further.
“There you go,” he says, voice soothing. “That’s perfect. You’re doing so well, baby.”
Your fingers curl in his shoulders as he moves another inch deeper, his hand still cupping your cheek like you might vanish if he let go.
“God,” he groans, pausing again to breathe. “You feel so good. So tight around me. Like you were made for this.”
You whimper softly, legs shifting around his hips, instinctively opening more.
“Just a little more, okay?” he murmurs. “Almost there.”
He pushes in again- slow, so slow- watching your face the entire time. You feel every inch of him, thick and warm and stretching you open inch by inch until he’s fully inside, buried to the hilt.
He stills.
The weight of him inside you is overwhelming- too much and somehow not enough at the same time. You’re full, stretched, pulsing around him, breath shallow and ragged.
He brushes your hair back from your face, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Breathe with me,” he whispers.
You do. Slowly. One inhale, then another.
The burn softens into pressure. Then into heat. Then into a slow, steady ache that coils low and deep.
“How does that feel?” he murmurs.
“Full,” you whisper. “But good. I feel… good.”
Bob kisses your lips again, soft and slow.
“I’m not gonna move yet,” he says. “Just want you to feel me. Let your body figure me out.”
He stays there, still inside you, holding your face in his hands and kissing you like there’s nowhere else in the world. And slowly, so slowly, your body relaxes further, growing wet and ready around him.
You shift your hips just slightly and moan.
His breath shudders against your lips.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Tell me when you want more. I won’t move until you’re ready.”
You kiss him again, your fingers sliding into his hair. “I want more.”
He groans softly- like your words physically hit him- and draws back just a little before easing in again, the slow drag of him making your toes curl.
“That okay?” he breathes.
You nod, panting. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
“Good girl,” he whispers.
Then he starts to move- still slow, still careful, pulling out just enough to push back in, watching your face twist in pleasure with every gentle thrust.
Every movement is deliberate. Every sound you make pulls another quiet groan from his chest.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs. “So fucking perfect around me. Look how well you’re taking me…”
His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips just enough to steady you. He shifts his angle slightly and your breath catches again- a different kind of pressure blooming inside you, sharper and deeper.
“There?” he asks, reading you instantly.
“Yes- God, yes.”
He keeps that rhythm- smooth, deep strokes, hips rolling into you with a steady rhythm that makes your legs tremble around him.
Your body clings to him, every thrust sending warmth surging through you, every whispered praise making you want more, need more.
And you know- deep in your bones- that no one’s ever going to make you feel like this again.
Only him.
Only Bob.
He keeps his rhythm slow and deliberate, every thrust dragging sweet friction across the sensitive places you didn’t even know existed inside you. His forehead presses against yours, sweat clinging at the edges of his hair, and he’s breathing you in like he’s trying to memorise the shape of your soul.
You feel like you’re burning from the inside out. Each movement winds the coil inside you tighter, and the sound of him- those low groans and whispered praises- only pulls you further under.
“You feel incredible,” he pants against your lips. “So wet, so warm around me. You’re doing so fucking well.”
You whimper, clinging to his back, nails digging in as your hips meet his instinctively. It’s like your body already knows what it wants. What it needs.
Bob shifts one hand between your bodies, and when his fingers find your clit- just the lightest pressure- you gasp so hard it steals the air from your lungs.
“There,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You like that?”
You nod furiously, eyes fluttering shut. “Oh my God- yes.”
He circles it gently, in time with his thrusts. Small, perfect strokes that build the pressure fast- too fast- and the sound that escapes you is raw and wrecked.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Let me feel you fall apart, baby. Let me make you come.”
You’re spiralling now, hips rolling up to meet his, gasps tumbling from your mouth like prayer. The tension inside you pulls tighter and tighter until it snaps- white-hot and all consuming.
You cry out his name, body clenching hard around him as your orgasm crashes through you. Your vision blurs, and all you can do is feel- the stretch of him, the strength of him, the safety of his voice whispering you through it.
“That’s it. That’s my girl,” he murmurs, kissing your throat, your cheeks, your jaw. “You did so fucking good.”
You’re still trembling, dazed and breathless, when you feel him lose his rhythm- his hips stuttering, thrusts turning erratic.
“Fuck- I’m gonna- can I come inside?” he chokes out, barely holding on. “I’ve got the condom, but- ”
“Yes,” you breathe, still wrecked. “Come for me.”
He groans burying his face in your neck as he thrusts deep one final time and shudders, his whole body tensing as he spills into the condom.
He stays there, panting against your skin, arms wrapped tight around you like he’s afraid the moment might break if he lets go.
You wrap your arms around him too, holding him close, both of you sticky with sweat and shaking a little from the intensity.
Neither of you speaks for a moment.
There’s only the sound of your breathing, slowly syncing again, and the weight of him still nestled between your legs- warm and safe and yours.
Eventually, Bob lifts his head and kisses you- slow, deep, grateful.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Not from pain. Not even from overwhelming pleasure.
Just… feeling.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “That was everything.”
He smiles, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re everything.”
He pulls out carefully, murmuring apologies when you flinch a little, then slips off the condom and ties it off, dropping it into a tissue and tossing it toward the bin.
Then he’s back beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms like he can’t stand not to be touching you.
You curl into his chest, legs tangled, heart thudding slow and content.
“Was it what you imagined?” he asks softly, thumb stroking your hip.
You nod into his shoulder. “It was better.”
Bob presses a kiss to your hair. “Good. Because I don’t want that to be the only time.”
You hum against his chest, fingers lightly trailing across the skin of his ribs, feeling the steady thud of his heart under your cheek.
Then, with a smirk you don’t even bother to hide, you murmur, “So… how long until you can go again?”
Bob freezes for half a second- then lets out a breathless laugh, burying his face in your hair.
“Oh my God,” he groans, muffled against you. “Let a man recover.”
You grin, smug. “Just asking.”
He lifts his head, grinning down at you now, eyes full of disbelief and affection. “I finally get you into bed and you’re already trying to kill me?”
You press a kiss to his jaw. “Not kill. Just… challenge.”
He laughs again, softer this time, and pulls you even closer.
“Give me ten minutes and a Gatorade,” he says, grinning. “I’ll rise again like a very horny phoenix.”
You snort, curling into his side, smug and sleepy. “Make it five and I’ll be impressed.”
Bob chuckles, resting his chin on top of your head.
And then-
He pauses.
You feel it first: the shift of his body against yours, the twitch of something definitely not asleep pressing lightly against your thigh.
Then he shifts again and goes very still.
“…wait.”
You lift your head slightly. “What?”
He blinks at the ceiling like he’s doing math in his head. Then he looks down at the sheet tenting near his hips.
Then back at you.
Then back at the sheet.
“…huh.”
You narrow your eyes. “Bob.”
“I- okay, this is weird. I usually need, like… a minute. Not this.”
Your brow arches. “You’re hard again already?”
He nods, slightly panicked. “Like, really hard. Like- round-two-ready hard. This is not normal.”
You laugh. “You’re complaining?”
“No! I’m just… confused.”
He sits up slightly, staring down at himself with a mix of horror and fascination, then looks at you like you might have answers.
“I haven’t had sex since before the serum,” he says slowly. “Not since the powers. Maybe… maybe this is a side effect?”
You blink. “You’re telling me the super serum gave you super stamina?”
He looks at you, dead serious. “I think I just unlocked a new ability.”
You collapse into laughter, face pressed into his chest. “Are you about to put that on your Avengers profile?”
“I might have to. Under 'skills.' Right next to ‘godlike strength’ and ‘trauma based shadow manipulation.’”
You snort. “And now: ‘Ridiculously eager boner recovery.’”
He laughs with you, then kisses the top of your head, still shaking a little from the surprise.
“I mean,” he murmurs, voice low again, “if you’re still interested…”
You tilt your head up, eyes glinting. “Bob, I asked how long- I didn’t say I was done.”
His grin goes crooked, already leaning in.
“Well,” he says, rolling you gently beneath him again, “then let’s test the serum limits.”
————————————————————
You’re on your back, limbs spread in an ungodly sprawl, the sheets half kicked off the bed, your chest heaving like you just finished a marathon while being chased by a bear. A sexy, insatiable bear with a praise kink and superhuman endurance.
Your legs are still trembling.
Your brain? Long gone. Left your body somewhere around orgasm number… what was that last one? Five? Six? You stopped counting when he started saying things like “One more, baby, I know you’ve got it in you.”
He was right.
Unfortunately.
“Jesus Christ,” you croak.
Bob is flopped next to you, his arm thrown across your stomach, equally out of breath but still smiling.
“You alive?” he murmurs into your shoulder, voice warm and ruined.
“Barely.”
“You did so good,” he says, and somehow still has the audacity to sound proud. “Like… ten out of ten. Elite performance.”
“I think my vagina’s broken.”
He laughs, breathless, and presses a kiss to your collarbone. “Do we need ice? A trophy? A trauma counsellor?”
“Definitely one of those.” You roll your head to look at him. “How the hell are you still functioning?”
He blinks, grinning sheepishly. “The serum, probably? I don’t know. I usually need, like, a nap and a snack after round one.”
You stare at him, deadpan. “You’ve basically been edging me into another dimension for the last two hours, and now you’re casually discussing your recovery time?”
He shrugs, barely suppressing a smug little smile. “Just wanted to make your first time memorable.”
You groan and throw a limp arm over your face. “Oh, it’s memorable. I’ll be walking like I lost a bar fight with a bear.”
Bob laughs again, louder this time, and gently rolls toward you, pulling your exhausted body into his chest. He smells like sweat and skin and satisfaction. And somehow, you don’t even mind how sticky everything is.
“You okay?” he asks, softer now, brushing hair back from your damp forehead.
“Yeah,” you sigh, snuggling closer. “I’m good. I just… I might never move again.”
“I’ll bring you ice and snacks,” he offers. “And one of those little ‘caution: wet floor’ signs for your legs.”
“Bob.”
“Too soon?”
You bury your face in his chest. “Marry me.”
He goes quiet for a second- just holding you, warm and slow and full of something deeper.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Okay.”
You lift your head, heart stuttering. “Wait, are you joking or- ?”
He smiles at you- soft and lopsided, a little dazed. “Not even a little.”
Your breath catches.
Then he kisses your forehead, sighs, and murmurs, “But first, let’s get your vagina some ice. I feel like I owe her an apology.”