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It was rare that you and Bob had the Tower to yourselves.
"It's just a simple track and retrieve. We don't need the whole team for this," Yelena had said as she'd stepped into the elevator, waving one hand dismissively. The rest of the team was already waiting in the Quinjet on the roof. "We have this handled. You stay, do your cuddling thing with Bob, enjoy yourselves. Just don't break any furniture."
"We'll probably just get some reading done, maybe watch a movie," you said casually, before holding up three fingers in a solemn promise. "Scout's honor. No broken furniture."
Though you had every intention of breaking Bob's brain a little if he'd let you.
The two of you had been taking things slowly and carefully, only moving forward once he'd decided he was ready. The last thing you wanted to do was rush him or make him feel like his comfort didn't matter. You wanted him to feel safe in your relationship, without anything like the pressures he'd experienced before. But you also couldn't help but feel like you'd both have gotten past the heated makeout stage a month ago if the Tower wasn't so goddamn full of people.
You loved your little found family here in the Tower. Bob did, too. But sometimes you just wanted some privacy, and the chance to see if you couldn't fuck your insanely attractive, ridiculously superpowered, and somewhat clueless boyfriend absolutely and completely senseless.
And now, here you were.
No arguments in the other room to shatter the mood.
No bellowed announcements that an impromptu movie night was about to begin.
No one to open the fucking door right when you'd slipped your hand up an eager Bob's shirt and his slack face was turning the prettiest shade of pink you'd ever seen.
Just you.
And an unsuspecting Bob, tucked away in his little reading nook.
Perfect.
You didn't make your approach immediately, as nice as it would have been to simply walk over and maul him. No, you took your time, like any good hunter. There was no rush today, not when everyone wasn't due back for at least another six hours, if not longer. Instead, you soaked in the quiet and the growing scent of warm spice hanging in the air while you whipped up a couple drinks—cinnamon roll chai lattes today. After Bob had tried it at a local coffee shop and loved it, you'd poked around until you'd found a similar recipe online, one you made now with a few modifications. Once you'd finished up, including a healthy layer of marshmallow foam on top, you took the two mugs and wandered over to the corner of the common area that had been unofficially designated as Bob's space. Where before there'd been an empty corner, now there was a massive, cozy leather recliner set low to the ground, flanked by a few small battered bookshelves and a little table. He'd positioned the recliner right in front of the massive windows so he could look out at the city when he wasn't reading, and at this time of day he seemed wrapped in the sunlight that spilled into the room like a waterfall, his face and hair dusted at the edges with a soft, golden glow, his expression relaxed as he read.
You almost felt bad for disturbing him when he looked so beautiful, so relaxed, so at peace.
Almost.
You made sure to scuff your feet as you moved, quiet but audible, taking a wide circle into his line of sight to avoid sneaking up on him. It was something you'd learned about him early on once you'd all moved into the Tower. Despite your best efforts, though, the second you came into view, he still startled just a little, wrenching his head up from his book to blink up at you in momentary confusion. The book must have been good if he'd missed your approach, often hypersensitive to the tread of footsteps when he was sitting down and unable to dart away quickly. But his startlement quickly gave way to warmth, his eyes brightening as a smile lit up his face. You'd never get tired of the way he looked at you.
"Hey, I didn't hear you," he chirped. "For me?"
"Mhm. Cinnamon roll chai for that sweet tooth of yours." You offered him his mug: one in the shape of a round, chubby capybara with the words, 'Don't Worry, Be Capy' on the side. He'd laughed for a good ten minutes when you'd given it to him, and it had quickly become a favorite.
He reached for his bookmark, smoothly slipping it between the pages of his book before setting it over on the end table next to him and gratefully taking the mug from you. He also scooted over a few inches to the side, leaving just enough room for you to squeeze in next to him in the plush leather recliner, which you did, careful not to spill your drink. You still weren't sure how he'd managed to find a recliner this big, one that could technically fit two... if those two were very comfortable with each other. You wound up pressed tight against the burning heat of his side, his big, lanky frame radiating heat like a furnace, and yet again you were reminded of why you now wore shorts when cuddling with him regardless of the season. He draped one heavy arm around your shoulders, and you leaned into him, the two of you familiar with just how to make this particular tight space work. He let out a big sigh, peaceful and content, and only then did he turn to his drink.
One sip and you knew you'd gotten it right, his brow furrowing in delight, a low moan rumbling up out of his chest.
Fuck.
That was a nice sound.
Were you wet already?
You drummed your fingers against your own mug—a return gift from Bob shaped like a beady-eyed chicken, with the words 'Cluck Off' front and center—and stared out the glass at the city. You took a sip just to sell how calm and collected you were, as if you weren't at all thinking about throwing both drinks to the side and mounting Bob right there in the chair like something out of a nature documentary. "Good?"
"Always." He turned his head and nuzzled fondly into your hair. It had taken a little time for him to lose his anxiety over being so openly affectionate with you. You'd never met someone so starved for touch, for love and care, and yet he'd been convinced he'd be rejected if he reached for you, convinced he was asking for too much, being needy, clingy, annoying. Just to reward him for his progress, you turned your head to kiss his stubbly chin, and he practically purred next to you, kissing your forehead in return before taking another sip of his drink. "I don't know how you do it but yours is even better than the stuff at the coffee shop. Spicier, and with more cinnamon."
"I may or may not make adjustments based on your flavor preferences." You rolled your head back to stare up at him, sweeping your eyes over the fall of his messy, dark curls and the soft sweep of his mouth as he licked at the corner of his mouth, catching a stray droplet that had escaped before he glanced back down at you. You didn't miss the way his eyes briefly darted down further to the low hem of your tank top, lingering on the valley between your breasts before his eyes shot back up, the faintest bit of pink appearing on his cheeks as if he were embarrassed over being so blatant.
God help you, but you wanted to wreck this man.
"What are you reading?" you asked calmly.
He seemed thrown by your question, stuttering as he glanced back over at his book. "Oh, u-uh, just—it's Dracula? It seemed right for October."
You hummed, setting your drink down on the floor next to the recliner. "Are you at a particularly exciting part?"
"I mean, sort… oh," he breathed as you took his drink from his hand to set down beside yours. "Oh. Oh no, yeah, it-it can wait. It can definitely wait. I'm fine with getting back to it later."
"Good." You rose up and then swung your leg over him, settling atop his broad thighs. His hands quickly found their way to the curve of your waist, edging cautiously up under the fabric, just enough that you felt the searing heat of his fingertips on your skin. "Because we…" You trailed the backs of your fingers slowly up his cheek, and his eyes fluttered, his body shivering beneath you. Always so responsive to your touch, so sensitive. "…are truly alone for the first time in weeks. You may have noticed that."
"I didn't… I-I didn't want to assume anything." He swallowed hard, eyes almost nervous as he met your gaze. "In case you didn't..."
You slid your fingers up into his hair, tangling them in the messy curls, and his breath quickly grew shaky, his hands tightening at your hips in anticipation.
"Consider this your green light, then," you whispered. "Wanna kiss me?"
He nodded eagerly, one of his hands leaving your hip to cup your face, cradling you as if you were made of glass. And as you leaned in, he met your lips halfway.
The kiss started as something slow and endlessly, achingly tender, Bob's chest rattling on a soft sigh that drifted from his mouth to yours. Kisses with him often started that way—hesitancy followed by relief, as if he were always prepared for you to push him away, and endlessly grateful for the reassurance that you wanted him, too. His lips tasted like chai, like cinnamon, and a little like the White Rabbit vanilla candies he secretly kept tucked away in the pocket of the recliner. You couldn't help but savor the sweetness of his taste, the now-familiar heat of his breath in your mouth.
But it didn't stay slow, stay sweet for long.
Because Bob?
Bob was greedy.
Before long you felt the faint brush, the heat of his tongue, and you quickly parted your lips in response. The moment stretched like a film slowed to half-speed, your mouth hanging slack against his as you waited, breath mingling in the shared space between. There was something dangerously indulgent about the way his gaze met yours and held, his eyes hanging half-closed, glazed over and with the faintest edge of liquid gold eating away at the deep blue. Then he gradually slipped his tongue forward into your mouth, dragging it slickly against yours, his gaze holding yours the entire time.
The wet sound of it was filthy.
Your hands shot up into his hair, making him groan loudly beneath as you leaned into the kiss. In a breath, the crush of your lips to his grew desperate, a fire fed by weeks, by months of wanting denied, your paired moans painting the air with something sinful and molten. His grip on you was almost frantic as he breathlessly chased after your lips again and again, chased the sound of your growing gasps, the wet noises of your mouths drowned out by the roaring drumbeat of your heart in your ears, finally, finally, his hand vanishing up the back of your shirt, palming the line of your spine, luxuriating in the feel of your skin. He was just as hungry for this as you were, aching for it, yearning for it, and now? There was no one to interrupt you.
Things only spiraled further when his tongue retreated and yours followed, hunting after the taste of him like a lion after blood, sweet as candy but edged with sharp spice. You weren't prepared for the way he closed his wet lips around your tongue on instinct, blatantly sucking with a low, desperate whine. When it you didn't stop him, didn't pull back, his hips snapped up against nothing, rutting against empty air as you allowed him to suck and swallow the taste of you down. It felt only natural to finally slide up his thighs and into his lap, giving him something far more pleasant to fuck himself up against.
He wrenched his mouth away from you, his head thrown back as he choked out a startled, "Oh god, fuck—"
Something clattered to the floor in the kitchen, the end table beside you rattling as it suddenly jerked a few inches to the side, though you barely noticed as he writhed beneath you.
"Tell me to stop and I will," you purred, and whatever he was going to say dissolved into a ragged moan as you stroked your fingers up his throat, his mouth falling wet and slack as you rolled your hips down against his hardening cock. The way he thrust back up into you was instinctive, mindless and animalistic, as if he were chasing pure pleasure without thought. There was already a small wet spot on the front of his sweats, slowly darkening the fabric where he'd begun to leak against the cloth. You had every intention of making that worse. "I don't think you want me to, though. Do you? I think you want me to ride you right here, right in the open, just like this for a little while. What do you think?"
The sound he made was almost a whimper. "Please. I need it, I-I want it."
You rocked yourself against him until you found just the right angle, his cock pressed into the position you needed. Then you moaned as you fell into a lazy rhythm, riding him at a pace that seemed designed to fracture you both like glass. Each slow, serpentine grind of your hips dragged just right, a rough slide up the underside of his cock that left you clenching around nothing before starting back down, a constant friction against your clit. He couldn't help but grind back up into the burning, wet heat of you radiating through the thin fabric of your shorts, his arms winding tight around you, not that you had any intention of leaving. Especially not when he surged up to kiss sloppily, clumsily along your jaw, his wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving a trail of molten heat and damp saliva behind as he made his way down to your throat. Slurred praise and grunts of your name came between each kiss, his fingers already fiddling with the clasp of your bra. He was gentle, trying to be careful... until the next rock of your hips dragged your clothed cunt up and over the head of his cock, rubbing the seam of his sweats against him.
His teeth sank sharply into the tender skin of your throat where it met your shoulder, paired with his startled whine. It drew a gasp from you, and then a long, low moan, the bite not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruise, hard enough to tint the edges of pleasure with a delicious sting.
Instead of letting go, he let out a helpless groan before starting to suck.
"Needed something in your mouth, baby?" you breathed, and his answering moan was something wet and broken, all the confirmation you needed. He was practically drooling against your throat now, sucking harder, damn near mindless as he snapped his hips up, rutting into you, driving you up against that same spot again and again. You could barely move thanks to the way his arms had tightened around you, but you didn't need to. The angle was absolute sin, sweet pressure and friction against your clit that had you choking out his name, trying to match his new pace, rolling your hips back into him. His saliva rolled warmly down your chest, vanishing between your breasts, dripping from where he held you in his teeth. "Fuck, just like that, Bob, just—"
And you wanted to kiss him again, that was all. Your hands were already fisted in his hair, tangled in his curls, and it was simple enough to just…
Pull.
Not hard.
Not mean.
Just a firm tug, one that yanked his head back from your throat.
The lights in the common room flickered, then popped like a storm had just rolled in.
Something shattered in the kitchen.
But your eyes were on Bob.
His eyes flared a vibrant, molten gold before they rolled back, a choked gasp of your name tearing free as he arched beneath you, jerking his hips up so suddenly he almost bucked you off. Then, with a ragged whine, he started to come, his cock spilling in steady pulses, a warm, dark patch slowly spreading across his sweats. You quickly leaned in and pressed your mouth to his parted lips, crooning and trying to soothe him, stroking your hands far more gently through his hair as you worked him through his orgasm. The poor thing seemed to come for ages, shaking with each wave, which you definitely weren't helping with since you were still working your hips against his softening cock, dragging out his pleasure, because why the fuck not when he looked so pretty ruined underneath you?
"Oh god, fuck, I'm sorry," he moaned, his face burning red with shame as he began to come down. He tried to duck his head, tried to shift out from under you in mortification, no doubt to run off to the bathroom or his room and maybe hide there for a week. It was like he couldn't bear to let you look at him. "Shit, shit, baby, I'm so sorry, it just felt so good and I couldn't—and then you—"
But you didn't let him get very far before you pulled his head back up, giving him a fond kiss, one he only barely returned in stunned bafflement. "Are you kidding?" you breathed, pressing another kiss to his mouth, and then his flushed, damp jaw. "That was… way hotter than you think."
He stared at you in open disbelief, before seeming to decide you were just being nice. He wasn't having it, wrinkling his nose with a self-deprecating scoff. "You're lying. I already embarrassed myself, so you don't have to pretend."
You leaned in, catching his lower lip slowly between your teeth. And as you did, you took one of his hands and slid it down and under your shorts, dragging his fingers slowly, firmly along the absolutely soaked line of your panties.
He froze.
"That, ah, feel like lying to you, Bob?"
His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the twitch of his soft cock in his sweats despite the way he'd just come, could already see that hunger already returning in his eyes as he realized just how much you really had liked this.
He licked his lips.
"Can I eat you out?"
-~-
"Oh my god, I thought I said no broken furniture!"
"We didn't… oh shit."