haplesshairpile | (no subject)

Even before Steve opens the door, Maeve knows she probably shouldn't be here. She's cutting it a little close to the curfew at the Home, though she's not really worried about it, given that she'll be out of there in just over a week. It's not being late that's got her thinking she shouldn't be here, but the fact that she's still not eighteen and she's still not sure what she and Steve are even doing.

It's been months since she's come here now. Months since she's last seen Otis and honestly, with everything he'd done and said, she's not so sure she's still in love with him anyway. It's just all kind of mixed up and Maeve hates being mixed up.

But she knows she likes Steve. She likes being around him. She likes kissing him. Whatever that means... well, they'll figure it out or they won't.

When the door opens and he's standing there shirtless, she can't help but arch a brow, smirking faintly. "Dingus, huh? That's what you call Robin?"

“It’s what she calls me, mostly,” Steve replies, and once she’s in the apartment he turns to shut the door and stands there for a second while he gets his shit together. He feels the urge to go find a shirt, which is kind of dumb. Whenever he gets stressed out and restless, he goes to the gym or the batting cages, and Steve gets stressed out a lot more than people probably think.

He’s in the best shape of his life and he finds himself wanting to know what Maeve thinks when she looks at him, and kind of doesn’t at all at the same time. What if she thinks he’s weirdly hairy or something?

Ugh. He’s always so confident with girls, even to the point of cockiness, but he’s kind of a mess when he actually gives a shit.

“You’re here kind of late,” Steve says as he turns to face her. It’s almost her curfew. He remembers that from when Robin was at the home. “Everything okay?”

"I was bored," she answers, because now that she's actually written the GED exam and is waiting for her results, there isn't a lot for her to do. She's not preparing to go back to school like nearly everyone else is this past week and without her exam results she can't apply to any of the post-secondary schools, so she's just been hanging around.

"Besides, what are they going to do if I'm back after curfew?" she asks, looking around the apartment instead of at Steve. Shirtless Steve. Shirtless Steve she wants to kiss. It's easier to look at the things in his flat, evidence of his life here, of Robin. And if Robin is here, at least that'll keep Maeve from doing anything stupid.

"Kick me out?" she continues, glancing back at Steve with a little smile. "I'm moving in nine days anyway."

“Nine days,” he repeats, trying not to think about the countdown clock in his head, the creepy one he tries not to acknowledge. What’s nine days, anyway? That’s barely a week.

No, Steve. Stop it.

“I guess that’s true,” he says instead, staring at her while she looks around the living room. Contrary to what people might think, Steve isn’t a slob. He’s been picking up after himself since he was a kid, because his dad would get so pissed off if he didn’t. He generally tried to avoid pissing his dad off. Between him and Robin, the place stays pretty tidy. He’s glad for that now.

“Well, you’re free to hang out here,” he tells her, shrugging one shoulder and trying not to let it show how eager he is for her to be in his space. “Robin’s out with Rue, so there’s just me for company.”

Fuck. Maeve has been here before, but only when Robin is here. She acted like a buffer, cutting through the sexual tension with her presence, but now his best friend has abandoned him in his and his dick’s time of need.

“Do you want something to drink?” He asks as he slides by her to step into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, bending over to inspect the contents. God, they suck at grocery shopping. “Looks like we have beer and that sparkling water shit Robin likes.”

Robin is out. With Rue.

Which means Robin isn't thinking about getting home any time soon and Maeve isn't sure if she's glad about that or suddenly a hell of a lot more nervous. It didn't used to be this difficult. She'd have sex with Jackson, they'd go their separate ways, and it was fine. It was good even. But then he'd had to go and ruin it all by actually liking her and she'd discovered just how bad a girlfriend she really is.

And then Otis had made it so much worse, to the point where she spends half her time worrying she's just going to fuck it all up with Steve. Ruin a perfectly good friendship like she had with Jackson.

"A beer," she answers without thinking. "Unless it's one of those gross light beers that taste like piss."

“Please,” he replies with a scoff. He pulls two IPAs out and pops the caps off before handing one to Maeve, and then takes a long sip of his own. She lifts the bottle to her mouth and Steve’s eyes widen a bit, because that leads to dangerous thoughts. Christ, he hasn’t been this keyed up since he was fourteen.

“Be right back,” he says suddenly, blinking at her before disappearing down the hall to his room. He sets his beer down and slaps his cheeks a little before pulling on a black tee and heading back out to the living room. It’s fine. He can do this. He can be chill.

“So, no test results yet, I assume,” he says as he drops down onto the sofa and gestures to the cushion next to him. “If you’re bored enough to grace me with your presence.”

Edited 2020-09-01 18:06 (UTC)

Maeve is relieved when Steve leaves, relieved when he steps back, and not because she thinks there's anything wrong with wanting to fool around with someone, or even sleep with them if that's what it would come to. He's made it pretty clear it can't, because she's too young, but Maeve's not the sort to shame anyone for wanting something. It's the liking him bit she's worried about.

It's possibly ruining a friendship. But then maybe she's already done that. Maybe there's no going back from being here, from actually liking him and him knowing it, too. God, this is why she stays away from boyfriends.

When he walks down the hall, Maeve sighs heavily, but silently, then takes another long drink of her beer before she walks into the living room to wait for him.

When he comes back, she smiles and shrugs. "They said not until the beginning of October, so I won't be able to enrol at Barton or... wherever, until the winter semester." Then she sits, sinking down beside him, one leg tucked under her body.

“I’m sure you crushed it,” he tells her, and it isn’t just him blowing smoke. Steve seems to keep surrounding himself with women who are smarter than him, but they don’t make him feel like an idiot.

Well, Nancy did. Sometimes. But he’s pretty sure she didn’t mean to.

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.” He turns a little on the sofa and stretches one arm along the back of the sofa, letting his hand come to rest inches from her head. “You’re about to get your own place and everything, so now you’ll have a little time to settle before you start school.”

He smirks a little and takes another long pull from his beer. “Everyone deserves a little time to just fuck around and do nothing.”

Lifting his hand, he curls it into a fist and nudges his knuckles gently against her jaw. “Even you.”

"Of course I crushed it," Maeve answers with a snort of laughter when his knuckles nudge against her jaw. "I'm not worried about passing, I'm just..."

She trails off, then takes another sip of beer, and considers. This is the first time she's had anything to drink since coming here and it's not that Maeve actively avoids drinking or anything of the sort, she just hasn't been to any parties and drinking at the Home is clearly strictly forbidden. Besides, she was never the type to drink alone in her caravan anyway. It was one of those things she only ever did socially. But that means it's been months and even though she's only had a little less than half a beer, her head is already feeling a little buzzy.

"I want more than just a place," she says. "I've been in one cramped place after another and I want to go to school and get the sort of job that means something and lets me buy a house with big windows. And waiting for exam results is just another two months I'm not doing that."

It all kind of tumbles out of her in a rush, and Steve has to wonder if this is something that she doesn’t tell very many people. Maybe it’s something she trusts him with.

Fuck, he wants to kiss her.

“You’ll get there,” he says instead, because he knows that much to be true. Steve knows that he’s somewhat decent at pep talks, at least for ones aimed at idiot teenage boys, but he doesn’t know if he’s cut out for this. He doesn’t really know what it’s like to have such ambition.

“I know you’ll get there,” he tells her sincerely, letting his hand come to rest on her shoulder. “But have you ever had a time in your life where you didn’t have to worry about something? Where you can just kind of— enjoy the moment?”

From what he’s gleaned about her upbringing, he has to assume she hasn’t. Even when she was little maybe, when kids aren’t supposed to worry about anything.

“I think you deserve that,” he assures her as he gives her shoulder a squeeze and rests his thumb against a knot of muscle against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He chuckles a little and presses his thumb into it, rubbing slow circles to try and loosen it up. “It might even be good for you. And then you’ll go to school, and you’ll get that job. You’ll get that house. I know you will, and maybe you’ll think back fondly on those few months you hung out with me and did fuck all.”

"No," she says with a faint smile, certain Steve already knows the answer to that question. Maeve can't remember a time in her life when she wasn't heaped with responsibility, even if it was just the job of caring for herself when everyone else who was supposed to help her with it fucked off somewhere. Her mum is an addict, her dad is god only knows where, and Sean is a fuckup in his own right.

He'd tried, at least, but only for a little while, and then he'd fucked off, too.

"Never really done fuck all," she admits, chewing her lower lip as she tries not to smile. The bottle of beer is slick with condensation and she leans forward so she can put it down on the table before she sinks back into the couch. A little closer to Steve. "Any idea how a person is supposed to start?"

Jesus.

Is she flirting? This has to be flirting, because who bites their lip like that if they're not flirting? Steve's gaze drops to her mouth just in time to see it form fuck all, and he tips his beer back to drain the rest of it when she settles back down closer to him.

Basketball shorts was the entirely wrong choice for this encounter.

He puts his empty bottle on the table and then leans back against the sofa, slouching enough that he has to tip his chin up slightly to look at her.

"Hedonism, basically," he murmurs, looking at her mouth again. Her lip is all red from her biting it to torture him.

"Ah, hedonism," she says, looking amused. "There are a lot of arguments both for and against hedonism within a feminist construct."

That isn't what Steve is looking to talk about, she's very aware of that, but she can't help but tease him a little. In fact, she's fairly certain Steve doesn't necessarily want to talk at all and while she knows he would sit here and listen to her talk about feminism if that was what she really wanted, it isn't. Not at all. Instead she keeps thinking about how he'd looked with his shirt off and the stupid, fantastic sweep of his hair, and how easy it would be to just crawl into his lap and make him forget that she's still not eighteen for another nine day.

It isn't that she wants him to cross lines he's set for himself, she recognizes how fucked up that would be, but she doesn't see the difference in nine days. Besides, it isn't as if they haven't already kissed.

Maeve shifts on the couch, kicks off one of her loosely tied boots, then uses the toes of her freed foot to kick off the other. Her knee nudges against Steve's thigh.

"Some lines have to drawn, don't they?" she asks, still grinning, still speaking as if they're really about to enter into an ethical debate on hedonism. "No one would ever get anything done otherwise."

Shit. That was a very smart thing that just came out of her mouth and Steve would struggle with a response on a normal occasion, let alone one where he just trying very hard to keep his gaze above chin level.

He wonders if wondering what color her nipples are makes him a bad feminist. Same color as lips usually, right? Except hers all red from the bites. Great, now he’s thinking about biting her nipples.

And then he thinks about his grandma and her chin hairs, because he cannot get hard in these shorts.

Fuck. He really is a bad feminist, isn’t he?

“Drawing lines usually seems like a good idea in theory,” he says, because he gets the feeling that he knows exactly what lines she’s referring to. “But if the line makes you unhappy, it kind of defeats the purpose of hedonism.”

She almost points out that he had been the one to draw the line in the first place, saying she was too young for him to be kissing, but at this point she would only be doing it to be a pain in the ass. While she has plenty of thoughts when it comes to drawing a line and wishes her mother had drawn a whole bunch of lines instead of just indulging herself, she's not really thinking about that at all.

Instead, she's thinking about the way he keeps looking at her mouth and the fact that she doesn't even have to look too hard to see the vague shape of his cock in his shorts. She's thinking about how she very much wants to see him without the shorts and she can't help the way she presses her thighs together to relieve some of that tension, a flexing of her muscles Steve can probably feel where she's resting against his knee.

And if he can feel it, she doesn't even care. Maybe he doesn't want to fuck her for another nine whole days, but she feels like it'd be pointless to pretend she doesn't want to fuck him.

"You know you're positioning yourself to be something of an expert here, yeah?" she asks, tilting her head so her hair falls over her shoulder. It's a calculated move. She's sure he knows that, too.

“I’m not an expert on anything,” he says with a laugh, letting his gaze drop to where her legs press together. He looks back up in time to see her flip her hair over a shoulder and look at him with big eyes. She looks about a second away from batting her eyelashes and Steve may not be an expert, but he knows what flirting looks like.

“Speaking of positioning yourself,” he says in a low, amused tone, letting his gaze sweep over her. He did draw a line for himself, and he’s so close to crossing it. But what were the terms, really? Did he ever actually define them for himself? Don’t fuck her until she’s eighteen. Okay, great. He won’t fuck her.

But there’s a whole lot of wiggle room between nothing and fucking.

Steve grabs her by the hips and tugs her forward until she’s half-splayed across his lap, bringing their faces close together.

“We could toe the line,” he says, leaning in to let his lips brush against her cheek. “Get real close to it.”

Fuck it. It’s nine days.

"It was never my line," Maeve answers with a laugh, shifting herself when he tugs her, throwing one leg over his hips so she can properly settle into his lap.

All the shit people have said about her, all the assumptions they made, none of it had ever been true. Maeve Wiley was a cockbiter, Maeve Wiley was a slut, Maeve Wiley fucked five guys in one night because she was short on rent. She hadn't bothered fighting back because it didn't matter, but it hadn't been true.

Before this, there's only ever been Jackson and Maeve is more than comfortable with that. She doesn't owe anyone explanations or her history. All she knows is whatever people want to say about her, it feels good to settle into Steve's lap and feel him warm between her thighs. And it feels really good to tilt her head and kiss him, pressing her lips to his, drawing the tip of her tongue gently against his lower lip in a tease.

The line was never about not wanting Maeve, or thinking she was too young to make her own choices. It might have come off that way, but that wasn’t it.

It was just a rule Steve made for himself, before even Darrow, and he just never had any reason to break it. Not until now.

She straddles his lap and Steve puts his hands on her thighs, sliding his palms along them until he can grip her hips. He lets her come to him, opening up easily for the kiss and smiling at the teasing brush of his tongue.

“Is this what you came over for?” He teases as he slides his hands up under the back of her shirt just to feel soft, warm skin. “You must be very pleased with yourself.”

He kisses her again before she can answer, slipping one hand out of her shirt to cup her jaw instead, nipping softly at her bottom lip before licking into her mouth.

Had she come for this? It's good to realize that isn't the case, that she'd come because she was bored and Steve's probably the best friend she's made here so far. She'd come because she can't always be showing up at Dani's place when she has nothing to do, even though she doesn't think Dani would mind that much.

Maybe a little part of her had come because she'd wanted to kiss Steve again, but she's satisfied it isn't the only reason.

"Mhmm," she murmurs against his mouth, focused mostly on kissing him. On the slow roll of her hips as she slides her hands up under the front of his shirt. "I came here just to seduce you. I'm very sneaky like that. Thought I'd get you going by talking about hedonism within a feminist construct. It worked, huh?"

“Apparently.” He would sit there and listen to her talk about feminist constructs, if that’s what she wanted. Before Darrow, before all of the weird shit in Hawkins, he used to go after the standard popular girls, the caricatures of real people who seemed predictable and easy.

Nancy Wheeler and a bunch of monsters blew that all to hell. He’s discovered that he really likes smart girls, tough girls, girls who will tell him to fuck off.

Maeve is all of these things. And she’s a good kisser and her skin is so soft and maybe she’ll teach him to be a better feminist because he wants to, and he’s trying.

Maybe not right now, though, because he wants to pull her shirt off and mouth at her tits. But he also respects her, so maybe that’s what counts?

He kisses her again, letting their tongues meet as he trails his hand down the side of her neck and along her chest until he reaches the curve of her breast. Her nipple is tight and peaked under the layers of fabric, and he brushes the pad of his thumb over it before dropping his hand to her thigh to tug her closer.

“I’m very pro-hedonism,” he says as he pulls away from her mouth to kiss along her jaw instead, pressing his tongue to the soft spot under her ear. “For the record.”

"Yeah, I think I can tell," she answers with a grin, punctuating the statement with another roll of her hips, pressing herself down against Steve. His lips taste like beer and she makes a quiet noise of complain when he pulls away, even though she very much likes how his mouth feels on her jaw, too.

His shirt had been off before, there's no reason for it to be on now and Maeve pushes the material up and out of the way. To get it off, Steve will have to move back for a second, but it'll be a second that's very much worth it, she figures.

"Here," she says, then laughs. "Get this off. I liked it better before you put it on."

Steve doesn’t pull away from her neck until his shirt comes up and tugs his chin out of the way. He leans back and lifts his arms up so she can tug it off, and then shakes his hair out as his hands go back to the sip of her waist.

He wants to make a crack about equality and tug hers up too, but he settles for sliding his hands up under the fabric and letting his thumbs glide along her ribs. Her hips roll again and he hisses a little at the friction against his cock, which gave up all hope of not getting hard the second she climbed into his lap.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, lifting one hand to curve it around the back of her neck, pulling her in until his lips brush hers as he speaks. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

While Maeve has taken to gently teasing Steve about his hair, she really does like it, and when he shakes his head after his shirt has come off, she can't help but run the fingers of both her hands through it, then trailing them down the sides of his neck and back to his chest. She kisses him again, a little shiver going through her at the thought that she'd been driving him insane. It's not like she hadn't known, it'd all been pretty obvious since that first kiss, but in Maeve's experience, things usually end up a lot more complicated than this.

It isn't complicated, though. At least not yet. She's going to let herself enjoy that.

She breaks the kiss in order to reach down to the hem of her t-shirt, to pull it up and over her head, revealing a plain black bra. What she really wants is to get out of it all, her bra, her shorts, the sheer tights she's wearing, she wants to get Steve out of his shorts, but for the first time in her life she's in a position where she has to respect someone's boundaries when it comes to sex. She isn't going to push anything.

She doesn't completely understand it, but she isn't going to push it.

It’s not like Steve has been having any issues getting laid, but she makes him feel like it’s been forever. Maybe it’s because he’s nervous when he hasn’t really been nervous since Nancy, and he’s afraid of what that might mean.

What if Maeve decides Steve isn’t good enough for her, just like Nancy did? Neither of them would be wrong, though. He isn’t good enough for either of them.

But then she’s peeling off her shirt and not even Steve’s deepest anxieties can contend with the image of her in his lap in just a bra, pale skin straining against black fabric, and he can’t help but to lean in and press his face there for a moment, turning to kiss and bite along the curve of her breast before tugging her in for another kiss.

One hand slides up her back until his thumb hooks under the strap of her bra, and he pulls back to look at her with dark eyes. “Can I take this off? I want to see you.”

Grinning, he leans in to mouth at her neck again, nipping playfully at the bolt of her jaw. “Okay, and maybe touch a little, too.”

She understands he's doing this the right way, asking for consent, but Maeve can feel a buzzing pleasure between her thighs and it reminds her a little of something Otis would do. She doesn't want to be reminded of Otis in this moment.

"Take it off," she answers, her voice a little rough. The scrape of his teeth against her skin take her mind far away from Otis in a sudden moment and she's grateful for that. This is all she wants to be thinking about in the moment. Steve's mouth on her, his hands on her, just Steve.

She wonders if she can make him come in his shorts. If they're not going to have sex, she still wants him to get off, and she's not sure where he'll draw the line. She bites her lower lip, grinning a little, her hand sliding down his chest toward the waistband of his short where she stops short and lets her fingertips trail along the edge.

As soon as she gives him the okay, Steve unhooks her bra with one hand in a practiced move, and then pulls back enough to tug it from her arms and toss it aside. He lets out a groan as he looks her over, because of course she has perfect tits, with tight little nipples that are pink like her lips.

He leans in to press a kiss to her bare shoulder, and happens to glance at the digital clock above the television. It’s after curfew at the home, which means that if Robin and Rue are more responsible than they are (which, considering Robin, is likely), she could be home any minute.

“Okay, we need to move this. Hold on,” Steve tells her, laughing a little as he braces one arm under her ass to hold her as he stands. Her bare chest presses against his and Steve nearly trips over the coffee table, but he manages to stay upright as he carries her down the hall towards his bedroom and kicks open the door.

It’s relatively clean, and Steve is grateful that he changed his sheets just yesterday as he places his knee on the bed and lets Maeve fall back onto it. She looks incredible spread out against the dark red cotton, and Steve stares at her as he backs up enough to close the door.

“If Robin walked in, we’d never hear the end of it,” he explains, grinning as he dives onto the bed and presses his hands onto the mattress on either side of her as he leans down to kiss her stomach, then the curve of her ribs, the underside of her breast, the hollow of her throat, and then finally her mouth again, groaning as he licks his way inside.

"You'd never hear the end of it," Maeve answers. "Robin likes me."

But she doesn't want to talk about Robin right now. Her bra and shirt are still out in the living room and she figures Robin will make a very educated guess about what's going on behind this closed door whenever she gets home, but Maeve's focus is entirely how it feels having Steve leaning over her, his mouth on her skin. She feels flushed, overheated in a way she hasn't in some time, and she shifts under Steve, then hooks one leg around his to pull him closer.

Her hands slide over his shoulder as he kisses her, then down his back, over the curve of his ass. She wants to fit their hips together, to feel him hard against her thigh, and she groans into his mouth, the sound muffled as she presses herself against him.

Yeah, no more talking about Robin.

The only thing he can focus on is Maeve underneath him, warm and responsive, pulling him closer, and he lets out a groan as he settles himself between her splayed legs. He rolls his hips against the apex of her thighs, grinding himself against her as he leaves a wet trail of kisses up the side of her neck.

"Are these tights?" He asks with a husky laugh, after reaching back to grip the curve of her thigh. "Full actual tights?"

It's been a while since he's engaged in what is basically dry humping, but with Maeve it's somehow absurdly hot. Maybe it's because it's like this dam of tension they've built up is finally breaking, or because there's this line they're trying not to cross. Or maybe it's just because it's her.

He sits up a little and rolls his hips forward like he's fucking her, and then leans down to take her nipple into his mouth so he doesn't do something stupid like beg her to take her stupid tights off and let him inside.

"What?" she asks, only partly breathless. "Did you think my legs were just naturally a different colour from the rest of my body?"

Any other smartass remark is lost, however, between the way he sits up and holds onto her, rolling his hips at the same time. Just a few layers of fabric lay between them, a few layers of fabric away from fucking, and Maeve squirms on Steve's bed, prickling with heat, feeling the way her underwear is growing damp, her tights, too, wondering if the first thing they do nine days from now will find her right back here again.

At nearly the same time his lips close around her nipple, Maeve works a hand down between them, fingers curving over the shape of his cock inside his shorts. She can't quite grip him like this, but she can put pressure on him, can give him friction, and besides, she wants to touch him. To feel him. She likes what she's feeling.

"Fuck." Steve drops to his elbows over Maeve as he rocks into her palm, feeling his cock drag against the thin material of his shorts. He lets his teeth graze across her nipple and then lifts his head to kiss her again, shifting until he can lift his hand and reach down to grip her through her shorts.

She's searing hot between her legs and Steve grinds his palm down as she rocks up, pulling back enough to look at her face as his thumb hooks in the waistband of her little shorts, tugging them down a little. All he can really think about is hot she is against his hand and he wants to know if she's wet, and how she'd feel around his fingers.

"I want to make you come so bad," he pants out against her lips, tugging at the button of her shorts until it pops open. He places his hand low on her belly, pulling back to look at her as his fingertips dip below the top of her tights and pause there, just above her underwear. "Can I?"

"Such a gentleman," she teases, but she does appreciate both that he's asked and that he seems more focused on her pleasure than anything else at the moment. It's a rare thing, at least as far as she's heard from other girls, given that Jackson had been really good about making sure she always got off, too.

In response to his question, she just lifts her hips, pressing herself against him and helping him to tug down her cutoffs. It's heady, the warm arm around them, Steve's hand on her, the way he feels in her hand.

"You better," she says, breathless with it before she nips sharply at his lower lip.

"I will," he assures her, because Steve knows that he isn't great at many things, but this is definitely one of them. She wriggles out of her shorts but her tights stay on, and his hand slides underneath them and into her underwear, watching her face as he finds her clit with his fingertips.

"You're so wet," he murmurs against her jaw, circling her clit a few times before letting his fingers slide down between her lips, teasing at her entrance as he nips at the soft spot under her ear.

His middle finger slides into her slowly, and he kisses her again as he pumps it in and out a few times before adding a second and crooking them up. "And hot."

"Fuck," she says on a heavy exhale, her muscles tensing and then relaxing at the touch of Steve's fingers. It's been awhile since anyone else's fingers besides her own have been down there and it makes her shiver with pleasure at the newness of it all. Steve knows what he's doing, too, he's not some dumb kid jabbing awkwardly at her cunt with his fingers stick straight, not that she'd expected him to be.

Maybe this is part of why stupid high school girls talk about dating older guys.

One of her hands slides down his back, her nails dragging lightly across his skin before his can slip her hand into his shorts. She grins faintly, arching into him and squeezing his arse.

"Not yet," he huffs out, grinning down at her as he starts to fuck her with his fingers. He wants to fuck her so bad but this is good, too. Steve genuinely likes getting girls off, and watching their faces as they squirm underneath him.

Her tights hinder the movement of his hand, so he slides his fingers out so he can grip them and tug them down over her ass, leaving them tangled around her thighs as he slides his fingers into her again, circling her clit with his thumb as he pumps them in and out of her.

"God, you're perfect. Look at you." Steve searches out the spot that makes her cry out in pleasure and grins down at her as he focuses his attention there, rubbing at it with his fingertips as he leans down to press his face between her breasts. He nips at the soft skin and pulls a nipple into his mouth, looking up at her as he grazes his teeth lightly across the tight peak of it.

If she didn't otherwise feel so good, Maeve might make a remark about how stupid that is, how only a few days don't matter, but she's made her peace with it. Even more so with Steve's fingers inside of her, because maybe it's not quite the same, but it's still very, very good and all she can really do is arch up against him.

Her hands feel dumb and clumsy, but she gets one between them, looking for the hard length of his cock still with his shorts in the way. Were she more coordinated she'd find some way to get them off, but as it is, she feels little sparks of heat and electricity starting to go off, her muscles pulling tight and she knows she's close.

"God, almost," she breathes, the last word rising up as he scrapes his teeth across her nipple.

It probably is stupid, because the line has already been crossed. A part of him is inside of her and his dick is leaking all over the front of his shorts as she grabs at him, but it’s also kind of insanely hot.

Or maybe that’s just her, and the way she squirms as he figures out just the right way to move his fingers.

He lifts his head to watch her face, letting the slight stubble on his chin drag over her nipple as he rubs at her clit with his thumb, feeling her cunt tighten around his fingers.

“Come on, let me see,” he breathes out, leaning in to give her a messy kiss as he fingers her a little harder, a little faster, putting unrelenting pressure on that one magic little spot. His dick twitches in her grip and if he were a little less focused on her, he might wriggle out of his shorts to make it easier.

But even with as hard as he is, all he wants right now is to learn what her face looks like when she comes.

She’s going to come, she knows it, can feel it, and her breath catches, a low whine slipping out. Finally, with fumbling hands, she gets one inside his shorts.

It’s the heat of his dick that finally does it. His fingers are amazing and his mouth is warm and wet, but it’s once she finally gets her hand wrapped around the weight of his cock that she feels all the muscles inside of her body tightening involuntarily. She glides her thumb over the head of his cock, collecting the wetness there, and then she’s coming with a desperate moan.

“Fuck, Steve,” she cries out. Later she’ll be relieved Robin isn’t home, as she makes no effort to keep herself quiet.

Maeve’s hand curls around his dick and it’s enough to make Steve moan out loud, because it’s not hesitant or coy. She grabs at him like she knows exactly what she wants and he wants so badly to knock her hand away and push into her, because that’s what they both want.

He feels close to doing it, almost wild with it, but Maeve’s orgasm distracts him. Her body clenches down around his fingers and he works her through it, thumbing at her clit until she goes limp underneath him. His fingers stay inside of her for a long moment, and then he slowly pulls them so he can shuffle forward a bit, straddling her waist as she fists his leaking cock.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, staring down at her as he drags a finger down the valley between her breasts, leaning a trail that glints in the low light. “I want to make you do that all the time.”

She can't speak, not yet, her breath still coming in hard gasps, her body shuddering with aftershocks every time she feels the slightest bit of friction against her clit. If he wanted to, she'd let him fuck her now without question, probably make another stupid mistake and not even think about a condom, but she drags her mind from that. Focuses herself on the moment right here. Focuses on Steve.

"Pretty good at it," she finally manages, her eyes glinting with something bordering on mischief. Her gaze drops as she manages to make use of both her hands, working Steve's shorts down a little so she can properly see him and properly get her fist around him. "Pretty good here, too."

She's never seen an uncircumcised cock and it doesn't give her pause, really, because she just likes him and she likes his dick and she wants to make him come. It's just interesting.

The praise makes him let out an amused huff and he smiles down at her, rocking into her tight fist as he reaches down to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He groans and traces her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and then moves his hand lower, between her breasts before framing one in his hand.

"You've seen nothing yet," he jokes in a husky voice, letting his gaze drop to her tits. His hips rock forward and his cock twitches in her grasp, because he's so close from just a fumbling handjob and he wants to come on them so bad, but that's probably not something that you should ask for during the first sexual encounter with someone.

The first of many, hopefully. There will be plenty of chances for him to ask to come on her tits. Right now, she's more concerned with the look on her face. "Why are you staring at my dick?"

"Am I not allowed to look?" she shoots back, a little disappointed he can still speak. Maybe she's not quite the sort who got around like people back home made her out to be, but she likes to think she knows what she's doing with a dick, circumcised or not, and she twists her hand around him just to see if she can make him shut up.

She works her other hand properly into his shorts, too, cupping his balls in her palm, shivering a little at the way his skin glides smoothly against hers.

"Never seen someone who's circumcised before," she answers, figuring she does own him a response. "I wanted to have a look."

It does the trick.

Steve chokes on a gasp as she works him in her hands. He gives a jerky nod at her answer and looks down to watch his dick fuck into the tight grip of her fist. The motion of her arms make her tits jiggle and it’s all too much, making Steve arch forward over her to grip the headboard.

“I’m close,” he glass out, wondering if he should move back or pull away, and deciding to take his cues from her. “Fuck.”

"Good," she says, encouraging him, rocking her own hips a little with the knowledge that she could come again if he would be willing to fuck her. But still, she isn't going to think on that. She's just going to do this, focus on him, on making him come in her hand and on her chest.

Her pace quickens a little, focusing on the head of his cock, and her gaze flicks between his face and his dick. Eventually she has to focus on his face, on the way he looks, because this is what she needs to see. The way he looks when he comes. The knowledge she did that to him.

She doesn't seem to want him to pull away, not with the way she's stroking him and looking up at him with dark eyes and an open, eager mouth. Steve stares at her face until it all becomes too much, and his orgasm overtakes him with a soft grunt. Small pools of come land on her chest, on her perfect tits and the valley between them, and Steve's breath hitches as she strokes him through it.

Eventually he has to reach out and still her wrist when he gets a little too sensitive, and then lifts her hand to press a kiss to her palm before rolling off of her to lay at her side. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment while catching his breath, and then looks over at her with lazy grin, leaning in to give her a kiss.

Christ, that's hot. And leaves Maeve feeling vaguely smug about it all as Steve rolls off her. This isn't her place, she has no idea where anything is and she's not about to get off the bed and wander around like this, just in case Robin has arrived home. She twists slightly after Steve kisses her, then gropes along the bedside table until she finds a box of tissue.

Plucking a few free, she wipes her chest clean, then balls up the tissue and drops it on the floor, figuring she'll grab it when she leaves. Then she turns toward Steve, curling up on her side. She'll go soon. She has to, she can't stay here, it'd be too weird. It'd seem too much like she expects something from him and she doesn't want to be that girl. She never likes being that girl.

But it's nice for the moment. Just to stay.

Steve has had his fair share of casual sex, and he's never really been one to roll out of bed and leave right after. He finds himself hoping that this isn't casual, and once he catches his breath, he pushes Maeve onto her back again and sort of flops down on top of her, resting his cheek between her breasts as he slings an arm around her stomach.

"And to think that I was just about to jerk off before you showed up," he murmurs fondly, pressing a lazy kiss to her skin. "Like something out of my dreams."