Work Text
It’s not as if you’ve never thought about it, wondered what meeting Sebastian Stan would be like. Let’s be real, some days those are the only fantasies that can make the wait for the Metro bus bearable. But its not like you thought it would ever actually happen, and especially not like this.
It's already been a shitty day; three days before payday and you had to count change because your good for nothing roommate used the last of the coffee and didn't bother to say anything or pick up more. It's early as fuck on a Wednesday morning - 8 a.m. is for high schoolers and nine to fivers and you are neither - and you're just
radiating
class, decked out in a pair of yoga pants and that stupid grey ribbed muscle shirt your ex left behind when you finally kicked him to the curb. You didn't comb your hair, it's way too early for makeup, and you may or may not have forgotten to put on a bra. So yeah, you’re basically every celebrity’s wet dream.
The grocery store you frequent is busy, which is weird for this time of day, but the coffee is where it always is, and you tuck it under your arm as you maneuver yourself through the horde to find a short checkout line. It's as you're standing there, tapping away at your phone with your favorite playlist filtering through your ear buds, that you hear it. Your music is between tracks, and you
know
that voice, recognize it as soon as you hear him mutter, “God dammit.”
Your head snaps up, sure you're having auditory hallucinations, but you turn around and there he fucking is, tall and glorious, with his brows furrowed in frustration and now you're a hundred percent certain that this is a dream - or possibly a nightmare because mother
fuck
you look like a trash can. But he's looking
right at you,
the corner of his mouth turning up into an amused little smirk and dear sweet
Christ
his lips are even pinker in person. And they're moving, and that means he’s saying something to you and you’ve still got music blaring in your skull.
You blink, coming back to yourself, and pull the ear buds from your ears.
"Huh?" you ask, and wow, way to go self, very eloquent.
Sebastian chuckles, says again, "Would you mind holding my spot? I forgot to grab milk."
“Sure no problem,” you say, but it comes out a little breathy, and - God help you, starstruck - but he just grins and thanks you, before turning away to locate the milk he had forgotten.
You are in a state of utter disbelief, painfully aware of the fact that your hair is probably so greasy you could most likely wring it out and fry an egg, and just as you are considering leaving your coffee and running away to bury your head in the sand out of sheer humiliation, Sebastian is coming back. He's apologizing to the people that have lined up, and is coming to stand beside you again, armed with a small basket of necessities, a bottle of (expensive-looking) red wine, and a half gallon of skim milk. He smiles again, thanks you, and puts his few groceries on the belt behind your one pitiful tub of Folgers.
“So,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter, and you're trying
so
hard to not scream and text every single person you know just to make sure that this moment is real, that you haven't died in some horrible grocery store related accident.
“So,” you say right back, pulling yourself together enough to copy his stance and try for casual, maybe even teasing. “I recognize you.”
“I figured,” he laughs, but its not unkind. “The, uh, wide-eyed guppy look tends to give it away most of the time.” The desire to sink into the ground is so so strong right now, but Sebastian's smile is charming and sweet, and he is even more beautiful in person.
“I'll bet
that
was an attractive look on me,” you say, rolling your eyes.
“Well I’ve certainly seen worse,” he grins, giving you a real, honest to god once over, and is it getting hot in here or is that just the way Sebastian fucking Stan is looking at you right now? “So tell me, where's a good place to get a cup of coffee in this city? Something local,” he specifies.
And for the very first time in your life you're feeling a touch of pride for your city, because you know this city, you know all the good cafes.
“Yeah, there's this place a few miles away called Lucky’s,” you grin. “It's my favorite cafe around.”
The checkout line has moved up enough now to where the cashier - a young woman about your age who is wearing that same wide-eyed guppy look Sebastian talked about - is ringing up your Folgers, and you're handing her your meager change.
“So let me get you a cup of coffee from your favorite cafe,” Sebastian offers, his smile charming and mischievous, and this is every fantasy you've ever had coming true right before your eyes. Well okay, maybe not every fantasy, but still.
You chew your bottom lip thoughtfully, not wanting to seem too eager, like you are weighing your options here, before finally smiling right back and saying, “Yeah, alright. But can I at least go home and get cleaned up a little first?" You ignore the scoff from the cashier, who is basically seething with jealousy. If looks could kill, you would have been dead as soon as she saw the heat behind Sebastian's eyes when he first started talking to you.
“Sure thing,” Sebastian replies. “Do you want to just meet me there or can I pick you up?”
You take the cashier's pen right out of her hand to jot down your cell number on the back of your receipt along with your name and address, and hand it to Sebastian with a flourish and a grin. “Text me in about a half hour?”
“Absolutely.” Now he seems flustered. Which,
weird;
he's not the one giving his phone number and address to a complete stranger.
With one last grin and a wave, you stride out the door feeling like you are on top of the world, and the Metro is pulling up to the curb just as you’re getting out your bus pass.
All in all, today is swiftly improving.
The bus hasn't even taken you a block away from the grocery store when your phone alerts you to a text message. Its from a phone number you don't recognize, which can really only mean one thing.
I thought the cashier was going to stab you with her pen.
So did I.
When you get back to your apartment, you take the fastest shower of your life, throw on your favorite casual yet sexy top, squeeze into your skinniest skinny jeans and stuff them into your favorite boots, and you're ready. Its only been about 20 minutes since you parted ways at the grocery store, so you debate with yourself for just a moment before deciding
yes, there is always enough time for eyeliner.
Just as you have deemed your face and hair good enough, your phone is chiming another text message and you find yourself grinning like a fucking dork at your reflection in a mirror.
The message is a picture of your building with a caption that says simply,
Am I at the right place?
You tap out an affirmative message, telling Sebastian you'll be right down.
There's a bubble of apprehension settling into your chest now, because is this a date? Are you about to go into a legitimate date with this guy? No one is going to believe you if you tell them about this. What if he tries to kiss you? You practically laugh yourself into a coma at the very idea because
yeah, okay.
You've got your emergency stash of money stuffed into your back pocket, and with one last cursory glance in the full length mirror on the back of your door, you nod and think positive thoughts (
these jeans look awesome, this top is a good color on me, my eyeliner game is on point today
), and you're out the door.
Sebastian is standing just outside the door of you're building, reading the names of the tenants when you step outside. He doesn't look up as he asks, “So which one’s yours?”
You cross your arms and laugh. "Why? So you can stalk my Facebook?"
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “You know all about me, I'm sure. All I know about you is your first name.”
“And my phone number,” you remind him casually, “and where I live.”
“True,” he agrees with a sigh, finally looking up at you. “Wow,” he says, and it sounds genuine. “That's a good color on you.”
All you can do is blush and stammer out a “Thank you,” and Sebastian is pulling a set of car keys from his pocket. (And honestly, how can he even fit keys into those pockets? His jeans look fucking
painted on
for God’s sake.)
“No way,” you say, snatching the keys from Sebastian’s hand and stuffing them into your own pocket. “Lucky’s is only like three blocks away. We’re walking.”
He raises a brow at your commanding tone, but smiles and throws his hands up in a placating gesture anyway, saying, “Fair enough. Lead the way.” And you do.
It turns out to be a date. He buys you an iced coffee and takes you to a table near the back, out of sight from most of the other patrons. You sit pressed together and talk in hushed voices and he holds your hand and compliments you on everything from your makeup to your smile and your laugh, and you’re walking on air because you can feel his breath against your cheek and he’s playing with your hair and literally all you want to do right now is kiss him. You take selfies together, which is fucking surreal, and he asks you questions like he’s honestly interested in who you are as a person. You ask him questions, too, curious as to what he’s in town for, and his smile is secretive, just for you, as he shrugs and somewhat deflects the question with a vague, “You know, the usual.”
He’s just as funny and dorky as you’ve always imagined, and he has been making it his personal mission, it seems, to charm the pants off of everyone he comes into contact with, you included. It’s working.
He holds your hand again as he walks you home, his fingers long and softer than you expected where they’re laced with yours, and there are people across the street from your building with cameras, snapping pictures of the two of you and it’s so hard to believe that in just a few hours
this is what your life has become.
The paparazzi (because that’s obviously what the idiots with the cameras are, even if they think they’re being inconspicuous) are making you uneasy, but Sebastian puts his arm around your waist - easy and casual, like he knows exactly how you need to be comforted right now, and your heart is on the verge of bursting with some kind of feeling you can’t name. He leans in to whisper in your ear as you copy him, snaking your arm around him and it’s like a puzzle slotting together.
“I can’t take you home just yet,” he whispers, and he is so so close that you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from whining. “The fuckin’ vultures will break your door down the second I leave. Wanna go for a drive to throw ‘em off?” he suggests.
“That’s fine,” you say, and you turn your head and you’re suddenly centimeters away from that gorgeous, grinning face, and you could count his fucking eyelashes from here if you wanted to. The corners of his eyes crinkle with delight as he takes in your expression, and his gaze darts briefly to your lips, his tongue peeking out to wet his own and it feels like the world has been put on pause, because his arm is around you, and yours is around him, and it would be
so goddamn easy to kiss him right now.
But the cameras are still snapping away, capturing you at your most vulnerable moment, and you take a shaky breath before pulling back slightly.
Sebastian gets it, glances toward where they’re all just loitering like actual vultures, and you hand him his keys. The car is a rental; black, nondescript, and it’s ridiculously easy to lose the paparazzi once he puts the car in gear and speeds away from the curb. You drive around the city for an hour or so, and you never thought just
seeing someone hold a steering wheel
would light your body on fire the way it is right now, but Sebastian’s hands are like works of fucking art and there’s a giddy part of you that is absolutely convinced that there’s nothing he could do that you wouldn’t find sexy as hell. He asks you about other hot spots in the city, and you point out Sweet Moses on Detroit Avenue, where your best friend is the manager, telling him they have the
best
root beer floats you’ve ever had, and you gush about Lola, how it looks so gorgeous from the outside but you would never be able to afford a meal there because you basically spend that much on groceries in a week.
“But
someday,
” you say, and when you look over Sebastian has this dopey grin on his face, just listening and taking in every word you say.
“God you are so…” he trails off, like he can’t find the word, scoffs and shakes his head. “I dunno. Awesome, interesting. You’re like no one I’ve ever met.”
“Anything else?” you goad, flattered beyond all recognition at his compliments.
“Funny, beautiful,” he continues. “It’s like you don’t give a fuck how people see you, you’re so comfortable in your own skin.”
“Believe me,” you tell him, a little more subdued now. “I give plenty of fucks. I’ve been pretty much freaking out all morning about what you think of me. I’m just really good at hiding it.”
It’s then that Sebastian pulls the car up in front of your building,and as he puts the car in park he says, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I like you. You’re like a breath of fresh air.”
Your heart is racing now, because this is the moment of truth; the street is more or less deserted, save for a few young professionals with their briefcases going to or from lunch, and if this date is going to end with a kiss, this is when it’ll happen. The entire moment is beginning to feel like a bad romcom, but the tension isn’t bad and with the way Sebastian’s smiling you think there’s probably gonna be a kiss real soon.
“I, uh,” he starts, suddenly bashful as he looks down at his jeans and picks at a stray thread. He looks back up at you, continues, “I had a lot of fun today, and I really think we should do this again soon. Sorry about the…” he gestures out the window, “y’know, the vultures or whatever.”
“No big deal,” you shrug, super impressed with the way you’re able to keep your voice steady. “Comes with the territory, right?”
He huffs out a self deprecating laugh, scrubs a hand through his hair. “Guess so. Listen I really do want to take you out again,” he says again, and he means it. “I didn’t really like Cleveland the last time we were here. Maybe it was because I didn’t have you to show me how beautiful it can be.”
He’s pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he says it, and then makes a face like he just realized how cheesy that line really was.
“Wow, okay, sorry,” he laughs, and you laugh right along with him. “That was pretty bad wasn’t it?”
“The worst,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But I totally got what you meant.”
“Well it wasn’t very subtle so I certainly hope so.”
His voice is quiet and that’s when you realize how close he’s gotten; his hand is running through your hair, and you’re breathing one another’s breaths, and just as your brain is screaming, “
THIS IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN!!”
it does. Sebastian’s mouth (soft and warm and damp and pinkpinkpink
sofuckingpink
) is on yours and it feels like the time you rode the Tower of Terror at Disney when you were eight years old. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, though, and you bring your hand up to thread your fingers through his hair and
yeah,
it’s just as soft as you thought it would be. He makes this
sound,
somewhere between a sigh and a fucking
moan,
and all the blood in your body is rushing south to pool into a wetness between your thighs that you’ll be able to feel for the rest of the day.
Sebastian’s the one that deepens the kiss, parting his lips and flicking the tip of his tongue against the seam of your mouth, and it’s all you can do to not whimper like a dog in heat when you open beneath his mouth. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he moans into your mouth then, sliding his tongue over yours and moving his hands to cup your cheeks. They’re twitching on your skin, like they are itching to move elsewhere, touch you all over and just
take
, and you want to tell Sebastian to
do it,
to touch you everywhere, but that would require breaking the kiss and this is too good - too surreal - for you to be willing to shatter it.
There’s a part of you that’s demanding you climb over the middle armrest and drop yourself directly into his lap to see if he’s being as affected by this as you are. The urge is strong and you’re about to do just that when Sebastian reluctantly breaks away from your mouth with a rough growl of, “Mother
fucker,
” as he digs in the pocket for his vibrating phone. He slides his thumb across the screen and brings it to his ear.
You’re kind of in a daze, but the name
Chris
lit up across the screen somewhat catches your attention.
“Yeah?” Sebastian bites out into the phone. You can hear a voice on the other end, deep and cheerful, but it’s muffled and you can’t hear what he’s saying. “Are you fucking serious?” Sebastian groans in frustration, leaning back and putting a hand to his forehead. “
Now,
though?”
You think you hear Chris ask him if he’s interrupted something important, and Sebastian throws you this indecipherable
look,
like he’s picking you apart at the seams but also coming to terms with
something,
and it feels huge, it feels profound. “You did,” he says to Chris. “You really did.”
Chris tells him something else, and Sebastian comes back to himself, all business again saying, “Yeah… uh huh, yeah just text it to me. Half an hour, okay… Yeah, Chris, I’ll be there.
Yes, alone.
No, fuck no I’m not gonna bring her with me.” He grins at you and rolls his eyes like Chris fucking Evans is the most impossible person to have to deal with. “Whatever she’s way out of your league anyway… yeah fuck you, too, I’ll see you soon.”
He disconnects the call and just looks at you. It’s silent for a moment before you both burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he says once you’ve both finished giggling.
“Don’t be,” you tell him with a shake of your head. “Work stuff, I understand. Can you give me any hints? No spoilers, though!” you specify.
“Is this conversation gonna end up all over the internet?”
You feign offense.
“No one would believe me without hard evidence anyway,” you tell him. “Besides, if what you tell me ends up online I wouldn’t get to hang out with you like this again. Kissing you is worth keeping my mouth shut about anything you tell me.”
“You make it sound like blackmail," he teases. Then he hints, "Costume fittings,” and that's all he gives you. “I’d love to kiss you like that again really soon. When can I text you?”
“Anytime. My work is pretty laid back, so.” You shrug. “I should probably let you go.”
But neither of you moves. Sebastian leans in to steal one last kiss, but then you’re opening the car door and getting out.
“Hey!” he calls, just before you shut the door. “When’s your next night off? I wanna take you to dinner.”
“Saturday.”
He nods, says, “Good. I’ll text you.”
“You’d better,” you say, and he’s biting his lip as you slam the door.
The rest of the afternoon is a bit of a daze as you go through your daily routine, replaying the day’s events over and over again in your mind. At work you’re able to somewhat compartmentalize, and it’s business as usual for the most part.
Until about halfway through your shift, when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You have a few minutes of downtime, so the phone comes out and you open the text message. It’s a link to a fucking TMZ article, with a caption from Seb that just says,
Who even uses the word ‘canoodling’?
A tap to the link pulls up the article, titled,
Ohio Is For Lovers: Marvel heartthrob Sebastian Stan seen canoodling with mystery woman in Cleveland.
And then there are two pictures of the two of you, well,
canoodling,
honestly. The first one shows Seb leaning down to whisper in your ear with that Cheshire grin plastered on his face and his arm tight and protective around your waist, while you bite your lip and tilt your head toward him. The other was taken right after the first, when you’d turned your head and found him
right there;
in the photo he’s staring at your lips and he looks seconds away from kissing you. For all the trouble the paparazzi cause, you’ll be the first to admit they know what the fuck they’re doing, because these pictures make the entire date out to be a lot more suggestive than it actually was.
Shit.
These photos are going to go viral in no time - if they haven’t already. People are going to recognize you; family, friends, coworkers. Well, whatever, you think, trying hard to stay positive. This was bound to happen eventually, if you planned on seeing him again.
So in response you type a quick reply:
Those pictures are pretty good. when do I get to canoodle you again?
You decide to include a winky face and press send before you can talk yourself out of it.
Sebastian’s reply comes quick:
So you’re okay with this?
You’re almost tempted to say something to the effect of “the price of dating you is high but it’s a price I’m willing to pay,” but that’s a little too much and Seb has already filled the cheesy lines quota for one day, so you type a simple,
Yeah it doesn’t really bother me. But what should I tell the people who ask me about the article?
Whatever you’re comfortable with.
It’s simple and reassuring, and another message comes through almost immediately.
I’ve found the truth is usually easiest.
This is happening so fast.
You regret the text as soon as it sends, so you amend,
Not that I’m complaining!
Can I text you tomorrow?
he asks.
And Friday? And all day Saturday until I pick you up for dinner?
Yes.
TBC
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s late on Saturday morning when you wake up to a text from Sebastian that just says,
Please don’t hate me,
and it sends a jolt of panic up your spine, wakes you right up and you text back,
Why…?
The moment’s wait for his response has your heart racing because there are so many possibilities running through your head - he’s cancelling on you for tonight, he doesn’t want to see you anymore,
he found your fucking blog somehow,
but instead his message makes you laugh.
I may have sweet-talked your building manager into letting me drop some stuff off outside your apartment. And I may have also made us reservations for tonight at Lola.
And that really wakes you up. You sit bolt upright in your bed and send back,
I don’t know how to tell you this, Seb, but a girl like me has literally nothing to wear to a five star restaurant.
Which is why I got you something,
comes the reply.
And don’t try to fight me on this. I did it because I wanted to.
You’re not even finished reading the message yet and you're getting out of bed and make your way down the hall to the front door. Your roommate’s tv is on in her room, which means she is home and awake, so you’re trying not to draw attention to yourself because you and she haven’t talked about Sebastian yet, and you’re not even sure if she’s heard, honestly, but this would be a bad time to try and discuss it.
You open the door, fully expecting to just see a garment bag hanging on the knob, but what greets you on the other side of the door makes you slam it shut with force.
“You said you
dropped stuff off!
” you shout, suddenly not caring if your roommate comes out to investigate. You’d much rather deal with her right now that have to face Seb in nothing but a tank top and a fucking pair of
Captain America panties, how is this your life?
But you didn’t lock the door so Sebastian lets himself in like he owns the fucking place, a garment bag hanging off his arm and a bouquet of tulips in his hand. He chuckles and kisses you on the cheek, and you really wish you could be mad but at that moment your roommate comes strolling out of her bedroom with her phone in her hand and she stops dead in the hallway as Seb is kissing your cheek. Her jaw just kind of drops and she hastily snaps a picture on her phone before going back to her room.
“Please don’t put that online!” you call as she shuts her door. She doesn’t answer. “Roommate,” you explain vaguely. “We don’t really talk anymore. Can I please go put some clothes on before having an actual conversation? I’m…” you gesture at your pajamas, and Seb cracks a grin.
“You don’t have to ask me if you can change, but honestly I’d really rather you just stay in that,” he rakes his eyes up and down your body, settling on the blue panties embellished with mini Captain America shields. There’s a heat behind his gaze that makes you shiver, and the privacy of your bedroom is literally
right at the end of the hall,
but he’s still holding flowers and a garment bag, so you lead him into the kitchen and take out a vase, fill it with water and take the tulips. They smell incredible, and there’s no way in hell he could have known how much you love tulips.
“These are gorgeous,” you tell him. “Thank you.”
“You should try this on before I take off,” he tells you, handing you the black bag hanging over his arm. “I just kind of guessed.”
You unzip the bag and look inside. The dress is cute; black, fitted at the top with a skirt that flares out and a thin white belt at the waist.
“You picked this out all by yourself?” you ask, your smile skeptical and teasing, and he shrugs, stepping into your personal space and pulling his fingers through your hair.
“I may have taken Scarlett with me when I picked it out,” he admits. “But yes, this dress was one of my picks. I thought it would look good with the boots you wore the other day. Oh!” he perks up, seems to remember something. “I got you something else. I know it’s kind of… I swear to God it’s not supposed to be a euphemism!” he pulls a long, thin box from a hidden pocket in his jacket and hands it to you, his eyes expectant as you crack open the box and peek inside.
“A pearl necklace.” You look right at him and he shrugs. He’s got this self satisfied smirk on his face and you can’t help but laugh. “So do you have anything you have to do today before we go out?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Chris wants to run lines for a bit this afternoon. There’s a… thing… in the script that we still haven’t worked all the kinks out of yet, so. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” you sigh. “I was just going to invite you back to my bedroom for a bit.”
“I have time,” he tells you. “I mean, there’s some stuff I’d like to save for after dinner if you’d be willing to come spend the night. But yeah, I definitely have some time to make out for a while. We can shut the door and keep our voices down,” he suggests quietly, running his fingertips up your arm, “like a couple of high schoolers trying to hide from your parents.”
“My thoughts exactly,” you grin, taking him by the hand and leading him down the hall to your bedroom.
The dress gets hung up in the closet as Seb takes a seat on the edge of your bed, and then you’re standing in the vee of his legs, running a hand through his hair and he’s gazing up at you with his hands resting on your thighs.
“So are you gonna kiss me or what?”
You do. You press your mouth to his and he parts his lips beneath you, and it’s even more glorious this time, because it’s not as hesitant, and he’s encouraging you to take control. He pulls the straps of your tank top off your shoulders to drag his lips, unrestricted, over your collar bone. “Will you take this off?” he asks, his voice husky as he touches the exposed skin of your upper chest, just above the neckline of your top. You peel it off over your head and toss it to the floor, climbing into Seb’s lap, and his hands are hot where they spread over your body, and he’s barely even touched you at all but your panties are soaked through and you want him to peel them off of you and
just fucking touch you already.
But his hands are hesitant, resting where they are on your ribs, as though he’s unsure if he has your permission, so you kiss him again as you grab his wrists and gently guide his hands to the curve of your breasts.
“Touch me,” you plead, sighing it into his mouth, and he pulls back to watch your reaction as his fingers dance over the underside of each breast, as the pads of his thumbs sweep over your nipples. You gasp, arch into him, breathe his name, and that seems to do the trick; Sebastian lifts you up by the backs of your thighs and stands, only to turn and deposit you at the head of your bed. Your legs fall open and he’s hovering above you, perched on his knees between your legs and you know from there he can see everything; he watches your chest heave, takes in the rosy buds of your nipples where they stand erect from his earlier ministrations, and finally notices the dark patch of slick pooling at the crotch of your panties.
“Fuck,” he groans, stripping his jacket and shirt before leaning down to kiss you again. His hands move with surety now, fingers pinching lightly at your nipples before he’s closing his lips over each of them in turn, and his hands are moving down to the waistband of your underwear now - fucking
finally -
and he looks up at you with a silent question in his eyes and all you can do is nod. The panties come off, tossed somewhere for you to locate later, and Seb’s fingers are
right there,
dipping into the wet folds of you, stroking, pressing inside, and already it’s almost too much to handle. You’re hot all over, trembling, rocking yourself down onto his hand like a woman possessed and
God
, you think you might be. You keep forgetting yourself, moaning and crying out when his thumb brushes over your clit accidentally on purpose, and Sebastian is kissing your neck now, saying, “Shh, I’ve got you, save those pretty sounds for later.”
He slides his fingers out of you, strokes over your clit instead, and it’s all you can do to keep from shouting as he applies a little pressure and rubs quick little circles there. He’s watching your face, can tell you’re close, but you’re trying to hold off as long as possible because it’s barely been a couple of minutes and already his hands are better than all the vibrators in the world. He reaches between his own legs to readjust himself and you can see the fat outline of his cock straining against the denim and that’s the thing that does it, that sends you crashing over the edge. Just as your body starts to lock up Seb stuffs two fingers back inside you, knuckle deep, and finds your G-spot on the first try. He watches your face as you come, presses a kiss to the front of your throat, the bolt of your jaw, and takes an earlobe between his teeth just before saying, “That was beautiful.”
He waits for your body to stop twitching before withdrawing his fingers, and he brings them up to his mouth to taste you, humming at what he finds. You’re growing sleepy, but Sebastian is still hard in his jeans, and you try to reach out to him but he bats your hand away with a kind smile. “Don’t worry about me,” he whispers. “I’ll get mine after dinner tonight.”
He tells you to get a little sleep, promises to call and wake you, makes you promise to be ready by a quarter till seven, and then he kisses you again before leaving. You sleep.
It’s nearing three in the afternoon when Seb finally calls and wakes you. You’re still sprawled naked on top of your bed - the bastard didn’t even bother to throw a sheet over you, but he at least shut your bedroom door so really you’re not too pissed about it - and there’s a wet spot drying just beneath you when you sit up. You groan his name into the phone because you’ve slept the entire day away, now, and he just laughs and tells you you must have needed it. He’s right, of course; you can’t remember the last time you came that hard - can’t really remember the last time you came on anyone’s fingers but your own, honestly.
Sebastian urges you to try on the dress and you do. It fits like a glove, pressing your tits together just enough to give you the right amount of cleavage, and the skirt flares out beautifully to draw attention to your shapely hips. Sebastian’s right (of course) about the boots; they give the dress a bit of an edge, and the string of pearls is the perfect feminine touch. You feel incredible, and when you text Seb and tell him, he responds with,
I’m glad. I miss you.
You just saw me.
And yet I still can’t stop thinking about you.
Get to work you fucking slacker.
I’ll see you in a few hours. Will you be staying over?
Of course. xoxo
Sebastian’s ringing the buzzer at 6:40, just as you’re blotting the excess lipstick off your mouth, and your roommate - who you’ve had the chance to sit down and talk with - lets him in and gives him the parent spiel: treat her right, use protection, don’t take advantage of my girl when she’s drunk, the whole nine yards. Sebastian is smiling, amused, as you come out of the bathroom, and his face positively lights up.
“You look fantastic,” he says.
“So do you,” you reply, and God help you he
does;
you’ve always been a sucker for a man in a suit but
Sebastian in a suit, right in front of you,
puts everyone else to shame. He’s got a really lovely five o’clock shadow thing happening, his tie is red like he knew you were going to wear red lipstick, and his hair is doing that thing where it looks like he’s not wearing any product in it, but
there’s no way his hair can look like that without stuff.
He looks like he could be taking you to some swanky Hollywood party to drink martinis and schmooze with the who’s who, and you make a bit of a giddy face at your roommate as Seb puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you out the door.
“We’re going to be a little early for our reservations,” he tells you. “But that might be necessary, because apparently there are some media… people… who know we’re going to be there. Chris was telling me earlier that when he got stopped outside the gym yesterday, the fucking vultures asked about
me,
asked about
you.
” You can’t help but grin at that. “No one knows who you are, and everyone wants to.”
“Everyone wants to know how
that lucky bitch
managed to snag Sebastian Stan, huh?” you ask.
“Pretty much.”
You pull up to Lola, and lo and behold, there are cameras waving in your faces, and you stand tall and silent as you maneuver through them, your arm laced in Sebastian’s, and as he’s opening the door you throw a middle finger over your shoulder.
Dinner is delectable. Sebastian buys a bottle of red wine called Harlan Estate that you notice - briefly, before he takes the wine menu away from you - costs more than two of your paychecks. But after the first glass, you don’t even care; you’re tipsy, quickly falling in love with the fucking fool sitting across from you, and even sitting in this glamorous restaurant where you don’t fit in at all, you feel completely at home. You both pore over the menus for what feels like hours - certainly long enough for him to order
another
bottle of that stupid expensive wine - and when the time finally comes to place your orders, Seb gets the venison and you decide on the duck, because you’ve never tried it and why the hell not?
“When in Rome,” Sebastian shrugs, and you throw your head back and laugh, because now you’re downright drunk.
He holds your hand over the table, tells you again how beautiful you look, and with the booze in your system you’re able to say freely what you’ve been thinking about since the moment you laid eyes on him in the grocery store.
“I have been fantasizing about this for
so long,
” you confess. “I never thought I’d actually get the opportunity.”
“I’m really glad I met you,” he admits rights back. “What would you say about going public?”
“Like, letting the media call me your girlfriend?”
“Exactly.”
“Awh,” you tease, “is this how celebrities ask their dates to go steady?”
“Fuck you,” he laughs. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a celebrity before. But yeah, I’d kinda like for us to be, you know, an exclusive thing.”
“I’d like that,” you smile, and you’re not sure if the blush creeping up your face is a side effect of the wine or a side effect of Sebastian.
“Also,” Seb starts, lightening the mood again. “Is this is a bad time to ask if you’ll ride my face when we get back to my apartment?”
Your meals arrive then, and you’re still staring like a guppy as he takes the first bite of his venison and moans
like a fucking whore.
“This is delicious, babe, you should try yours,” he says.
You do, and it’s like your taste buds explode. You’d never even given a second thought to eating duck before now, but you’re goddamn glad for it as you shovel forkful after forkful into your mouth. After your entrees are finished, you order a peach cobbler to split, and the fucking nerd insists on spoon-feeding it to you, but you keep drinking wine, keep getting more and more sloshed, and there’s a part of you that’s wondering how he plans on getting you back to his apartment, but when the check comes the waiter tells Sebastian that there’s a
car waiting for you out front whenever you’re ready.
And Seb just smiles at you, pays the enormous tab, tips like a fucking god, and takes your hand to usher you on wobbly knees out the door.
The car that’s waiting isn’t a limousine, but it’s luxury and the driver opens the back door for both of you, and you’re making out before the car even pulls away from the curb. Seb’s hand is sneaking up your dress and you’re spreading your legs to let him, but he keeps his hand away from your cunt for the entire ride. He marks your neck and collarbone, though, whispering, “Mine, mine,” against your skin whenever he has the opportunity.
He’s living in a pretty basic building, which is a relief - a doorman would have freaked you the fuck out - and he takes you up to his third floor apartment in an elevator with no cameras. He peels your panties off right there in the elevator and stuffs them into his pocket before pushing two fingers into you and making you cry out. Your leg is hooked around his hip, his fingers working magic inside of you, and when the elevator
ping
s your arrival to the third floor Sebastian just picks you up and
carries you
the few meters to his door. His apartment gets unlocked quickly, and then you’re tumbling inside, pulling Seb with you by his tie, and he leads you to his bedroom, where a massive King sized bed is waiting for the two of you.
Shoving him back onto the mattress, you don’t even bother to take your dress off before straddling his face. You ruck up the skirt of it so you can see him, but for now it stays on. Sebastian
fucking growls at you
for taking too long and spreads your thighs more so you’re fully seated on his mouth. His tongue -
fuck -
his tongue laves over your clit, fucks into you, reaches every single crevice you didn’t even know you had. And Sebastian sucks on your clit like he was born to do it, nursing at it and flicking his tongue over it at the same time and you’re tugging at his hair and rolling yourself down onto his face, but there’s no fucking way he can breathe so you try and lift yourself up a little, only to have Sebastian tightly grip your legs and spread them even
further,
his wet mumble of
“Don’t you fucking dare”
getting nearly lost in the tender skin of your inner thigh. He encourages your hips with his hands, guides your rhythm as he licks and sucks and bites at your snatch, and
when the fuck did you start screaming?
When you come the first time it hits you like an 18-wheeler, your pussy spasming around Sebastian’s tongue as he moans into you, and you think you can hear him mumble, “Fuck yeah, baby” against your clit. He keeps licking at your oversensitized body even after, and you’re a gasping, quivering mess as he repositions you onto your back and strips your dress away so you’re naked save for the string of pearls he bought you.
When Sebastian starts taking his own clothes off, you watch him. His face is a wet, sloppy mess; his already pink mouth slick and even pinker than before, and you have a brief moment of panic, wondering if you’ve unexpectedly started your period, but upon closer inspection Seb’s mouth is shiny with only slick and spit. He’s not graceful as he removes his clothes, tripping over his socks and his pants and it’s utterly endearing, and he’s got a Magnum wrapper between his teeth when his boxer briefs finally join the rest of his clothes on the floor.
And just like that you’re sitting up, salivating and desperate to have him in your mouth. He’s uncircumcised, the slit of him peeking out from behind a heavy foreskin, leaking nearly to the point of
drooling,
and you slide back the foreskin to reveal the head - flushed dark and desperate for release - before sealing your mouth over him and going to work. The curve of him is the perfect shape for your mouth and throat, and you are able to take him down all the way to the hilt before sliding your mouth up and sucking hard at the head. You swirl your tongue around him and he’s trying
so hard
to not thrust into your mouth, but when you strike at the slit of him with the tip of your tongue he fists your hair and keens, and that’s your cue to pull off of him.
“Now fuck me,” you demand, wiping his pre-come from the corner of your lips and scooting back on the bed again, but Sebastian grabs you by the ankle and pulls you across the mattress to where he’s standing.
“I will,” he says, “but you need to stay there.”
He rolls the condom on, and it feels like it takes centuries, but then he’s lifting your knees up in the bend of his elbows and entering you in one smooth, slow slide. He doesn’t even wait, just starts driving into you, and you’re already
so sensitive,
because his face between your thighs nearly brought you to tears already, but now he is inside you, moaning your name, telling you how incredible your cunt feels fluttering around him, and you can feel every inch of him it seems, where he twitches and spasms within you. He licks his lips, moans again, says you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, says no one has ever felt this good around his cock, calls you baby and honey and darling and filthy fuckin whore, and you never thought that would be a thing that did it for you but it does, and you arch and pinch your nipples. You lick your fingers to rub at your clit, desperate as fuck to come again, but Seb pins your wrists to the mattress above your head and kneads at that rosy little pearl himself.
It hurts at first, because your clit is still tender, but you don’t tell him and he doesn’t stop and that pain turns into something else entirely and you have to hold on to Sebastian’s wrist as you scream, your orgasm washing over you and pulling you under and absolutely
drowning you.
Seb’s breath hitches as you come, the wet snatch of you quivering around him, squeezing him, milking him of his own orgasm and you actually have the presence of mind to watch his face.
He’s beautiful like this, with color high on his cheeks and his lips parted in bliss as he empties himself into the condom.
“Jesus,
” he sighs afterward, and you understand the sentiment.
He gets the both of you under the duvet, and it’s soft and wonderful and intimate as he pulls you in for lazy kisses. “You’re amazing,” he says. “Where have you been my entire life?”
“Right here,” you respond. “And you, Seb, you’re the amazing one.”
“I think I love you,” he breathes.
“No you don’t,” you chuckle. “That’s the orgasm talking. But when you do, I’ll still be here.”
When you finally drift to sleep, you’re the one spooning Sebastian, your arm draped over his bare hip and your lips against his shoulder blade, and it’s better than any fantasy you could have ever hoped for. Ever.