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You’re gnawing at the plastic seal over your third pint of ice cream in a row when you realize you're a little lonely.You don't know what to do about this revelation when it hits you. You dwell on it for a few moments, chewing absently at the plastic with your canine teeth as the TV in front of you runs nonsense commercials between scenes of the black-and-white romance you're watching. It makes sense. Your new-ish two-bedroom home isn’t exactly meant for one person, but it's always felt especially too big for you.You’re slumped against one armrest of your beaten couch and stretch your legs out towards the opposite side. What would normally be comfortable and relaxing feels… cold. You consider the empty space for a moment before deciding: Yes. It would be nice to have someone sitting with you right now. You frown at the opposite armrest, at the loose threads sticking up from worn seams.Suddenly, your TV flashes with bright colors, pink and red hearts flooding the screen as a disembodied narrator exclaims, “Hey, you! Yes, you! Have you been feeling lonely lately?”You've been in Gravity Falls for a little less than a year, but you're mostly used to the weirdly-specific commercials by now. You look at the screen with interest, watching well-dressed couples engage in a large dining room. The actors laugh, clink their wine glasses, and feed each other bites of food. It's obviously staged—you can see the feathery end of a boom mic in most shots—but your eyes are glued to the screen in idle curiosity.“Meet the love of your life… during Summer Speed Dating at The Club!” the narrator says. He rattles off the date and time of the event over a gooey compilation of overly-attractive people touching hands. You notice a purposeful neglect to mention the admission fee, but you can’t help but feel drawn into the ad anyway. Wine being poured, men adjusting their suit jackets, women tossing their long hair and smiling coyly into the camera…Your tooth suddenly pierces the plastic keeping your ice cream hostage, catching you off guard. You sputter, shaking your head in an attempt to spit the plastic pieces out.Before you know it, the commercial ends, replaced by a kooky ad for a product meant to detect chipmunks in your walls. You have to stick your tongue out and literally pinch the plastic off the tip of it to get it off. You wipe your spit on your shirt, convincing yourself that napkins are for people who pretend to be fancy.As you take the lid off your ice cream and trade it for the spoon on your coffee table, you think about the commercial. Maybe that speed dating thing is exactly what you need. A few drinks, some light flirting, one or two numbers scribbled onto napkins. Maybe it'll be fun. The more you think about it, the more hopeful you get. This could be good for you. All this time alone, moping, feeling bad for yourself… This might put a pause on all that.You jam the spoon into your ice cream. Whatever fun you gain from it, it won't be forever. It rarely is. But it might make you feel good, if only for the night. It would get you out of the house, at least.Right, you think, taking your first bite of the new pint and holding the spoon in your mouth. You look around for your phone so you can search up the event and book a spot before you change your mind. You find the device buried in your couch cushions and catch the gaze of your reflection.You haven’t been able to take a good look at yourself in the mirror lately, but you think that gleam in your eyes looks a lot like hope. You manage a small smile before unlocking your phone.It’s time to put yourself out there!But then… well. Then you’re out here.“So, uh… what do you do for work?” you ask for the nth time, clasping your hands together on the tabletop. The squirrely man in front of you has his head propped up in his hand, his frail little elbow on the table. He’s trying to swirl his wine glass in his other hand, probably just to look cool, but it keeps nearly sloshing out the sides. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.“I’m a lancer,” your date this round says, his voice nasally. He introduced himself to you as Bodacious T. You don’t really want to call him that, so you haven’t addressed him by his name at all.“Okay,” you nod. You glance surreptitiously to the wine glass next to your hands on the table. Across from you, the guy grins and swirls his wine again. You wince when a drop of it spills over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Uh, so freelance?”“Lancer,” he corrects you. You purse your lips. He continues, prideful, “I’m the co-secondary vice president of the local jousting group. It’s hard work. But Bodacious T can handle some hard work.”“Okay,” you nod again. He grins at you. Or, well, smirks at you? He tries to smirk at you, but the expression just reminds you of a health poster you’d seen describing the symptoms of a stroke. You try to smile back. “Okay. I’ve definitely never… That’s… It sounds, um…”
BUZZ!
You’ve never felt so relieved to hear such a grating sound. The Summer Speed Dating Rotation Buzzer, as it’s so aptly-named, saves you from your fumble and cues everyone to rotate partners. All around you, patrons scoot out from their tables and shake each other’s hands, exchanging parting words as half the group moves to meet their next date. You’re in the half that gets to stay at your table for now, so you stand and pretend not to care about how short your date looks when you do.“Hope to see you later, cutie,” he says, winking. With one eye closed, you realize his eyeliner looks… actually really, insanely good. He must practice a lot. But the nickname sounds awkward and stilted from his mouth, and your smile is strained as he takes your offered hand, caressing the back of it instead of returning the handshake. He winks again, this time with his other eye, and you shift away from him a little as he passes you on his way to his next victim. Er, date.You glance back over your shoulder and sigh, letting your face fall. In one smooth motion, you swipe your wine glass from the table and down the rest of your drink in one go. It takes less than a second, but by the time you lower your glass, your next date is already slumping down into the chair across from you with a loud huff. You’re immediately put off by the attitude, but it was probably rude to shoot your wine back so quickly. Embarrassed, you clear your throat and take your seat.“Uh, hi,” you say, scooting your chair back to the table. Your next date grunts in response, looking around, away from you. You glance around awkwardly until—Oh! At the same time, you and the grumpy man across from you raise your hands to alert one of the servers walking past. The server takes one glance at you both, sighs deeply, then turns on his heel to double back towards the kitchen. You grimace in guilt when you realize he was trying to use the restroom.“So what’s your deal?” your date says gruffly, catching your attention. You look at him straight on for the first time, meeting his flat gaze through his smudged glasses. He’s a little—a lot—older than you. He has gray hair poking out from under a maroon beanie, and his mouth is set in a deep frown, with wrinkles that imply it’s a pretty common fixture on his face.“Excuse me?” you ask. Then you blink, astonished, when the guy quite literally waves a hand to dismiss your words before you’ve even said anything of substance.“Lemme guess. You’ve been single a while, but you decided it was time for a change and you’re lookin’ for something long term,” he starts, and right away you recognize the echoes of sentiments you’ve heard all night. Something tightens in your chest, awkward and a little ashamed as he continues,“You want someone financially stable, probably ‘cause you’re between jobs right now, otherwise the job you have is just a hobby with extra paperwork. But you also want someone who can make you laugh, who's,” he does finger quotes at this part, “‘emotionally available’—”“—whatever that means,” you finish for him, sinking into yourself. A beat passes.The man looks at you, effectively cut off. You avoid his gaze, rubbing your bicep with the opposite arm, and slump back into your chair slowly. Your date doesn't say anything. Just stares at you. Your shoulders hike further and further up to your ears at the sudden, oppressive silence.“Um… No,” you say, and don't elaborate. You glance around for the server you thought you’d waved down, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You admit, “Right now, I just want some more wine.”Turns out you’d been looking in the wrong direction. From your opposite side, the server suddenly appears and pours a hefty amount of red into your wine glass. You jump a little, but manage to thank him. When he’s finished, he places an opened bottle of beer in front of your date and promptly leaves. Your date thanks the waiter through a mutter, but doesn’t grab his drink just yet. He’s still staring at you, and you try to act like it doesn’t have any effect on your nerves as you take a long, long sip of your wine. You swallow and place both hands around the stem when you put it down. Another beat.“Rough night?” your date speaks up finally, his voice a little softer. You exhale heavily. A hint of a smile ghosts across his face. “That bad, huh?”“You don’t look so thrilled, either,” you point out. “At least I can still pretend to be polite.”“Being polite is for nerds and preschool teachers,” he says, shifting his body to lean into the corner of his chair and stretching an arm over the back of it. “I’m neither. Name’s Stan Pines.”“Stan Pines,” you repeat, grateful for a simple, completely regular name. You introduce yourself by your full name, too, but you use your maiden name. Besides that, you decide to try for honesty. If Stan doesn’t care to be polite, why should you? So, honestly, you explain, “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I think I’m tired of meeting people. I’m this close to snatching the bottle off that waiter and making a run for it.”You don’t think your joke was that funny, but it somehow startles a laugh out of Stan. He finally grabs his beer by the neck and takes a swig, swallowing around the amber liquid with a heavy bob of his throat. You run your gaze down the line of his neck, to the gold chain hanging in the V of the white button-up that’s opened low on his hairy chest. With his arm raised, you can see the shirt straining against his meaty bicep, his wide shoulders... When Stan lowers the beer, your eyes snap back to his face.“I'd say you're overreacting, but…” He glances around discreetly before leaning forward over the table. Without realizing it, you're leaning forward, too. Stan grins, and if you hadn't been charmed before, you were now. His breath smells like beer and artificial cinnamon. You think you spot a flash of bright pink as he talks, likely a small wad of gum somewhere between his teeth and his cheek. He jerks his chin to something over your shoulder. “I'm willing to bet that broad behind you is thinkin’ the exact same thing.”You glance behind you. Bodacious T is treating the woman at the next table exactly how he'd treated you. He swirls a glass of wine in his hand, completely full, like he hasn't taken a single sip from it yet. His back is to you, but you can see the next woman's face clearly. She's long given up on politeness; her face is scrunched up tight, like she's just stepped into a shoe full of mud. You guffaw once, loudly, then slap a hand over your mouth as you swivel back around. Stan is snickering at your slip up, trying to hide his smile with his fist.“Lord, did I look like that?” you whisper through your teeth, smiling despite yourself. “She looks like she's trying to give birth to a conch shell.”“No, no, no—You looked like this.” Stan makes a face then, his brows furrowed and his smile unnaturally wide to show off his gums. You laugh again, and Stan lets his face return to normal, grinning as he sips his beer.“In my defense, he was looking at me like this.” You try your best to mimic the expression, closing one eye tight and smiling with only one side of your face. You manage to wiggle your brows with some effort, and Stan literally chokes on his drink with how suddenly he laughs. You relax your expression back to something that isn't downright terrifying as you laugh along.For the first time, you notice the frown lines around Stan's mouth aren’t as prominent as his crow’s feet. For as much time as he had spent frowning, he’s probably spent a lot of time smiling, too. You can’t help but feel endeared. Stan had been right about one thing: You like people who can make you laugh.The both of you settle down, any tension from your first impression long dissipated. You seem to come to a silent, mutual agreement. Things are going better than they'd ever been tonight. With some luck, and a little bit of effort, you might even have… a good time?Stan makes the leap first.“You, uh… You new in town?” he asks, fidgeting with the base of his beer bottle. The condensation darkens the tablecloth, wet, off-white rings appearing in the otherwise pristine fabric. “Never seen you around.”“Sort of, yeah,” you say, nodding. You swirl your wine around and around, watching the liquid cling to the sides of the glass. “I didn't grow up here, but I've visited family once or twice as a kid. They decided to move last summer, and, um… It just happened that I was able to buy their house off them. So here I am.”“Stars aligned, huh?” Stan chuckles. You shrug and offer an awkward smile.“You could say that. Uh, how about you? Did you grow up here, or…?” Your brows raise when Stan shakes his head immediately.“Nah, nah, me? I've been all over,” Stan says, pointing a thumb at himself. “I've been all sorts of places. Banned from quite a few of ‘em, actually.”You're not sure that's anything to brag about, but the charisma oozing out of Stan’s smile has you equal parts amused and curious.“Oh yeah? What’d you do?” you ask, leaning an elbow on the table to prop your chin in your hand. Stan waves his hand again, but it doesn't feel outright rude like the first time. He's being playful.“Sweetheart, if I told every pretty woman about the marks on my record, I'd be behind bars for life,” he says casually.You don't doubt Stan is telling the truth. You've met your fair share of shady people in the city, real assholes, enough that you’ve probably side-eyed and creeped out a lot of innocent neighbors who stood too close to you in the local grocery store. But somehow, despite the blatant flaunting of his criminal status, the glimmer in Stan's eyes and the smile lines surrounding them convince you he's sweet.You ignore the glaringly obvious red flags of someone banned from who-knows-where, who-knows-why. Stan's already taken the leap, and finally, you follow.“You talk to a lot of pretty women, then?” you ask slyly, tilting your head in your hand. Stan chuckles, and his proud expression doesn't change, but the tips of his large ears turn pink. The sight makes you grin.“Me? Ah, well—Y'know, when you're as well-traveled as I am—I mean, it only makes sense to…” You were going straight in for the flirt, but your brows raise higher and higher with each of Stan's stumbles. You had expected a lot of smooth-talking out of him, some cute banter. But he fiddles with his beer bottle again, drops of condensation dripping over his large fingers, and after a few moments… he sighs. Rubs the back of his neck. “No. Not really.”“Really?” Your brows are still high on your forehead. Stan glances at you and his shoulders tense. You sit up straight when he points at you over his beer.“What? What’s that face?” he accuses you, suddenly annoyed.“What face!” you exclaim, glancing up at the ceiling, across the room, then back at him. “I'm not making a face.”“You're lookin’ at me all fake-surprised,” Stan says, splaying his hands out on either side of his face in faux-shock. Then he plants one of his forearms on the table, the other snatching his beer again. “You really think I'd be paying money to speed date in this town if I was chatting up every broad I see? Yeah, right. Yuck it up, kid.”“What?” You can tell Stan's ego has just taken a hit, but the word comes out like a laugh anyway. He frowns at you, but his expression turns surprised when you reach out across the table and lightly touch the back of his wrist. “No, no! I'm not fake-surprised. And I'm not laughing at you. Relax.”Stan eyes your face for a moment, suspicious. But then he glances down at your fingertips, where they're pressed feather-light against his skin. Then he scoffs, but his heart isn't in it.“Whatever. So what, then?” he asks, and you take your hand away to cross your forearms on the table.“I'm real-surprised,” you admit easily, a small smile on your face. You take a moment to just look at him. His warm brown eyes, guarded as he awaits your next move. His mouth, downturned, the line of his lips leading your gaze to his strong jaw. He already has a shadow forming, but his skin looks soft, like he'd shaved recently. His strong neck, his barrel chest…You realize too late you're staring, but you try to recover by snapping your eyes back up to Stan’s and pretending the last few seconds didn't happen. He doesn't get the memo, and looks at you looking at him like you've grown a second head. The look makes you flush—Are you really that obvious? Maybe it's been too long. But you ignore the rising heat in your cheeks and try again at the honesty thing.“I think you're kind of a catch,” you confess, and promptly chase the statement with a long sip of your wine. When you lower your glass, Stan has one big fist over his mouth, trying to hide whatever expression he's got going on behind it. He clears his throat and avoids eye contact as he takes another swig of his beer, finishing off the last dregs of foam at the bottom.You wait patiently for his reaction, feeling tense, trying not to let your nerves win out and convince you you're being way too forward. But then Stan swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, clears his throat again, and blinks at the tablecloth. He looks up at you with those brown eyes, less sharp than they were when he thought you were teasing him. Then a grin crawls on his face, kind of crooked, almost shy.“Just ‘kind of,’ huh?” he asks, and something about the bashful way he's looking at you makes your heart skip. You melt into a giggle, covering your mouth with your hand as heat rises to your face. Stan looks delighted, his brows quirking up at your reaction.“You're a catch,” you correct yourself, and you try to sound confident, but you're feeling a little shy, too.“Coming from a cute young thing like you? Must be the wine,” Stan deflects, but his smile becomes a little more toothy, more sure.“It's not the wine,” you assure him, your eyes flicking to the hair on his chest.“How’s about we get another glass in you and see if I look like a movie star?” he jokes.Just a few minutes ago, this Summer Speed Dating thing had been a bust. You were starting to get wine-tired, and you hadn’t liked most of your dates tonight, and you were totally looking forward to stealing another glass on your way out and sitting in your car in the parking lot for thirty minutes. But despite everything…You laugh, openly, at this joke that was only moderately funny. Your eyes close and you instinctively cover your mouth with your palm again. After a stunned moment of silence, Stan chuckles from across the table. Then he's laughing too, at his own joke, and the sound of it is so genuine and charming that you can't help but laugh some more at the sudden warmth blooming in your chest.You both calm down after a few moments, and when you look up, Stan is grinning at you unabashed. He’s all teeth now, leaning forward onto the table with his forearms, his shoulders relaxed. His brown eyes are warm and bright, and there's a flush to his ears that makes you want to reach out and…You clear your throat and go to sip your wine, but your teeth clink oddly against the rim of the glass. You realize you’re still smiling. Stan chuckles, and you giggle, but before either of you can say anything else—BUZZ!Stan looks around at the others in the room, surprised, like he'd forgotten they were there. You glance around, too. Everyone's standing, chairs scraping, heels clicking against the floor.You and Stan look at each other. He slowly, hesitantly, stands from his seat, and for a moment you think this is it. He's going to shake your hand, nod politely, and wish you luck. Then he's going to meander on over to the next table and make the next woman laugh even harder than you had.But he doesn't. Instead, Stan steps around the table, places one tentative hand on your bicep, and leans down close, a question on his lips.“Hey, uh—You wanna get outta here?” he whispers, low and conspiratorial. His voice is as gruff and as blunt as it had been when he first sat down with you, but there's an undercurrent of tension that you sit with for a moment before you figure out what it is. Beneath the bravado, he still sounds a little shy, a little unsure, and the realization instantly relaxes you. He feels the exact same way you do. You stand, purse in one hand and wine glass in the other, and Stan's brows are furrowed with uncertainty until you nudge his shoulder and point with your chin to the exit.“What are you waiting for?” you whisper back, already leading him away from the table. Stan's face lights up and he hurries after you, darting quick enough to get to the exit first so he can hold the door open. You duck under his arm, unironically thrilled by the chivalry, and his hand is warm when he guides you forward with his palm on your lower back.The night air is cool and quiet, pierced only by the sounds of you and Stan giggling through your escape. No one else is outside, and you spare your car half a glance before Stan takes your wrist and leads you away from the building, across the parking lot, to a shiny red cadillac.“Nice car,” you say, turning around, and then Stan is leaning you against the passenger door and kissing you. You kiss back without hesitation, managing to place your purse on the car's roof before dragging your hands over his shoulder, around the nape of his neck, pulling him in. He tastes exactly as his breath smells: beer and cinnamon.Stan holds your waist, pressing you gently against the car as you lock lips. You lick the seam of his mouth, and he sighs contentedly through his nose, and you revel in the feeling. It's been so long since you kissed anyone, but somehow you're not nervous about your performance. Stan doesn’t seem nervous, either—he’s gently pressing his fingers into your skin, almost kneading at your waist through your short dress, like he just wants to feel you.Eventually, you have to breathe. You pull away first, catching your breath, and Stan presses his forehead to your own. You tilt your head to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighs, then does the same. You spent a few moments like that, sharing air and trading kisses, just holding onto each other. It feels right. It feels good.“This is your car, right?” you ask finally, and Stan laughs out loud, the sound of it almost explosive in the quiet night. He responds by drawing a hand back and shoving It into his pants pocket, and within a second, the car doors unlock.“Allow me,” he says, nudging you gently to the side and opening the passenger door. You smile as you step inside, grabbing your purse as you go, and Stan makes sure you have your wine glass over your lap before he shuts the door. You watch him round the vehicle before coming in through the driver’s side, and then you're both shuffling to the edge of your seats and leaning over and kissing again.This kiss goes deeper. Stan licks at your bottom lip and you open your mouth, meeting his warm tongue with your own. Without looking, Stan takes the wine glass from your grasp and balances it on the dash so he can pull you close, one hand on your upper back and the other at your waist. You drop your purse somewhere on the floor and bring both your hands to his face, cradling his large chin in your palms. You were right earlier, when you wondered about him shaving recently—his skin is pleasantly smooth.You're a full grown adult and Stan is very much your senior, but you really enjoy making out with him in his car like this, like a couple of horny college students. Both your hands start to wander, yours over Stan's shoulders, his over your hips and thighs. Stan licks the inside of your cheek and you moan openly against him, squeezing his shoulder to convey your approval. This time, he's the one who has to pull back to catch his breath, and your eyes flutter open to catch him staring at you.“That was good,” you pant, running your thumb beneath his jaw.“Just good?” he asks, eyes blown. You grin.“That was great,” you concede. Stan is already leaning forward, a smile on his lips.“Then let’s do it again,” he says, then does just that. You both meet in the middle, smiling goofily against each other for a moment before you manage to get ahold of yourselves.Kissing Stan is something else. Nevermind the fact that one of the few people you kissed more than once is… you know. Stan kisses deep and slow, like he’s savoring it, and his tongue is very prominent. You’re glad it tastes like his gum. His heavy hands combined with the expert movements of his mouth make it that much more pleasurable, too, his wide palms tracing the side of your waist, coming up to the side of your chest and slowly back down to the inside of your knee, exploring you where he can and humming when you lean into him. His touch feels reverent and warm and affectionate, drawing a well of emotion from your stomach. You like this. You like Stan. You don’t know him, not at all, but all you need to know is that he’s nothing like…The both of you pull back at the same time and you press your forehead to Stan’s, breathing deeply, trying to ground yourself. After a minute, Stan shifts away, and you lean back properly in your seat, your face hot. The car engine suddenly purrs to life, and you blink your eyes open when a lukewarm draft comes from the vents pointed at your face. When you look over, Stan is grinning, lips red and wet, his hands on the steering wheel.“Uh, I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” he says, then nods to the restaurant, “but I don’t wanna be stuck in the parking lot when that whole mess is over and everyone comes floodin’ out. Not for free, at least. You wanna take this somewhere else? Or, uh, did you drive here? I’m not tryin’ to kidnap you or anything, just thought, uh—”You stifle a laugh when you realize his confidence is actively shrinking the more he talks. You reach your right arm behind you, finding the seatbelt, then pull it over your body. When you’re buckled in, you grab your wine from the dash and smile at Stan, who looks simultaneously awkward and relieved.“I drove,” you say as he buckles himself in, too. Stan puts the car into reverse. The air conditioning is quickly becoming cooler, more pleasant on your heated face. “But my car will be here when I come back.”“You got a curfew?” Stan asks, twisting to place a hand on your seat and look towards his back window as he starts backing up. It’s a very normal thing for a driver to do, really, but it’s also such a cliché way for you to get flustered that you can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, hiding a smile. There’s cologne on his wrist, you realize. Spicy and woody and warm. When you don’t reply, Stan glances down at you and catches you staring at the dip at the base of his neck. He grins again. “You there, sugar?”“Mhm,” you manage, and Stan laughs at you again as he pulls out of the parking stall. He puts the car in park long enough to catch your mouth in a sudden kiss, making you hum into his mouth, then he pulls back.“Alright,” Stan says, pleased with himself. You’re watching him, leaning your head against the seat as he puts the car into drive and starts to leave the lot. He glances at you. “Where to? I’d invite you to mine, but, uh…”He doesn’t elaborate, but you get the message loud and clear. You shake your head politely.“I don’t know any good spots around that wouldn’t be taken up by teenagers,” you say, finally looking ahead to the empty road. “Can we just… drive for a bit?”“Don’t see why not,” Stan grins, and you smile, and you manage to take a sip of your wine without spilling it all over yourself.So you drive. Well, Stan drives. You decide you’ll leave your car at the restaurant and head over later tonight or tomorrow, depending on how well tonight goes. In the meantime, you enjoy the cool air conditioning and roomy interior of Stan’s cadillac. The rest of the town isn’t quite asleep, not yet, and you take pleasure in watching the faint glow of kitchen lights and television sets through windows as Stan drives slowly through residential streets.The forest at the town’s borders is all too creepy, especially at night, but being in a car with a person who makes you feel safe (Is that how Stan makes you feel? Safe? Already?) gives the trees a mysterious, ethereal edge. The car windows are up, but you imagine the sounds of crickets chirping, hidden within the brush. This is one of the things you like most about Gravity Falls. You never knew the allure of nature when you were trapped in the city not too long ago.Speaking of… You take turns glancing from the road, to Stan, to the small swarms of moths beneath dim street lamps.You should tell him. Before you go any further, you should tell him.You steel yourself, scripting the words in your mind, imagining the feel of them on your tongue.But then all you can think about is Stan’s tongue on your tongue, and how long it’s been since you’ve kissed someone like that, and how much longer it’s been since you’ve felt this flame in your chest that somehow flickers into your throat. Right up into your throat, and suddenly, before you can control it, right out of your mouth.“I have a husband,” you blurt out. The words escape you so quickly, it’s like they’ve scalded your tongue. Stan’s head snaps to you with a speed that makes you flinch back. His eyes are wide, hands suddenly tense on the steering wheel, and you realize your mistake. You hold up your free hand, waving it in front of you as you hasten to clear up any misunderstanding. “No, not like—! I, um, had a husband. Past tense. It’s complicated.”“Uh,” Stan says, looking at the road, back at you, back at the road.“He’s dead,” you say.“Uh,” Stan says.“I’m sorry,” you say, shame weighing down your throat at how quickly you'd ruined the mood. For the first time, you try to come up with names or faces of people you’ve told about your late husband. You come up blank, and you realize Stan is the only person in Gravity Falls who knows. It’s a daunting thought, and your hands start to shake, so you grip onto your wine glass and the seatbelt and focus on the road in front of you, at the white picket fences and lush green yards lining the dark street. “Sorry I didn’t—I guess I should’ve told you earlier, or just kept my mouth shut. Um.”For a moment, it feels like you’ve been too honest. You’ve bitten off more than you could chew, and you’re definitely ruining the night. But then… you didn’t leave the house earlier wanting a hot date and a romantic night drive through town, did you? You left wanting to make a connection. Maybe this is how normal people make emotional connections. Besides, the door to your past is already open. At least, you think so, and Stan’s attention has been drawn to it against his will. He's in on this. You can’t just breeze past it, even if you really tried. So you take a deep breath and continue.“We got married right out of college. He died last year. There was an accident, and it was really sudden. And he was, to be totally honest, a really bad husband.” You take another breath here and glance at Stan. He’s not looking at you, he’s being a good driver and paying attention to his surroundings, but he’s listening. His silence is inviting enough for you to admit, out loud, for the very first time, “I think I’m a bad person because I don’t miss him all that much. It makes me feel horrible. The part I do miss about him is just—fuck, this makes me sound like such a freak—I miss having someone around. Even if that someone really, really sucks. I don’t think I miss him any more than that. And I don’t know what that says about me.”By the time you’re done rambling, Stan has pulled over on some random street, as far away as he can get from anyone’s house. He’s looking at you with a face of pure bewilderment, clearly at a loss. You flush under his gaze and fiddle with the seatbelt. When it’s clear Stan has nothing to say, either trying to wrap his mind around your story or trying to come up with an appropriate way to ask you to get the heck out of his car, you speak again.“Do you ever feel like that?” you ask, your voice cracking somewhat. Stan looks even more alarmed at the threat of you crying, and you almost feel bad for him, but hey, you’re the one with the dead husband. He quickly puts the car in park, but keeps his hand rested on the steering wheel. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. Breathes in, then out.“... Like what?” he asks finally, voice soft. The unexpected tenderness there is enough to make your chest seize, and you grip the seatbelt tighter, clinging to it like a life jacket, if only because you don't think you could cling to anything else the same way.There are tears building in your eyes, and you think they aren’t because of your dead husband. You think they’re building because you might have just made yourself look like a total freak in front of one of the only people in this town who was nice enough to spend some time with you. But since you’re here, and you’ve already messed things up, you just have to know. So you take another sip of your wine, a small one, then place the glass far up on the dash so there’s less chance of it spilling all over such a nice car, like you've so graciously spilled your proverbial guts.“Do you ever feel like you’re a bad person?” you ask, voice small. “And that, maybe if someone could just… be around you, or touch you, or even notice you, so you could stop being alone with yourself all the time, that you might feel just a little better about it?”Stan registers your words carefully, taking long, slow sips of your intention like he’s nursing a cold beer. He never looks away. You hold your breath, keeping eye contact, even as you blink a few times to try to rid your tears before they fall. Outside, a street lamp flickers. Stan takes another breath in.“Yes,” he says, with the kind of weight to it that makes you both incredibly devastated and selfishly relieved, and you’re not sure who goes in first but then you’re kissing, hard. The seatbelt strains across your chest as you grab at Stan’s forearm, the nape of his neck, and your face feels hot as one of his hands cups your cheek and the other fumbles for something at your side. Eventually, he manages to unbuckle you, then himself, and the two of you separate just long enough to release your seatbelts before Stan reaches across your body to pull you in by your right hip.The tension is thicker than any you’d shared back at the restaurant, and it only amplifies when Stan drags you onto his lap to straddle his waist. You have to tilt your head down a bit to kiss him again, your lips sliding across his out of clumsy desperation before locking properly. It only takes a moment for both your mouths to open, almost in sync, to glide your tongues together and draw that heated eagerness out of you again. You gasp into Stan’s mouth when he gropes your ass, his other hand steady on the arch of your back. Your own hands squeeze his shoulders for balance, then quickly start to explore. Up his neck, to his jaw, down to his collarbones, his chest—Your fingers snag in Stan’s chest hair and he groans quietly, and for some reason the sound makes your hips rock down.“Fuck—Keep goin’,” Stan grunts, and it takes you an extra second to realize he’s pushing your short dress all the way up to your waist and pressing his palm against your glute to encourage you to move. You do, grinding down again, and the sound that comes from Stan makes you go slack-jawed. He licks into your mouth as you start grinding, your breathing getting heavier at the pressure on your clothed cunt.“Stan,” you breathe, his name a strangled noise as the blood rushes to your head. You try your best to return the kiss, you really, really like kissing him, but it’s getting increasingly difficult as you zero in on the feeling of him getting hard under you. Stan doesn’t seem to mind though, and as you start your own slow rhythm, dragging your cunt back and forth over the bulge of his dick with only a few layers in between, he gives your ass another squeeze and then pushes you away. You only feel confused for a moment before you realize Stan is leaning forward, reaching down past the edge of the seat, and then he’s adjusting it so he can lean further back. He pulls you in again, and you scramble to plant your hands on his shoulders for support before meeting him in another kiss.Grinding against him is easier this way, but your kiss quickly turns sloppy again as heat pools between your legs. Stan gropes your ass again, then your lower back. His touch makes you shiver as his large palm slides over your hip, your waist, before it makes its way between your bodies to squeeze gently at your chest and then travel further up. His hand is large against the base of your neck, but somehow so gentle as it comes to your face and squeezes your cheeks together. You think he’s making fun of you at first, but then you realize he’s molding your mouth against his, making your lips more pleasant for him to kiss since you’ve lost so much focus. You whine, your hips stuttering at the realization.“C’mon,” he mutters between kisses, his voice deep. Your one hand moves into the open front of his shirt, feeling up the bare skin of his broad chest and sliding beneath the button-up to rest at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your other hand moves behind you, to Stan’s lower thigh, supporting your weight as you grind on him. “That’s it. Just like that.”“Fuck,” you curse, muffled somewhat by Stan’s hand manipulating your mouth. He lets go of your face then, planting one last deep kiss onto your shining lips before moving to press his nose to your neck. Your head lolls back as Stan’s mouth finds the underside of your jaw, towards your ear, kissing and licking at the sensitive skin there and drawing sweet moans from you. “Fuck, Stan, that feels so good.”“Want you to feel good, honey,” Stan says, the name of endearment sounding easy and smooth on his tongue. It makes you shiver, and Stan takes advantage of your vulnerability to start sucking a mark into your skin. Your hips are grinding down harder, trying to find the best angle. Stan finishes his mark and presses his tongue hard against it, making it ache, before he draws back somewhat to fumble at his belt. You force yourself to still and give him space for a moment. You think he’s about to take himself out now, to let you see him, touch him, but all Stan does is lift his hips for just a moment to shove his pants down to his thighs. He’s sitting in his striped boxers now, and he quickly adjusts himself with one hand before placing both hands on your hips. “C'mere. How’s that?”Stan manhandles you effortlessly, and before you even straddle him again, you just know you’re soaked. But then you do straddle him, Stan’s large hands pulling you forward into his lap, and your mouth falls open when your clothed cunt slides perfectly along the length of his dick through his thin underwear. You both moan at the feeling, your voices suddenly that much louder in the silent car, and you want to hear more. You start moving, Stan’s grip guiding you along as you grind back, and forth, and back, and fuck, this feels, so, fucking, good—“Holy fucking shit,” you whine, falling forward to wrap both your arms around Stan’s shoulders. You breathe heavily into his neck, making him tense and hold onto you tighter.“That’s it, babe,” he huffs, his voice strained when you make an effort to glide your cunt all the way up, to the hard edge of his tip, and all the way down, to the thick base. Your core is hot against him, sending electricity through your legs at each deep press against your clit. Stan grunts and grinds his hips upward suddenly, making you whimper. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You like it, huh? You like grinding on my dick?”You nod into his neck, moaning as you start to press open-mouth kisses above his collar. Stan seems to get impatient with your pace, his hands pushing you to grind faster on him. His boxers are so thin, you can feel the tip of him nudge up against your opening, where you’re wet and ready for him. You’re getting impatient, too.“Stan, I need you,” you whine into his neck, reaching one hand between your legs to rub your clit through your panties. Stan grabs your wrist, holding onto it with a firm grip. It doesn’t hurt, not at all, but you gasp anyway, trying to get your wrist free. “Stan—”“You don’t touch yourself,” he murmurs, maneuvering your arm behind you to press your hand between your shoulder blades. You wince at the stretch, but otherwise, you're unharmed. You still feel safe. Stan plants a kind kiss to the side of your head, betraying the firmness of which he’s keeping your arm pinned. “You ask me for what you want. Nicely. Lemme take care of you.”The sentiment sends a rush of pleasure through you, drawing a moan out from your mouth to vibrate against the column of Stan’s throat.“You understand me?” he asks, his voice rumbling through his chest. You nod again, almost nuzzling his neck, and Stan squeezes your hip. “Whaddya need, sugar?”“Need you,” you mumble, rolling your hips down. Stan tuts, releasing your arm to grab both of your hips and keep you still. You catch on right away and try to find your words. “Shit—Please, Stan, need your dick in me. Please.”“Good girl,” he praises, reaching down to shove a hand against your cunt. The hard line of Stan’s dick is replaced by his meaty fingers, and you gasp at the feeling of him stroking your entrance through your underwear. He chuckles quietly, almost to himself. “You’re so wet, poor thing. Bet I could make you come just from grinding on me.” As much as the thought elates you, you shake your head and press a kiss to Stan’s neck.“I wanna come around your dick,” you breathe, making Stan stiffen beneath you. You slide your arms over his shoulders, wrapping them around his neck, then raise your head to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Stan exhales at the affection, then turns his head and captures your lips in a proper kiss. The two of you get lost in it for a few minutes, reveling in the feeling of being so close. You lap at the tip of Stan’s tongue twice, then suck gently at his bottom lip as you ask, “Can you please fuck me?”“Condom and lube's in the glovebox,” Stan directs you, his voice just as breathy. You just now realize you’re sitting on his thighs, your legs spread wide to allow him to stroke at your panties. His gaze automatically drifts downwards when you pull away far enough, and a little thrill shoots through you when you realize he really likes how wet you are. You perk up a little, looking him in the eye.“Do we need a condom?” you ask, smiling shyly down at him. Stan blinks at you. Then he grins.You shift your weight to support yourself on your knees, careful not to hit your head against the ceiling of the car. Stan takes it upon himself to drag your panties off of you, letting you lean on him as you kick it off one leg. You don’t get much farther than that, because then Stan presses his palm to your abdomen and rubs his thumb against your opening, slicking it. He goes for your clit then, making you moan as he starts to rub it in careful little circles that have you getting even wetter. Stan keeps you like that, towering over him and shaking as he touches you, before drawing his hand away to lick over his thumb, tasting you. The sight is hotter than it has any right to be.You try to catch your breath as Stan leans over to pop open the glovebox. He rummages through a collection of junk mail, unused fast food napkins, and several important documents before finding his stash at the very bottom. You watch him draw two packets of lube out from the compartment and you lean to close the glovebox as soon as he does, effectively ignoring the condoms inside. When you look at Stan again, he's dropped one foil packet to the seat for now and rips open the other with his teeth, some lube already dribbling out the tear he's made.“How d'you wanna…?” Stan trails off, holding the packet upright. You only have to think for a moment.“I like when you touch me,” you say. That makes Stan curse for some reason, and he sets to work dribbling the lube over his index finger. You don't have to be stretched out, not really—You’re a lonely adult with your own hands and toys. But the sight of the clear lube dripping down to Stan’s knuckles, the thought of him stretching you out nice and slow and gentle… Your mouth is watering.“You want it?” he asks, looking up at you while you adjust your grip on his shoulders.“Yes, please,” you say, smiling politely, and Stan's mouth quirks up as he chuckles and lowers his hand. He glides it over your cunt, your clit, making you gasp. Stan looks delighted by the sounds you’re making, a crooked grin slowly growing on his face. But he's serious when he says,“Tell me if it's too much, sweetheart.” Then he's pressing his finger upwards into you, nice and slow, and your smile falls as you whine at the feeling of him finally breaching you. You try to rock your hips down, but Stan presses a hand to the side of your leg to stop you, the packet of lube leaking only a little bit onto your skin. “Ah-ah. Stay still.”You whimper, but do your best to stay steady as his finger presses inside you with ease. He pushes it all the way in, nice and firm, the rest of his hand pressed up against your cunt as he stays there.“Good,” he breathes, and slowly draws his finger out all the way. He lets go of you and takes a moment to dribble more lube over his hand before tossing the empty packet to the side. Then two fingers are pressing against you, and you barely have time to process it until they're slipping into your cunt, stretching you out.“Ohhh, fuck,” you moan, nearly pressing your hips down again until you remember Stan stopping you the first time. Instead, you keep your hips still. Your knees are sore from pressing into the seat for so long, but the stretch of Stan's thick fingers, the feeling of his knuckles pressed against your slicked cunt as he pushes all the way in, is completely worth it. “Oh, God, Stan…”“Your pussy feels so hot around my fingers, baby,” he replies, and you whine when he starts grinding them into you, pressing towards the front wall of your cunt and making your legs shake. “It's gonna feel so good around my dick, I can already tell.”“Holy shit, you're good at this.” He really is. Stan’s fingers are smooth, almost expert in the way they curl up and press that spot in you that makes your back arch. You can hear the wet sound of yourself and the lube with each movement, can feel the way they dribble down the inside of your thigh.“You're good at takin’ it,” Stan says back, and the praise makes you shudder and roll your head forward to rest on his shoulder. He chuckles at you, grinding his fingers deep into your pussy. “You ready for my dick?”“Mhm,” you hum, turning your head to nod into his neck. You sigh softly when Stan draws his fingers out of you, then start pressing kisses to his neck, tugging at his shirt to expose more of his skin.“Hey, hey, watch it,” he scolds you, but there’s a smile in his voice. Both his hands withdraw from you, busying themselves out of sight. You think you hear the crinkle of the second lube packet opening, but you’re too busy grinning into his neck to look. “Good shirts don’t just fall outta the sky, y’know.”“What, is this the only good shirt you have?” you tease, and before Stan can reply, you press a wet, open-mouthed kiss beneath his jaw. It draws a groan from him, deep within his throat, and you have to tamp your smile down to suck gently at the spot.“Second thought, do whatever ya want,” he grunts, and this time you laugh full-on. You pull back and see Stan is grinning at you, and you finally notice the tension from earlier has completely dissolved. You didn’t ruin the night with your random bout of vulnerability—if anything, you’re being rewarded for it. You think it would be a crime to do anything but kiss Stan for that, so you do, tilting your head to meet his lips, and he’s ready for you by the time you get there. Stan kisses you deeply, licking at your teeth, groping your ass with one hand, and you realize a few seconds in that one of his arms is moving in a rhythm. You mumble into his mouth,“You're jerking off right now and you didn’t even tell me?” It’s Stan’s turn to laugh, and you find yourself just as happy to be kissing his teeth instead of his lips.“What do I look like, a news reporter? You got eyes, don’t cha?” he says, and yes, you do have eyes. So you press another kiss to his mouth when he shuts up, and then you lean back to sit on his thighs and look down. Stan is pumping his dick with his dirtied hand, lube pooling at the tip and leaking out of his fist with every upstroke. The head of him is big and round and pink, and his hips roll up slightly when he realizes you’re looking. You press your forehead to his, watching him. His voice is lower, nice and gravelly, when he asks, “You like it?”“You’re really big,” you say, and your voice holds only a little trepidation. Again, you’re a woman with toys. But it’s been a while since you’ve taken anything bigger than the bullet vibe that’s had dead batteries for a week. “Are you gonna fit?”“Jesus,” Stan grunts, his hips jerking at that. You cover your mouth, a laugh threatening to escape.“I’m serious,” you say despite your grin, leaning back again to meet his eyes. Stan’s gaze is dark, his pupils blown, and you’re halfway leaning in by the time you think you’re addicted to kissing this man. He seems just as willing, and you relish in the fact that his lips are already wet when you meet him in the middle. You make out for a few minutes, the sounds of Stan’s hand making you that much eager to feel him inside you, even as the frames of his glasses nudge against your face. But you meant it when you asked whether it would fit, and you know there’s only one real way to curb your nerves. You drag a hand down his chest, to his abdomen, and your heart skips a beat when you feel a thick material through his shirt. Is he wearing a girdle? That’s cute. You move your hand further, to his pelvis, and break the kiss. You ask, softly, “Can I try?”“Can you—You act real polite for someone tryin’ to touch my dick at a street corner,” Stan says, but his voice catches when you nudge his hand away and wrap your fingers around the base of his lubed dick.“You told me to ask,” you remind him, laughing softly even as heat spikes into your core when you realize your fingers barely overlap around him.“Oh, right. Well—I say a lot of things,” he dismisses, clenching his teeth when you stroke upwards and squeeze your fist around his leaky head. “God, that’s—Yeah, that’s good.”“It better be good,” you mumble, but your heart’s not in the joke. Not when you’re slowly becoming transfixed by the heat of Stan’s cock in your hand, the slick of lube helping you slide your fist up and down its length. You squeeze again at the head, rub the slippery pad of your thumb over the slit. Stan groans, his head tipping back into the leather of his seat. You lean forward then, kissing his neck, licking gently at the hollow spot between his collarbones. “Am I making you feel good?”“Yeah, sweetheart,” he gasps, squeezing your ass, your hip, then fumbling his other hand back to hold onto yours without looking. You almost cringe at the feeling of lube on your wrist, but then Stan’s hand engulfs yours and starts guiding you. You melt, tucking your forehead against his shoulder to watch as he guides you to pump him faster. “Jack me off like this, just—Fuck, yeah, that’s good. Make your hand nice and tight around my dick, that’s it.”You moan softly at the filth of his words, following his directions to make your handjob as enjoyable as possible. The lube adds so much noise to your movements, and you’re drawn to the way it shines in the coarse hairs at the base of Stan’s dick. It’s nice and trimmed, like he was hoping to get lucky tonight. You acknowledged before that you weren’t looking for a hookup, but you would hate to be in a world where you’re not currently watching Stan’s dick leak into your fist. The sight makes you squirm, and as you keep pumping him, you come to a solemn conclusion: You’re going to make this thing fit, and you’re going to fucking like it. Just as the heat between your legs gets impossible to ignore, Stan breathes out deeply and releases his hand.“Needa get my dick in you, babe,” he says, and you almost slide straight off the seat in your hurry to shuffle up onto your knees. Stan steadies you, grabbing himself at the base as you hold on to his broad shoulders. A needy sound escapes you when you lower enough to feel the head brush against your folds. Stan looks up at you, flushed in the face all the way down to his chest. You must look similarly flustered, because he stares at you for a few seconds and then cracks a smile. “You ready?”You nod eagerly as he holds your wait to help guide you down to meet his body. You know his dick is big, you consider yourself particularly well-acquainted with it by now, but it feels so much different when it presses against your entrance. You whine, your hips twitching, grinding over the thick head.“Yeah—Yes, I'm ready,” you say, and steel yourself for just another second before you start to lower. Stan doesn't push you down, just helps keep your hips steady, but he groans and flexes his hands on your waist when you lower onto the head. Once you get that little bit in you, your brain goes blank. You're drooling at the blunt press of his cock, the incredible stretch, and your mouth slowly drops open as you sink down the first few inches. Even though you’re dripping wet and stretched out and eager, Stan is big enough that you need to pause and take a breath here. Stan’s clean hand rubs over your hip, comforting.“That’s it, sugar, nice and slow,” he soothes you, his voice noticeably strained. You steady yourself on his shoulders and rise up, enough so the head is still in you, then slowly lower yourself back down. Stan mutters a long string of curses when you sink lower than you had the first time. “Fuck, c’mon, baby, you got it.”“You’re so fucking big,” you stress, pushing yourself up again. His cock drags along your walls in a way that makes your eyes clench shut, and suddenly you’re doubtful. Your voice is high and hesitant when you say, “God, fuck, you’re so—Holy shit, okay, are you gonna fit?”“It’ll fit,” Stan assures you, and his voice is so sure it sends another thrill through you. He somehow keeps his hips still as he reaches over to the glovebox again, and you realize he must be using those fast food napkins to wipe his hand off, the gentleman. He grabs your waist firmly, with clean hands, giving you more support as you slowly move up and down his cock. He grunts and keeps you steady, staying patient. “There you go. You feel so good for me already—Want you to take all of it.”It takes a few more minutes and a lot more careful stretching until finally, finally, you sink all the way down and sit flush on Stan’s hips. You moan, your legs twitching, and Stan presses the palms of his hands to your back, holding you.“Oh, fuck, I feel so full,” you say, and Stan groans, tilting his head forward to nuzzle your cheek. The affection is welcome, and you make an approving sound when he presses a soft kiss beside your ear. Even the initial struggle to get him inside you was hot, and you relish in the pressure within your cunt. One of Stan’s hands worms its way between you, feeling where your skin meets his, and you raise up an inch so he can feel your clit. You jerk when he presses his thumb into it, slick with lube all over again. “Oh my God, I wanna come on you so bad.”“Great minds,” he remarks, and you raise your hips up, then roll them down, then again, and soon you find a steady rhythm, and eventually you’re fully riding Stan Pines’ dick in the driver’s seat of his car. You lean forward, planting your hands firmly on the sides of his seat to help yourself move. Your moans mix with Stan’s, his voice deep and breathless and loud in your ear.“Knew this little pussy would feel good. Nice and tight,” he grunts, and you whine at that, reedy and desperate as your hips stutter. Stan takes advantage of your stillness and rubs your clit in tight little circles, drawing a string of swears from you.“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Fuck, no, I’m not tight. Your dick is just huge,” you say earnestly, and Stan chuckles in a strained way.“You keep sayin’ that,” he says, and you shake your head, then bury your face in his shoulder as you lower yourself all the way down and grind slowly into his lap. Stan groans, his hands flying to your hips to guide you.“It’s true,” you say, because the honesty thing has really worked out for you tonight, and you have a feeling you can milk it a little more. You gasp when one hard grind on Stan’s dick stimulates your clit. Stan latches onto the angle, helping you find that movement over and over, even though it must not be doing much for him. You moan into his skin, “Fuck, I can feel you in my fucking throat.”“Good lord,” he says, with emphasis, and you roll your hips harder even though you know he can’t possibly get any deeper in this position. But it’s okay, because he’s still letting you grind on him, and he’s squeezing your ass when he can, really feeling you up, and every roll of your hips has his dick hitting a place deep inside of you that stokes the growing fire in your stomach. Stan’s hips twitch upwards, too, and then he’s grabbing you by the underside of your thighs to lift you a few inches so he can thrust up into your heat.“Oh, shit, Stan—” The wind is knocked out of you as Stan finds a rhythm, his hips driving upwards into your pussy and slapping against your thighs. Your legs start to shake and your head lolls back, and you’re being fucked hard enough that your hands lose purchase on the seat leather. You grab his shirt instead, bunching the fabric on his shoulders. “Oh my God, shit, yes, fuck me—”“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Stan groans, then shoves your hips down so he can catch his breath. You moan deeply, taking a few steady rolls of your hips, and then Stan adjusts his grip on you. He makes you lift up so he can fuck into you all over again, the steady rhythm drawing a high-pitched sound from your throat as heat curls in your abdomen. The stretch of his dick is still there, still a little sore, but the lube saves you a lot of discomfort as he drives into you. Stan mutters, “Rub your little clit for me, huh? Let me see.”You struggle for a second to find balance, leaning backwards to plant your left hand firmly on the dashboard, but then you’re steady enough so your right hand can find your clit. You moan at the added spark it sends through you, and your fingers are quick to fall into muscle memory as you rub yourself. Stan groans deeply, and you force your eyes to stay open through the pleasure just to see the look on his face.Stan is flushed, his head hung forward to keep his gaze fixed on your hand between your legs, sweat rolling down his temples and neck and gathering in his thick chest hair. His beanie is askew, his shirt wrinkled to hell, and he’s panting, with that wad of cinnamon gum dangerously close to falling out of his mouth. He’s so fucking hot, and he’s still fucking you, even though his initial speed is lost he’s driving into you with hard, deep thrusts, his eyes flickering further down, and you realize that at this angle he can see his own dick grinding into you, and your fingers fly faster over your clit as something in you tightens, and oh fuck, fuck, you’re gonna come, holy fucking shit.“You close?” Stan grunts, and you nod as best you can even as he gives you a few hard thrusts in quick succession. Then he stops, dragging you against him, almost crushing your hand between your bodies, and your hips are grinding down hard as you chase your peak. Stan helps you, rowing your hips forward with little effort, and your eyes roll back as his dick reaches deep within you, filling you up, and your fingers press harder on your clit, and Stan says, in a low, gruff voice, “Come for me, babe, just like this, come on my dick.”It’s the hardest orgasm you’ve had in a very long time. You tense as you come, your fingers stilling on your clit and your jaw dropping open, but Stan has every intention of drawing out your high for as long as possible. He’s still moving your hips for you, dragging you down against him, making sure his dick is deep in you as you tighten around his cock. A long, low moan is drawn from you, filling the car, and Stan mutters words of praise that you can hardly register as your mind goes completely blank. Then he touches you, his thumb replacing your fingers on your clit, making you whine as he draws tight little circles into it.“That’s it,” Stan encourages you, his other hand sliding around to the small of your back as your back arches. You gasp for air, your hips twitching indecisively like your body can’t decide to evade his touch or grind into it. But Stan follows you regardless, moves his hand along with your twitching body to stimulate you further. “Fuck, that’s good. So fucking hot.”“Fuck—Oh, fuck,” you manage, your hands scrambling for purchase and landing at Stan’s shoulders once more. You’re so sensitive, you’re out of breath, you haven’t had a release this intense in years and there’s emotion welling up in your chest, a lot of it, stinging your nose, pooling in your eyes, but then,“Little more for me,” Stan soothes, his voice low and warm as he eases the speed of his onslaught. Carefully, he slows down, but keeps rubbing you. Your eyes are clenched tight, and don’t know if it’s tears or sweat rolling down your face, but you don’t think it matters. It’s still good, you feel so good right now, and Stan’s voice is gentle and content as he guides you to, “keep feelin’ it, just like that. Good girl. Just a little more.”So you decide you can take it. You want Stan to know that you can take it, that you want everything he has to offer you tonight. So you ignore the tears or sweat on your face and keep riding it out, letting him rub you gently, your moans softening to tiny, desperate little sounds between pleasure and pain. Stan’s thumb comes to a still at some point so that it’s just pressing against you, completely motionless on your clit. Your hips twitch into it for a few more seconds, just barely, then you’re stilling, too, and the warm haze of your prolonged orgasm is slowly lifting from your head.You breathe deeply, finding your capacity for air again, and collapse slowly forward. Your muscles ache as you drape yourself across Stan’s body, relishing in the warmth of him. He hums at you, shifting so his hands can rest firmly on your back to hold you against his chest.“There we go. Just breathe,” he says, comforting. You do, breathing in deep, enjoying the scent of his cologne at the base of his neck. You exhale with a shudder, your arms totally limp as you tuck your nose against Stan’s skin. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. Then he just holds you, running a hand up and down your spine, drawing the tension out of you with his wide palm.You must fall asleep at some point, just for a minute or two, because you eventually wake up to the tail end of Stan’s voice saying, “—right?”“Hm?” you ask against his neck, slowly coming back to yourself. Stan chuckles, making his chest bounce beneath you.“You alright?” he repeats, squeezing gently at your waist. You press a gentle kiss to his neck and slowly push his shoulders so you can sit up, bringing a hand to your face. Stan looks at your expression for just a moment before reaching over to grab some of those napkins from the glovebox and hand them to you. “Seriously. You good?”“I think you just fucked a few years off my lifespan,” you joke, voice low and lazy as you accept the napkins. Stan laughs at that and presses a kiss to your cheek, making you smile as you dab at your watery eyes. Some of your makeup comes off with it, and you can only hope you look like a hot mess rather than a sloppy one. “Yes. I’m good. Holy shit.”“I’ll bet,” Stan says, an edge of smugness in his voice. He pats your butt gently, and you suddenly remember you’re still connected. “C’mon, sugar, time for the dismount.”You have to raise your hips high to get Stan’s dick out of you, wincing slightly at the drag against your sensitive walls. Stan guides you by your shaking thighs, making sure you don’t fall over, and it’s only when you sit back on his legs that you realize he’s still hard.“Oh!” You glance from Stan’s dick to his face, resting your palms on his broad chest. It takes him a second to realize why you’re suddenly flustered, but when he does, a small grin creeps onto his face. You laugh breathily, sliding a hand down to his stomach, over his shapewear, the implication obvious. “Um, what do you…”“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, taking your hand to swipe those napkins out of your grasp and start wiping your thighs off. You let him, balancing on your knees and reveling in the gentle swipe of tissue against your skin before Stan’s decided he’s cleaned up all he can. He pats your right leg and you finally shuffle off of him, having to tug your dress down in an awkward way so as to avoid getting your mess all over his nice seats. Stan just crumples the napkins up before finding a clean corner and wiping himself off. You close your thighs together, willing your body to relax as you face him fully, watching.“You sure?” you ask as he tucks his dick into his boxers, reaching forward to place your hand on his knee. Stan looks at you just as you go in for a kiss, and he’s only a little surprised before leaning into it himself. This kiss isn’t intense, not at all, but you take your time with it. Stan sighs softly when you lick across his bottom lip, and when you place your other hand on his jaw, he holds it there. You lean back after a few moments, then slide your hand a few inches up his leg. Stan’s leg moves into your grasp, chasing the warmth of your palm, and his eyes flutter open when you offer, “I can take care of you, too, y’know. If you want.”“Oh, baby, I want,” Stan says, that crooked grin finding its way back onto his face. He takes your hand in his, off his knee, and squeezes it kindly. “But, uh, as much of a hunk as I am, I haven’t gotten any action like that in… What I mean is, I’m not sure you could keep up with me.”“Is that a challenge?” you ask, though Stan has effectively cleared the air of any residual sexual tension. You giggle when he brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it.“Think of it as a mercy,” he says, then gently drops your hand and nods to the windshield. Through it, the sight of a town fast asleep beckons you back onto the road. In front of it, you’ve left your wine glass. You take it, cradling it in both hands. “Your legs are still shaking. Want a ride home?”He’s right. Your legs are still shaking, and you’re tired enough that the thought of hitching a ride all the way back to the restaurant for your car and then all the way back home, about a block away from where you are right now, sounds downright silly.“I’ll tell you where to go from here,” you concede, leaning back into your seat and finding your seatbelt again. Uh, you should probably find your underwear, too. You buckle in and lean over to look on the floor of the car, then realize your panties are still hanging limply off your ankle. Awkwardly, you grab them and ball them up, holding your wine glass carefully in your other hand. When you sit back, Stan is grinning at you, amused, before he buckles himself in, too. You stare at his side profile for a moment, admiring his jawline. Then, slowly, you draw your gaze away and look around at your surroundings. “So, I think it’s down this street, and then you take a left…”It’s only a few minutes to your place, but Stan drives extra slow. Both of you are quiet. Both of you are thinking. More than once, your gaze is drawn to Stan as he drives. He idly taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the car slowly creeping forward as per your directions. Before he turns left, he glances at you and meets your eye. You look at each other for a little longer than a second before looking straight ahead, almost in sync, as Stan starts the car through the turn.You think about what you’ll do once you get home. You’ll pee first, probably, and then you’ll shower. You’ll change into an old, threadbare shirt and random workout bottoms you’ve only ever slept in. You'll rummage through your freezer for a pint of your favorite ice cream flavor, a marker of celebration for a successful one-night stand. You'll eat the whole thing alone.Or you could try to be more… “emotionally available.” Whatever that means.“Hey, so—”“Um, I was—”You and Stan speak up at the same time and pause once you realize you've done it. You share a glance, then a grin.“Go ahead,” Stan says, straightening the car out on your street. He's still driving slow, glancing around, probably wondering which house is yours.“So, um, I dunno if you have anywhere to be right now,” you start, to which Stan immediately shakes his head.“No, no. I'm free all night,” he says, and you nod slowly, then take a quick glance at the houses around you.“It's this one, with the—Yeah, just pull in here.” He moves smoothly into your driveway and puts the car in park, the hum of the engine fading quickly. A beat passes.“How ‘bout you? Any big plans tonight?” he asks, turning his head. He’s finally looking at you, not just glancing at you, and the two of you literally fucked a few minutes ago, but those warm brown eyes still manage to make you flush. You stare into them for a moment, taking in the blown pupils. Then you trail your gaze down Stan's face, his neck, his strong arm creating a relaxed line as he rests a hand on the steering wheel. Fuck, those hands.“No,” you finally answer, tracing the stem of your wine glass in your hands as you try to ignore the emotion bubbling up in you. “Nothing exciting. Not that I can do by myself, anyway.”“Yeah?” Stan asks, a smile growing on his face. It's amused and charming, but there's something simmering below it, anticipating. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. “What's that?”“I… have some beer in the fridge,” you offer lamely. “Maybe we can have another drink, and then I can show you.”“What kind of beer?” Stan asks, but he’s already twisting the key out of the ignition and undoing his seatbelt to pop open the glovebox. You smile at him, unbuckling yourself as he finds another packet of lube and nearly slams the compartment shut in his haste.“The cheap stuff,” you admit, and within seconds, Stan is shutting his driver's side door closed and rounding the front of the car to you. He spits his gum somewhere in the grass as he goes, which, okay, gross, but whatever. He grins wide when he opens the door and the soft sound of your laughter spills out.Neither of you actually get into the beer. You barely lock the front door behind you when Stan is kissing you again, and you give him a hasty, half-assed tour between hungry kisses as you lead him backwards to your room. You almost drop your glass of wine to the floor as the two of you shamble past your dresser, hands wandering, eyes mostly closed. Part of you wants to apologize for the clutter, but when Stan pulls his beanie off and throws it somewhere on the floor with his tongue between your teeth, you decide he probably doesn’t care.The two of you fuck again on your bed, you on your knees with your hips cushioned by a thick pillow while Stan drives into you from behind. You’re still wet and loose from the car, and Stan’s initial press into you was so, so easy, and you can already tell you're close to coming again. He’s still as hard as he was earlier, maybe even more so, and the curve of his dick inside you makes your eyes cross.“Fuck, that’s good,” he grunts, gripping your bare hips, your dress shoved up to your waist. You have no idea where your underwear went, but Stan's pants and boxers are just shoved down to his thighs, the hard buckle of his belt stinging against your skin every so often. He’s able to fuck you way better like this, way deeper, and the fact you’ve barely recovered from your earlier orgasm means your body is extra accommodating. But Stan insists, “You're still so tight.”“Oh my God,” you moan into your pillows, trying to be mindful of any neighbors you haven’t met. Stan has no such manners, and the slap of his skin against yours is remarkably loud. He’s loud, too, groaning and cursing up a storm behind you with each thrust. You've never had a partner as vocal as him, ever, and you can't believe how much you fucking love it. Stan reaches around you then, one big hand shoving its way between your hips and your pillow and going straight for your clit. The stimulation is so sudden you almost jump, but even with such a rough pace, Stan's fingers are slick and rub you in a way that makes your hands curl tightly into your bedsheets. “Oh fuck, yes—”“Come again for me,” Stan says gruffly, almost demanding, and the edge in his voice sends fire through you. His pace stays the same, but he pounds into you harder, deeper, his fingers pressing hard against your clit. You're close, you're close, and you’re getting so loud you bury your flushed face into your bed just as Stan says, “Wanna feel that tight cunt squeeze around my dick.”“Fuck, fuck—” You come again, harder than the first time, and Stan hilts himself into you as you do. His fingers grind against your clit, rough, almost mean, drawing out your orgasm again. This time you know you're crying, a sob tearing its way out of you, muffled by your mattress as your orgasm shudders through your entire body and turns you into a mindless, moaning mess.“That's right. Just like that,” Stan groans from behind you, grinding into you, one hand on your clit and the other hand steadying you by your hip. You don't mean to, but you're shoving your hips back, trying to grind into Stan, starving for the proximity. The waves of your climax make you whine, your fingers sore from how tightly they're gripping your sheets, and you can literally feel your come gathering at the place you and Stan are connected. Stan must feel it, too, because he carefully draws out a few inches and pushes back in, slowly, so deep it punches the air out of you. He sighs, marveling at the slickness of your cunt, at how incredibly easy it is to fuck you after making you come twice. “God, babe, you're incredible.”Stan draws out of you all the way and you're still coming down from your orgasm when he grabs your hips and turns you over like you weigh nothing. You land limply on your back and blink blearily up at the ceiling, tears still gathered in your eyes. Stan shoves your pillow beneath your hips again, propping you up, and you hear the sounds of clothing shuffling around and hitting the floor. You roll your head forward in time to see him shuffle up on his knees with his hand on his dick, the other hand bunching his shirt up to keep it out of the way. He's thrown off his pants and underwear, and he must have finally gotten rid of his girdle because his shirt looks that much tighter on him, accentuating his broad shoulders and brawny arms and hairy chest.“Holy shit,” you say tiredly, watching with blurry vision as Stan jerks himself off between his legs. He’s still so hard, the tip of his cock fat and pink, a clear glob of precome pearling at the head before he swipes his palm over it. It's so hot. Your eyes are glued to his dick, but you can hear the grin in Stan's voice when he speaks.“See how hard you make me?” he asks. You can only nod dumbly, the haze in your mind taking its sweet time to clear up. But it's getting there, and your returning clarity allows you to register when Stan finds one of your wrists with his free hand and guides it towards him. You follow eagerly, and his hand slips away to let yours wrap around his dick.You trace the long vein on the underside of him, getting your fingers slick with your own come on his dick, as Stan finds the packet of lube he'd thrown somewhere on your bed. He tears it open, then dribbles it over his length and your knuckles, and neither of you really care when some of it inevitably spills onto your duvet.“Tighter,” he instructs you, and you adjust your grip on him before he holds your wrist still. Then Stan moves his hips, thrusting slowly forward, and you moan quietly at the sight of his tip moving in and out of your fist. Stan groans, looking down at himself as he fucks your fist. “Fuck, your hand's so small on me.”“You're just big,” you mutter, almost automatically, squeezing tighter when the head of Stan's dick is in your palm. His hips stutter and you start stroking him, just at the end of his dick, rubbing your palm over the head to smear his precome across like he'd shown you. “I dunno how this thing fit inside me, Stan.”“Tight fit,” he says, and you flick your gaze up to see him toss a grin your way. It's a little arrogant, which is to be expected when you've been inflating his ego all night. But it's also genuinely really happy, almost goofy, like he can't believe his night turned out like this. Happiness looks good on him. He looks handsome. You smile back, then give an unexpected stroke over his dick that makes Stan's smile fall a little. You giggle at him, and Stan recovers in time to laugh and lower himself with his forearm at the side of your head.He presses a kiss to your lips, sweet and kind. You kiss back, savoring it, getting lost in the plush of his lips and the occasional glide of his tongue into your mouth. Your hand is knocked free from his dick at some point, but you bring your clean hand to the nape of Stan's neck and run your fingers up the back of his head. Stan groans into your mouth when you accidentally scrape his scalp with your nails, so you do it again, and again, mussing up his fluffy gray hair. After a moment, you hear it.“Why are you jerking off when you can just fuck me again?” you mumble into his mouth, the sounds of his hand on his dick working you up again. Stan chuckles against you, then manages to push himself up onto his hand. You blink your eyes open to look between your bodies and see him gripping his cock, lube and come dripping off the end and landing on your inner thigh. Stan finds you staring and grins.“You think you can handle it, sweetheart?” he teases, but the very offer has added some heat to his gaze. He strokes himself slowly, base to tip and back again, then holds himself at the hilt. He rolls his hips forward to nudge against your opening, then up, pressing gently against your clit. You gasp at the stimulation, still sensitive.“Yeah, yes, I can,” you nod, letting your head roll back. Stan moves down to kiss your neck, your jaw, the sensitive spot below your ear that has you moaning and hiking your legs up on either side of him. When he kisses down your chest, he pulls away to tug at your dress. In an incredible feat, you manage to crunch up enough to help him drag your dress over your head, leaving you bare.“Look at you,” Stan breathes, his large hands immediately wandering to your breasts, your stomach. You arch into his touch as he squeezes one of your tits and kisses at its peak, then laves a hot tongue over your nipple.“Stan,” you breathe, becoming impatient. As much as you want his tongue on you, exploring you, the aching emptiness of your body takes priority. “C’mon, I need it.”“Ask me for it,” Stan mutters lowly, mouthing sloppily at your skin. His tongue is hot on your chest, his dick hard and eager against your inner thigh.“Oh my God, please fuck me, please,” you say, voice strained, arching your back when Stan sucks gently at your nipple before moving to press his tongue to the other one. You can feel how wet you are, how easily his dick glides across your slick skin, and you want him so bad you're getting dizzy with it. “I want your dick so bad, I—I wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna make you come in me.”“Fucking Christ,” Stan says, and then he’s adjusting himself, and then he's sliding in to the hilt, and the breath leaves your body as he fills you all the way up. Stan curses again and presses another sloppy kiss onto your neck. That's all the bliss you're allowed until he starts moving.Stan takes what you said to heart. You said you want to make him feel as good as he's made you, and he makes good on your words by fucking you with reckless abandon. Stan draws halfway out before slamming back into you, fucking you hard and deep, his hand moving down to grab the back of your thigh and push your leg further up. You moan loudly, tilting your head back as Stan stretches you how he wants you.“Fuck, you hear that? So wet for me,” he groans, driving in deep. You can, you can hear how wet you are, and the lube you helped spread on Stan’s dick only makes it more obvious. You cry out at a particularly rough thrust, and you barely have the sense to wipe your dirty hand on the bed before wrapping your arms around Stan's strong shoulders, holding him to you. Another hard thrust makes your bed shake, and you whimper as you accidentally drag your nails across the back of Stan’s shirt.“Off,” you whine, and Stan’s hips push deep into you, unable to keep himself from at least grinding into your cunt as the both of you fumble at his shirt buttons. You help him push it off when it's completely undone, and Stan throws it to the side, and you hook a hand around his bare neck to pull him into another kiss. He indulges you for a minute, licking into your mouth before drawing back a few inches.“Alright, sugar,” he sighs, framing your head with his strong arms. “Quit distracting me, huh? Or we'll be at it all night.”“There are worse ways to die,” you joke, and Stan laughs aloud. You giggle with him, even as he starts moving his hips again. Stan draws nearly all the way out of you, then pushes in slow, as far as your bodies will allow it, and stays there. You're breathing heavily, maybe even drooling, as Stan keeps himself still. “Holy fucking shit, that's—God, you're not even moving.”“You like warming my cock for me.” It's not a question. Stan tucks his face into the side of your head, his breath fanning across your ear. “Part of me wants to stay like this the whole night.”Right now, as horny as you are, it sounds like a great idea. Stan’s weight on you, his dick as deep as it'll go, grinding into you now and then to make sure you stay wet for him. The whole night, just laying here, holding each other… Forget the sex. You've been so lonely lately, you could probably get off just from that.But then Stan sighs into your hair. Without looking, he worms an arm down again to hook under your left leg and pull it up. Just him shifting his weight, his dick moving slightly out and in, is enough to reignite a small flame in you.“Please fuck me,” you beg, dragging a hand through his hair.“Planning on it,” Stan grunts, and then he thrusts, and then he’s back to that rough pace that has you scrambling your hands over his shoulders, trying to hold onto him. Stan chuckles, even as he’s losing his breath with every hard thrust into you. “You okay?”“Y-Yes, yes,” you babble, gasping into Stan’s ear. You’re so fucking sensitive. Stan’s dick is long and so thick, and he keeps saying you’re tight but all you can think about is how easily your pussy is taking him in. He’s able to fuck into you with a pace you’re surprised he’s even capable of, relentless and loud and so fucking filthy. “Oh, fuck.”“You love it, don’t you,” he says gruffly, a groan building low in his throat. His voice goes right to your core, making you tremble. “You love my fucking dick in your pussy. Say it.”“I love it, love your—Ah, fuck—” Stan interrupts you with a rough thrust, driving you an inch up the bed, and holy fucking shit that was hot. You stutter and whine between your words, trying to recover. “I love your dick, fuck, fuck, love how it feels in-in my pussy, it’s so fucking good.”Your nails catch on Stan’s skin, but before you can stammer out an apology, Stan groans deeply. He gives you another hard thrust, a deep punch of his hips that has your eyes rolling back and your hands scratching down his shoulder blade. There's that heat again, for the third time tonight, curling in your stomach and making you whine.“Fuck, you’re fucking wet,” he pants, shoving your leg to the side somewhat, trying to drive deeper into you even though it's absolutely impossible. You scratch at Stan's back again, mostly by accident, and Stan groans into your ear. Your legs are shaking again and you hold onto Stan tight, squeezing your eyes shut as that familiar tension builds and builds inside of you. Somehow, Stan finds the perfect rhythm, and your hand twists into the hair at the back of his head. But the tension doesn't break. You're suspended there, trapped in the heat and the pleasure of Stan fucking you, and for a moment you think you can't come again.“Fuck, fuck, it's so much,” you babble, holding Stan close as the feeling becomes unbearable. “I can't—It's too much, it's—”“One more, baby, one more,” Stan urges you, keeping his pace as consistent as he can as the feelings builds, and builds, and builds, and… “I gotta feel you come again. Come on my dick.”It takes a few more thrusts, a few more soothing words in your ear about how wet you are, how good you feel, how much he wants to feel you come and tighten up around him, and then you're finally falling over the edge. This orgasm isn’t as intense as the past two, but you're still trembling, wobbly cries falling from your mouth as waves of white-hot pleasure rock through your body.“Yeah, that’s it,” Stan soothes, still fucking you, still relentless and strong, even as you claw at his back, trying to stop your world from turning over backwards. You think he says something else, or maybe a string of things, somehow warm and soft and so hot at the same time, but your mind goes blank as your leg strains and shakes against his grip.“O-Oh, fuck, fuck—” you gasp as he fucks the last few waves from you, your hand firmly twisted in his soft hair. Stan’s thrusts don’t slow, and for a few moments all you can do is gasp for air and succumb to the overwhelming feeling of his cock still pounding into you. It feels so good, it’s too much, you’re never going to come down from this, tears are streaming down either side of your face, all the way to your temples, and you cry, “Stan, please, it's—How the fuck are you still going—”“Almost,” he promises through a grunt, then presses a kiss to your hair before shaking your hands off and pushing himself up. He grabs your hips as he leans back on his knees, dragging you onto his dick as he sits up before resuming his pace. It's different now, quicker, more frantic, and your back arches off the bed as your jaw drops. “Almost there. Fucking—Shit, you look so good.”You’re sure you don’t. Your makeup must be totally ruined, you reek of sweat and sex, and all you can do as Stan uses your body to get off is clutch the sheets, one hand reaching back behind your head and the other reaching forward, clutching onto Stan’s thigh where you can reach. It feels like he’s punching the moans out of your mouth, the salty tears from your eyes, and you know for a fact he’s wrecked you. You look like a disaster. But every time you manage to open your eyes and look at him, Stan’s eyes are on your face, roaming your body, hunger and lust darkening those warm eyes.“Just take it,” he breathes, his gaze lingering on your chest, tracing up the lines of your neck. You shudder at the attention, your fingers flexing against his thigh. Stan’s gaze pauses on your chest, watching your tits bounce as he fucks into you, rocking your whole body, your whole bedframe. “Fuckin’ gorgeous. Just take my dick, take my fucking load—You want it, right? You gonna let me come inside you?”“Yes,” you say immediately, electricity running up your spine at the thought. You’ve been craving it ever since you first said it. Even now, after three orgasms, when it feels like Stan is fucking you so hard your body is going to break, you can’t imagine feeling satisfied until he spills in you. Stan’s thrusts start to stutter, almost erratic in their movements, but they don't sacrifice how deeply they drive into your cunt. A high-pitched whine tears out of you as he roughly adjusts your hips again and slides one hand beneath you, the other pushing your leg away. The show of strength makes you dizzy, and your voice pitches higher and higher as you start to ramble, “Holy shit, yes, yes, come in me, please, just, fuck, just—fuck—”For a few seconds, Stan fucks you so hard and so good that you can’t even say anything else. Then he groans, low in his throat, as he buries himself to the hilt. You sob, a broken noise, as you register a heat seating itself deep in your body. His dick twitches within your pussy as he hitches your hips further up and grinds into you, so fucking deep, like he wants his come to stay there, and holy shit, the thought is so—It’s so—You’re fucking coming again, your whole body tensing, and Stan groans and doubles over as your pussy clenches around his dick, wringing the last few ropes of come from him. As you lay there, openly sobbing through your sudden climax, you can’t help but think you were made for this, for coming on Stan’s dick and begging him to spill his load into you.“Holy shit, holy shit,” is all you can say, whimpering and breathless, and Stan grinds into you one more time before he comes down from his climax with one final, shuddering sigh. He groans again, exhausted, and barely catches himself on his forearms as he leans down to gather you up in his arms. You bury your face into his neck, letting your tears soak his skin as he slides his hands beneath your back.“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Stan pants, and presses his mouth to your cheek in a messy, gentle kiss. He carefully, finally draws his dick out of you, making you wince. Then he holds you to him, trapping you in a firm bear hug as he lowers himself all the way on the bed and rolls over to lay you on his chest.“You’re a fucking maniac,” you sniffle, slowly coming back to your body. You press a kiss to Stan’s shoulder, to the base of his neck, to the underside of his strong chin. Your face is stinging with tears that are starting to dry. “You’re—You’re insane.”“I had a good time, too, toots,” Stan says, sighing loudly as he makes himself comfortable in your bed. One of his broad palms stays firmly at the small of your back as the other one rubs slowly up, up your spine, to the base of your skull, then down again. You melt into him, the heat of his body intoxicating. You catch your breath slowly, relishing in the rise and fall of Stan’s chest, in the faint, woody smell of his cologne.Some time passes as you lay together, just breathing and enjoying the skin-on-skin contact. But, eventually, the stickiness between your legs and the musky smell of sweat on your scalp motivates you to drag Stan into the shower. That is, you shake weakly at his shoulder and dramatize the soreness in your legs to see if he can pick you up and take you there. You’re delighted when he does, and you sit pretty on your countertop as you make him adjust the shower temperature for you, too. Stan pinches your butt on your way in, and he’s delighted when you’re nice enough to leave a hickey low on his neck as he massages shampoo into your hair.Stan rubs your head with a towel when you both emerge, laughter and steam rolling out of your bathroom and following you to the hallway closet, where you have a set of clean sheets. You don’t expect Stan to stay at this point, but he keeps offering to help—even after you get dressed in comfortable sleepwear and bashfully, silently, hand him an oversized shirt and a clean pair of boxers from the only drawer in your dresser that has men’s clothes.Stan yanks the dirty bedsheets to the floor and pokes fun at you for getting the fitted sheet tangled up. He steals a kiss when you come up next to him to straighten his edge of the blanket. Then, when your bed is finally made, he picks you up without warning and throws you onto your nice, clean sheets. He laughs from his gut when you shriek on the way there, and laughs some more when you smack his broad chest with a pillow. You’re laughing with him, even when you tell him he’s being too loud, even when he tackles you to the mattress and plants a wet one to the corner of your toothy grin.Both of you agree it would be completely, totally unfair to have Stan help with the bed and not lay in it for at least a little bit. So you settle in, Stan’s beefy arm cradling you to his chest, your leg thrown over his waist, and you tell him about how much you like it in town even though you haven’t yet made a friend. Stan tells you how he likes it, too, how he’s meant for the water, to sail around the world, but how he could never quite shake the deep-rooted truth that Gravity Falls was his home. You don’t tell him about your late husband. You think that would be too much. But Stan tells you about his brother, about how, “I love the guy, but a year on a cramped boat with anyone is enough to make you hate their guts.” The affection in his voice, blatant and raw, makes your stomach flutter, makes you take his hand and press a kiss to the base of his thumb.Eventually, you have to face the music. It's late, or at least much later than either of you had expected to have company. You nurse a glass of cool water as Stan gathers his dirty clothes from your floor. You’re perched on your bed, near the pillows, knees drawn up to your chest as you watch him attempt to fold his dress shirt in a way that won’t wrinkle the collar.“You should button it together first,” you suggest helpfully, “then it’ll be easier to fold it in half.”“If I fold it in half…” Stan folds the shirt lengthwise, sleeves together, then looks at you. “The collar’s not gonna lay right.”“No, like—Fold it hamburger-style,” you say. Stan unfolds the shirt, then drapes it over itself. “Then you can fold the sleeves in, or whatever.”“Heh, thanks. I usually hang these things,” Stan says, chuckling. But he’s not stupid, and neither are you. You know he knows how to fold a shirt, and you know it’s going to end up in a crumpled ball in his hamper regardless. He’s stalling. You take a sip of your water and then set it down on your nightstand as he rubs the back of his neck, glancing around your room. “That’s the last of my things, huh? I, uh… guess I better head out.”He approaches you, clothes in hand, and you’re already tilting your face up to meet him as he leans down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet, warming you from your chest as his hand comes to touch the side of your neck. You lean up as he draws away, chasing his lips, and Stan huffs a laugh at you before pressing another chaste kiss to your mouth. Then he kisses your cheek, your temple, your eyebrow, like he can’t help himself. Then he stands up straight, takes another glance around your room, and nods towards your door.“Thanks for tonight,” he says, a tired smile on his face. “I can walk myself out.”“Yeah,” you say, trying to keep the forlornness out of your voice as you stare up at him. “Thanks.”Stan turns to leave.“Do you ever catch the late night Cash Wheel reruns?” you blurt out, your hand outstretched as if to grab Stan’s shirt. Stan turns to look at you before you do. You clench your fingers and lower your arm, embarrassed, still staring at his handsome face. “Um, it’s just… You’ve been overseas the whole year, right? They had a lot of good episodes last winter after implementing the ‘cash avalanche.’ It’s kind of intense, and I, uh… Sorry, actually, do you even watch that show?”“Watch it? Baby, you’re lookin’ at an almost record breaker for a landslide win,” Stan brags, placing his hands on his hips. He’s grinning at you, at the prospect of spending more time with you. Giddiness bubbles in your chest and your cheeks flush hot at his winning smile, and you can’t help but laugh when he tosses his clothes to the floor, the shirt landing directly on its collar. “I can stay for an episode or two. Besides,” he points at you, playful, “you owe me a cheap beer.”Stan doesn’t make it through the first five minutes. He’s slumped against your side on your old, beaten couch, his can of beer still sealed in his hand and dripping condensation into his lap. You carefully take it from his palm and set it next to yours on the coffee table before sighing, leaning back against the cushions and letting the faint chatter of Cash Wheel contestants fill your living room. Stan’s snores are loud enough that you can’t even hear the show, but you don’t mind. You’ve already seen this episode.Stan shifts in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible as he moves his hand to your thigh. His palm is warm. You won’t be surprised if he’s up and gone by the early morning, but you’ll take what you can get tonight—you’ve already taken more than enough. You slowly tilt your head against Stan’s, mentally counting along to his deep inhales, his rumbling, open-mouthed snores. You let your eyelids grow heavy. You let the quiet, omnipotent inevitability of sleep drape over you.Hours later, you slowly wake up in your bed, a blanket pulled up to your chin. From your kitchen, a cupboard faintly closes. A low, gruff voice mutters an absentminded melody about flipping pancakes. The smell of breakfast creeps into your room like syrup, smooth and rich and pleasant, and you inhale, enjoying the scent, basking in the moment. It's the first time you’ve ever had a smile on your face before you’re even fully awake.It’s not forever. But it’s good. You feel good.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You’re gnawing at the plastic seal over your third pint of ice cream in a row when you realize you're a little lonely.You don't know what to do about this revelation when it hits you. You dwell on it for a few moments, chewing absently at the plastic with your canine teeth as the TV in front of you runs nonsense commercials between scenes of the black-and-white romance you're watching. It makes sense. Your new-ish two-bedroom home isn’t exactly meant for one person, but it's always felt especially too big for you.You’re slumped against one armrest of your beaten couch and stretch your legs out towards the opposite side. What would normally be comfortable and relaxing feels… cold. You consider the empty space for a moment before deciding: Yes. It would be nice to have someone sitting with you right now. You frown at the opposite armrest, at the loose threads sticking up from worn seams.Suddenly, your TV flashes with bright colors, pink and red hearts flooding the screen as a disembodied narrator exclaims, “Hey, you! Yes, you! Have you been feeling lonely lately?”You've been in Gravity Falls for a little less than a year, but you're mostly used to the weirdly-specific commercials by now. You look at the screen with interest, watching well-dressed couples engage in a large dining room. The actors laugh, clink their wine glasses, and feed each other bites of food. It's obviously staged—you can see the feathery end of a boom mic in most shots—but your eyes are glued to the screen in idle curiosity.“Meet the love of your life… during Summer Speed Dating at The Club!” the narrator says. He rattles off the date and time of the event over a gooey compilation of overly-attractive people touching hands. You notice a purposeful neglect to mention the admission fee, but you can’t help but feel drawn into the ad anyway. Wine being poured, men adjusting their suit jackets, women tossing their long hair and smiling coyly into the camera…Your tooth suddenly pierces the plastic keeping your ice cream hostage, catching you off guard. You sputter, shaking your head in an attempt to spit the plastic pieces out.Before you know it, the commercial ends, replaced by a kooky ad for a product meant to detect chipmunks in your walls. You have to stick your tongue out and literally pinch the plastic off the tip of it to get it off. You wipe your spit on your shirt, convincing yourself that napkins are for people who pretend to be fancy.As you take the lid off your ice cream and trade it for the spoon on your coffee table, you think about the commercial. Maybe that speed dating thing is exactly what you need. A few drinks, some light flirting, one or two numbers scribbled onto napkins. Maybe it'll be fun. The more you think about it, the more hopeful you get. This could be good for you. All this time alone, moping, feeling bad for yourself… This might put a pause on all that.You jam the spoon into your ice cream. Whatever fun you gain from it, it won't be forever. It rarely is. But it might make you feel good, if only for the night. It would get you out of the house, at least.Right, you think, taking your first bite of the new pint and holding the spoon in your mouth. You look around for your phone so you can search up the event and book a spot before you change your mind. You find the device buried in your couch cushions and catch the gaze of your reflection.You haven’t been able to take a good look at yourself in the mirror lately, but you think that gleam in your eyes looks a lot like hope. You manage a small smile before unlocking your phone.It’s time to put yourself out there!But then… well. Then you’re out here.“So, uh… what do you do for work?” you ask for the nth time, clasping your hands together on the tabletop. The squirrely man in front of you has his head propped up in his hand, his frail little elbow on the table. He’s trying to swirl his wine glass in his other hand, probably just to look cool, but it keeps nearly sloshing out the sides. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.“I’m a lancer,” your date this round says, his voice nasally. He introduced himself to you as Bodacious T. You don’t really want to call him that, so you haven’t addressed him by his name at all.“Okay,” you nod. You glance surreptitiously to the wine glass next to your hands on the table. Across from you, the guy grins and swirls his wine again. You wince when a drop of it spills over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Uh, so freelance?”“Lancer,” he corrects you. You purse your lips. He continues, prideful, “I’m the co-secondary vice president of the local jousting group. It’s hard work. But Bodacious T can handle some hard work.”“Okay,” you nod again. He grins at you. Or, well, smirks at you? He tries to smirk at you, but the expression just reminds you of a health poster you’d seen describing the symptoms of a stroke. You try to smile back. “Okay. I’ve definitely never… That’s… It sounds, um…”
BUZZ!
You’ve never felt so relieved to hear such a grating sound. The Summer Speed Dating Rotation Buzzer, as it’s so aptly-named, saves you from your fumble and cues everyone to rotate partners. All around you, patrons scoot out from their tables and shake each other’s hands, exchanging parting words as half the group moves to meet their next date. You’re in the half that gets to stay at your table for now, so you stand and pretend not to care about how short your date looks when you do.“Hope to see you later, cutie,” he says, winking. With one eye closed, you realize his eyeliner looks… actually really, insanely good. He must practice a lot. But the nickname sounds awkward and stilted from his mouth, and your smile is strained as he takes your offered hand, caressing the back of it instead of returning the handshake. He winks again, this time with his other eye, and you shift away from him a little as he passes you on his way to his next victim. Er, date.You glance back over your shoulder and sigh, letting your face fall. In one smooth motion, you swipe your wine glass from the table and down the rest of your drink in one go. It takes less than a second, but by the time you lower your glass, your next date is already slumping down into the chair across from you with a loud huff. You’re immediately put off by the attitude, but it was probably rude to shoot your wine back so quickly. Embarrassed, you clear your throat and take your seat.“Uh, hi,” you say, scooting your chair back to the table. Your next date grunts in response, looking around, away from you. You glance around awkwardly until—Oh! At the same time, you and the grumpy man across from you raise your hands to alert one of the servers walking past. The server takes one glance at you both, sighs deeply, then turns on his heel to double back towards the kitchen. You grimace in guilt when you realize he was trying to use the restroom.“So what’s your deal?” your date says gruffly, catching your attention. You look at him straight on for the first time, meeting his flat gaze through his smudged glasses. He’s a little—a lot—older than you. He has gray hair poking out from under a maroon beanie, and his mouth is set in a deep frown, with wrinkles that imply it’s a pretty common fixture on his face.“Excuse me?” you ask. Then you blink, astonished, when the guy quite literally waves a hand to dismiss your words before you’ve even said anything of substance.“Lemme guess. You’ve been single a while, but you decided it was time for a change and you’re lookin’ for something long term,” he starts, and right away you recognize the echoes of sentiments you’ve heard all night. Something tightens in your chest, awkward and a little ashamed as he continues,“You want someone financially stable, probably ‘cause you’re between jobs right now, otherwise the job you have is just a hobby with extra paperwork. But you also want someone who can make you laugh, who's,” he does finger quotes at this part, “‘emotionally available’—”“—whatever that means,” you finish for him, sinking into yourself. A beat passes.The man looks at you, effectively cut off. You avoid his gaze, rubbing your bicep with the opposite arm, and slump back into your chair slowly. Your date doesn't say anything. Just stares at you. Your shoulders hike further and further up to your ears at the sudden, oppressive silence.“Um… No,” you say, and don't elaborate. You glance around for the server you thought you’d waved down, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You admit, “Right now, I just want some more wine.”Turns out you’d been looking in the wrong direction. From your opposite side, the server suddenly appears and pours a hefty amount of red into your wine glass. You jump a little, but manage to thank him. When he’s finished, he places an opened bottle of beer in front of your date and promptly leaves. Your date thanks the waiter through a mutter, but doesn’t grab his drink just yet. He’s still staring at you, and you try to act like it doesn’t have any effect on your nerves as you take a long, long sip of your wine. You swallow and place both hands around the stem when you put it down. Another beat.“Rough night?” your date speaks up finally, his voice a little softer. You exhale heavily. A hint of a smile ghosts across his face. “That bad, huh?”“You don’t look so thrilled, either,” you point out. “At least I can still pretend to be polite.”“Being polite is for nerds and preschool teachers,” he says, shifting his body to lean into the corner of his chair and stretching an arm over the back of it. “I’m neither. Name’s Stan Pines.”“Stan Pines,” you repeat, grateful for a simple, completely regular name. You introduce yourself by your full name, too, but you use your non-hyphenated name. Besides that, you decide to try for honesty. If Stan doesn’t care to be polite, why should you? So, honestly, you explain, “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I think I’m tired of meeting people. I’m this close to snatching the bottle off that waiter and making a run for it.”You don’t think your joke was that funny, but it somehow startles a laugh out of Stan. He finally grabs his beer by the neck and takes a swig, swallowing around the amber liquid with a heavy bob of his throat. You run your gaze down the line of his neck, to the gold chain hanging in the V of the white button-up that’s opened low on his hairy chest. With his arm raised, you can see the shirt straining against his meaty bicep, his wide shoulders... When Stan lowers the beer, your eyes snap back to his face.“I'd say you're overreacting, but…” He glances around discreetly before leaning forward over the table. Without realizing it, you're leaning forward, too. Stan grins, and if you hadn't been charmed before, you were now. His breath smells like beer and artificial cinnamon. You think you spot a flash of bright pink as he talks, likely a small wad of gum somewhere between his teeth and his cheek. He jerks his chin to something over your shoulder. “I'm willing to bet that broad behind you is thinkin’ the exact same thing.”You glance behind you. Bodacious T is treating the woman at the next table exactly how he'd treated you. He swirls a glass of wine in his hand, completely full, like he hasn't taken a single sip from it yet. His back is to you, but you can see the woman's face clearly. She's long given up on politeness; her face is scrunched up tight, like she's just stepped into a shoe full of mud. You guffaw once, loudly, then slap a hand over your mouth as you swivel back around. Stan is snickering at your slip up, trying to hide his smile with his fist.“Lord, did I look like that?” you whisper through your teeth, smiling despite yourself. “She looks like she's trying to give birth to a conch shell.”“No, no, no—You looked like this.” Stan makes a face then, his brows furrowed and his smile unnaturally wide to show off his gums. You laugh again, and Stan lets his face return to normal, grinning as he sips his beer.“In my defense, he was looking at me like this.” You try your best to mimic the expression, closing one eye tight and smiling with only one side of your face. You manage to wiggle your brows with some effort, and Stan literally chokes on his drink with how suddenly he laughs. You relax your expression back to something that isn't downright terrifying as you laugh along.For the first time, you notice the frown lines around Stan's mouth aren’t as prominent as his crow’s feet. For as much time as he had spent frowning, he’s probably spent a lot of time smiling, too. You can’t help but feel endeared. Stan had been right about one thing: You like people who can make you laugh.The both of you settle down, any tension from your first impression long dissipated. You seem to come to a silent, mutual agreement. Things are going better than they'd ever been tonight. With some luck, and a little bit of effort, you might even have… a good time?Stan makes the leap first.“You, uh… You new in town?” he asks, fidgeting with the base of his beer bottle. The condensation darkens the tablecloth, wet, off-white rings appearing in the otherwise pristine fabric. “Never seen you around.”“Sort of, yeah,” you say, nodding. You swirl your wine around and around, watching the liquid cling to the sides of the glass. “I didn't grow up here, but I’ve visited family once or twice as a kid. They decided to move last summer, and, um… It just happened that I was able to buy their house off them. So here I am.”“Stars aligned, huh?” Stan chuckles. You shrug and offer an awkward smile.“You could say that. Uh, how about you? Did you grow up here, or…?” Your brows raise when Stan shakes his head immediately.“Nah, nah, me? I've been all over,” Stan says, pointing a thumb at himself. “I've been all sorts of places. Banned from quite a few of ‘em, actually.”You're not sure that's anything to brag about, but the charisma oozing out of Stan’s smile has you equal parts amused and curious.“Oh yeah? What’d you do?” you ask, leaning an elbow on the table to prop your chin in your hand. Stan waves his hand again, but it doesn't feel outright rude like the first time. He's being playful.“Listen, if I told every handsome man about the marks on my record, I'd be behind bars for life,” he says casually.You don't doubt Stan is telling the truth. You've met your fair share of shady people in the city, real assholes, enough that you’ve probably side-eyed and creeped out a lot of innocent neighbors who stood too close to you in the local grocery store. But somehow, despite the blatant flaunting of his criminal status, the glimmer in Stan's eyes and the smile lines surrounding them convince you he's sweet.You ignore the glaringly obvious red flags of someone banned from who-knows-where, who-knows-why. Stan's already taken the leap, and finally, you follow.“You talk to a lot of handsome men, then?” you ask slyly, tilting your head in your hand. Stan chuckles, and his proud expression doesn't change, but the tips of his large ears turn pink. The sight makes you grin.“Me? Ah, well—Y'know, when you're as well-traveled as I am—I mean, it only makes sense to…” You were going straight in for the flirt, but your brows raise higher and higher with each of Stan's stumbles. You had expected a lot of smooth-talking out of him, some cute banter. But he fiddles with his beer bottle again, drops of condensation dripping over his large fingers, and after a few moments… he sighs. Rubs the back of his neck. “No. Not really.”“Really?” Your brows are still high on your forehead. Stan glances at you and his shoulders tense. You sit up straight when he points at you over his beer.“What? What’s that face?” he accuses you, suddenly annoyed.“What face!” you exclaim, glancing up at the ceiling, across the room, then back at him. “I'm not making a face.”“You're lookin’ at me all fake-surprised,” Stan says, splaying his hands out on either side of his face in faux-shock. Then he plants one of his forearms on the table, the other snatching his beer again. “You really think I'd be paying money to speed date in this town if I was chatting up every guy I see? Yeah, right. Yuck it up, kid.”“What?” You can tell Stan's ego has just taken a hit, but the word comes out like a laugh anyway. He frowns at you, but his expression turns surprised when you reach out across the table and lightly touch the back of his wrist. “No, no! I'm not fake-surprised. And I'm not laughing at you. Relax.”Stan eyes your face for a moment, suspicious. But then he glances down at your fingertips, where they're pressed feather-light against his skin. Then he scoffs, but his heart isn't in it.“Whatever. So what, then?” he asks, and you take your hand away to cross your forearms on the table.“I'm real-surprised,” you admit easily, a small smile on your face. You take a moment to just look at him. His warm brown eyes, guarded as he awaits your next move. His mouth, downturned, the line of his lips leading your gaze to his strong jaw. He already has a shadow forming, but his skin looks soft, like he'd shaved recently. His strong neck, his barrel chest…You realize too late you're staring, but you try to recover by snapping your eyes back up to Stan’s and pretending the last few seconds didn't happen. He doesn't get the memo, and looks at you looking at him like you've grown a second head. The look makes you flush—Are you really that obvious? Maybe it's been too long. But you ignore the rising heat in your cheeks and try again at the honesty thing.“I think you're kind of a catch,” you confess, and promptly chase the statement with a long sip of your wine. When you lower your glass, Stan has one big fist over his mouth, trying to hide whatever expression he's got going on behind it. He clears his throat and avoids eye contact as he takes another swig of his beer, finishing off the last dregs of foam at the bottom.You wait patiently for his reaction, feeling tense, trying not to let your nerves win out and convince you you're being way too forward. But then Stan swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, clears his throat again, and blinks at the tablecloth. He looks up at you with those brown eyes, less sharp than they were when he thought you were teasing him. Then a grin crawls on his face, kind of crooked, almost shy.“Just ‘kind of,’ huh?” he asks, and something about the bashful way he's looking at you makes your heart skip. You melt into a giggle, covering your mouth with your hand as heat rises to your face. Stan looks delighted, his brows quirking up at your reaction.“You're a catch,” you correct yourself, and you try to sound confident, but you're feeling a little shy, too.“Coming from a cute young thing like you? Must be the wine,” Stan deflects, but his smile becomes a little more toothy, more sure.“It's not the wine,” you assure him, your eyes flicking to the hair on his chest.“How’s about we get another glass in you and see if I look like a movie star?” he jokes.Just a few minutes ago, this Summer Speed Dating thing had been a bust. You were starting to get wine-tired, and you hadn’t liked most of your dates tonight, and you were totally looking forward to stealing another glass on your way out and sitting in your car in the parking lot for thirty minutes. But despite everything…You laugh, openly, at this joke that was only moderately funny. Your eyes close and you instinctively cover your mouth with your palm again. After a stunned moment of silence, Stan chuckles from across the table. Then he's laughing too, at his own joke, and the sound of it is so genuine and charming that you can't help but laugh some more at the sudden warmth blooming in your chest.You both calm down after a few moments, and when you look up, Stan is grinning at you unabashed. He’s all teeth now, leaning forward onto the table with his forearms, his shoulders relaxed. His brown eyes are warm and bright, and there's a flush to his ears that makes you want to reach out and…You clear your throat and go to sip your wine, but your teeth clink oddly against the rim of the glass. You realize you’re still smiling. Stan chuckles, and you do too, but before either of you can say anything else—BUZZ!Stan looks around at the others in the room, surprised, like he'd forgotten they were there. You glance around, too. Everyone's standing, chairs scraping, heels clicking against the floor.You and Stan look at each other. He slowly, hesitantly, stands from his seat, and for a moment you think this is it. He's going to shake your hand, nod politely, and wish you luck. Then he's going to meander on over to the next table and make his next date laugh even harder than you had.But he doesn't. Instead, Stan steps around the table, places one tentative hand on your bicep, and leans down close, a question on his lips.“Hey, uh—You wanna get outta here?” he whispers, low and conspiratorial. His voice is as gruff and as blunt as it had been when he first sat down with you, but there's an undercurrent of tension that you sit with for a moment before you figure out what it is. Beneath the bravado, he still sounds a little shy, a little unsure, and the realization instantly relaxes you. He feels the exact same way you do. You stand, wine glass in hand, and Stan's brows are furrowed with uncertainty until you nudge his shoulder and point with your chin to the exit.“What are you waiting for?” you mutter back, already leading him away from the table. Stan's face lights up and he hurries after you, darting quick enough to get to the exit first so he can hold the door open. You duck under his arm, unironically thrilled by the chivalry, and his hand is warm when he guides you forward with his palm on your lower back.The night air is cool and quiet, pierced only by the sounds of you and Stan giggling through your escape. No one else is outside, and you spare your car half a glance before Stan takes your wrist and leads you away from the building, across the parking lot, to a shiny red cadillac.“Nice car,” you say, turning around, and then Stan is leaning you against the passenger door and kissing you. You kiss back without hesitation, before dragging your hands over his shoulder, around the nape of his neck, pulling him in. He tastes exactly as his breath smells: beer and cinnamon.Stan holds your waist, pressing you gently against the car as you lock lips. You lick the seam of his mouth, and he sighs contentedly through his nose, and you revel in the feeling. It's been so long since you kissed anyone, but somehow you're not nervous about your performance. Stan doesn’t seem nervous, either—he’s gently pressing his fingers into your skin, almost kneading at your waist through your button-up shirt, like he just wants to feel you.Eventually, you have to breathe. You pull away first, catching your breath, and Stan presses his forehead to your own. You tilt your head to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighs, then does the same. You spent a few moments like that, sharing air and trading kisses, just holding onto each other. It feels right. It feels good.“This is your car, right?” you ask finally, and Stan laughs out loud, the sound of it almost explosive in the quiet night. He responds by drawing a hand back and shoving it into his pants pocket, and within a second, the car doors unlock.“Allow me,” he says, nudging you gently to the side and opening the passenger door. You smile as you step inside, and Stan makes sure you have your wine glass over your lap before he shuts the door. You watch him round the vehicle before coming in through the driver’s side, and then you're both shuffling to the edge of your seats and leaning over and kissing again.This kiss goes deeper. Stan licks at your bottom lip and you open your mouth, meeting his warm tongue with your own. Without looking, Stan takes the wine glass from your grasp and balances it on the dash so he can pull you close, one hand on your upper back and the other at your waist. You bring both your hands to his face, cradling his large chin in your palms. You were right earlier, when you wondered about him shaving recently—his skin is pleasantly smooth.You're a full grown adult and Stan is very much your senior, but you really enjoy making out with him in his car like this, like a couple of horny college students. Both your hands start to wander, yours over Stan's shoulders, his over your hips and thighs. Stan licks the inside of your cheek and you moan openly against him, squeezing his shoulder to convey your approval. This time, he's the one who has to pull back to catch his breath, and your eyes flutter open to catch him staring at you.“That was good,” you pant, running your thumb beneath his jaw.“Just good?” he asks, eyes blown. You grin.“That was great,” you concede. Stan is already leaning forward, a smile on his lips.“Then let’s do it again,” he says, then does just that. You both meet in the middle, smiling goofily against each other for a moment before you manage to get ahold of yourselves.Kissing Stan is something else. Nevermind the fact that one of the few people you kissed more than once is… you know. Stan kisses deep and slow, like he’s savoring it, and his tongue is very prominent. You’re glad it tastes like his gum. His heavy hands combined with the expert movements of his mouth make it that much more pleasurable, too, his wide palms tracing the side of your waist, coming up to the side of your chest and slowly back down to the inside of your knee, exploring you where he can and humming when you lean into him. His touch feels reverent and warm and affectionate, drawing a well of emotion from your stomach. You like this. You like Stan. You don’t know him, not at all, but all you need to know is that he’s nothing like…The both of you pull back at the same time and you press your forehead to Stan’s, breathing deeply, trying to ground yourself. After a minute, Stan shifts away, and you lean back properly in your seat, your face hot. The car engine suddenly purrs to life, and you blink your eyes open when a lukewarm draft comes from the vents pointed at your face. When you look over, Stan is grinning, lips red and wet, his hands on the steering wheel.“Uh, I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” he says, then nods to the restaurant, “but I don’t wanna be stuck in the parking lot when that whole mess is over and everyone comes floodin’ out. Not for free, at least. You wanna take this somewhere else? Or, uh, did you drive here? I’m not tryin’ to kidnap you or anything, just thought, uh—”You stifle a laugh when you realize his confidence is actively shrinking the more he talks. You reach your right arm behind you, finding the seatbelt, then pull it over your body. When you’re buckled in, you grab your wine from the dash and smile at Stan, who looks simultaneously awkward and relieved.“I drove,” you say as he buckles himself in, too. Stan puts the car into reverse. The air conditioning is quickly becoming cooler, more pleasant on your heated face. “But my car will be here when I come back.”“You got a curfew?” Stan asks, twisting to place a hand on your seat and look towards his back window as he starts backing up. It’s a very normal thing for a driver to do, really, but it’s also such a cliché way for you to get flustered that you can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, hiding a smile. There’s cologne on his wrist, you realize. Spicy and woody and warm. When you don’t reply, Stan glances down at you and catches you staring at the dip at the base of his neck. He grins again. “You there, sugar?”“Mhm,” you manage, and Stan laughs at you again as he pulls out of the parking stall. He puts the car in park long enough to catch your mouth in a sudden kiss, making you hum into his mouth, then he pulls back.“Alright,” Stan says, pleased with himself. You’re watching him, leaning your head against the seat as he puts the car into drive and starts to leave the lot. He glances at you. “Where to? I’d invite you to mine, but, uh…”He doesn’t elaborate, but you get the message loud and clear. You shake your head politely.“I don’t know any good spots around that wouldn’t be taken up by teenagers,” you say, finally looking ahead to the empty road. “Can we just… drive for a bit?”“Don’t see why not,” Stan grins, and you smile, and you manage to take a sip of your wine without spilling it all over yourself.So you drive. Well, Stan drives. You decide you’ll leave your car at the restaurant and head over later tonight or tomorrow, depending on how well tonight goes. In the meantime, you enjoy the cool air conditioning and roomy interior of Stan’s cadillac. The rest of the town isn’t quite asleep, not yet, and you take pleasure in watching the faint glow of kitchen lights and television sets through windows as Stan drives slowly through residential streets.The forest at the town’s borders is all too creepy, especially at night, but being in a car with a person who makes you feel safe (Is that how Stan makes you feel? Safe? Already?) gives the trees a mysterious, ethereal edge. The car windows are up, but you imagine the sounds of crickets chirping, hidden within the brush. This is one of the things you like most about Gravity Falls. You never knew the allure of nature when you were trapped in the city not too long ago.Speaking of… You take turns glancing from the road, to Stan, to the small swarms of moths beneath dim street lamps.You should tell him. Before you go any further, you should tell him.You steel yourself, scripting the words in your mind, imagining the feel of them on your tongue.But then all you can think about is Stan’s tongue on your tongue, and how long it’s been since you’ve kissed someone like that, and how much longer it’s been since you’ve felt this flame in your chest that somehow flickers into your throat. Right up into your throat, and suddenly, before you can control it, right out of your mouth.“I have a husband,” you blurt out. The words escape you so quickly, it’s like they’ve scalded your tongue. Stan’s head snaps to you with a speed that makes you flinch back. His eyes are wide, hands suddenly tense on the steering wheel, and you realize your mistake. You hold up your free hand, waving it in front of you as you hasten to clear up any misunderstanding. “No, not like—! I, um, had a husband. Past tense. It’s complicated.”“Uh,” Stan says, looking at the road, back at you, back at the road.“He’s dead,” you say.“Uh,” Stan says.“I’m sorry,” you say, shame weighing down your throat at how quickly you'd ruined the mood. For the first time, you try to come up with names or faces of people you’ve told about your late husband. You come up blank, and you realize Stan is the only person in Gravity Falls who knows. It’s a daunting thought, and your hands start to shake, so you grip onto your wine glass and the seatbelt and focus on the road in front of you, at the white picket fences and lush green yards lining the dark street. “Sorry I didn’t—I guess I should’ve told you earlier, or just kept my mouth shut. Um.”For a moment, it feels like you’ve been too honest. You’ve bitten off more than you could chew, and you’re definitely ruining the night. But then… you didn’t leave the house earlier wanting a hot date and a romantic night drive through town, did you? You left wanting to make a connection. Maybe this is how normal people make emotional connections. Besides, the door to your past is already open. At least, you think so, and Stan’s attention has been drawn to it against his will. He's in on this. You can’t just breeze past it, even if you really tried. So you take a deep breath and continue.“We got married right out of college. He died last year. There was an accident, and it was really sudden. And he was, to be totally honest, a really bad husband.” You take another breath here and glance at Stan. He’s not looking at you, he’s being a good driver and paying attention to his surroundings, but he’s listening. His silence is inviting enough for you to admit, out loud, for the very first time, “I think I’m a bad person because I don’t miss him all that much. It makes me feel horrible. The part I do miss about him is just—fuck, this makes me sound like such a freak—I miss having someone around. Even if that someone really, really sucks. I don’t think I miss him any more than that. And I don’t know what that says about me.”By the time you’re done rambling, Stan has pulled over on some random street, as far away as he can get from anyone’s house. He’s looking at you with a face of pure bewilderment, clearly at a loss. You flush under his gaze and fiddle with the seatbelt. When it’s clear Stan has nothing to say, either trying to wrap his mind around your story or trying to come up with an appropriate way to ask you to get the heck out of his car, you speak again.“Do you ever feel like that?” you ask, your voice cracking somewhat. Stan looks even more alarmed at the threat of you crying, and you almost feel bad for him, but hey, you’re the one with the dead husband. He quickly puts the car in park, but keeps his hand rested on the steering wheel. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. Breathes in, then out.“... Like what?” he asks finally, voice soft. The unexpected tenderness there is enough to make your chest seize, and you grip the seatbelt tighter, clinging to it like a life jacket, if only because you don't think you could cling to anything else the same way.There are tears building in your eyes, and you think they aren’t because of your dead husband. You think they’re building because you might have just made yourself look like a total freak in front of one of the only people in this town who was nice enough to spend some time with you. But since you’re here, and you’ve already messed things up, you just have to know. So you take another sip of your wine, a small one, then place the glass far up on the dash so there’s less chance of it spilling all over such a nice car, like you've so graciously spilled your proverbial guts.“Do you ever feel like you’re a bad person?” you ask, voice small. “And that, maybe if someone could just… be around you, or touch you, or even notice you, so you could stop being alone with yourself all the time, that you might feel just a little better about it?”Stan registers your words carefully, taking long, slow sips of your intention like he’s nursing a cold beer. He never looks away. You hold your breath, keeping eye contact, even as you blink a few times to try to rid your tears before they fall. Outside, a street lamp flickers. Stan takes another breath in.“Yes,” he says, with the kind of weight to it that makes you both incredibly devastated and selfishly relieved, and you’re not sure who goes in first but then you’re kissing, hard. The seatbelt strains across your chest as you grab at Stan’s forearm, the nape of his neck, and your face feels hot as one of his hands cups your cheek and the other fumbles for something at your side. Eventually, he manages to unbuckle you, then himself, and the two of you separate just long enough to release your seatbelts before Stan reaches across your body to pull you in by your right hip.The tension is thicker than any you’d shared back at the restaurant, and it only amplifies when Stan drags you onto his lap to straddle his waist. You have to tilt your head down a bit to kiss him again, your lips sliding across his out of clumsy desperation before locking properly. It only takes a moment for both your mouths to open, almost in sync, to glide your tongues together and draw that heated eagerness out of you again. You gasp into Stan’s mouth when he gropes your ass, his other hand steady on the arch of your back. Your own hands squeeze his shoulders for balance, then quickly start to explore. Up his neck, to his jaw, down to his collarbones, his chest—Your fingers snag in Stan’s chest hair and he groans quietly, and for some reason the sound makes your hips rock down.“Fuck—Keep goin’,” Stan grunts, and it takes you an extra second to realize he’s pushing your button-up shirt all the way up to your ribs and shoving his hand down the back of your pants, pressing his palm against your glute to encourage you to move. You do, grinding down again, and the sound that comes from Stan makes you go slack-jawed. He licks into your mouth as you start grinding, your breathing getting heavier at the pressure on your clothed cunt.“Stan,” you breathe, his name a strangled noise as the blood rushes to your head. You try your best to return the kiss, you really, really like kissing him, but it’s getting increasingly difficult as you zero in on the feeling of him getting hard under you. Stan doesn’t seem to mind though, and as you start your own slow rhythm, dragging your cunt back and forth over the bulge of his dick with only a few layers in between, he gives your ass another squeeze and then pushes you away. You only feel confused for a moment before you realize Stan is leaning forward, reaching down past the edge of the seat, and then he’s adjusting it so he can lean further back. He pulls you in again, and you scramble to plant your hands on his shoulders for support before meeting him in another kiss.Grinding against him is easier this way, but your kiss quickly turns sloppy again as heat pools between your legs. Stan gropes your ass again, then your lower back. His touch makes you shiver as his large palm slides over your hip, your waist, before it makes its way between your bodies to press gently at your collarbones and then travel further up. His hand is large against the base of your neck, but somehow so gentle as it comes to your face and squeezes your cheeks together. You think he’s making fun of you at first, but then you realize he’s molding your mouth against his, making your lips more pleasant for him to kiss since you’ve lost so much focus. You whine, your hips stuttering at the realization.“C’mon,” he mutters between kisses, his voice deep. Your one hand moves into the open front of his shirt, feeling up the bare skin of his broad chest and sliding beneath the fabric to rest at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your other hand moves behind you, to Stan’s lower thigh, supporting your weight as you grind on him. “That’s it. Just like that.”“Fuck,” you curse, muffled somewhat by Stan’s hand manipulating your mouth. He lets go of your face then, planting one last deep kiss onto your shining lips before moving to press his nose to your neck. Your head lolls back as Stan’s mouth finds the underside of your jaw, towards your ear, kissing and licking at the sensitive skin there and drawing sweet moans from you. “Fuck, Stan, that feels so good.”“Want you to feel good, honey,” Stan says, the name of endearment sounding easy and smooth on his tongue. It makes you shiver, and Stan takes advantage of your vulnerability to start sucking a mark into your skin. Your hips are grinding down harder, trying to find the best angle. Stan finishes his mark and presses his tongue hard against it, making it ache, before he draws back somewhat to fumble at his belt. You force yourself to still and give him space for a moment, then start undoing your button and zipper. It takes some extra maneuvering, but you manage to kick your pants off so you're left in your boxers.You think Stan’s about to take himself out now, to let you see him, touch him, but all Stan does is lift his hips for just a moment to shove his own pants down to his thighs. He’s sitting in his striped boxers now, and he quickly adjusts himself with one hand before placing both hands on your hips. “C'mere. How’s that?”Stan manhandles you effortlessly, and before you even straddle him again, you just know you’re in for a treat. But then you do straddle him, Stan’s large hands pulling you forward into his lap, and your mouth falls open when your clothed cunt slides perfectly along the length of his dick through his thin underwear. You both moan at the feeling, your voices suddenly that much louder in the silent car, and you want to hear more. You start moving, Stan’s grip guiding you along as you grind back, and forth, and back, and fuck, this feels, so, fucking, good—“Holy fucking shit,” you whine, falling forward to wrap both your arms around Stan’s shoulders. You breathe heavily into his neck, making him tense and hold onto you tighter.“That’s it, babe,” he huffs, his voice strained when you make an effort to glide your cunt all the way up, to the hard edge of his tip, and all the way down, to the thick base. Your core is hot against him, sending electricity through your legs at each deep press against your clit. Stan grunts and grinds his hips upward suddenly, making you whimper. “Fuck, you’re soaked. You like it, huh? You like grinding on my dick?”You nod into his neck, moaning as you start to press open-mouth kisses above his collar. Stan seems to get impatient with your pace, his hands pushing you to grind faster on him. His boxers are so thin, you can feel the tip of him nudge up against your opening, where you’re wet and ready for him. You’re getting impatient, too.“Stan, I need you,” you whine into his neck, reaching one hand between your legs to rub yourself through your boxers. Stan grabs your wrist, holding onto it with a firm grip. It doesn’t hurt, not at all, but you gasp anyway, trying to get your wrist free. “Stan—”“You don’t touch yourself,” he murmurs, maneuvering your arm behind you to press your hand between your shoulder blades. You wince at the stretch, but otherwise, you're unharmed. You still feel safe. Stan plants a kind kiss to the side of your head, betraying the firmness of which he’s keeping your arm pinned. “You ask me for what you want. Nicely. Lemme take care of you.”The sentiment sends a rush of pleasure through you, drawing a moan out from your mouth to vibrate against the column of Stan’s throat.“You understand me?” he asks, his voice rumbling through his chest. You nod again, almost nuzzling his neck, and Stan squeezes your hip. “Whaddya need, sugar?”“Need you,” you mumble, rolling your hips down. Stan tuts, releasing your arm to grab both of your hips and keep you still. You catch on right away and try to find your words. “Shit—Please, Stan, need your dick in me. Please.”“Good boy,” he praises, reaching down to shove a hand against your cunt. The hard line of Stan’s dick is replaced by his meaty fingers, and you gasp at the feeling of him stroking your entrance through your underwear. He chuckles quietly, almost to himself. “You’re so wet, poor thing. Bet I could make you come just from grinding on me.” As much as the thought elates you, you shake your head and press a kiss to Stan’s neck.“I wanna come around your dick,” you breathe, making Stan stiffen beneath you. You slide your arms over his shoulders, wrapping them around his neck, then raise your head to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Stan exhales at the affection, then turns his head and captures your lips in a proper kiss. The two of you get lost in it for a few minutes, reveling in the feeling of being so close. You lap at the tip of Stan’s tongue twice, then suck gently at his bottom lip as you ask, “Can you please fuck me?”“Condom and lube's in the glovebox,” Stan directs you, his voice just as breathy. You just now realize you’re sitting on his thighs, your legs spread wide to allow him to stroke at the crotch of your boxers. His gaze automatically drifts downwards when you pull away far enough, and a little thrill shoots through you when you realize he really likes how wet you are. You perk up a little, looking him in the eye.“Do we need a condom?” you ask, smiling shyly down at him. Stan blinks at you. Then he grins.You shift your weight to support yourself on your knees, careful not to hit your head against the ceiling of the car. Stan takes it upon himself to drag your boxers off of you, letting you lean on him as you kick it off one leg. You don’t get much farther than that, because then Stan presses his palm to your abdomen and rubs his thumb against your opening, slicking it. He goes for your clit then, making you moan as he starts to rub it in careful little circles that have you getting even wetter. Stan keeps you like that, towering over him and shaking as he touches you, before drawing his hand away to lick over his thumb, tasting you. The sight is hotter than it has any right to be.You try to catch your breath as Stan leans over to pop open the glovebox. He rummages through a collection of junk mail, unused fast food napkins, and several important documents before finding his stash at the very bottom. You watch him draw two packets of lube out from the compartment and you lean to close the glovebox as soon as he does, effectively ignoring the condoms inside. When you look at Stan again, he's dropped one foil packet to the seat for now and rips open the other with his teeth, some lube already dribbling out the tear he's made.“How d'you wanna…?” Stan trails off, holding the packet upright. You only have to think for a moment.“I like when you touch me,” you say. That makes Stan curse for some reason, and he sets to work dribbling the lube over his index finger. You don't have to be stretched out, not really—You’re a lonely adult with your own hands and toys. But the sight of the clear lube dripping down to Stan’s knuckles, the thought of him stretching you out nice and slow and gentle… Your mouth is watering.“You want it?” he asks, looking up at you while you adjust your grip on his shoulders.“Yes, please,” you say, smiling politely, and Stan's mouth quirks up as he chuckles and lowers his hand. He glides it over your entrance, your clit, making you gasp. Stan looks delighted by the sounds you’re making, a crooked grin slowly growing on his face. But he's serious when he says,“Tell me if it's too much, sweetheart.” Then he's pressing his finger upwards into you, nice and slow, and your smile falls as you whine at the feeling of him finally breaching you. You try to rock your hips down, but Stan presses a hand to the side of your leg to stop you, the packet of lube leaking only a little bit onto your skin. “Ah-ah. Stay still.”You whimper, but do your best to stay steady as his finger presses inside you with ease. He pushes it all the way in, nice and firm, the rest of his hand pressed up against your cunt as he stays there.“Good,” he breathes, and slowly draws his finger out all the way. He lets go of you and takes a moment to dribble more lube over his hand before tossing the empty packet to the side. Then two fingers are pressing against you, and you barely have time to process it until they're slipping into you, stretching you out.“Ohhh, fuck,” you moan, nearly pressing your hips down again until you remember Stan stopping you the first time. Instead, you keep your hips still. Your knees are sore from pressing into the seat for so long, but the stretch of Stan's thick fingers, the feeling of his knuckles pressed against your slicked cunt as he pushes all the way in, is completely worth it. “Oh, God, Stan…”“You feel so hot around my fingers, baby,” he replies, and you whine when he starts grinding them into you, pressing towards the front wall of your cunt and making your legs shake. “Gonna feel so good around my dick, I can already tell.”“Holy shit, you're good at this.” He really is. Stan’s fingers are smooth, almost expert in the way they curl up and press that spot in you that makes your back arch. You can hear the wet sound of yourself and the lube with each movement, can feel the way they dribble down the inside of your thigh.“You're good at takin’ it,” Stan says back, and the praise makes you shudder and roll your head forward to rest on his shoulder. He chuckles at you, grinding his fingers deep into your cunt. “You ready for my dick?”“Mhm,” you hum, turning your head to nod into his neck. You sigh softly when Stan draws his fingers out of you, then start pressing kisses to his neck, tugging at his shirt to expose more of his skin.“Hey, hey, watch it,” he scolds you, but there’s a smile in his voice. Both his hands withdraw from you, busying themselves out of sight. You think you hear the crinkle of the second lube packet opening, but you’re too busy grinning into his neck to look. “Good shirts don’t just fall outta the sky, y’know.”“What, is this the only good shirt you have?” you tease, and before Stan can reply, you press a wet, open-mouthed kiss beneath his jaw. It draws a groan from him, deep within his throat, and you have to tamp your smile down to suck gently at the spot.“Second thought, do whatever ya want,” he grunts, and this time you laugh full-on. You pull back and see Stan is grinning at you, and you finally notice the tension from earlier has completely dissolved. You didn’t ruin the night with your random bout of vulnerability—if anything, you’re being rewarded for it. You think it would be a crime to do anything but kiss Stan for that, so you do, tilting your head to meet his lips, and he’s ready for you by the time you get there. Stan kisses you deeply, licking at your teeth, groping your ass with one hand, and you realize a few seconds in that one of his arms is moving in a rhythm. You mumble into his mouth,“You're jerking off right now and you didn’t even tell me?” It’s Stan’s turn to laugh, and you find yourself just as happy to be kissing his teeth instead of his lips.“What do I look like, a news reporter? You got eyes, don’t cha?” he says, and yes, you do have eyes. So you press another kiss to his mouth when he shuts up, and then you lean back to sit on his thighs and look down. Stan is pumping his dick with his dirtied hand, lube pooling at the tip and leaking out of his fist with every upstroke. The head of him is big and round and pink, and his hips roll up slightly when he realizes you’re looking. You press your forehead to his, watching him. His voice is lower, nice and gravelly, when he asks, “You like it?”“You’re really big,” you say, and your voice holds only a little trepidation. Again, you’re a man with toys. But it’s been a while since you’ve taken anything bigger than the bullet vibe that’s had dead batteries for a week. “Are you gonna fit?”“Jesus,” Stan grunts, his hips jerking at that. You cover your mouth, a laugh threatening to escape.“I’m serious,” you say despite your grin, leaning back again to meet his eyes. Stan’s gaze is dark, his pupils blown, and you’re halfway leaning in by the time you think you’re addicted to kissing this man. He seems just as willing, and you relish in the fact that his lips are already wet when you meet him in the middle. You make out for a few minutes, the sounds of Stan’s hand making you that much eager to feel him inside you, even as the frames of his glasses nudge against your face. But you meant it when you asked whether it would fit, and you know there’s only one real way to curb your nerves. You drag a hand down his chest, to his abdomen, and your heart skips a beat when you feel a thick material through his shirt. Is he wearing a girdle? That’s cute. You move your hand further, to his pelvis, and break the kiss. You ask, softly, “Can I try?”“Can you—You act real polite for a guy tryin’ to touch my dick at a street corner,” Stan says, but his voice catches when you nudge his hand away and wrap your fingers around the base of his lubed dick.“You told me to ask,” you remind him, laughing softly even as heat spikes into your core when you realize your fingers barely overlap around him.“Oh, right. Well—I say a lot of things,” he dismisses, clenching his teeth when you stroke upwards and squeeze your fist around his leaky head. “God, that’s—Yeah, that’s good.”“It better be good,” you mumble, but your heart’s not in the joke. Not when you’re slowly becoming transfixed by the heat of Stan’s cock in your hand, the slick of lube helping you slide your fist up and down its length. You squeeze again at the head, rub the slippery pad of your thumb over the slit. Stan groans, his head tipping back into the leather of his seat. You lean forward then, kissing his neck, licking gently at the hollow spot between his collarbones. “Am I making you feel good?”“Yeah, sweetheart,” he gasps, squeezing your ass, your hip, then fumbling his other hand back to hold onto yours without looking. You almost cringe at the feeling of lube on your wrist, but then Stan’s hand engulfs yours and starts guiding you. You melt, tucking your forehead against his shoulder to watch as he guides you to pump him faster. “Jack me off like this, just—Fuck, yeah, that’s good. Make your hand nice and tight around my dick, that’s it.”You moan softly at the filth of his words, following his directions to make your handjob as enjoyable as possible. The lube adds so much noise to your movements, and you’re drawn to the way it shines in the coarse hairs at the base of Stan’s dick. It’s nice and trimmed, like he was hoping to get lucky tonight. You acknowledged before that you weren’t looking for a hookup, but you would hate to be in a world where you’re not currently watching Stan’s dick leak into your fist. The sight makes you squirm, and as you keep pumping him, you come to a solemn conclusion: You’re going to make this thing fit, and you’re going to fucking like it. Just as the heat between your legs gets impossible to ignore, Stan breathes out deeply and releases his hand.“Needa get my dick in you, babe,” he says, and you almost slide straight off the seat in your hurry to shuffle up onto your knees. Stan steadies you, grabbing himself at the base as you hold on to his broad shoulders. A needy sound escapes you when you lower enough to feel the head brush against your folds. Stan looks up at you, flushed in the face all the way down to his chest. You must look similarly flustered, because he stares at you for a few seconds and then cracks a smile. “You ready?”You nod eagerly as he holds your wait to help guide you down to meet his body. You know his dick is big, you consider yourself particularly well-acquainted with it by now, but it feels so much different when it presses against your entrance. You whine, your hips twitching, grinding over the thick head.“Yeah—Yes, I'm ready,” you say, and steel yourself for just another second before you start to lower. Stan doesn't push you down, just helps keep your hips steady, but he groans and flexes his hands on your waist when you lower onto the head. Once you get that little bit in you, your brain goes blank. You're drooling at the blunt press of his cock, the incredible stretch, and your mouth slowly drops open as you sink down the first few inches. Even though you’re dripping wet and stretched out and eager, Stan is big enough that you need to pause and take a breath here. Stan’s clean hand rubs over your hip, comforting.“That’s it, sugar, nice and slow,” he soothes you, his voice noticeably strained. You steady yourself on his shoulders and rise up, enough so the head is still in you, then slowly lower yourself back down. Stan mutters a long string of curses when you sink lower than you had the first time. “Fuck, c’mon, baby, you got it.”“You’re so fucking big,” you stress, pushing yourself up again. His cock drags along your walls in a way that makes your eyes clench shut, and suddenly you’re doubtful. Your voice is high and hesitant when you say, “God, fuck, you’re so—Holy shit, okay, are you gonna fit?”“It’ll fit,” Stan assures you, and his voice is so sure it sends another thrill through you. He somehow keeps his hips still as he reaches over to the glovebox again, and you realize he must be using those fast food napkins to wipe his hand off, the gentleman. He grabs your waist firmly, with clean hands, giving you more support as you slowly move up and down his cock. He grunts and keeps you steady, staying patient. “There you go. You feel so good for me already—Want you to take all of it.”It takes a few more minutes and a lot more careful stretching until finally, finally, you sink all the way down and sit flush on Stan’s hips. You moan, your legs twitching, and Stan presses the palms of his hands to your back, holding you.“Oh, fuck, I feel so full,” you say, and Stan groans, tilting his head forward to nuzzle your cheek. The affection is welcome, and you make an approving sound when he presses a soft kiss beside your ear. Even the initial struggle to get him inside you was hot, and you relish in the pressure within your cunt. One of Stan’s hands worms its way between you, feeling where your skin meets his, and you raise up an inch so he can feel your clit. You jerk when he presses his thumb into it, slick with lube all over again. “Oh my God, I wanna come on you so bad.”“Great minds,” he remarks, and you raise your hips up, then roll them down, then again, and soon you find a steady rhythm, and eventually you’re fully riding Stan Pines’ dick in the driver’s seat of his car. You lean forward, planting your hands firmly on the sides of his seat to help yourself move. Your moans mix with Stan’s, his voice deep and breathless and loud in your ear.“Knew this little hole would feel good. Nice and tight,” he grunts, and you whine at that, reedy and desperate as your hips stutter. Stan takes advantage of your stillness and rubs your clit in tight little circles, drawing a string of swears from you.“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Fuck, no, I’m not tight. Your dick is just huge,” you say earnestly, and Stan chuckles in a strained way.“You keep sayin’ that,” he says, and you shake your head, then bury your face in his shoulder as you lower yourself all the way down and grind slowly into his lap. Stan groans, his hands flying to your hips to guide you.“It’s true,” you say, because the honesty thing has really worked out for you tonight, and you have a feeling you can milk it a little more. You gasp when one hard grind on Stan’s dick stimulates your clit. Stan latches onto the angle, helping you find that movement over and over, even though it must not be doing much for him. You moan into his skin, “Fuck, I can feel you in my fucking throat.”“Good lord,” he says, with emphasis, and you roll your hips harder even though you know he can’t possibly get any deeper in this position. But it’s okay, because he’s still letting you grind on him, and he’s squeezing your ass when he can, really feeling you up, and every roll of your hips has his dick hitting a place deep inside of you that stokes the growing fire in your stomach. Stan’s hips twitch upwards, too, and then he’s grabbing you by the underside of your thighs to lift you a few inches so he can thrust up into your heat.“Oh, shit, Stan—” The wind is knocked out of you as Stan finds a rhythm, his hips driving upwards into you and slapping against your thighs. Your legs start to shake and your head lolls back, and you’re being fucked hard enough that your hands lose purchase on the seat leather. You grab his shirt instead, bunching the fabric on his shoulders. “Oh my God, shit, yes, fuck me—”“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Stan groans, then shoves your hips down so he can catch his breath. You moan deeply, taking a few steady rolls of your hips, and then Stan adjusts his grip on you. He makes you lift up so he can fuck into you all over again, the steady rhythm drawing a high-pitched sound from your throat as heat curls in your abdomen. The stretch of his dick is still there, still a little sore, but the lube saves you a lot of discomfort as he drives into you. Stan mutters, “Be a good boy and rub your little dick for me, huh? Let me see.”You struggle for a second to find balance, leaning backwards to plant your left hand firmly on the dashboard, but then you’re steady enough so your right hand can find your clit. You moan at the added spark it sends through you, and your fingers are quick to fall into muscle memory as you rub yourself. Stan groans deeply, and you force your eyes to stay open through the pleasure just to see the look on his face.Stan is flushed, his head hung forward to keep his gaze fixed on your hand between your legs, sweat rolling down his temples and neck and gathering in his thick chest hair. His beanie is askew, his shirt wrinkled to hell, and he’s panting, with that wad of cinnamon gum dangerously close to falling out of his mouth. He’s so fucking hot, and he’s still fucking you, even though his initial speed is lost he’s driving into you with hard, deep thrusts, his eyes flickering further down, and you realize that at this angle he can see his own dick grinding into you, and your fingers fly faster over your clit as something in you tightens, and oh fuck, fuck, you’re gonna come, holy fucking shit.“You close?” Stan grunts, and you nod as best you can even as he gives you a few hard thrusts in quick succession. Then he stops, dragging you against him, almost crushing your hand between your bodies, and your hips are grinding down hard as you chase your peak. Stan helps you, rowing your hips forward with little effort, and your eyes roll back as his dick reaches deep within you, filling you up, and your fingers press harder on your clit, and Stan says, in a low, gruff voice, “Come for me, babe, just like this, come on my dick.”It’s the hardest orgasm you’ve had in a very long time. You tense as you come, your fingers stilling on your clit and your jaw dropping open, but Stan has every intention of drawing out your high for as long as possible. He’s still moving your hips for you, dragging you down against him, making sure his dick is deep in you as you tighten around his cock. A long, low moan is drawn from you, filling the car, and Stan mutters words of praise that you can hardly register as your mind goes completely blank. Then he touches you, his thumb replacing your fingers on your clit, making you whine as he draws tight little circles into it.“That’s it,” Stan encourages you, his other hand sliding around to the small of your back as your back arches. You gasp for air, your hips twitching indecisively like your body can’t decide to evade his touch or grind into it. But Stan follows you regardless, moves his hand along with your twitching body to stimulate you further. “Fuck, that’s good. So fucking hot.”“Fuck—Oh, fuck,” you manage, your hands scrambling for purchase and landing at Stan’s shoulders once more. You’re so sensitive, you’re out of breath, you haven’t had a release this intense in years and there’s emotion welling up in your chest, a lot of it, stinging your nose, pooling in your eyes, but then,“Little more for me,” Stan soothes, his voice low and warm as he eases the speed of his onslaught. Carefully, he slows down, but keeps rubbing you. Your eyes are clenched tight, and don’t know if it’s tears or sweat rolling down your face, but you don’t think it matters. It’s still good, you feel so good right now, and Stan’s voice is gentle and content as he guides you to, “keep feelin’ it, just like that. Good boy. Just a little more.”So you decide you can take it. You want Stan to know that you can take it, that you want everything he has to offer you tonight. So you ignore the tears or sweat on your face and keep riding it out, letting him rub you gently, your moans softening to tiny, desperate little sounds between pleasure and pain. Stan’s thumb comes to a still at some point so that it’s just pressing against you, completely motionless on your clit. Your hips twitch into it for a few more seconds, just barely, then you’re stilling, too, and the warm haze of your prolonged orgasm is slowly lifting from your head.You breathe deeply, finding your capacity for air again, and collapse slowly forward. Your muscles ache as you drape yourself across Stan’s body, relishing in the warmth of him. He hums at you, shifting so his hands can rest firmly on your back to hold you against his chest.“There we go. Just breathe,” he says, comforting. You do, breathing in deep, enjoying the scent of his cologne at the base of his neck. You exhale with a shudder, your arms totally limp as you tuck your nose against Stan’s skin. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. Then he just holds you, running a hand up and down your spine, drawing the tension out of you with his wide palm.You must fall asleep at some point, just for a minute or two, because you eventually wake up to the tail end of Stan’s voice saying, “—right?”“Hm?” you ask against his neck, slowly coming back to yourself. Stan chuckles, making his chest bounce beneath you.“You alright?” he repeats, squeezing gently at your waist. You press a gentle kiss to his neck and slowly push his shoulders so you can sit up, bringing a hand to your face. Stan looks at your expression for just a moment before reaching over to grab some of those napkins from the glovebox and hand them to you. “Seriously. You good?”“I think you just fucked a few years off my lifespan,” you joke, voice low and lazy as you accept the napkins. Stan laughs at that and presses a kiss to your cheek, making you smile as you dab at your watery eyes. You can only hope you look like a hot mess rather than a sloppy one. “Yes. I’m good. Holy shit.”“I’ll bet,” Stan says, an edge of smugness in his voice. He pats your butt gently, and you suddenly remember you’re still connected. “C’mon, sugar, time for the dismount.”You have to raise your hips high to get Stan’s dick out of you, wincing slightly at the drag against your sensitive walls. Stan guides you by your shaking thighs, making sure you don’t fall over, and it’s only when you sit back on his legs that you realize he’s still hard.“Oh!” You glance from Stan’s dick to his face, resting your palms on his broad chest. It takes him a second to realize why you’re suddenly flustered, but when he does, a small grin creeps onto his face. You laugh breathily, sliding a hand down to his stomach, over his shapewear, the implication obvious. “Um, what do you…”“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, taking your hand to swipe those napkins out of your grasp and start wiping your thighs off. You let him, balancing on your knees and reveling in the gentle swipe of tissue against your skin before Stan’s decided he’s cleaned up all he can. He pats your right leg and you finally shuffle off of him, having to find your boxers hanging off your ankle and tug them up in an awkward way so as to avoid getting your mess all over his nice seats. Stan just crumples the napkins up before finding a clean corner and wiping himself off. You close your thighs together, willing your body to relax as you face him fully, watching.“You sure?” you ask as he tucks his dick into his boxers, reaching forward to place your hand on his knee. Stan looks at you just as you go in for a kiss, and he’s only a little surprised before leaning into it himself. This kiss isn’t intense, not at all, but you take your time with it. Stan sighs softly when you lick across his bottom lip, and when you place your other hand on his jaw, he holds it there. You lean back after a few moments, then slide your hand a few inches up his leg. Stan’s leg moves into your grasp, chasing the warmth of your palm, and his eyes flutter open when you offer, “I can take care of you, too, y’know. If you want.”“Oh, baby, I want,” Stan says, that crooked grin finding its way back onto his face. He takes your hand in his, off his knee, and squeezes it kindly. “But, uh, as much of a hunk as I am, I haven’t gotten any action like that in… What I mean is, I’m not sure you could keep up with me.”“Is that a challenge?” you ask, though Stan has effectively cleared the air of any residual sexual tension. You laugh, charmed, when he brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it.“Think of it as a mercy,” he says, then gently drops your hand and nods to the windshield. Through it, the sight of a town fast asleep beckons you back onto the road. In front of it, you’ve left your wine glass. You take it, cradling it in both hands. “Your legs are still shaking. Want a ride home?”He’s right. Your legs are still shaking, and you’re tired enough that the thought of hitching a ride all the way back to the restaurant for your car and then all the way back home, about a block away from where you are right now, sounds downright silly.“I’ll tell you where to go from here,” you concede, leaning back into your seat and finding your seatbelt again. Uh, you should probably find your pants, too. You buckle in and lean over to look on the floor of the car, then realize your pants are hanging limply to your side, somehow attached to the passenger door’s lock knob. Awkwardly, you grab them and ball them up, holding your wine glass carefully in your other hand. When you sit back, Stan is grinning at you, amused, before he buckles himself in, too. You stare at his side profile for a moment, admiring his jawline. Then, slowly, you draw your gaze away and look around at your surroundings. “So, I think it’s down this street, and then you take a left…”It’s only a few minutes to your place, but Stan drives extra slow. Both of you are quiet. Both of you are thinking. More than once, your gaze is drawn to Stan as he drives. He idly taps the steering wheel with his fingers, the car slowly creeping forward as per your directions. Before he turns left, he glances at you and meets your eye. You look at each other for a little longer than a second before looking straight ahead, almost in sync, as Stan starts the car through the turn.You think about what you’ll do once you get home. You’ll pee first, probably, and then you’ll shower. You’ll change into an old, threadbare shirt and random workout bottoms you’ve only ever slept in. You'll rummage through your freezer for a pint of your favorite ice cream flavor, a marker of celebration for a successful one-night stand. You'll eat the whole thing alone.Or you could try to be more… “emotionally available.” Whatever that means.“Hey, so—”“Um, I was—”You and Stan speak up at the same time and pause once you realize you've done it. You share a glance, then a grin.“Go ahead,” Stan says, straightening the car out on your street. He's still driving slow, glancing around, probably wondering which house is yours.“So, um, I dunno if you have anywhere to be right now,” you start, to which Stan immediately shakes his head.“No, no. I'm free all night,” he says, and you nod slowly, then take a quick glance at the houses around you.“It's this one, with the—Yeah, just pull in here.” He moves smoothly into your driveway and puts the car in park, the hum of the engine fading quickly. A beat passes.“How ‘bout you? Any big plans tonight?” he asks, turning his head. He’s finally looking at you, not just glancing at you, and the two of you literally fucked a few minutes ago, but those warm brown eyes still manage to make you flush. You stare into them for a moment, taking in the blown pupils. Then you trail your gaze down Stan's face, his neck, his strong arm creating a relaxed line as he rests a hand on the steering wheel. Fuck, those hands.“No,” you finally answer, tracing the stem of your wine glass in your hands as you try to ignore the emotion bubbling up in you. “Nothing exciting. Not that I can do by myself, anyway.”“Yeah?” Stan asks, a smile growing on his face. It's amused and charming, but there's something simmering below it, anticipating. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. “What's that?”“I… have some beer in the fridge,” you offer lamely. “Maybe we can have another drink, and then I can show you.”“What kind of beer?” Stan asks, but he’s already twisting the key out of the ignition and undoing his seatbelt to pop open the glovebox. You smile at him, unbuckling yourself as he finds another packet of lube and nearly slams the compartment shut in his haste.“The cheap stuff,” you admit, and within seconds, Stan is shutting his driver's side door closed and rounding the front of the car to you. He spits his gum somewhere in the grass as he goes, which, okay, gross, but whatever. He grins wide when he opens the door and the soft sound of your laughter spills out.Neither of you actually get into the beer. You barely lock the front door behind you when Stan is kissing you again, and you give him a hasty, half-assed tour between hungry kisses as you lead him backwards to your room. You almost drop your glass of wine to the floor as the two of you shamble past your dresser, hands wandering, eyes mostly closed. Part of you wants to apologize for the clutter, but when Stan pulls his beanie off and throws it somewhere on the floor with his tongue between your teeth, you decide he probably doesn’t care.The two of you fuck again on your bed, you on your knees with your hips cushioned by a thick pillow while Stan drives into you from behind. You’re still wet and loose from the car, and Stan’s initial press into you was so, so easy, and you can already tell you're close to coming again. He’s still as hard as he was earlier, maybe even more so, and the curve of his dick inside you makes your eyes cross.“Fuck, that’s good,” he grunts, gripping your bare hips, your shirt shoved up to your ribs. You have no idea where your pants and underwear ended up, but Stan's are just shoved down to his thighs, the hard buckle of his belt stinging against your skin every so often. He’s able to fuck you way better like this, way deeper, and the fact you’ve barely recovered from your earlier orgasm means your body is extra accommodating. But Stan insists, “You're still so tight.”“Oh my God,” you moan into your pillows, trying to be mindful of any neighbors you haven’t met. Stan has no such manners, and the slap of his skin against yours is remarkably loud. He’s loud, too, groaning and cursing up a storm behind you with each thrust. You've never had a partner as vocal as him, ever, and you can't believe how much you fucking love it. Stan reaches around you then, one big hand shoving its way between your hips and your pillow and going straight for your clit. The stimulation is so sudden you almost jump, but even with such a rough pace, Stan's fingers are slick and rub you in a way that makes your hands curl tightly into your bedsheets. “Oh fuck, yes—”“Come again for me,” Stan says gruffly, almost demanding, and the edge in his voice sends fire through you. His pace stays the same, but he pounds into you harder, deeper, his fingers pressing hard against your clit. You're close, you're close, and you’re getting so loud you bury your flushed face into your bed just as Stan says, “Wanna feel that tight cunt squeeze around my dick.”“Fuck, fuck—” You come again, harder than the first time, and Stan hilts himself into you as you do. His fingers grind against you, rough, almost mean, drawing out your orgasm again. This time you know you're crying, a sob tearing its way out of you, muffled by your mattress as your orgasm shudders through your entire body and turns you into a mindless, moaning mess.“That's right. Just like that,” Stan groans from behind you, grinding into you, one hand on your clit and the other hand steadying you by your hip. You don't mean to, but you're shoving your hips back, trying to grind into Stan, starving for the proximity. The waves of your climax make you whine, your fingers sore from how tightly they're gripping your sheets, and you can literally feel your come gathering at the place you and Stan are connected. Stan must feel it, too, because he carefully draws out a few inches and pushes back in, slowly, so deep it punches the air out of you. He sighs, marveling at the slickness of your hole, at how incredibly easy it is to fuck you after making you come twice. “God, babe, you're incredible.”Stan draws out of you all the way and you're still coming down from your orgasm when he grabs your hips and turns you over like you weigh nothing. You land limply on your back and blink blearily up at the ceiling, tears still gathered in your eyes. Stan shoves your pillow beneath your hips again, propping you up, and you hear the sounds of clothing shuffling around and hitting the floor. You roll your head forward in time to see him shuffle up on his knees with his hand on his dick, the other hand bunching his shirt up to keep it out of the way. He's thrown off his pants and underwear, and he must have finally gotten rid of his girdle because his shirt looks that much tighter on him, accentuating his broad shoulders and brawny arms and hairy chest.“Holy shit,” you say tiredly, watching with blurry vision as Stan jerks himself off between his legs. He’s still so hard, the tip of his cock fat and pink, a clear glob of precome pearling at the head before he swipes his palm over it. It's so hot. Your eyes are glued to his dick, but you can hear the grin in Stan's voice when he speaks.“See how hard you make me?” he asks. You can only nod dumbly, the haze in your mind taking its sweet time to clear up. But it's getting there, and your returning clarity allows you to register when Stan finds one of your wrists with his free hand and guides it towards him. You follow eagerly, and his hand slips away to let yours wrap around his dick.You trace the long vein on the underside of him, getting your fingers slick with your own come on his dick, as Stan finds the packet of lube he'd thrown somewhere on your bed. He tears it open, then dribbles it over his length and your knuckles, and neither of you really care when some of it inevitably spills onto your duvet.“Tighter,” he instructs you, and you adjust your grip on him before he holds your wrist still. Then Stan moves his hips, thrusting slowly forward, and you moan quietly at the sight of his tip moving in and out of your fist. Stan groans, looking down at himself as he fucks your fist. “Fuck, your hand's so small on me.”“You're just big,” you mutter, almost automatically, squeezing tighter when the head of Stan's dick is in your palm. His hips stutter and you start stroking him, just at the end of his dick, rubbing your palm over the head to smear his precome across like he'd shown you. “I dunno how this thing fit inside me, Stan.”“Tight fit,” he says, and you flick your gaze up to see him toss a grin your way. It's a little arrogant, which is to be expected when you've been inflating his ego all night. But it's also genuinely really happy, almost goofy, like he can't believe his night turned out like this. Happiness looks good on him. He looks handsome. You smile back, then give an unexpected stroke over his dick that makes Stan's smile fall a little. You chuckle at him, and Stan recovers in time to laugh and lower himself with his forearm at the side of your head.He presses a kiss to your lips, sweet and kind. You kiss back, savoring it, getting lost in the plush of his lips and the occasional glide of his tongue into your mouth. Your hand is knocked free from his dick at some point, but you bring your clean hand to the nape of Stan's neck and run your fingers up the back of his head. Stan groans into your mouth when you accidentally scrape his scalp with your nails, so you do it again, and again, mussing up his fluffy gray hair. After a moment, you hear it.“Why are you jerking off when you can just fuck me again?” you mumble into his mouth, the sounds of his hand on his dick working you up again. Stan chuckles against you, then manages to push himself up onto his hand. You blink your eyes open to look between your bodies and see him gripping his cock, lube and come dripping off the end and landing on your inner thigh. Stan finds you staring and grins.“You think you can handle it, sweetheart?” he teases, but the very offer has added some heat to his gaze. He strokes himself slowly, base to tip and back again, then holds himself at the hilt. He rolls his hips forward to nudge against your opening, then up, pressing gently against your clit. You gasp at the stimulation, still sensitive.“Yeah, yes, I can,” you nod, letting your head roll back. Stan moves down to kiss your neck, your jaw, the sensitive spot below your ear that has you moaning and hiking your legs up on either side of him. When he kisses down your chest, he pulls away enough to undo the buttons. In an incredible feat, you manage to crunch up enough to help him drag your button-up and undershirt over your head in one go, leaving you bare.“Look at you,” Stan breathes, his large hands immediately wandering to your ribs, your stomach. You arch into his touch as he palms your sternum and kisses at your collarbone, then laves a hot tongue over your nipple.“Stan,” you breathe, becoming impatient. As much as you want his tongue on you, exploring you, the aching emptiness of your body takes priority. “C’mon, I need it.”“Ask me for it,” Stan mutters lowly, mouthing sloppily at your skin. His tongue is hot on your chest, his dick hard and eager against your inner thigh.“Oh my God, please fuck me, please,” you say, voice strained, arching your back when Stan sucks gently at your nipple before moving to press his tongue to the other one. You can feel how wet you are, how easily his dick glides across your slick skin, and you want him so bad you're getting dizzy with it. “I want your dick so bad, I—I wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna make you come in me.”“Fucking Christ,” Stan says, and then he’s adjusting himself, and then he's sliding in to the hilt, and the breath leaves your body as he fills you all the way up. Stan curses again and presses another sloppy kiss onto your neck. That's all the bliss you're allowed until he starts moving.Stan takes what you said to heart. You said you want to make him feel as good as he's made you, and he makes good on your words by fucking you with reckless abandon. Stan draws halfway out before slamming back into you, fucking you hard and deep, his hand moving down to grab the back of your thigh and push your leg further up. You moan loudly, tilting your head back as Stan stretches you how he wants you.“Fuck, you hear that? So wet for me,” he groans, driving in deep. You can, you can hear how wet you are, and the lube you helped spread on Stan’s dick only makes it more obvious. You cry out at a particularly rough thrust, and you barely have the sense to wipe your dirty hand on the bed before wrapping your arms around Stan's strong shoulders, holding him to you. Another hard thrust makes your bed shake, and you whimper as you accidentally drag your nails across the back of Stan’s shirt.“Off,” you whine, and Stan’s hips push deep into you, unable to keep himself from at least grinding into your cunt as the both of you fumble at his shirt buttons. You help him push it off when it's completely undone, and Stan throws it to the side, and you hook a hand around his bare neck to pull him into another kiss. He indulges you for a minute, licking into your mouth before drawing back a few inches.“Alright, sugar,” he sighs, framing your head with his strong arms. “Quit distracting me, huh? Or we'll be at it all night.”“There are worse ways to die,” you joke, and Stan laughs aloud. You chuckle with him, even as he starts moving his hips again. Stan draws nearly all the way out of you, then pushes in slow, as far as your bodies will allow it, and stays there. You're breathing heavily, maybe even drooling, as Stan keeps himself still. “Holy fucking shit, that's—God, you're not even moving.”“You like warming my cock for me.” It's not a question. Stan tucks his face into the side of your head, his breath fanning across your ear. “Part of me wants to stay like this the whole night.”Right now, as horny as you are, it sounds like a great idea. Stan’s weight on you, his dick as deep as it'll go, grinding into you now and then to make sure you stay wet for him. The whole night, just laying here, holding each other… Forget the sex. You've been so lonely lately, you could probably get off just from that.But then Stan sighs into your hair. Without looking, he worms an arm down again to hook under your left leg and pull it up. Just him shifting his weight, his dick moving slightly out and in, is enough to reignite a small flame in you.“Please fuck me,” you beg, dragging a hand through his hair.“Planning on it,” Stan grunts, and then he thrusts, and then he’s back to that rough pace that has you scrambling your hands over his shoulders, trying to hold onto him. Stan chuckles, even as he’s losing his breath with every hard thrust into you. “You okay?”“Y-Yes, yes,” you babble, gasping into Stan’s ear. You’re so fucking sensitive. Stan’s dick is long and so thick, and he keeps saying you’re tight but all you can think about is how easily your body is taking him in. He’s able to fuck into you with a pace you’re surprised he’s even capable of, relentless and loud and so fucking filthy. “Oh, fuck.”“You love it, don’t you,” he says gruffly, a groan building low in his throat. His voice goes right to your core, making you tremble. “You love my fucking dick in your cunt. Say it.”“I love it, love your—Ah, fuck—” Stan interrupts you with a rough thrust, driving you an inch up the bed, and holy fucking shit that was hot. You stutter and whine between your words, trying to recover. “I love your dick, fuck, fuck, love how it feels in-in my cunt, it’s so fucking good.”Your nails catch on Stan’s skin, but before you can stammer out an apology, Stan groans deeply. He gives you another hard thrust, a deep punch of his hips that has your eyes rolling back and your hands scratching down his shoulder blade. There's that heat again, for the third time tonight, curling in your stomach and making you whine.“Fuck, you’re fucking wet,” he pants, shoving your leg to the side somewhat, trying to drive deeper into you even though it's absolutely impossible. You scratch at Stan's back again, mostly by accident, and Stan groans into your ear. Your legs are shaking again and you hold onto Stan tight, squeezing your eyes shut as that familiar tension builds and builds inside of you. Somehow, Stan finds the perfect rhythm, and your hand twists into the hair at the back of his head. But the tension doesn't break. You're suspended there, trapped in the heat and the pleasure of Stan fucking you, and for a moment you think you can't come again.“Fuck, fuck, it's so much,” you babble, holding Stan close as the feeling becomes unbearable. “I can't—It's too much, it's—”“One more, baby, one more,” Stan urges you, keeping his pace as consistent as he can as the feelings builds, and builds, and builds, and… “I gotta feel you come again. Come on my dick.”It takes a few more thrusts, a few more soothing words in your ear about how wet you are, how good you feel, how much he wants to feel you come and tighten up around him, and then you're finally falling over the edge. This orgasm isn’t as intense as the past two, but you're still trembling, wobbly cries falling from your mouth as waves of white-hot pleasure rock through your body.“Yeah, that’s it,” Stan soothes, still fucking you, still relentless and strong, even as you claw at his back, trying to stop your world from turning over backwards. You think he says something else, or maybe a string of things, somehow warm and soft and so hot at the same time, but your mind goes blank as your leg strains and shakes against his grip.“O-Oh, fuck, fuck—” you gasp as he fucks the last few waves from you, your hand firmly twisted in his soft hair. Stan’s thrusts don’t slow, and for a few moments all you can do is gasp for air and succumb to the overwhelming feeling of his cock still pounding into you. It feels so good, it’s too much, you’re never going to come down from this, tears are streaming down either side of your face, all the way to your temples, and you cry, “Stan, please, it's—How the fuck are you still going—”“Almost,” he promises through a grunt, then presses a kiss to your hair before shaking your hands off and pushing himself up. He grabs your hips as he leans back on his knees, dragging you onto his dick as he sits up before resuming his pace. It's different now, quicker, more frantic, and your back arches off the bed as your jaw drops. “Almost there. Fucking—Shit, you look so good.”You’re sure you don’t. You must look totally ruined, you reek of sweat and sex, and all you can do as Stan uses your body to get off is clutch the sheets, one hand reaching back behind your head and the other reaching forward, clutching onto Stan’s thigh where you can reach. It feels like he’s punching the moans out of your mouth, the salty tears from your eyes, and you know for a fact he’s wrecked you. You look like a disaster. But every time you manage to open your eyes and look at him, Stan’s eyes are on your face, roaming your body, hunger and lust darkening those warm eyes.“Just take it,” he breathes, his gaze lingering on your chest, tracing up the lines of your neck. You shudder at the attention, your fingers flexing against his thigh. Stan’s gaze pauses on your chest, watching your back arch as he fucks into you, rocking your whole body, your whole bedframe. “Fuckin’ gorgeous. Just take my dick, take my fucking load—You want it, right? You gonna let me come inside you?”“Yes,” you say immediately, electricity running up your spine at the thought. You’ve been craving it ever since you first said it. Even now, after three orgasms, when it feels like Stan is fucking you so hard your body is going to break, you can’t imagine feeling satisfied until he spills in you. Stan’s thrusts start to stutter, almost erratic in their movements, but they don't sacrifice how deeply they drive into your body. A high-pitched whine tears out of you as he roughly adjusts your hips again and slides one hand beneath you, the other pushing your leg away. The show of strength makes you dizzy, and your voice pitches higher and higher as you start to ramble, “Holy shit, yes, yes, come in me, please, just, fuck, just—fuck—”For a few seconds, Stan fucks you so hard and so good that you can’t even say anything else. Then he groans, low in his throat, as he buries himself to the hilt. You sob, a broken noise, as you register a heat seating itself deep in your body. His dick twitches within you as he hitches your hips further up and grinds, so fucking deep, like he wants his come to stay there, and holy shit, the thought is so—It’s so—You’re fucking coming again, your whole body tensing, and Stan groans and doubles over as your body clenches around his dick, wringing the last few ropes of come from him. As you lay there, openly sobbing through your sudden climax, you can’t help but think you were made for this, for coming on Stan’s dick and begging him to spill his load into you.“Holy shit, holy shit,” is all you can say, whimpering and breathless, and Stan grinds into you one more time before he comes down from his climax with one final, shuddering sigh. He groans again, exhausted, and barely catches himself on his forearms as he leans down to gather you up in his arms. You bury your face into his neck, letting your tears soak his skin as he slides his hands beneath your back.“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Stan pants, and presses his mouth to your cheek in a messy, gentle kiss. He carefully, finally draws his dick out of you, making you wince. Then he holds you to him, trapping you in a firm bear hug as he lowers himself all the way on the bed and rolls over to lay you on his chest.“You’re a fucking maniac,” you sniffle, slowly coming back to your body. You press a kiss to Stan’s shoulder, to the base of his neck, to the underside of his strong chin. Your face is stinging with tears that are starting to dry. “You’re—You’re insane.”“I had a good time, too, hot stuff,” Stan says, sighing loudly as he makes himself comfortable in your bed. One of his broad palms stays firmly at the small of your back as the other one rubs slowly up, up your spine, to the base of your skull, then down again. You melt into him, the heat of his body intoxicating. You catch your breath slowly, relishing in the rise and fall of Stan’s chest, in the faint, woody smell of his cologne.Some time passes as you lay together, just breathing and enjoying the skin-on-skin contact. But, eventually, the stickiness between your legs and the musky smell of sweat on your scalp motivates you to drag Stan into the shower. That is, you shake weakly at his shoulder and dramatize the soreness in your legs to see if he can pick you up and take you there. You’re delighted when he does, and you sit pretty on your countertop as you make him adjust the shower temperature for you, too. Stan pinches your butt on your way in, and he’s delighted when you’re nice enough to leave a hickey low on his neck as he massages shampoo into your hair.Stan rubs your head with a towel when you both emerge, laughter and steam rolling out of your bathroom and following you to the hallway closet, where you have a set of clean sheets. You don’t expect Stan to stay at this point, but he keeps offering to help—even after you get dressed in comfortable sleepwear and bashfully, silently, hand him an oversized shirt and a clean pair of boxers from the drawer in your dresser that hasn't been opened since you moved in.Stan yanks the dirty bedsheets to the floor and pokes fun at you for getting the fitted sheet tangled up. He steals a kiss when you come up next to him to straighten his edge of the blanket. Then, when your bed is finally made, he picks you up without warning and throws you onto your nice, clean sheets. He laughs from his gut when you shriek on the way there, and laughs some more when you smack his broad chest with a pillow. You’re laughing with him, even when you tell him he’s being too loud, even when he tackles you to the mattress and plants a wet one to the corner of your toothy grin.Both of you agree it would be completely, totally unfair to have Stan help with the bed and not lay in it for at least a little bit. So you settle in, Stan’s beefy arm cradling you to his chest, your leg thrown over his waist, and you tell him about how much you like it in town even though you haven’t yet made a friend. Stan tells you how he likes it, too, how he’s meant for the water, to sail around the world, but how he could never quite shake the deep-rooted truth that Gravity Falls was his home. You don’t tell him about your late husband. You think that would be too much. But Stan tells you about his brother, about how, “I love the guy, but a year on a cramped boat with anyone is enough to make you hate their guts.” The affection in his voice, blatant and raw, makes your stomach flutter, makes you take his hand and press a kiss to the base of his thumb.Eventually, you have to face the music. It's late, or at least much later than either of you had expected to have company. You nurse a glass of cool water as Stan gathers his dirty clothes from your floor. You’re perched on your bed, near the pillows, knees drawn up to your chest as you watch him attempt to fold his dress shirt in a way that won’t wrinkle the collar.“You should button it together first,” you suggest helpfully, “then it’ll be easier to fold it in half.”“If I fold it in half…” Stan folds the shirt lengthwise, sleeves together, then looks at you. “The collar’s not gonna lay right.”“No, like—Fold it hamburger-style,” you say. Stan unfolds the shirt, then drapes it over itself. “Then you can fold the sleeves in, or whatever.”“Heh, thanks. I usually hang these things,” Stan says, chuckling. But he’s not stupid, and neither are you. You know he knows how to fold a shirt, and you know it’s going to end up in a crumpled ball in his hamper regardless. He’s stalling. You take a sip of your water and then set it down on your nightstand as he rubs the back of his neck, glancing around your room. “That’s the last of my things, huh? I, uh… guess I better head out.”He approaches you, clothes in hand, and you’re already tilting your face up to meet him as he leans down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet, warming you from your chest as his hand comes to touch the side of your neck. You lean up as he draws away, chasing his lips, and Stan huffs a laugh at you before pressing another chaste kiss to your mouth. Then he kisses your cheek, your temple, your eyebrow, like he can’t help himself. Then he stands up straight, takes another glance around your room, and nods towards your door.“Thanks for tonight,” he says, a tired smile on his face. “I can walk myself out.”“Yeah,” you say, trying to keep the forlornness out of your voice as you stare up at him. “Thanks.”Stan turns to leave.“Do you ever catch the late night Cash Wheel reruns?” you blurt out, your hand outstretched as if to grab Stan’s shirt. Stan turns to look at you before you do. You clench your fingers and lower your arm, embarrassed, still staring at his handsome face. “Um, it’s just… You’ve been overseas the whole year, right? They had a lot of good episodes last winter after implementing the ‘cash avalanche.’ It’s kind of intense, and I, uh… Sorry, actually, do you even watch that show?”“Watch it? Baby, you’re lookin’ at an almost record breaker for a landslide win,” Stan brags, placing his hands on his hips. He’s grinning at you, at the prospect of spending more time with you. Giddiness bubbles in your chest and your cheeks flush hot at his winning smile, and you can’t help but laugh when he tosses his clothes to the floor, the shirt landing directly on its collar. “I can stay for an episode or two. Besides,” he points at you, playful, “you owe me a cheap beer.”Stan doesn’t make it through the first five minutes. He’s slumped against your side on your old, beaten couch, his can of beer still sealed in his hand and dripping condensation into his lap. You carefully take it from his palm and set it next to yours on the coffee table before sighing, leaning back against the cushions and letting the faint chatter of Cash Wheel contestants fill your living room. Stan’s snores are loud enough that you can’t even hear the show, but you don’t mind. You’ve already seen this episode.Stan shifts in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible as he moves his hand to your thigh. His palm is warm. You won’t be surprised if he’s up and gone by the early morning, but you’ll take what you can get tonight—you’ve already taken more than enough. You slowly tilt your head against Stan’s, mentally counting along to his deep inhales, his rumbling, open-mouthed snores. You let your eyelids grow heavy. You let the quiet, omnipotent inevitability of sleep drape over you.Hours later, you slowly wake up in your bed, a blanket pulled up to your chin. From your kitchen, a cupboard faintly closes. A low, gruff voice mutters an absentminded melody about flipping pancakes. The smell of breakfast creeps into your room like syrup, smooth and rich and pleasant, and you inhale, enjoying the scent, basking in the moment. It's the first time you’ve ever had a smile on your face before you’re even fully awake.It’s not forever. But it’s good. You feel good.