summary: Steven needs sleep, no matter how much he resents it. You're prepared to give him a push in the right direction.
tags: explicit (18+ MDNI), smut, blowjobs, unprotected sex, sub!steven, gender neutral reader, re: fucking steven grant so good he has no choice but to get some damn sleep
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Steven is a bit of a mystery to you. Not that you think he means to be; you think he's kind of a mystery to himself as well, as much as he wants to pretend that he has everything under control.
You don't know a lot about him, but you know he needs sleep, needs rest, and you know that the tea he had at the pub isn't going to help with that. You think you've found the only guy on earth who will ask you to go for a drink when he doesn't drink, himself. He also seemed genuinely shocked when you came to collect him at the end of the day, telling him you were ready for your date. You're assuming his forgetfulness is due to sleep deprivation, and judging by the bags under his eyes, he is severely deprived.
"I have sleeping problems. Bit of a disorder, really. I sleepwalk."
So that explained the ankle restraints and the bar of sand around his bed, giving his flat a beach house vibe in the middle of inner city London. "Is that why you look perpetually exhausted?"
"Yeah... maybe, I dunno. I don't sleep a lot if I can help it."
"I can help it."
His hands are in your hair, tight and getting tighter with a strength you didn't imagine he had. He's heavy on your tongue and fills your mouth beyond excess. And he's so damn sensitive that you deduce it's been some time since anyone has gone down on him; your fingers dig into corded muscle beside your head, pressing his twitching thigh down onto his mattress as gently as you can. The sweetest, quiet whimpers and moans leave his mouth and meet your ears.
Steven's breath stutters loudly once, something wheezing in the back of his throat as his heel drags dully along the mattress beside your hip. "Oh my god... oh... oh god." He comes up with a number of garbled expletives that don't make a lick of sense, but they get his point across all the same.
