Chapter Text
The flat was warm. Dim and soft; cosy with the glow of the TV and yellow lamps and the sliver of ice bright light slipping through the gap in the curtained shut windows and bouncing off the mirror by the door. The night was softened with the pleasant blanket of ease and comfort.
Steven wasn’t watching the TV. He was watching Layla, sat on the floor beside him, resting her back against the sofa cushions and picking at plump red grapes from the tub at her feet. Layla was so pretty. Gorgeous. With her hair left down and springy and her smile and the glint of television reflection in her eyes. He stared and stared and stared as she burst a grape with her teeth and swiped juice from the corner of her mouth, eyes on the screen.
You should kiss her.
Breath caught abruptly in his lungs. Steven’s eyes widened as he flushed deeply at Marc’s voice. He looked toward the nearest mirror, resting on the table before him and now almost eyes level with him on the floor. Marc gazed steadily back. Steven swallowed. It wasn’t the same line of soft relaxation across Marc’s shoulders as Steven’s, but there was an unhurried ease to his reflection and the arm propped over his knee. His words had been simple. His eyes were intense, as always, but also…encouraging. Steven just looked at him and Layla laughed at something onscreen, a gentle giggle.
Marc raised his brows; tilted his head in Layla’s direction, and at that Steven flushed even more, shaking his head and dropping his eyes to his lap. Layla noticed. Turned her bright eyes to him, the smile still on her lips as she popped another grape in her mouth and tilted her head. “What?”
Steven avoided her gaze. “It’s nothin innit,” he said with a strangled laughing huff, “don’t worry about it.”
Layla regarded him more, tilted her head further; put her fingers to her mouth and Steven’s eyes followed them to her lips and Marc’s voice in his head said Go on. We both know you want to.
The side eye Steven gave him was hesitant, agonised. Because what was he meant to do. He wanted to, obviously enough that Marc had noticed and Steven was rife with embarrassment at being found out, at Marc’s suggestion, because – there was no way he was serious, surely. But Marc was being surprisingly patient in the mirror, watching. Waiting.
Layla shifted. Steven’s eyes snapped to her as she did, as she wriggled round to face him, cross-legged knees brushing against the sofa, hair moved with one capable hand to fall over one shoulder. Another grape. And because she was just that little bit closer, Steven’s heart pounded as he played with the nap in the rug, toying it back and forth as Layla spoke.
“What’s up?”
The TV was still playing, light on their faces. Steven’s eyes were on the rug.
Layla’s hand reached into his field of vision and drew a little smiley face in the carpet by brushing back the strands against the grain. He huffed a little laugh and when he looked up it was to find she’d tilted her head to rest against the sofa cushions and whatever was onscreen was brushing her cheekbone in shimmering gold. Steven wanted to kiss her and so he did.
A quick, soft, but utterly reverent peck of their mouths. Steven screwed his eyes shut. He sat back quickly and took in the surprise on Layla’s face. “Sorry,” his nose scrunched and he scrubbed away the nonsensical carpet patterns, “you just look so lovely.”
It was awkward and sincere the way all things that came out of Steven’s mouth were and it was true. He drew his hands to his knees and then-
Then Layla was kissing him again. Properly this time. And it was different from the hurried press of them in the desert. This time, this time. They had time.
She directed it. Put her delicate hands on his face; leaned him a little and he went without question. His eyes slipped closed as they brushed lips. It was soft and gentle and felt like a gift.
Steven knew he was beaming rather dopily when she pulled back, with that quick smile dancing in her eyes, but he didn’t care. That was wonderful. Layla still had her hands on his face.
“There. Marc’s not allowed to be jealous,” Layla said, soft and fond and teasing.
Steven had half a second to deliberate his answer. In his peripheries he could see Marc watching them in the mirror, temporarily forgotten and not seeming to mind. Steven looked at Layla. Licked his lips, a quick dart of tongue.
“Actually….it was his idea.”
She continued to cradle his face but raised her eyebrows as Marc switched in.
He reached up to take her hands from his face. It was silent. He watched her the whole time, in case she said no. In case she wanted to pull away. She didn’t. He turned one of her palms up in his and pressed a kiss to it.
They looked at each other. Canned studio laughter burst from the television.
“Do I get a kiss from you, too?”
Marc held Layla’s gaze. “If you want one.”
This kiss was a lot less delicate. This was both of them familiar and comfortable. Marc knew how to kiss her. Big hands on her waist as one of hers brushed up through the back of his neck and tangled in his hair.
She shuffled closer. Up on her knees so he had to tilt his face up a little, and then a slow shuffle forward so she sat in his lap, his hands drifting down to rub over the jeans on her thighs, her hips.
It was still slow. A perfect unbreakable hush and TV chatter.
When they broke apart, Marc caught Steven in the mirror.
It was his expression that sparked everything. Rapt, but soft and pleased for them, and tinged with such open yearning for something he had never had. For an unguarded moment he didn’t realise he was being watched by Marc. Then he did, and the look was gone and replaced with sheepish embarrassment, a rueful twist to his features and his downcast eyes. In lieu of Marc’s thumbs, idly smoothing across the crease of Layla’s thigh and hip, he rubbed his hands self-consciously down his own thighs.
Sorry, yeah, bit weird me being here innit? It was a sad little huff; a sad little huff poorly meant to be disguised as a cheery little huff, and he was avoiding both of their eyes now, looking about his surroundings in the mirror like they’d resolve themselves into something other than his familiar flat. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. I’ll piss off, um.
“Steven.”
Marc used a gentler version of his usual tone. Layla, waiting since she saw Marc look toward the mirror, was not surprised to hear Steven’s name.
Marc had never been good at…talking, and he chewed over words in the pause, unsure what it was he even wanted to say. He’d not thought that far. It was just that he’d seen, and to some degree felt, all of Steven’s feelings for Layla, his simple desire to kiss her, earlier, and he’d understood because - well because he felt the same, about her.
And Steven now? It felt. It felt almost unfair to see Steven so despondent, like he was watching something he could never have, because he -
He could. He could have it. Layla loved him too – not with the same history she loved Marc, but she did.
Marc wasn’t going to be able to express any of that eloquently, so he tried to stop overthinking and just go with it. He looked away from Steven, at Layla. “Would you mind if Steven took control?”
Layla nodded and moved to slide off his lap but –
But Marc stopped her. Just a miniscule tightening of his hands on her legs. And he looked at her, nervous and ignoring it. And she looked at him, surprised but – yes, he was right, with desire. She shuffled back closer the half inch she’d moved away, looping her arms around the back of Marc’s neck. Her eyes were very dark.
Without looking Marc found the remote and muted the TV.
Steven was almost whispering, confused. What am I –
He was suddenly in the body. He was in the body and Layla was sitting on his lap. An undignified noise escaped him at the shock of it, and he went rigid, springing his hands away to hover just over her skin instead of letting her warmth seep through him.
“Hi Steven,” she said.
His eyes were on the settee to his left. “Hello,” he piped, nervous and wavering.
“Steven,”
“Yep yeah that’s me.” The side of the sofa was very interesting.
“You’re allowed to look at me Steven.”
He did. Fond amusement graced Layla’s face. She took a hand from the back of his neck and reached down to one of his, hovering, and covered it, pulling it in to rest, fluttering, high on her thigh. “You’re allowed to touch me.”
Steven’s heart was hammering, and he couldn’t help but check with Marc, a glance, whose heart was also racing even as he rolled his eyes and said I let you have the body for a reason.
“Really?” Steven said, not entirely sure to whom, voice high and pitchy, and Layla laughed, and kissed him again.
It was -
Steven had never had a lapful of someone before and it was wonderful. There was hair all in his face and her perfume a cloud around him and the weight of her leaning against him all but took the air from his lungs.
His hands skimmed up over her clothes, feeling the warm body beneath, and when his face, drifting, ended up by her neck? It was natural to put his lips to it.
She gasped; tightened the hand in his hair. He made a choking whining noise he thought might outright kill him with the force of his embarrassment, and then, abruptly, Marc followed it up with a low growl and Steven was not in the driver’s seat anymore, not as Marc managed to make rising from the floor with Layla clinging to his waist look capable and swift and sure instead of the ungainly clamber it would’ve been if Steven had attempted it, and with sure footsteps made his way over to the be-
Holy shit holy fuck holy flipping heck to the bed. Marc was taking them to the bed Marc was leaning over – lips still locked with Layla – and letting her drop to the mattress and bounce just a little as he crawled over her, her legs wrapping around his waist as her hands ran down his chest and –
Steven was back. It jolted the moment out of sync; he and Layla clumsily knocked noses, but she just giggled breathlessly, eyes dark pools.
Steven found the mirror by the bed, the overwhelming instinct just to check... “You meant to give the body back to me right?”
Marc rubbed a hand over his face. I swear to God Steven if you keep asking it’s gonna be a long night.
“You alright Stevie?”
Layla. Wildly, beneath him. Lying with her hair all asunder in a beautiful halo, some strands slipping through his fingers. “Bloody brilliant,” he said truthfully, still a bit stunned that this was happening fucking nora.
Fingers reached the hem of his shirt; Layla paused, and out of some kind of learned consideration from the two of them glanced over her head at the mirror. “And Marc?”
For a moment Marc simply looked at her intently. Looked and looked and looked. Then, gruffly: Good.
So Steven relayed it. He was still holding himself very still above her and his arms were starting to ache. “He says ‘good.’”
“That’s a very Marc answer.” She followed with another fond look at the mirror she could only see herself and Steven in.
Her fingers roamed higher, curling the fabric of his shirt as she rucked it up. “Can I take this off?”
Reduced to numb, wide eyed nodding, Steven sat back on his heels to help her, to give her room, and she followed him up into a sitting position, grasping and pulling his shirt up and over his bowed head and arms, tugging when it got a teensy bit stuck, then throwing it flamboyantly….somewhere in the room.
He breathed raggedly and she thumbed his clavicle. “No need to look so frightened, I promise.”
“I’ve never done this before,” he blurted, and heard only the rushing of blood in his ears for a moment.
We know buddy, said Marc, gently, as Layla said “That’s alright.” She removed her hand from his skin. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
A flash of panic as Steven desperately tripped over himself trying to intimate that he definitely wanted to so intense that Marc took over, and put them back where they'd been on the bed, her sprawled beneath him as he leaned just slightly over one side, one large hand moving down over her ribcage then up underneath her vest to trail over her skin and make her shiver. “Oh we definitely want to,” he said, low and dark as he nuzzled down her newly exposed belly with his teeth.
Layla flipped them, so Steven’s head hit the pillow and she sat over his hips as he nodded in breathless agreement. “Yep definitely want to yeah.”
She grinned. Muttered a quiet okay. Then sat up to strip off her top and shuck her bra, gooseflesh rippling across her skin in the cool air, dusky nipples pebbling, pinked and inviting.
So very fucking inviting. So that when she came back down - for a kiss, she was going to ease Steven in slowly – he moved past her and put his mouth to her breasts, lips hot and soft on her sensitive skin, clearly inexperienced but very enthusiastic, and she gasped and put her hand to the curls of his head and said, almost without thinking, “oh, that’s so good sweetheart.”
It was the sweetheart. The moment she said it. A strangled moan from Steven’s lips around her nipple, and beneath her his legs scrambled with a susurration on the sheets.
Her breath hitched in surprise. She blinked just a bit distractedly because Steven was still suckling at her, but calculating.
Similarly wide eyed, Marc watched Layla process, murmuring So that’s a thing huh.
Layla looked down “You like that?” Her hand stroked gently over the top of his hair. “Sweetheart?” she tested again, and sure enough the shudder beneath her was visceral, the way he broke from her nipple to bury his face between her tits, mashing his nose to her breastbone. His hips had bucked violently, and she was breathless at the discovery, at what a few sweet names could do to Steven.
“Sorry,” he mumbled hoarsely into her skin, aroused and ashamed, and Layla disentangled him to see a worrying sheen of wetness in his eyes. He was upset.
“Hey - ” she took one of the hands that had been clinging to her side “Stevie what’s -”
She had to strain to hear his mumbled answer. “Not very attractive to have me squeaking like that.”
An ache in her chest, that Stevie thought he wasn’t attractive, so she pressed her lips together and thought for a moment.
Steven’s eyes darted to her as she sat up just enough that she didn’t need to brace herself with her free hand on the mattress, still holding Steven’s in the other, and flicked open the button on her jeans. Pulled down her zipper. Steven was wide eyed and utterly enraptured.
Then, she waited until she held Steven’s gaze. And she gently tugged his hand in hers down, down, as his breathing hitched, and pressed his trembling fingers against her damp underwear.
Baby, Marc said, awed, and Steven knew it was for Layla but he just – Marc’s voice was low and smooth and gravelly and he was saying pet names in his ear. So Steven’s eyes slipped closed and he shuddered and his head tilted almost unconsciously in the direction of the mirror.
Layla watched, thoughts racing. She opened her mouth, closed it. Licked her lips. Opened her mouth again as she decided. “What did he say?” she half whispered, half crooned as she gently took Steven’s hand from her jeans, “what did Marc say Steven?”
When he opened his eyes, Steven looked mortified, but also like he couldn’t look away from Layla’s face. It took him a couple of tries to get it out.
“B - baby,” he said finally.
Layla grinned. “He likes that one.”
She swooped down to kiss Steven’s jaw line before he could react and sprung off him, standing at the side of the bed. And for a moment she felt bad about it because he looked so wrecked already, lying there limp and messy haired and watchful, but she wanted to make sure Steven had the best first time imaginable. She thought Marc might do too. So she shimmied out of her jeans with more swaying of her hips than usual, giving him a show, trailing her hands back up her slim thighs once she’d stepped out of them. She brushed her thumb over the waistband of her panties before she let them drop to her ankles and saw Steven gulp.
She took pity, was spurred by her own impatience, and came back to him. As if reminded into movement he made as if to get out of his own jeans, like an unimportant afterthought, but she kindly stopped him with a hand stilling his and a shake of her head. “No,” she said simply, and leaned down to kiss and suck and lip at hipbones, “let me,” she whispered, and warm breath ghosted over his skin, bringing it up in goosebumps.
By the time she’d pulled them all the way off, Steven was shivering so hard Layla could feel it travel up through her palms, and covering his face with both hands.
He was also very hard, and very wet. Dry mouthed she took in the straining grey fabric of his boxers pulled taut over the bulge there and stained with an ever spreading glistening patch, darkening the cloth to charcoal. She’d not even touched him.
“Are you alright Steven?” She smoothed a hand over his ankle. Steven made an indecipherable noise and she stopped the touch for a second.
Gonna - Steven jumped at Marc’s voice. In the mirror, his usual severe veneer seemed strained at the edges, eyes lust blown and jaw set. He cleared his throat. Gonna have to use words.
“I can use words Marc,” Steven said, half to himself and disorientated. Layla smiled and continued rubbing at his leg, fingers brushing over coarse strands of hair.
“Steven?”
He looked down at her. “You’re so beautiful.”
Layla grinned wider, bashful, but Marc huffed Not the kinda words she’s after, so Steven said ‘Yes’ Steven said ‘Please,’ like it had slipped out without him thinking, and Layla couldn’t help but squirm, rubbing her thighs together at the sight and the delectable sound of the way Steven said Please spreading low in her gut.
He reached for her like he couldn’t bear how far away she was, resting down by his feet, and she indulged him, leaning up over him on one hand as he very enthusiastically kissed her. His hands skimmed over her biceps and shoulders; up her neck as she arched it and then calloused hands were replaced by his lips. Steven moved a hand – it shook slightly – down her ribs, gaining confidence as it went. Steven was so fucking charming in his absolute sincere want. His desire to please her. Her attempts to reach down and peel away his underwear were derailed, again and again, by the distracting and earnest feel of Steven nuzzling at her, at her tits, and asking if she was okay, and apologising when he accidentally got her hair tangled in his fist.
When she finally did make it, she cupped him firmly and felt the warm wetness of him as he broke away from her and swore quiet litanies of bloody hell bloody HELL.
She moved down, curling both hands in his waistband and tugging; murmuring for him to ‘lift your hips for me, angel’ and watching breathless at the boneless way he complied, wrecked noises beginning in his throat and stoppered by the hand he’d jammed between his teeth; the delicate juncture between forefinger and thumb turning red.
Then Layla was there between his legs, his thighs trembling by her head, his cock hard and glistening before her. She called him Baby called him Honey called him Lovely, Darling, Sweet pea, and watched it jump and leak; felt the flex of his muscles beneath her hands on the softness of his inner thighs. Heard his high keens and choked off cries as he writhed and tried to hide his face and thought that she could get him off from just this, from just sweet words dusted over his skin.
She softly took one of his balls into her mouth, hot wet heat, and his cry of “Layla!” sounded so close to a real one of upset, his hips bucking closer to her mouth, that after a couple rolls of the skin she moved off him and simply kissed high up on his leg.
“I know, I know baby.”
He was dripping obscenely onto his stomach, viscous strands leaking from his tip to his belly and pooling there, his cock flushed so dark Layla could feel the phantom ache of it throbbing between her own thighs, and one delicate hand of hers snaked down to brush through her slick and push just inside. She needed to stay focussed, for Stevie, but fuck was he making that difficult. Her breath shuddered out of her as she rocked her hips on the fingers pressing into her. She didn’t put them all the way inside. It was not about her, not at that moment, but she just needed to take the edge off.
She moved up; mouthed lightly at the base of Steven’s prick and heard the ragged sound he made, the desperate wriggle of his hips she was keeping restrained with only one hand now. She tried to make sure not to press too hard. Marc liked a few bruises and as much as it was tempting to mark Steven just a little - not enough to truly hurt, she didn’t want to hurt hurt him – she was trying to be gentle. And Steven seemed fragile enough already.
Layla was aware that Steven was unlikely to last long. So she placed brief kisses and tiny kitten licks up his cock, until she got to its wet head. The hand inside her slipped out to steady the base of it and this time she did squeeze, just enough to try and calm him down, because she knew what she was going to do next and that Steven was going to need an extra little bit of help not coming.
She flicked her tongue over the slit and Steven let out a cry like he was dying. She shuddered, squeezed her eyes closed and her legs together, rocking back against nothing as Steven bucked up furiously, again and again, his bobbing prick meeting only air and occasionally, bumping against her chin; her lips.
Look at her.
Steven tried cracking his eyes open at Marc’s voice, so low gruff and wrecked he was surprised he could still form words with it at all. There were tears in Steven’s eyes and dripping down his face to the pillow beneath him and he had never felt so good in his entire life. Every inch of his skin hypersensitive and the pleasure between his legs so much sharper, so much better than whenever he’d touched himself before.
Look at her, Steven, Marc commanded again, and trying to catch his breath and blink enough tears from his eyes to stop his vision from blurring, Steven saw Marc in the mirror. Hungry. A hand between his legs and squeezing at his dick. Dark eyes intense and set on the sight of Layla between Steven’s legs. She lightly brushed her thumb against Steven’s cock whilst she gave him a minute, watching intently, and - rocking, back and forth.
Steven inhaled sharply and bit his lips as in his ear Marc groaned.
Layla watched Steven’s stomach flex and chest expand, and he breathed with that almost hint of a lisp, wanting, fingers twitching for her, “Layla.”
She did nothing but smile at him, and put her lips to his knee, beside her head, and watch the way he was watching the signs of her arousal, his gaze dropping down her front, between her swinging breasts, nipples tight and peaked and if she had enough hands she’d pinch them, twisting, or put them back in Steven’s mouth.
“You’re making me feel so good baby,” she said, truthfully, and Steven whined, the leg she wasn’t holding down climbing up to rest on her shoulder. She leaned down and suckled the head of his cock into her mouth, lapping at the welling drops of stickiness pouring out against her tongue.
Above her, Steven begged.
“Oh Layla please, oh my days, I can’t – ah! - please Layla, shit I – stop, stop!”
She pulled off instantly, his hands scrabbling at her hair and shoulders, and saw equally as instantly why she’d had to, taking in the way his head arched back, damp face screwed up and teeth gritted. The desperate wriggling and ducking back and bucking up of his hips. With a moan her hand dove between her legs again and this time she put those fingers all the way inside with a whimper, finding herself aching, dripping. Her clit throbbed but she couldn’t let go of Steven. She had the sense she was anchoring him.
“You gonna come?” It was a rasp. She didn’t add a pet name because she had the feeling it really well might tip him over the edge and he looked like he was trying so hard not to.
Deep breaths, said Marc, and Steven struggled to obey, you’re doing so well.
Flushing hot, Steven whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, hand shooting down to hold himself as he panted through gritted teeth and tried to calm down.
Marc’s voice. Wonder and gravel. Shit sorry – and he was so startled that the sorry came out easy as breathing - I forgot.
Steven, whining and panting, tried to get his vocal cords under control. “Stop. Talking.” And then, almost a little sob. “I just- I just need a minute.”
Marc’s voice was distracted as he rambled. Yeah - yeah sure we can -
“Shut up, Marc!”
Laughing at Steven’s hiss, Layla sat up from between Steven’s legs, letting go of him so that he could have that minute. Still touching herself, slowly.
Steven took some deep breaths; gingerly released his prick, as if unsure whether he’d blow his load immediately without the death grip on it, and just lay there, blinking and breathing.
Layla crawled up the bed beside him. “Sorry Stevie.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
“S’right,” Steven slurred, and then turned his head to look at Layla, and give her a kiss. She forgot Steven could be quite bold.
They rolled onto their sides, facing each other, kissing, a hot slide of mouths and hot brush of skin rising in waves of goosebumps, and then Marc’s voice, instructing Steven:
Put your hand on her hip and drag her closer.
Steven glanced up at him over Layla’s shoulder. Marc was still watching them, rapt. They caught eyes, Steven flustered, chest heaving; Marc breathing just as heavily but far more controlled. You won’t look silly, he said even though Steven said nothing, she’ll go crazy for it, trust me.
And Steven did, trust him. Followed orders without question. Warm hand on the supple curve of Layla’s buttocks and the ridge of her hip and tugged. She yelped in a very pleased sounding way and then they were pressed together, her leg sliding over Steven’s as they gazed at each other, equally wide eyed and surprised for a moment.
Told ya.
Layla was flushed. “This isn’t fair,” she said, but she didn’t mean it. It was breathy and intimate and her pupils were large and fathomless. She slid a hand down to the one Steven had dragged her closer with, pressed it further into her flesh until he got the hint and gripped. “Marc’s telling you all my secrets.” The hand slid, languid, up his arm and then detoured, his breath hitching when, still keeping eye contact, it slid between his legs. “I have to learn yours,” she whispered, and closed a hand around him, smearing her thumb over his dripping head, fingers slippery as she twisted and tugged and moved in tandem with the involuntary roll of Steven’s hips; he pressed toward her and she, still watching his face, rapt, rolled toward him as she stroked. And it was not the way Marc liked it, hard and fast and, if he was in the mood for it, almost brutal. This was easing up on the tight circle of her fingers every now and then so Steven’s cries of pleasure didn’t become outright sobs.
That’s it, Marc said in the mirror, there you go.
Steven clung to her so tight. His eyes had screwed themselves closed and she thought he might bite his lips to bleeding in a futile attempt to stifle his sounds, loud and honest. Her chest expanded and contracted and she gave him a little squeeze and he choked out ‘Layla’ like she was a deity.
She barely thought about it. When she watched beads of sweat slip down his face and reached up with her free hand, awkward in the scant space between them, and wound it deep into his curls. They slipped through her fingers and she tightened her grip just enough to get a hold.
She looked at him, at the now frantic way he canted to get closer, and she placed a kiss on his open mouth, stealing his panting breaths. She tugged just a little on his hair.
“Good boy.”
A gasp like she’d punched him. An almost wounded strangled whimper and he came all over her fingers, shuddering, curling into himself, into Layla as she ducked her head to watch, clenching the knee still thrown over Steven’s leg and whimpering with the unsatisfied pulse at the apex of her slick thighs. She whispered good boy again and his groan choked off into a gasp against her cheek.
She stroked him and watched for the tiny uncomfortable scrunch of his nose and then released him, gently unwound her fingers from his hair. Her heart pounded as she watched him heave breaths, eyes still closed but relaxed now, tension sapped from him so he lay, boneless, entwined with her.
His eyes flickered open, hazy and unfocussed, and she had to stifle a small, sweet, self-indulgent smile at the way he blinked himself back down to earth. He had hair in his eyes, catching in his lashes.
Steven was. God. Wow. Dazedly he saw Layla bite her lip instead of outright giggling and realised he’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? He looked at her laying so close and he couldn’t help it; it slipped out; he meant it. He said “thank you” and thought, stupidly, he might cry.
Oh for the love of – don’t thank her Steven! Marc had a hand spanning from temple to temple, but it was shaking with aftershock and his exasperation had no weight. There was even a smile in it.
Layla didn’t mind the thank you. It was Steven. Of course he said thank you. It was sweet. “You’re welcome, treasure.”
Fucking hell Layla, Marc huffed, and barely had time to roll his eyes good naturedly before he saw Steven’s reaction, the heat in his cheeks and tremor to his body as he hid his head in his hands and was huffing again. You can’t be serious Steven!
“Stop it Layla.” Steven’s voice was small. "It's embarrassing."
She let him hide his face. Removed her slightly stiff leg from over his, shivering with a hint of cold. “No. I like it – I like watching you like it.”
It didn’t help his blush, but he moved his hands down so she could see his eyes. She put a kiss to his knuckles and started disentangling herself, moving from the bed. He reached out for her, almost alarmed, so she stopped with one knee digging into the mattress, hair falling in her face. “I’m just going to get something to clean you up, Stevie. I’ll be right back,” she promised.
Wide eyes and fingers in a loose circle around her wrist. “But what about…”
There, then. His eyes darted down between her legs and he flushed and gulped. And then made a decision to be bold. Looked back up at her, full in the face. It made her breath catch. “You.”
Her blood danced beneath her skin. The TV, silent, was still running. Game show hosts shuffled their cards and buzzers lit up without sound, without an audience. Playing to an empty theatre. “’S okay, we don’t have to -”
“I want to, Layla.”
It was a bit shaky but very sincere.
She looked at him. Wet her lips.
Layla leaned back in, her weight dipping the mattress. Gently she removed his hand from her wrist and put it to the bed, threading their fingers together. “I’m going to get something to clean you up,” she looked deep into Steven’s liquid eyes, “and then I’ll be right back,” she promised again, with husky fervour and tracing the bobbing line of his Adams’ apple with her eyes as he swallowed, “and you can do anything you want to me.”