Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was ridiculously hot outside, almost 110°. Sweat dripped down the side of your face, despite the A/C blowing from your car vents. You cranked it up higher, daring to speed up a little, not wanting to push the speed limit too far. The thought of being inside a cool house almost made a ticket worth it.

Before you got halfway down the block, you could hear faint music. You turned your radio down, straining to hear the sound. It was heavy and loud, and the closer you got to your destination, the clearer it became. You could hear deep, guttural singing as you pulled into the driveway, the garage door open, the culprits revealed. It was your friend's dad and his usual bunch of friends, slamming away at their instruments, headbanging and shouting joyfully.

You sat in your car, watching them for a moment. Clarissa's dad, James, didn't seem to notice you'd arrived. He was lost in the moment, his fingers dancing along the neck of his guitar. When he swung his head around, you could see the sweat flying off his hair. His face was red, flushed, and even from your spot in the car you could tell he was out of breath.

After a while, his gaze flickered to you, and his movements halted. He let go of his guitar, letting it hang from the strap around his neck, as he raised his arm in a cheerful wave. He was grinning, waving you towards him. You felt embarrassed for a split second, like you'd been caught watching something you shouldn't have.

You turned your car off, getting out and shutting the door behind you. James called your name, still waving you to him. You couldn't help but smile, and began making your way to the garage.

By now, his friends had stopped performing, all taking breaks to chug from their bottles and wipe sweat from their faces. James pulled his guitar over his head, setting it to the side and moving to the side, allowing you room to stand in the packed garage.

"Hey," he greeted you, resting his hands on his hips, out of breath, "Clarissa is inside."

You nodded, looking around the garage, giving small waves to the other men. "You guys are starting to sound really, really good," you told them, turning to face James solely.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling around the corners, "Yeah? I think so too," he agreed, turning to grab a bottle sitting on a shelf behind him.

He pushed his hair out of his face, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. He tilted his head back, and took a swig from the bottle. He sighed, lowering the bottle and turning it in his hands, appraising it. He hadn't expected it to be empty.

"Would you mind running in and grabbing me another one of these?" he asked you, sheepishly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

You quirked a brow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, "Can I have one?" you asked, only half kidding.

He laughed, stepping around you to discard the empty bottle in the trash.

"How old are you again?" he asked playfully, moving to pick up his guitar.

You smiled ruefully, taking a small step towards the door leading to the inside of the house.

"Nineteen. Don't act like you don't know."

He hummed, taking a seat on a worn stool, his guitar resting in his lap. "Fine," he answered, flexing his fingers. "But you've gotta stay here. I don't want you driving."

You rolled your eyes playfully, walking to the door. "Okay, dad," you said sarcastically, opening it, "Whatever you say."

You made your way inside, walking through the familiar home to the kitchen. You opened the fridge, grabbing five or so bottles, and nudged it shut with your hip. You carried them back out to the garage, opening the door with your foot and stepping back out into the dreaded heat.

James was strumming his guitar, playing a quiet, slow tune you didn't recognize. You made your way around the garage, setting bottles down next to all of his bandmates, making your way to him last. You held the bottle out to him, an accomplished smile on your face.

He hummed in approval, taking the beer from you, and twisting the cap off. You watched him take a long swig before setting the bottle down in the ground beside him. You chewed on your lip, not quite wanting to go inside yet.

It was stupid, you knew it, trying to find reasons to stick around James like this. You knew your little schoolgirl crush wouldn't go anywhere, he was more than twice your age, not to mention being your childhood best friend's father. But having a harmless crush that no one knew about wouldn't hurt anybody, would it?

"James," you asked, an involuntary sweetness seeping into your voice. "Can you open this?"

You held your own bottle out in front of him expectantly, giving him a shy smile. He looked up at you, giving you a sweet smile in return, before reaching up to help you. He didn't take the bottle from you, instead opting to put his hand over yours, holding the bottle steady, and using his other hand to twist the cap off.

You couldn't help but blush, calloused hands gently gripping the back of yours, and you shyly pulled your hand away.

"T- Thanks," you mumbled, pulling your arm back, keeping your beer close to your chest.

He smiled, nodding, and turned his attention back to his guitar. "No problem," he responded, already back to strumming out notes. "You better go inside, 'Ris has been bugging me about when you'd show up all day."

You laughed slightly, turning to walk back inside. You gave everyone a small wave, making your way into the house once more. You sipped on your beer as you turned down a hall, looking for Clarissa. You eventually came to her door, leaving a soft knock on the wood before entering.

She looked up at you in surprise, a mass of red-brown curls flying around her head. You couldn't help but laugh, her shocked expression was too funny not to. She rolled her eyes, picking up a pen and throwing it at you.

"Fuck off!" She exclaimed, unable to hide her growing grin.

You grinned back, walking into the room and shutting the door behind you. "Aw, you love me!" you teased, making your way to her bed and taking a seat beside her.

"You swipe a beer from the fridge?" she asked incredulously, pushing her sketchbook and pencils to the edge of the bed.

You shook your head, lying back, "No, your dad let me have it," you answered.

You took a long drink from it, having briefly forgotten about it until now. Clarissa nodded, moving to stand.

"Well, if you got one, I'm getting one too!"

-

It was dark by now, and everyone had left. It was just you and Clarissa, sitting in the living room. The lights were off, the only light source was the TV in front of you. A bowl of popcorn sat between the two of you, your eyes glued to the screen. Down the hall, you could faintly hear the sound of a shower running. You assumed it was her dad, probably cleaning up after practicing all day.

Every time someone on screen screamed, Clarissa jumped, grabbing your arm instinctively. You sat close to her, trying to comfort her. She didn't need to know you were grimacing and looking away anytime something too scary happened.

Once you were about halfway through the movie, the popcorn was practically gone, and Clarissa was yawning. You were poking fun at her for being tired, trying to get her to stay up and finish the movie with you. She was rolling her eyes, insistent that she wasn't tired, that she could make it.

Without warning, a pair of large hands clamped down on your shoulders, shaking you from behind. A loud, guttural scream sounded by your ear, and you shrieked, lurching forward. Clarrisa was screaming, clutching onto you desperately, and you spun around, prepared to defend yourself from whatever monster was behind you. You were instead met with James, his hair wet from the shower, doubling over with laughter.

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you turned your back to him quickly, hiding your face from him. Clarissa was groaning, rolling her arms, falling back into her seat. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Screw off, dad," she grumbled, wiping the now spilled popcorn off the couch and onto the floor.

James was still laughing, making his way around the couch to sit down beside you. "Cmon," he said between laughs, putting his hand on your shoulder reassuringly. "Don't be like that, guys, I was just kidding."

You grumbled incomprehensibly, pulling your knees to your chest and burying your face from him. God, you felt like an idiot. James sighed, leaning back against the couch.

"If I make more popcorn, will you forgive me?"

Well, you couldn't say no to that, could you?

-

The movie was long finished, and Clarissa had fallen asleep before it had even ended, just like you had expected. She bid you an apologetic goodnight and retired to her room for the night, offering you the couch. Unfortunately, you had things to do at home waiting for you, and you'd already stayed at her place longer than you meant to.

Despite making it clear that you were okay to drive, from walking in a straight line to reciting your ABCs backward, James was still insistent that he should drive you home. You begrudgingly agreed after about a half-hour of arguing, and you now found yourself in the passenger seat of his car, driving through your neighborhood.

Soft music played through the radio, the car dark and warm. The streets were familiar, and you knew you were close to home. The ride had been mostly silent, and you kept fighting off the urge to fill the silence with pointless ramblings.

"I'm sorry if I freaked you out too bad earlier, I really was just playing around," James spoke before you could, shooting you an apologetic look.

You smiled, looking down at your lap, your hands resting on your thighs. "No, no, it's okay, it was funny once I got over it," you reassured him, glancing out the window.

He nodded, reaching up to flip through channels, eventually settling on a classic rock station. You hummed in approval, nodding your head to the beat. By now you were practically to your house, the porch light shining in the distance.

He slowed, pulling into your driveway, and parked the car. You unbuckled your seatbelt, turning to face him. "Thanks for the ride," you were speaking quietly, suddenly shy. "I can come get my car tomorrow."

James nodded, giving you a small smile. "Yeah, no problem," he responded, turning the radio down.

You didn't want to get out of the car yet, just like how you hadn't wanted to leave the garage earlier. Your stomach was filled with butterflies, you were trying so hard not to stare at him.

He had cut his hair, and it was shorter than it used to be. It was almost a mullet, long in some places and short in others. He'd been growing his facial hair out too, his typical goatee forming into a patchy beard. His lips looked soft, and you found yourself dragging your fingertips across your lower lip, imagining what it'd be like to kiss him.

He was watching you expectantly, probably waiting for you to leave, and you quickly dropped your hand from your mouth. "Sorry…" you mumbled out, trying to hide your face.

God, why do you always have to embarrass yourself like this around him?

He hummed, reaching over and gently grabbing your wrist, his large hand engulfing yours. You let out a soft, surprised gasp, you skin tingling where he touched you. "No, it's okay, you're okay," he spoke quickly, reassuring you.

You were blushing at this point, your eyes locked on his hand, which was still holding your wrist.

Tempting fate, you shifted your hand, pressing your palm against his. You fully expected him to pull away, tell you it was too far, but instead he held your hand. You shuddered, his thumb running across the back of your hand.

"You…" he was speaking slowly now, so quiet you could barely hear him. "You don't… have to be shy…. around me."

This was a dream, it had to be. You were trembling now, and his grip on your hand tightened.

"You're shaking," he murmured, turning his body towards you. "Are you cold?"

His free arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest.

Okay, this was definitely a dream. There was no way in hell you were awake right now.

You turned your head to look at him, his face closer to yours than it had ever been. You could feel his breath on your cheek, his hand rubbing over your shoulder, trying to warm you up. Was he looking at your lips?

If this was a dream, then what could go wrong?

You leaned forward, closing the small gap between the two of you, your lips pressing against his. His lips were warm, just as soft as you'd imagined they'd be. He let out a soft grunt, surprised, but he didn't move away from you. In fact, after a moment, his lips began to move against yours.

You turned, pulling your legs into your seat and underneath you, sitting on your knees, facing him fully. You leaned across the console, your hand moving to cup his cheek, the hair on his face tickling your palm. He sighed against your lips, his eyes closed, one of his hands slipping into your hair.

You kissed him with intensed fervor, your free hand resting on the console, supporting your weight as you leaned into him. He mumbled your name, your hair tangling around his fingers as he leaned back, pulling you with him. You were practically bent over the console now, your hand moving to grip his shirt.

After a moment, he let out a shocked gasp, grabbing your shoulders and quickly pushing you back. The force made you fall back in your seat, your back bumping into the passenger door. You grunted, more from surprise rather than pain. James scrambled to straighten himself in his seat, his face red with shame.

"N- No," he sputtered out, his voice shaking. "This… it's not okay. Y- You should go inside."

Fuck, this wasn't a dream, was it?

You understood where he was coming from, you knew he wasn't trying to hurt you, but the burning hot feeling of rejection coursed its way through your veins anyways. You felt tears stinging at your eyes, and before you could fight it off, a loud sniffle resonated through the car.

You buried your face in your hands, tears already soaking your palms. He immediately whipped around to face you, concern written all over his face. "Oh…" his voice was soft, guilty. "Oh, please, I'm sorry…"

You shook your head, fighting so hard to stop crying. "N-No, I g-get it-" you hiccupped out, shaking. "I'm u-ugly-"

James shook his head, reaching out to gently hold your shoulders. "No, no," he cooed, shushing you. "You're so young, you're just so young."

You let out a hiccuping sob, his hands on you only making you feel worse. "I'm s-sorry," you coughed out, still not daring to look at him.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, one of his hands moving to hold your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The motion made you shiver. "Sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong, it's my fault-"

You shook your head again, his caring eyes only making you cry harder.

"I-It's my responsibility to take care of you and I crossed a boundary-"

You cut him off, sniffling, "N-No it was my fault, I kissed you."

He shook his head, a sad look crossing his face. He held your face in his hands, gently wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "I should've stopped you," he whispered, pushing your hair behind your ear.

You sighed and nodded, too mentally exhausted to argue. But you knew deep down it was your fault, you were always flirting with him, leading him on. You felt sick; you felt like you had betrayed your friend. You hung your head, too ashamed to look at him.

He let out a sigh, clearly just as exhausted as you were. "I feel bad just dropping you off now…" he muttered, moving back to his seat, eyes locked on the steering wheel.

You shrugged, wiping your tear-stained face. "It's fine," you whispered.

You were frozen, worried that if you left the car you'd collapse on the driveway before you got to the porch. James let out a deep breath, leaning his head back against his seat, his eyes closed. After a moment, he put the car in reverse, shooting a glance at you.

"Do you want to go for a drive?"

You slowly nodded, lowering your knees from your chest. He gave you a sad smile, pulling out of your driveway, and drove off.

-

It was almost midnight now, you were sitting on the hood of James's car, lightly kicking at the tall grass that brushed against your feet. You heard a car door shut, and you peeked over your shoulder to see James rounding the car, a pack of cigarettes in his hand. He took a seat beside you, pulling one from the pack and placing it between his lips.

Even now you couldn't help but watch him, still mesmerized as ever but his movements. You watched him light his cigarette, the light from the flame dancing across his cheeks, accenting his jaw. Timidly, you held your hand out, silently asking him for one.

He raised an eyebrow at you incredulously, taking a drag off his cigarette before pulling it away from his mouth, and passing it to you. He lit himself another, tossing his pack behind him, the sound of it landing on the windshield filling your ears.

You took a careful pull off the cig, the end slightly wet with his spit. The taste of him made you shudder, and your thoughts wandered back to the moment in your driveway…

You shook them away, choosing to focus on what was happening now. "Yknow, when I was your age," James started, smoke drifting from his lips.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Are you seriously going to tell me a 'when I was your age' story?" you complained, shaking your head.

He laughed, nodding. "Yeah, I am," he responded, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. "Now shut up and listen. When I was your age-"

You shrugged, rolling your eyes again, but let him continue.

"-I would always go to my neighbor's house, because I thought the woman who lived there was so hot."

You laughed, watching him pause to hit his cigarette again.

"I'd make up whatever excuse; asking to mow the lawn, asking if she got a package I was waiting for that I never actually ordered."

"Is there a point to this story?"

"Yes. Now, hush."

You laughed again, tossing your finished cigarette out into the dark field.

"I'm just trying to say that I get what you're feeling," he finished, taking a final drag of his own cigarette before tossing it as well.

You cringed, looking down at your hands. You really didn't want to have this conversation. "Can't we just forget it?" you asked quietly.

James sighed, standing, and turned to face you. "No, unfortunately," he answered, giving you a pitiful smile.

You sighed, glancing up at him before looking back down at your hands again.

"I just like you, a lot," you finally whispered, picking at your nails. "I have for a while."

James frowned, resting his hands on your knees. "Look at me, please," he murmured.

You obliged, slowly making eye contact with him.

"You know I'm almost forty-two, right?"

You sighed, raising your hands to your face and hiding behind them. "Don't remind me," you grumbled.

He chuckled lightly.

"Maybe if you weren't nineteen, and I hadn't watched you grow up, things would be different."

You felt childish, and you shrunk in on yourself. "But why?" you muttered against your hands, peeking out at him through your fingers. "Why does it matter?"

James frowned, and pulled his hands away from your legs.

"It matters because I'm a grown adult and you're a child-"

"I'm not a child!" you exclaimed, suddenly angry, slamming your hands down on the hood.

James raised his hands defensively, his eyes wide. "You know I don't mean it like that," he spoke softly, trying to calm you. "But you are practically half my age."

You groaned in frustration, pushing yourself off the hood of the car to stand in front of him. You pointed at him in an accusatory manner, your finger pressing into his sternum. "You certainly didn't kiss me like I was a child," you snapped, glaring up at him.

"Don't," he whispered, shaking his head. "Don't be like that…"

"Like what?! You're so caught up in this idea that I'm a little kid that you just can't stand to hear me talk to you like this, huh?"

"Do not," his voice raised over yours, deep and intimidating, and you flinched, taking a step back, only managing to trip and fall back against the hood. "Speak to me like that! I'm still an adult and you still need to treat me with respect!"

His tone was angry, parental, and you felt half your size, feeling belittled as he lectured you like he was your father. He stepped closer to you, towering above you in height, his gaze cold and hard. "Despite any ideas you may have, I've helped take care of you for a long time and I deserve more respect than that," he finished, his eyes locked onto yours.

You whimpered, nodding, your back pressed completely against the front of the car.

"I-" you stuttered out, fear and surprise painted across your face. "I'm sorry…"

James huffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay," he grumbled, looking down at his feet, kicking at the dirt.

You trembled; if you were being honest, it scared you a bit to see him like that. He'd never yelled at you like that, and you'd rarely seen him raise his voice to Clarissa. Tenderly, you reached out, your fingers brushing over his shoulders. "I'm really sorry…" you mumbled, guilt washing over you.

He really hadn't deserved to be screamed at like that.

He shrugged, leaning into your touch. "'S'okay," he grumbled out, his eyes still on the ground.

You gently gripped his shoulders, rubbing them, trying to soothe him. He let out a soft sigh, taking another step closer to you. "You're killing me here," he whispered, hunching over, his forehead almost touching yours.

A soft whimper fell from your lips involuntarily, and he groaned at the sound. You shuddered, feeling his hands move to hold your waist. "James…" you whispered, your eyes searching for his.

That was all he needed, his resolve slipping, and he fell forward, kissing you. You gasped, immediately kissing him back, digging your nails into his shoulders, feeling the heat seeping from underneath his shirt. He was kissing you hard, his fingers digging into your waist so hard it almost hurt.

You barely registered it when he lifted you, setting you back on the hood of the car, standing between your legs. You threw your arms around his neck, pinning his chest against your own, kissing him feverishly. His tongue was slipping into your mouth, sliding across your lips, and you felt like you were going to pass out.

His warm hands worked their way under your shirt, pressing against your stomach and sides. "Fuck-" he gasped out, swallowing every noise you made with his lips. "You're burning up."

You whined, leaning into his touch, trying to pull him on top of you. "J-James," you breathed out, bucking your hips, searching for something to grind down on.

He shifted, pressing his thigh between your legs, humming in approval at the way you rocked your hips, dragging your crotch along his thigh. He gripped your jaw, tilting your head to the side as he kissed his way down your throat, leaving wet, red marks in his wake. His thigh was firm, a brief reprieve for your aching heat. You shuddered, clutching onto him desperately.

His teeth dug into your skin, and you threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut. Your hands made their way into his hair, gripping it tight while he assaulted your neck with open-mouthed kisses and little bites. He was only pressing his thigh against you harder, moving with you now. You raked your nails over his scalp, moaning his name.

He shuddered, groaning, and pushed you onto your back. Your shirt was pushed up, and the hood of the car was cold against your bare back. James was kissing your stomach, his beard tickling you, and you writhed underneath him. He gripped your hips, holding you down, as he continued, leaving splotchy, red marks along your pelvis.

You prayed those marks would stay on you forever.

He was moving quick, your jeans already were undone and halfway down your thighs by the time you even realized what he was up to. You lifted your hips for him, allowing your jeans to slide off you easier, and he discarded them on the ground by his feet. His lips were on your thighs now, licking and sucking up to where you needed him most.

His giant hands splayed across your stomach, pinning you down. You arched your back, aching for him. He hummed, and you could feel his breath fanning across your clothed heat. "You're not a virgin, are you?" he asked, his tone seductive.

You shuddered, suddenly embarrassed. "N-No," you answered shyly, peeking down at him. "Why?"

He ignored your question, running his fingers along the waistband of your underwear. "I doubt you make it a habit to fuck around with your friends' dads, right?" he continued questioning you, watching you curiously.

You blushed, shaking your head. He was smirking, his fingers dipping below your waistband.

"Well, don't I feel special," he teased, snapping the elastic against your skin.

You flinched, gasping at the unexpected feeling. Your skin stung, and you bit your lip hard. He was pulling your underwear off now, and you felt self-conscious, wanting to cover up.

He was way more experienced than you, he'd definitely seen people better looking than you. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing right now…

Before you could object, he was spreading you apart, running his tongue over you. You gasped, letting out a moan. You shoved your hands in his hair, pulling it hard. He winced, but continued to tease you with his mouth, leaving no part of you untouched.

You were shaking, bucking up against his face. He hummed against you, savoring your taste. "G-God," you gasped out, yanking on his hair. "Fucking…. please-"

All too soon he was pulling away from you, and you were whining in complaint. James grabbed your thighs, pulling you towards him, your ass hanging off the edge of the car. He steadied you, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his hips pressing against your stomach.

You whimpered, nodding, angling your hips to meet his. He sighed, kissing the side of your face. You ran your hands down the front of his chest, down to his waist, listening to the way his breathing changed. You popped open the button of his jeans, pushing your hand down the front of them.

He grunted, your hand warm against him. He grabbed your jaw, moving your head to face him, and he kissed you hard. His teeth scraped over your lower lip, his grip tight on your jaw. You squeezed his bulge through his boxers, clenching your thighs around his waist. You wanted him so fucking bad.

He dragged his hand down your neck, pressing his fingers into your pulse point as he squeezed your throat. You strained to breathe, gasping against his lips. He was restless, impatient, and he shoved the front of his jeans down with his boxers in one quick push, his cock springing free from constraint.

"This is so fucking bad," he growled out, pulling on your hair so hard you could swear he was pulling it out. 

You were panting, sweat dripping down your neck. His cock was pressing against you, hot and hard. You could feel him throbbing against you, just as desperate as you were. You gripped his hair, pulling him into a kiss, swallowing his groans hungrily. It wasn't long before you felt him pressing at your entrance, practically begging to be inside of you. You shifted, sliding yourself over him, feeling his tip pushing into you.

He gasped, his blunt nails digging into your thighs. You whined, pushing yourself onto his cock, feeling him sink further into you.

"Fuck," his voice was low, deep. "I didn't know you were such a little slut."

You gasped at his words, rocking against him. You'd never imagine him to be so dirty.

He was fucking you now, slow and deep, rocking into you. You slipped your hands up the back of his shirt, running your fingers over the expanse of his back. He was panting in your ear, letting out deep, guttural groans.

"You feel better than I ever thought you would," he groaned out, holding onto you like he thought you were going to disappear.

His words shot through you like a bullet, and you were whining, pressing your chest against his. "Y-You think about me?" you gasped out, surprised at his sudden admission.

His hips snapped against yours, a sudden hard thrust making your body jolt.

"Hmmmmfuck," he whimpered out, his face buried in your shoulder. "God, every time you come over it's all I can do to keep my hands off of you."

His noises were driving you crazy, and you dug your nails into his skin. He hissed, biting down on his lip as he continued to fuck you. You were at the edge, tilting over, writhing against him. He fucked you through your orgasm, letting you shake and rake your nails down his back.

He pulled out of you, jerking himself off quickly, cumming on your lower stomach and thighs. You whimpered at the feeling, whining and holding him close as waves of pleasure washed over you, your heartbeat thudding throughout your body, from your head to the tips of your fingers.

He was groaning, trembling, his hand still working over his cock, the last few drops of his cum dripping from his tip. You gasped for air, lying back on the hood, your body aching.

He stepped away from you, panting, and pulled his pants up, adjusting himself.

"Clarissa can never know about this."