Stancy/Stonathan Fanfiction

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

Stonathan, smut, 1392 words
By: bnsolo

Jonathan can feel Steve watching him from across the room and fights the urge to look up from his textbook. He’s playing with him, Jonathan knows it, daring him to lock eyes with him, knowing what will happen when he does. The feeling makes his scalp prickle, his pulse quicken. The Smiths’ new album plays softly in the background, the only noise in the quiet little house, and still Steve does not look away, and still Jonathan keeps his eyes on his textbook as the words swim and his heart beats, hot and heavy, in his throat. Across the room, a smile is playing on Steve’s lips, unseen by the dark-haired boy sat cross-legged and head bent on the other end of the bed.

“Come on Byers, this is getting ridiculous. You’ve been reading that one page for about ten minutes now, and I know that means you’re faking because you usually read at the speed of light.”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” Jonathan mutters without looking up.

“Your ears are turning red. Come on, dude, you’ve been studying for like three hours now. You’ll ace the quiz, like you always do.”

“Yeah, I ace them ‘cause I study.”

“You know what they say. All work and no play...”

“Are you saying I’m dull?”

“Maybe. Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“Come over here and make me.”

For a second, Jonathan still stares blankly at the page. Then his will crumbles, and he snaps the book shut, looking up and meeting Steve’s gaze at last. His expression is soft, questioning, almost anxious, and it turns Jonathan’s stomach into liquid heat. Those wide eyes, those amazing fucking lips… He moves towards Steve, pushing forward onto his knees and holding himself up on one arm over his friend’s reclining body, and Steve leans up, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Come and play,” Steve murmurs, almost too quiet to hear, and Jonathan lowers his head and Steve pushes up and they meet in the middle, all soft lips and tongue and teeth and Jonathan’s hand stroking Steve’s face so gently. Steve’s arms come up and around Jonathan’s torso, pressing him into his chest as the kiss deepens. The room is too hot, the air pressing in on them, so Jonathan leans back and tugs his shirt off over his head, moving on autopilot. The brush of Steve’s hand running slowly down his chest sends shivers down him, intensifying the ache between his thighs. Steve pulls him back down once again, kisses him slower this time, catching Jonathan’s lips between his teeth as his hands trace the curve of his back. Jonathan’s hands are at the hem of Steve’s shirt, persistent and nagging, and Steve pulls away, grinning.

“It’s my turn, is it?”

“Sure is.” Jonathan’s voice is husky with want, his pupils huge in his brown eyes, and Steve is in awe. Their hands meet as they both tug off Steve’s shirt, and Jonathan sighs like the sight of Steve’s bare chest brings him physical relief, and presses his lips to his collarbone, planting kisses first there and then on the sensitive skin on Steve’s neck, his jawline, his Adam’s apple that bobs as Steve swallows dryly, arching his neck back to give Jonathan more access. Steve’s thigh gets between Jonathan’s legs and he can feel, through the material of their jeans, how hard Jonathan is already, and he knows what he wants, what he needs, to do next. Steve brings his head up to kiss Jonathan’s cheek, his ear, his neck, murmuring sweet nothings the whole time.