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Theo is not a patient man.

He is persistent, sure, and he is stubborn, but when there is something he wants he wants it as soon as possible, he wants it tangible, and sometimes that means a closed deal or a finished painting or pancakes with syrup at his favorite diner or—

Well, you.

It’s not that Theo isn’t good at the waiting game—he is actually pretty good at it if he hasn’t been riled up for quite a bit.

Too bad he has. He’s been out of town for two full weeks on a business trip; one he tried to haggle to be a little shorter, to little avail. And sure, today his meetings ended early, so he arrived a day earlier than planned, but now it’s just nine in the evening, you’ve just started your overtime shift, set to run for another two hours.

Unless he can talk you out of it.

He twirls some of the diner’s signature spaghetti onto his fork, a little bored, glancing over at you from across the counter, thinking of all he would rather be doing to you right now. Underneath him, pressing you against your shared bed, in the home he’d been longing to return to, the sheets smelling like your usual shampoo, and just the two of you.

Instead, he is competing for your attention with the other seven customers at the diner, three teenagers, and four sloppy half-drunk old men leering at you, slurring your name, in the middle of a dinner hour that seems to never want to end.

“Enjoying your food?”

He snaps out of his reverie to look up at you. In your silly little diner apron with little embroidered flowers, the bright baby blue of the dress below. Your brows damp just a little with sweat, your cheeks flushed. Kitchen duty means the workspace is a little hotter than the rest of the diner. Usually, he doesn’t mind, but he hasn’t had you for weeks and the color of your skin is reminding him of what you look like in the afterglow. Right now, he’d rather no one else see you in this state.

So when he turns to you, there is a fire in his eyes.

“I might want dessert,” he says, tone dripping thick with meaning. It’s a good thing he’s far enough away from the other booths because anyone else who would have heard that would have figured out what it actually meant.

But you are used to his antics, knowing a little bit of teasing will spice up your little game. “You should take it home,” you offer, leaning towards him until you’re a breath too close for having a respectable distance from a customer. His breath faint against your cheek. It’s not like your boss doesn’t know who he is, but there’s a thrill about trying to comply to that despite the building heat.

His voice dips an octave too low for casual when he says, “If it’s ready then,” and you smile at him before hurrying off to the back, taking off your apron as you excuse yourself out of your originally-planned overtime.

Thank god Theo has the self-control of a saint, otherwise, he would have been persuaded by the look in your eye, that temptation to just jump at each other every time you passed a respectably sturdy flat surface. The drive home seems way too long. And the path to your shared room has too many doors. It’s a good thing the two of you can maneuver in the darkness, even if your mouths are against each other, craving to be in each other’s space as close as possible after having been torn apart for what seemed like forever. When the door to your bedroom finally shuts, Theo lifts you into his arms, to rather ungracefully plop you onto the bed.

You laugh at him for fumbling as he’s hurrying to undo the complicated layers of his full office suit.

It makes him growl. “I really should have fucked you in the diner bathroom.”

“Sure, but,” you say, “maybe we can just make the extra wait worth it.”

That’s it . Theo’s had enough of talking. He throws off his jacket and his vest to an unknown side of the room, leaning over you to press a hot kiss into your waiting mouth. He’s tongue and teeth and hungry and it suddenly hits you just how much you’ve missed him. Your hands fly to his chest as you scramble to undo the too-many buttons of his shirt, craving skin, craving heat. His hands are busy, tracing the curves of your stomach and your waist until it dips under the hem of your dress, thumbing along the garter of your underwear which already feels way too constricting.

Theo wants his dessert.

His hands slip underneath the already damp-fabric into the warmth of your folds, sliding easily with the wetness already pooled there. His moves are precise and practiced, each little flick and graze mastered to get the best reactions out of you. He’s got you memorized. With his shirt already hanging open, your hands fly to your mouth in an attempt to hush the noise that rises up your throat when his fingers begin to pump inside.

But his other hand is faster.

Holding your wrists together so you can’t thrash, can’t cover your mouth.

“Let me hear you,” he begs.

And it’s not like you really had much of a choice about it, when the whimpers finally come out as his fingers delve even deeper, grazing against sensitive spots you couldn’t reach on your own in the past two weeks you’ve been craving his touch. You buck against his waiting palm chasing release relentlessly, clit grazing against his calloused skin, “Theo, Theo, Theo—"

When the crash comes you reach out toward him, curling around the warmth of his embrace.

You pout when he laughs at you coming back to the surface, but you burn deep red when his hand comes up from underneath you, slick and sticky. He traces his digits carefully with his tongue, making sure not a bit is wasted.

“Sweet as ever.”

“My stupid best customer—” you begin, the insult with no sharpness, “Come here, let me take care of you.”

You flip him over to his back as you climb over him, hips hovering over his. Your hands graze his hipbones ever so lightly as you’re unbuttoning his slacks, and he jolts upward toward your touch, desperate. You pull his bottoms hurriedly, him kicking the rest of it off without a care as you graze your wetness over his already hard cock, red and ready. He groans.

Yna, ” he begs, hands steady on your hips. “Please.”

You slip your hands in between the both of you and gently guide him inside of you, theatrically slow as you take him inch by inch, refusing to break eye contact as you go down. His jaw is set and he’s grinding his teeth until you take him all the way to the hilt.

You grind your hips shallowly against his, enjoying the weight of him. “Missed you,” you tease, hands on his chest. His fingers dig little bruises into your hips.

“Missed you so much,” he mirrors, and you reward his honesty by giving him what he wants. Lifting up and down with your thighs and calves, making sure to keep his view clear as you press your arms down for support. Making sure he can watch his hardness disappear into the heat of you, getting him as dizzy with want as you are. Your name is a prayer on his lips as the both of you find that rhythm, a good speed for him, and the right depth for you; for the most part, you think you’re in control until his fingers sneak circles in between you, sending you shuddering as another orgasm knocks the wind out of you.

You collapse forward toward him, your walls pulsing hot against his cock; you swallow the hiss he makes with a kiss like asking for forgiveness. Theo isn’t having any of it though, biting your lower lip with purpose as he flips the both of you again; and towering over you, his stare simmering with lust, his bangs framing his handsome face—

Never mind that you’re going to be sore tomorrow when he’s looking at you with eyes like that.

“One more,” he snarls, half a plea and half an order, as he helps you up with his hand on the small of your back. You get up carefully and he pushes against your side, urging you turn around ass-up. You pull a pillow on the side of the bed and adjust accordingly; he pushes your legs apart just a little before you feel him enter you, the heat of him throbbing hotly inside.

Theo is patient when it counts, but when he’s gone past his limit, there is no going back. His pace is unforgiving, drilling into you at a speed that makes you so dizzy you don’t know if it’s from the pleasure or just the movement. Maybe both. He’s holding you up, bracing you against him with his arm hooked underneath your torso so you’re flush against his chest as if he can’t stand being even an inch away from you. His breath is tantalizingly hot against your shoulder. You can feel the graze of his fang against the sensitive flesh.

You know he is close when he presses a kiss onto your shoulder, says “I love you” like it’s the same thing as I’m cumming and you’ve barely said I love you back, panting, when the syllables of your name spill out of his mouth, in between a chain of fuck, fuck, fuck, as he finally releases on a deep grumbling moan, warm inside of you.

God, you’ve missed him so much.

The two of you stay still for a moment until he pulls out, and you collapse onto the bed hot and sticky but feeling so, so sweet. You’re tired and you’d rather just go to sleep, but you’ll have to change the sheets, and to save your muscles from a week of pain, a good hot bath too.

…Maybe you can ask Theo if he wants to join you.

For now, you scooch closer to Theo until you’ve tucked yourself under his chin, saying “Welcome home,” as he instinctively presses a kiss against your temple, also wanting to cuddle with you for just a moment longer.

He smiles into your hair. The wait was worth it. With you, it is always worth it.

“Glad to be.”