Archive of Our Own

Colin Bridgerton has always been a dreadful sleeper.

When he was a kid, it took him forever to wind down. Even at an age when most of his younger siblings already went to bed on their own, he still always needed to be accompanied by one of his parents. He would find excuse after excuse, letting himself be distracted from everything and anything, just to avoid having to complete the next step in his bedtime routine. His parents would try to gently nudge him towards changing into his pajamas, but he would just ignore their pleas time and time again, instead immersing himself in whatever toy caught his eye, building forts for his teddy bears or speeding around the first floor while he pretended to be a wolverine and tried to get his siblings to join his shenanigans.

His mum and dad would craft visual routine schedules to make it easier for him to go through the motions, would try to reduce his media time, and would have him exercise enough throughout the day so that he was sufficiently exhausted by the time bed time came around. They would try to keep the evenings calm and quiet, to keep to a strict order of things; they would give him massages and have him listen to calming music, but nothing ever seemed to work. Nothing ever seemed to soothe his wandering mind.

His mother would try her best to stay gentle and loving, but every other day, her patience would run thin, and she would snap at him out of exhaustion or try to blackmail him despite knowing that it never worked, that it only ever served to make him more antsy.

When he finally made it into bed, he would go on, excessively talking without listening, getting back up to go find whatever toy he had decided was supposed to spend the night in bed with him. His feet wouldn't stay still; he would toss and turn, and every few minutes, he would jump up and start rearranging his pillows, never content with the way they were. Once every few weeks, it would get so bad that his mother would sit beside him, tears of exhaustion and helplessness in her eyes, and eventually call for his dad to switch with her, telling Colin that she loved him but that she didn't have any more energy and needed a break, lest she do or say something she would regret afterwards.

Until this day, he still remembers the defeated, devastated look in her red-rimmed eyes and the distinct feeling of guilt, of not being right, that he would get without ever being able to name or explain it properly.

It got a little easier with age, but even as a teen, he never managed to go to bed at a reasonable hour, bouts of activity and excessive energy often hitting him during the late hours of the evening, resulting in his grumpy, sleep-deprived state in the morning. It would take ages to get ready for school, his mum always having to check that he packed everything he needed, for it was almost certain that he would forget at least one thing otherwise. And when he finally made it to school, he'd be tired and distracted all day long and struggle to focus on what was expected of him.

Now, as an adult, he has managed to implement a rather strict sleep schedule that helps him get enough sleep, but still, it always takes him at least a half an hour of lying awake and listening to white noise before he drifts off. His brothers have told him teasingly, more than once, that he just needs to get more ‘exercise’ before sleeping, but even sex doesn't help him.

He's not the type for casual one-night stands. The few times he's tried it never left him relaxed and calm. Instead, he mostly felt agitated afterwards, empty in an unpleasant, shaken way. It was better when he felt a real connection to someone, when he was in a relationship or had a fling with someone whose company he truly enjoyed. But even then, sleep didn't come easily. Most women he's been with preferred to cuddle up to him afterwards, and while he does enjoy cuddling in general, he definitely isn't a cuddly sleeper. It's too hot, too restricted. He needs his space in bed. Room to toss and turn; the knowledge that he isn't disturbing anyone when his restless legs syndrome flares up again.

Today, though, there's a whole other reason for his insomnia.

His thoughts are racing more than usual, dots trying to connect each other, old memories surfacing and sinking again, reshaping and modifying in his mind as he tries to figure out the question that's been haunting him since he left his sister Daphne's place earlier that evening.

They were having one of their infamous Bridgerton game nights, most of the usual suspects in attendance: Daphne and her husband Simon, his brother Benedict with his wife Sophie, Eloise, Gregory and – most importantly – Pen.

His best friend Penelope.

As always, he and Eloise argued at the beginning of the night about who would get to team up with Pen.

As always, they had to use a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to figure it out.

Colin won, and as always, Eloise was left to team up with their usual consolation prize, Gregory, who took it with the deflected ease of someone who was used to this and had long since stopped caring.

Also, as always, Pen and Colin made a splendid team. Admittedly, they lost at Pictionary due to his dreadful sketching skills, but they all but made up for it when they triumphed at Scrabble. Towards the end of the night, Gregory proposed a game called Amour ou Petits Four that he'd seen on YouTube, in which they had to listen to French sentences and then decide if they had to do with either food or love.

They had lots of fun. Pen was surprisingly successful in her guesses, thanks to her basic Duolingo French skills, while Colin, never having learnt French in his life, was running completely on vibes and basically acting as Pen's moral support and cheerleader.

"Okay, last one for you two," Gregory smiled, letting his phone play the last sentence on the playlist:

"Potage de bisque d'écrevisse, consommé de volaille à la royale," a female voice came out of the speakers.

"Consommé is soup!" Pen said confidently.

Colin laughed. "Oh, is it? I was gonna say it sounded quite like…sexy. So, now I'm thinking maybe it's not... sexy soup."

Pen giggled, granting him one of her beaming smiles.

"Soup can be sexy! You know, if that's your thing!"

"If you're given the right spoon!"

"Exactly!"

The rest of the Bridgertons just looked at them incredulously as they burst out laughing.

"What the hell are you guys even talking about? If you're given the right spoon?" Eloise asked, her eyebrows vanishing under her fringe.

Pen just waved it away, still smiling in amusement.

"Oh, you know, it's just a Colin thing to say, isn't it..."

They moved on after that, with Benedict and Sophie now having to complete the same task, but with phrases in Italian.

But Colin's brain stayed behind, frozen by Pen's last comment.

Just a Colin thing?

What did she mean by that?

Could she know that he had a… thing?

Did she know about his spoon thing?

For as long as he can remember, he has had a thing with spoons. Some spoons were just... wrong.

They were either too big or too heavy or had the wrong shape or their handle felt not quite right. Some spoons felt weird in his hand; some filled his mouth in an uncomfortable way. Some were made of an unusually rough material; some had disturbing patterns and notches along their edges. And don’t even get him started on the travesty of spoons with acrylic handles!

If their bowls were too large, he felt like he spilled easier and more often. If the bowl was too pointy, he got weirdly distracted, fearing that he might poke and hurt his palate while eating.

In short, there is quite a lot to say about spoons.

There were right spoons and wrong spoons, and while a lot of the time he couldn't even say exactly why a particular spoon was better than another, he could always tell exactly which he preferred.

It is only that he has hardly ever told anyone about this.

Being one of eight children and living in a house where love was endless, but time and energy were not, Colin learned early on to hold certain things back. There were many needs to be met, a lot of problems to be dealt with, and he already drew from so many of his parents' resources. He already so often felt like the odd one. The one with the sleep issues. The one struggling to do his homework. The one who couldn't sit still, who impulsively interrupted conversations and jumped up from his chair at family meals as soon as he was done eating.

He just wanted to fit in, to not seem even weirder than he already was. So, he tried to not draw attention to any more of his peculiarities.

His mum knew, of course. He doesn't know how she does it, how she manages to keep track of all her children, or how she takes the time to know them all so well, but she does.

And while she didn't understand exactly why, in Colin's eyes, this spoon was preferable to that spoon, she nevertheless took the time to memorize which ones he liked and always made sure to set the table so that he’d get one of the good ones.

His siblings weren't quite so observant, or they forgot or chose to ignore his specificities. They know that, in general, he prefers to eat his soups or cereal with a small spoon, but that is about the extent of it.

He tried to open up more about it with his ex-girlfriend Marina. But after he explained it to her, she just laughed at him and told him to suck it up and act like a normal grown-up.

"It's just a spoon, Colin," she said, deliberately placing the monstrosity of a spoon she liked to use right next to his plate and making him feel all wrong and particular once again.

But Pen? He can't remember ever talking to her about it, and she never ever mentioned anything in that regard either. But, after hearing her comment earlier tonight, he can't help but wonder if she knows more than he thought.

He remembers that one time at her birthday party during her uni years, there was a huge pot of chilli con carne in her shared flat's kitchen for everyone to help themselves. Someone had given him a bowl with a big spoon, and he took it without complaining, not wanting to make a fuss. A few minutes later, a very tipsy Pen came over, glanced at his half-eaten bowl and the spoon in his hand and declared loudly that that wasn't a Colin portion, that it was way too little for the hungry boy that he was. He tried to mollify her, insisting that he could just get a second helping later, but she'd already taken the bowl and spoon out of his hands and vanished into the kitchen to get him a refill. When she came back with the bowl filled to the brim, the big spoon was gone, replaced by a small spoon, whose handle hardly peeked out from the chilli's surface. Back then, he just thought she must have dropped the big spoon and didn't have any other big ones left. He thought it was a lucky coincidence. Now, though, he realises that she saw and fixed his problem without attracting any attention, without him even realising.

Thinking back now, so many memories are coming back to him – moments in which he thought that she just accidentally picked the right spoon for him. He can't recall a single time that Pen has ever given him a wrong spoon in all the years he's known her. But what if it wasn't a coincidence? What if, this whole time, she's been so incredibly thoughtful and he never once noticed it or thanked her for it? What if it's all been intentional and she's always – always – seen and quietly accepted him without making a big thing out of it? Just the thought of it is making him feel all warm and cozy inside. He closes his eyes and tries to remember Pen on that evening of her birthday party all these years ago. He thinks about how cute and adorable she was in her happy, inebriated state. How cute and adorable and pretty she looked tonight. How gorgeous she always is.

It takes him a really long time to fall asleep.

"You're awfully quiet today, darling," Violet says gently as she places his favourite tea cup in front of him.

Colin's over at Bridgerton House for an afternoon chat with his mum. And some biscuits, of course. You can't have tea without Violet's famous lemon biscuits, Colin's absolute favourite.

He hums, nodding his thanks to her and warming his hands on the cup. It's too small for his long fingers to wrap around it without overlapping, but it's perfect nonetheless. Colin himself can't really say why; it just is.

"I had kind of an epiphany last weekend."

"An epiphany? Do tell!"

He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

"It's nothing big, to be honest. Just... I think I only now realised that Pen might know about my spoon thing."

"Oh. That."

He looks up at the sound of his mother's cautious, flat tone.

"What? Were you aware?"

"Um... As a matter of fact, yes, I was. I thought you were too, to be honest."

Colin shakes his head.

"She never said anything. Never mentioned it to me, just… acted accordingly."

"Yes, that is a very Penelope thing to do, isn't it, dear?"

Colin lowers his eyes and thinks for a moment. He guesses his mother is right about that.

"So, do you know how she found out?"

Violet shakes her head.

"I'm sorry, no. I assume she must have just observed it. All I know is that I have been noticing her being mindful about it for a very long time. Since you were kids, actually..."

"Since we were kids?!”

“Yes. I specifically remember one night, when Penelope joined us for dinner. You must have been fifteen, because I distinctly remember that you were in your emo phase, eyeliner and all. Anyway, one of your siblings set the table that night, and you ended up with a wrong spoon but didn't say anything, as you always do. But I could tell that each bite of soup was challenging for you. It took you just a moment longer to get it into your mouth than it usually would have. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Penelope sat beside you. She kept glancing at you and winced every time she saw you force down another spoonful. The moment you set your spoon down to have a sip of water, she made a move with her hand and shoved the spoon off the table. She claimed it was an accident, of course. That she was being clumsy. But then she ran off into the kitchen to get you new cutlery, only to come back with a small spoon for you. At first I wasn't sure if she'd done it on purpose, but then I watched her while she was watching you, finally enjoying your meal. Her face practically lit up with every bite you took.”

Colin stares into the distance, completely dumbfounded. It makes him feel all gooey and warm to know that Penelope cares so deeply for him, that he's not the odd one in her eyes. He wonders if he'd be that touched if it were anybody else acknowledging him like that? He doesn't think so. He'd be thankful, of course, but somehow, the fact that it is Penelope that sees him so clearly, that it is his Pen that has always looked out for him like that, is settling something inside him that he didn't even know was amiss. He's almost floating with happiness, bouts of sunshine flooding his metaphorical mind room with golden light. It feels like so much more, so much better and deeper than the gratitude he would feel towards any other friend.

“Gosh, that's... and I never knew. All this time, she's been the only one to care about me enough to be that considerate, and I didn't even realise. I'm such a crappy friend."

"Oh darling, no. I'm sure she doesn't resent you for it. That's not why she's doing it. She does not want to get anything out of it. She is just trying to look out for you. She wants you to feel comfortable. It's hard to notice when it's just happening in your periphery. When it's not the thing you're paying attention to, and you're preoccupied with other things. I..."

She hesitates, biting her lip, as if unsure if she should continue.

"What?"

"I think it might even have been intentional. That she was trying to be as discreet as possible, not just for your sake, but also because she didn't want you to notice."

"Why would she do that? Why would she be so secretive about it, even to me?"

Violet smiles at him wistfully, taking her sweet time to answer as she regards him with an almost pitiful look.

"That, I think, you would have to ask her yourself.”

Not even half an hour later, Colin is already on his way over to Penelope's place. He doesn't really have a plan for how to address this, but he also has absolutely no chill and wouldn't be able to wait any longer if his life depended on it.

She buzzes him up and is already waiting for him in the doorway when he comes speeding up.

“Colin? What's going on?”

“Hey, Pen,” he gasps, kissing her cheek and immediately regretting it, for he is so out of breath that it turns out more like a raspberry than a friendly display of affection.

“Sorry,” he chuckles awkwardly, his cheeks turning pink as she dabs at her now-wet cheek.

She scrunches her nose, but there's nothing but amusement and affection in her gaze. “It's like being kissed by a fish…”

“Ha! Not a particularly sexy comparison…”

“Oh, I don't know, I think you'd make a pretty cute Flounder…”

They burst out into giggles, and she ushers him into her tiny but comfy apartment.

“Am I disrupting you?” He asks tentatively. It's the middle of the day, and they aren't all trust fund babies after all. Penelope is in fact a rather busy blogger and novelist.

“All good, I could use a break,” she smiles.

God, that smile. There's that golden light again.

“Okay, um… well, I actually needed to talk to you,” he starts shyly, suddenly becoming uncomfortably aware of his lack of a plan.

His unease must have shown on his face, because Pen frowns as she lifts her hand to her cup shelf, letting it hover in front of her collection of unique, delicate little tea cups.

“Alright, so…is this a coffee or tea kind of conversation?”

“Um, coffee, please. I already had tea at mum's.”

She nods and lowers her hand again, instead opening the cupboard that contains a variety of big, colourful mugs. She rummages a moment before pulling out a distinct mug from the second row and placing it in front of him. It is, he realises, the same mug she always gives him when he's here. It’s also his favourite of all her big mugs.

The way he stares at the mug with his eyebrows drawn together must make her nervous, because she eyes him curiously as she asks:

“Something the matter? Wrong mug?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pick that mug? It was in the second row. Why not pick any other mug?”

“It… it is your favourite, isn't it?”

“Yes, but… how do you know that? How did you know not to pick a small teacup but a mug, and then how did you know which mug exactly to choose?”

“Okay, first of all: only lunatics drink coffee out of teacups. It's already in the name, alright? Gosh, next you’ll ask me why I don't boil water in the microwave… And second… isn't that your favourite?”

“Yes, but I never told you that. How do you know it's my favourite?”

“I don't know, I guess I just… observed? I've seen you use all different kinds of cups over the years, and I just happened to clock your likes and dislikes…”

She is squirming a little, as if the topic is making her uncomfortable. Why is she being uncomfortable? Shouldn't she be proud of her observational skills instead? She'd make a hell of a detective! Unbiddenly, his mind conjures up an image of Pen in tactical gear, and - fuck - that… that's really… something…

He realises then that his eyes must have gotten glassy, and he's squirming now, too, trying to make the sudden tightness in his trousers a little more bearable.

“So, what is it exactly about this mug that makes it my favourite in your eyes?”

Penelope inhales, biting her lips as if contemplating.

“Colin. You can just tell me if you'd prefer another mug. I promise you I won't –”

“That's not what I'm on about, Pen. You are right. This is my favourite. I'd just like to know how you know that.”

She huffs as she studies him, then her shoulders sag as the resistance leaves her.

“Alright. First, as we've already established, this is a mug for drinking coffee. You'd never drink tea out of such a cup. That is what the tiny cups are for. The tinier the better, I might like to add.”

He nods his head. So far so good. He does have a rather well-known predilection for tiny teacups. She likes to tease him about it, in fact, telling him he looks like a giant and calling him ‘teacup boi’ whenever he's sitting on his mum's settee, sipping his tea with way too much sugar in it (her opinion, not his). In his opinion, there can never be enough Sugar.

“And then about the coffee mugs… It's important how they feel in your hands. You dislike the straight, standard mugs; you prefer them to be slightly rounded, but not too much, not like those almost spherical mugs, just round enough so that they fit the curve of your palm. The glaze should be smooth rather than the rough kind of glaze that seems to be all fancy at the moment. But you prefer it if the surface isn't all even. Ideally, there are some kind of regular bumps or slubs on it, so your fingers have something to roam over when you get itchy. Then there's the colouring. You don't like text on mugs. Patterns are okay, but only if they aren't too blatant. And while you prefer colourful glasses when it comes to sodas and stuff, these are not fitting for coffee mugs (nor tea cups, for that matter). These need to have pale, muted, pastel colours. You like yellow and blue the best; however, green is acceptable too. The inside of the mug can under no circumstances have a dark colour. And last, but probably the most important, is the way the rim feels between your lips. You hate it when it is too thick or when there's a knick somewhere, and you'd rather fall asleep during work than drink coffee out of a mug that’s been glued back together.”

She breathes out heavily when she's finished, and her face is sporting a rather adorable blush.

Colin, though, can only stare at her while his stomach is doing strange contortions.

“Pen, this is…this is incredible! I couldn't consciously have told you half of it, but it's all true, a hundred per cent!”

“Yeah, well,” Pen mumbles, looking anywhere but at him.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Pen is too busy avoiding his stare while Colin is completely drowning in awe of his best friend, of the incredible, gorgeous, exceptional woman across from him.

“So…” Pen starts after a while. “I don't assume that this is what you came to talk to me about, is it?”

“No… yes! Um, I mean, it kind of correlates, I think…”

When she just stares at him, he soldiers on.

“The other night… during game night. You said something that made me wonder if maybe you knew I had a…”

“A what?”

“A thing.”

“A thing?”

“A spoon thing…”

“Oh.”

Somehow, that oh reminds him a little too much of his mum's oh earlier that day. There's too much knowing in it, too much reticence.

“It's true, right? You do know? About my… my spoon thing.”

Penelope hesitates, but then something in her gives way and she slumps down on the chair in front of her, completely forgetting that she was about to make them coffee.

“I guess I do, yes. Although, I wouldn't have called it that…”

“What would you have called it?” He asks quietly, almost cautiously, as if a single too-loud word, a false phrase, might shatter this moment of honesty between them. Why does this feel so intimate? Why is she being so careful?

“I don't know, it's just… a part of you. An intrinsic part of what makes you you: The kind, feeling, occasionally excitable, good-hearted man that… you are. You wouldn't be you without it, and I wouldn't want you any other way. It just makes me so angry sometimes that so few people seem to notice. It’s not that difficult, is it? You don’t like spoons that are too big or too heavy; you don’t like it if their centre of gravity leans too far towards their bowl. You prefer plain spoons to overly embellished ones, and polished ones to dull ones. Their bowls and handles can be neither pointy nor angular, and the bowl also needs to have the perfect level of roundedness, although it depends a little on what you plan on eating with it. And you know what? Everyone is being considerate of Eloise's choice to be vegan, but when it comes to you, they apparently can't spare the effort. Just because you are not as vocal about it as Eloise is. Just because you don't make everything about yourself; just because, for you, it is not a choice but a fact of your reality. As if having opinions is somehow more noteworthy than having… I don't know… necessities. They don't take the time to see you properly, and if they do, they dismiss it as some silly quirk, as if you just decided one day to not like big spoons, as if it was a conscious decision you made. I don't know, I just hate it. You deserve so much more.”

Colin’s jaw is open, his heart hammering in his chest. She is not only accepting him unconditionally and looking after him in ways nobody else does; she is also fiercely protective. She cares so deeply. No wonder he loves her so much, considering how –

Wait, what?

Fuck, that’s it, right? He loves her!

“Colin? Please, say something… Did I make this weird? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I know you don’t like bringing attention to –”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he says quickly, and his voice sounds all squeaky and weird, which is probably why she frowns at him, obviously not buying it. But it’s true. It’s true!

He’s a million things all at once right now, but uncomfortable isn’t one of them. First of all, he’s in love. He’s so in love; it fills his whole body. He can’t believe he wasn’t aware of it until ten seconds ago, when it is without a doubt the most overwhelming, blissful, all-encompassing thing he’s ever felt.

And then he’s also excited, giddy, bashful, reverent, anxious, happy, confused, and probably a thousand other things, too.

And horny.

Yep, he’s definitely also horny. Come to think about it, “horny” is probably pretty much on top of that list. Not above being in love, of course. But everything else is most certainly taking a back seat in comparison to how absolutely fucking feral he feels.

“Truly, I’m not,” he goes on, his voice sounding only slightly more grounded. Realising he’s still standing at her kitchen counter, he wanders over to her side. He’s pretending to want to start the coffee machine, but in truth, he is being pulled by some intrinsic need to get closer to her. He tabs the power button on the machine, waiting for it to complete its initial rinsing process, and uses the time to lean against the counter next to her.

She’s waiting for him to go on, staring up at him, her expression full of confusion.

“I’m just so in awe of you. No one has ever stood up for me like that. You made it sound so simple and easy to understand, not like a problem or a peculiarity. The way you see me and are considerate of me, in that quiet way of yours, makes me feel incredible. You are incredible, Pen.“

“Colin, I –”, she stops herself. Now her voice, too, has gone all throaty and vulnerable. She coughs a little before she continues. “I will always stand up for you.”

That snaps the last of his containment, and he surges forward, holding her face in both his hands as he kisses her fiercely on the lips. She gasps in surprise, but she doesn’t push him away, and he holds the kiss for a few more perfect seconds before he pulls back only far enough to look into her eyes. They are blown black, and her lips stand open, plush and pink and slightly wet from where his had been only seconds ago.

“Fuck,” she pants, and then she’s pulling him back to her, and there is no restraint left between them anymore, only a pull towards each other, a need so forceful, Colin thinks it might rip him apart. She stands from her chair without breaking their kiss and wraps her arms around his neck just as he grips her hips tighter, pulling her against him. He feels her tongue against his lips, which he opens up eagerly, and they both moan in unison the moment their tongues meet.

His hands wander down to her thighs, grabbing her and hoisting her up on the counter, so now her face is slightly above his. He gazes up towards her, full of wonder and desire and love. And then his mouth falls open as her left hand lifts, her fingers slowly flitting along his cheek and into his hair, parting his curls as she moves them along his scalp and behind his ear.

Fuck, just this simple touch feels better than any other touch he’s ever received. He feels goosebumps spread everywhere. He wants to feel her everywhere! He catches her mouth again, passionately, reverently, and they devour each other right there in her kitchen. He gently pushes one of her sleeves down her shoulder, exposing the creamy, smooth curve of her neck, and then he is on it, kissing, licking, sucking. Biting and soothing and drawing the most addictive sounds ever out of her as she quivers beneath him. She is so soft and warm, her supple flesh begging to be kissed by him, and he couldn’t be happier to oblige. His mouth descends on her cleavage, the swell of her breasts pressed against his tongue as his hand squeezes her tits through the fabric of her shirt. His thumb grazes where her nipple must be. He can feel it harden beneath and - fuck - if he doesn’t get to be inside her soon, he will surely perish.

Reluctantly, he breaks away from her, his eyes asking a silent question as his hand skims down her body towards her ankle, then goes back up slowly until he stills it just above her knee, underneath the hem of her bunched up skirt. She already looks utterly wrecked, but this is nothing in comparison to what he’s planning to do to her. She nods furiously, and he doesn’t wait, doesn’t waver, just keeps their intense eye contact while he resumes his way up over her thigh, brushing the hot, smooth skin along the way until his fingers make contact with her cunt and –

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Pen.”

“Yes. Yes, I want you there, Colin, please!”

So he obeys, watching her intently as he lets his middle finger drift down from her clit towards her entrance and push in. The breath she gasps out is so fucking sexy; he almost comes in his pants, but then he adds another finger and, oh my god, she is the perfect woman indeed. Her cunt squeezes him tightly each time he thrusts inside her, the look of complete ecstasy on her face probably only mirrored by how he’s feeling inside. His thumb finds her clit, and she yelps, bending forwards so her forehead is pressed to his and their open mouths are brushing against each other. She is trembling now, every one of his movements sending shivers through her that he feels in the way her breath hitches against his skin. He bites down gently on her lower lip, speeding up his movements as he once again descends towards her neck, lapping and sucking until he is sure he has left a few marks. She clings onto him, moaning as he curls his fingers inside her, hitting that sweet spot.

“Colin, fuck, Colin, yes. There, right there, I’m going to–”

And then she comes, drenching his hand and shirt sleeve, gasping and whining and shivering all around him. It’s so hot, so beautiful, so much better than anything else he has ever experienced. He holds her through it, kissing and stroking her as he extracts his hand from underneath her skirt, mindful not to accidentally wipe his fingers anywhere on her clothing. She doesn’t seem to care, though, as just a moment later, she pushes him away and jumps off the counter.

Colin worries for a second that he did something wrong, that she wants to shoo him away, but then she purrs, “come with me,” into his ear, grabs his hand, and pulls him in the direction of her bedroom.

She is done being gentle, it seems. As soon as they’re in her room, she impatiently pulls his shirt off of him, her gaze becoming impossibly darker as her eyes roam over his chest and stomach. He can’t help from flexing a bit. He is a people pleaser, after all, and a little praise has never hurt anyone, has it? She notices, of course, and she smirks as she pushes him onto the bed, getting to work on his belt and buttons.

“Showoff,” she mumbles.

He grins up at her. “Only for you.”

She pulls off his jeans and boxers all in one go and stops to admire him, stark naked beneath her, his cock swollen and leaking from the tip.

“I like that.”

He’s not sure if she’s referring to what he said or to the sight in front of her, but it doesn’t matter anyway because she’s already straddling him, and how can he think about anything but the gorgeous woman on top of him, her dripping cunt dangerously close to his cock, and her still-clothed rack swaying above him.

No, wait. They can’t have that.

“Stop,” he rasps, gently guiding her to the side. “I need you naked before you do that.”

She giggles, lifting her bum to help him pull off her skirt and underwear, and he has only a moment to admire her glistening cunt before she’s climbing on top of him again. Being the considerate friend that she is, of course she hasn’t forgotten that he wanted her completely naked, so she pulls her shirt over her head and gets rid of her bra. Then, she lifts her arms to fluff up her curls, making her tits go up and jiggle a bit in the process. Colin can only stare in awe at the perfect sight in front of him. But then he catches her smug smirk.

“Now who’s the showoff?” he teases, grabbing her thighs tighter and pulling her down onto him, making her gasp at the contact.

“Would you rather I hide them?” She shoots back, biting back a moan as he starts rubbing his cock along her wet folds, its head bumping slightly against her clit with every move forward.

“No way in hell.” He shakes his head vigorously, sitting up and grabbing her breasts.

“They’re all mine now.”

And then he brings one to his mouth, sucking the nipple in hard, and she hisses in pleasure, rubbing her cunt more firmly on his cock. He proceeds to ravish her, letting his tongue flick over her hardened peaks over and over until she’s so sensitive that she’s squirming in his lap. Only when she’s almost sobbing does he switch to the other breast with just as much enthusiasm. Eventually, he pulls back to take a breath, his eyes closed and his lips swollen from all the attention they have given to her tits. He’s almost floating with how pleasurable it felt for him, too.

She cups his face and gently guides his eyes up towards her, quirking a brow at him.

“So?”

“Huh?”

“Any preferences?”

“Wha–what?”

She smiles then, stroking his cheek, clearly amused by how completely mindless he’s being.

“I mean, now after you’ve tried both of them, do you have any preferences for one or the other? Is one of them heavier than the other? Too big, too freckled, one nipple feeling weirder in your mouth than the other?”

He snorts, burying his face in her chest, kissing her there.

“Well, I definitely have a thing for your breasts, but I can assure you that they’re both perfect just the way they are. Although I do enjoy how they look now, all wet and marked and bitten.”

She chuckles, and he reaches up, kissing her again. She wraps herself around him as tightly as possible, her still-wet nipples brushing his chest as she rocks against him.

“May I fuck you now?” She whispers, snaking her hand between their bodies to find his dick, and he actually whimpers as he feels her grab him.

“Fuck, yes. Please!” he whispers back, his voice all wobbly from all the anticipation.

She smiles against his lips, lifting her hips to line him up and slowly sinking down on him, and all he can do is grab her thighs tighter, the feeling of her cunt enveloping him so snugly almost making him come right on the spot.

“Colin, gosh, you’re… Fuck, I’m so full, it’s… god…”

He can only nod against her collarbone as she starts riding him, shoving her tongue into his mouth, making him swallow moan after moan. It’s hot, and it’s messy, and it’s the best fucking sex he’s ever had. There are hands everywhere, bodies pressing together, nails digging into flesh. They keep a steady rhythm, building each other up higher and higher as their impending orgasms grow like a glimmering fire, each rise and fall of Penelope's hips adding kindling to it, each shared gasp sending more air its way, making it burn even brighter, hotter, harder to control.

“Pen, I… I’m so close, are you –”

“Almost there, just…can you take over?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice, snaking his arm around her waist and rolling them over without slipping out of her. She moans the moment he lowers his body, thus pressing himself deeper inside her.

“Fuck me hard, Col. Make me yours.”

“Jesus, yes. You’re mine, Pen. You’re mine, the same way I’m yours,” he blabbers, speeding up his thrusts and driving into her forcefully, making her whine each time his tip bumps that special spot inside her. She reaches down to rub her clit, and her pussy starts clenching, squeezing him rhythmically. He needs her to come again so badly, he’s only hanging on by a thread himself.

And then she pulls him down for a desperate kiss, and he dips over the edge just as he feels her pulsate around him, exhaling a throaty moan right into his mouth. He groans and shudders, coming harder than he ever can remember, spilling into her like she’s milking him .

He slumps down on her then, his cock still buried deep, but he can’t muster the energy to move even an inch away, and, frankly, he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here, with her, so deeply connected in this perfect moment in time. Here, together with this woman that sees him like nobody else, that woman that he-

“I love you,” he breathes. It comes out much wobblier than he intended, but he doesn’t care. He needs her to know, and he also can’t keep it in a single second longer.

He feels her still for just a second, but then she’s wrapping her arms around him tightly, and her body starts shaking.

Colin pushes himself up on his forearms to look at her, afraid that he’s somehow made her cry, but instead he sees her laughing hard, bursts of air leaving her in chunky gasps as she giggles unrestrained.

He can’t help but smile at her. “Did I say something funny?”

“I can’t believe that I’ve been making heart eyes at you for over a decade, which have apparently been so obvious that your whole family clocked them long ago, and yet all it took for you to get your head out of your ass is me giving you the right mug.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “The right mug and the right spoon. Each fucking time for almost fifteen years!”

“Yeah, whatever, you idiot. I love you too, by the way.”

Colin’s jaw drops at the sheer brattyness of that woman. He’ll have to make her pay for that later…

For now, though, he settles on a huge grin, pinning her beneath him and planting another, sloppy kiss on her mouth.

“Yeah, well, I’m your idiot, from now on.”

She grins back at him, eyes brimming with joy and mirth.

“Then I better update my spoon collection.”

They stay in bed for the rest of the day, alternating between cuddling and fucking, only getting up to find them something to eat. Colin tells her about his revelation and how it caught him completely off guard, and Penelope tells him how she fell in love with him right when she met him at only twelve years old. She tells him how she has spent a big part of her time since observing his every proclivity, all his insecurities and cover-up tactics. They laugh and snog and stare into each other’s eyes. Then they nap and snack and eventually drag themselves into the shower, where she blows him while getting herself off. He comes deep down her throat, and she swallows his cum greedily and licks his slack dick clean afterwards.

In the evening, they order take out and snuggle back into bed with a movie, although Colin couldn’t even tell you what movie it is, as he’s been way too preoccupied with devouring his girlfriend’s cunt for desert.

When they finally curl up to sleep, worn out and exhausted and glowing with happiness, Pen turns her back to him, and he snuggles up to her without a moment of hesitation. He’s never felt so content as he is now, with this beautiful woman tucked close to his chest, her head fitting perfectly into the space beneath his chin, her short, shapely legs encompassed safely by his muscular ones.

“You know,” he mumbles into her hair as he drifts off to sleep easily.

“Of all the small spoons out there, you are by far my favourite spoon of all.”