Commissioned by buttchan on tumblr, asking for young drifter Stan and some serious body worship.

"Hey. You got a table." The voice of the cook pulls you out of your daydreaming, and you immediately groan. The diner is only ten minutes to closing and some jerk has decided you need to spend the next forty minutes waiting on him instead of going home and spending the rest of your night watching crappy television and pretending you like your job and your life in general while you try to fall asleep.

You shuffle out of the kitchen adjusting your ponytail, trying to contain the mess of tangled curls, and stop short when you see your customer. He's the only one in the whole diner, so it's not like you can pretend you aren't staring at him when he looks up at you and grins.

He's cute. Super cute. He's your age, maybe a little older, with scruffy brown hair and a square jawline, with wide, strong shoulders. As you approach him you take note that his eyes are deep brown and soulful, and they light up with his smile. You don't think you've ever seen someone more attractive. "Hi," you finally manage to say lamely, nervously smoothing out your apron. Finally, something seems to click into place in your brain and you give him the normal greeting, telling him your name and the special tonight. He doesn't take his eyes off you the entire time you're talking, his eyes noticeably lingering on your breasts.

You've always been self-conscious about your breasts, which you feel are a little too big for your frame. You're self-conscious about your body in general. You're no twig, though you're certainly not fat. Curvy would be a good word for it, but in your experience guys aren't interested in curvy. They like thin. The thought that this incredibly handsome stranger is checking you out is a little bewildering.

He tells you his order and you nod, half-wondering if you should write it down since you're so flustered you may be likely to forget it, but you somehow manage to hurry to the window between the kitchen and restaurant wall and shout back to the cook that the guy in booth four wants a burger and fries, hold the onions. You can still feel the man's eyes, watching you from behind. Maybe now he's checking out your ass.

You busy yourself getting a mug and a pot of coffee and bringing it to your handsome customer, praying that you aren't blushing.

"So, you get many people out here?" the man asks as you set down his mug. You get the feeling he's amused by how obviously affected by him you are.

You start pouring coffee for him, concentrating on keeping your hands steady. "Uh… yeah, I guess. Enough to keep in business. Mostly truckers and travelers." You put the coffee pot back on your tray and pause. "Are, um… you a trucker?"

"Nope," he shakes his head, reaching for one of the little packets of creamer at the end of the table. "Just a drifter. I like these kinds of diners. You meet a lot of interesting people."

"Oh?" you ask. "And what kind of interesting people did you think you'd meet here at midnight?" Maybe you're still a little bitter about him coming in just before closing, even if he is attractive.

"Good point," he grins, dumping creamer into his coffee. "But if there's not interesting people around there's usually a gorgeous waitress, and I think that's better."

You could have fallen over. Did he just call you gorgeous? Yes, you think he did. No one had ever called you that before. Cute, yes. Maybe once or twice you got called pretty. But gorgeous? Never. Not until now. "Um – I –" you splutter, completely lost for words. And you realize you can't handle this right now. You need to think. So you turn and flee back behind the counter, putting the coffee pot back and leaning against the counter with your back to the man. You can still feel his gaze on you.

He is flirting, isn't he? It's okay to flirt back… right? Do you even remember how to flirt? It's been a couple of years since you've tried. Or is he just teasing you? That's happened before. But somehow you get the feeling this man is being genuine.

You take a deep breath and go back out to his table under the guise of checking the salt and pepper shakers. "So, what's your name?" you ask him.

"Stan," he replies, his grin widening. "So, tell me, what's a pretty thing like you doing working at a highway diner at midnight?"

You offer him a smile. "Well, the owner is an old friend of my dad's. He hired me when I needed a summer job and, well… it kind of turned into a full-time gig." Stan stares at you again, grinning all the while, and you know you blush this time. "What's that look for?" you ask.

"Nothing, really," he replies easily. God, he's good. Flirting must come so naturally to him. "Just a pretty girl who gets much prettier when she smiles."

You lower your head, trying now to suppress a full-on grin yourself. "You're really laying it on thick," you mumble.

"I call 'em like I see 'em," he says unapologetically, just as you hear the cook shout at you that the order's up and you hurry to bring it out.

You really can't help yourself. You stay talking to Stan all throughout his meal, eventually sitting in the booth across from him, and he even lets you nick a couple of his fries. He tells you about his numerous business ideas and about all the places he's driven through, and you tell him about your brief stint at college before the cost became too much, but of the fun you had there while it lasted. Before you know it, it's almost one in the morning and the cook is pressuring you to get a move on.

Stan looks a little wistful as he stands up. "Well, I'd better get going. It was really great talking to you." He shrugs on his jacket, a red coat with a fake fur lining. He gives you a last lingering look, then grins and heads towards the door. "Bye."

You almost let him go. But then you think about it, really think about it. This is an attractive guy who showed an obvious attraction to you. You don't want that to go away so easily. So you stop him. "Wait! Stan!"

He pauses and turns. "Yeah?"

You hurry up to him, forcing yourself to ask him a question you're almost scared to. "It shouldn't take me long to close up," you tell him suggestively, and then lower your voice. "When I finish, um… I was wondering if you wanted to come back to my apartment with me."

His smile nearly knocks you over, it's so bright, and as he leans in close you feel a shiver run down your spine as he says lowly in your ear, "Then I'll wait for you."

You watch through the window as he goes out and climbs into the driver's seat of a beautiful Diablo, and you half expect him to start the engine and drive off, but he doesn't. He really is waiting for you.

You hurry to clear his booth and wipe it down, throwing the dish and empty mug into a tub for the morning shift to deal with, and you and the cook shut off the lights and lock up. He offers to drive you home like he usually does, but you turn him down. You have a ride.

You get into Stan's car without thinking too much about it and at once begin to direct him to your apartment, a tiny one-bedroom in the town about five minutes up the highway. You don't talk much other than the occasional, "Turn here." You're starting to get nervous. You're certain you're going to sleep with Stan tonight, but there's a certain amount of anxiety attached. It's been a few years since you've had sex, and it wasn't very good. One of your adventures from your year in college.

You jolt when you feel Stan's hand on your knee and look over at him. He smiles reassuringly. "Relax," he says. "I don't bite."

You can't help but smile back and nod. "Yeah… I know."

You're embarrassed by your apartment when you lead Stan inside. It's a mess, but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes off his jacket and slings it on the edge of one of the two chairs you have at the kitchen table you bought second hand some months ago. "This is nice," he says, looking around.

"Not really," you shrug, wondering if you can try to tidy things up quickly before you and Stan get into it, but he's suddenly there, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist so his chest is pressed against your back. You gasp.

"So, tell me," he breaths into your ear. "What do you like?"

Your mind is a bit cloudy from the sudden onslaught of desire you're experiencing, so you repeat him. "What… I like?"

"Yeah." His hands travel across your stomach to rest on your hips, giving them a squeeze. "What turns you on?" He begins to kiss your neck, the stubble on his jaw providing the most tantalizing of sensations on your sensitive skin.

You can't reply with any words, because you don't really know. He's doing a pretty good job of it already. You let out a few shuddery gasps instead, rolling your head so he has better access to your neck.

"What, no answer?" he whispers. His tongue darts out, adding an entirely new dimension to the feeling of his kisses.

You sigh. You don't think he's going to be satisfied until you give him an answer. "Well," you manage to explain through broken gasps as he continues to kiss your neck. "I'm not really sure. It's… it's been a long time."

He stops at that, coming around to your front without taking his hands of your hips. "How long?" he asks.

You shut your eyes. "Four years. And, well… it was just the one time."

He whistles and takes a step back. "Wow."

Damn it, you blew it. He's put off, you know it. Why did you say anything? "Um… if you want to leave, you can go," you mumble, rubbing your arm awkwardly.

"What?" Stan asks, looking taken aback. "No, I'm not leaving." He comes forward again, rubbing your arms. "No, I was just… a little surprised, that's all." Neither of you speak for a few minutes as you calm down. At last, Stan asks softly, "How did you, um… how was it, four years ago?"

You shake your head. "Not very good."

"Hm," he makes a noise of contemplation. "Then I guess we'll have to give you something good." He brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, his fingertips extending into your hairline, and leans down and kisses you. It's soft at first, gentle, but soon blossoms into a deep, vigorous endeavor. His tongue slides into your mouth and probes yours, and he makes a muffled sound of shock and pulls back. "What was that?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you I have a tongue stud," you laugh at the look on his face. "I hardly even notice it's there most of the time."

"A tongue stud," Stan repeats. "Can I see it?" You smile and open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. Stan stares at it. "Huh." Looking up at you and grinning, he says, "Sexy."

You shut your mouth, smiling, and brush a flyaway curl behind your ear. "Do you want to move this to the bedroom?"

Stan grins and suddenly his hands go to your buttocks and he's hoisting you up so your legs are wrapped around his hips. You yelp and cling to his shoulders as he starts kissing your neck again. It's your turn to be shocked now. You had always assumed no one would ever hold you like this, that you were too heavy. You don't think you've ever been so happy to be wrong before. This is fantastic.

Stan moves into your bedroom, carrying you all the while, and then lets you down onto your bed, pulling your shoes off your feet for you. You assume he has kicked off his own because he isn't wearing his when he climb onto the bed next to you, hands tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You lift yourself up enough to let him take it off of you and as soon as he's thrown it away he's working at the clasp of your bra. He's good at it. Better than you are. He gets it off of you in a record five seconds and nudges you so you're on your back, and he pulls off his own shirt and lowers himself atop you. He grants you a wonderful, desperate kiss on your lips before he moves his hands to your breasts, squeezing them with a gentle pressure to it doesn't hurt but is driving you that much wilder, especially as his thumbs brush against your nipples. You let out a soft moan.

"Now, these," Stan says, giving your breasts another squeeze. "Are perfect. Absolutely beautiful."

You start to protest but stop short when you feel something wet and hot over one of your breasts and gasp as Stan's tongue circles your nipple. "Oh, god," you breathe, gripping one of the rails on your headboard for some sort of anchor.

He switches to your other breast, his hands on your hips the whole time, thumbs gently rubbing your skin. You whimper and arch into him. When Stan pull away you let out a whine of protest, and he chuckles. "Don't be greedy," he admonishes you, kissing your collarbone. "You'll be getting plenty in just a bit."

He rolls over off of you and you shift onto your side to stare at him. How did you get lucky enough to run into Stan? He's handsome and obviously really generous in bed, and even better – he makes you feel like a goddess. "So, um," you say, reaching out and running your fingers through his hair. "Do you want me to do anything?"

He laughs and traces your side, from armpit to hip. "There's plenty you could do to me, but I don't want you to do anything just because you feel obligated to do anything just because I'm paying attention to you."

You're very relieved by that answer. The one time you had sex you gave the guy a pretty half-assed hand job, and you've never blown someone before. You're not sure you're ready. "Thanks," you whisper, withdrawing your hand.

Stan grabs it, intertwining your fingers in his. He smiles. "I like your hands," he smiles, rubbing circles into the back of your hand. "They're so soft and small."

You blush scarlet. You don't really like your hands. Your fingers aren't very long or slender, and you feel like they're a bit too pudgy to be attractive. Having Stan compliment them is both pleasing and embarrassing.

Stan brings your hand to his lips and kisses it before asking, "You good to keep going?"

You smile. "Yeah."

"Good, because I've been dying to get those pants off you," Stan grins, quite abruptly climbing back on top of you, kissing you as he undoes the zipper of your jeans and begins pushing them down your legs. You try to help him along, lifting up your hips and kicking your legs a little bit to get them off. You accidentally kick Stan's leg lightly, and he grunts but doesn't stop kissing you, so you assume he's fine. His hands find your hips again, kneading the soft flesh in his fingers. "God, I love these hips," he mumbles against your mouth.

"They're too fat," you counter, kissing his neck, even daring to nip at it a bit with your teeth. You like the way he shudders at that.

"Wrong," he says, sitting up and then leaning over your torso, kissing your skin directly over where his hand was just a moment ago. "Curvy girls are the best. And you –" he kisses your other hip. "Have some damn fine hips." Almost as an afterthought he returns to your neck and growls in your ear, "Perfect for holding onto when I fuck you."

You whimper with pleasure at the thought, and he begins to trail kisses down your body, from neck to collarbone to breasts and then lower, down your stomach. He grasps your hips as he kisses the soft flesh just below your bellybutton. You mumble your pleasure.

He starts tugging your panties down and you don't protest, eager to find out what he'll do to you next. He gets them off of you and immediately grabs your ass, squeezing it roughly. "Why the hell are you so self-conscious?" he asks lowly, grinding his hips into yours. "This ass is fantastic. These boobs—" he plants a kiss directly over one of your nipples and you whimper. "Are perfect. All of you is just so damn amazing."

That does it for you. All of a sudden you're not pudgy and your boobs aren't too big – you're sexy, and confident enough to shove him off of you with a force that catch him off guard, and he rolls off of you just like you want. "What are you doing?" he asks as you climb onto him, undoing the button on his pants and yanking them down off of him, the pulling off his boxers.

"I'm going to put my tongue stud to good use," you inform him, then look down to get your first good look at his dick. Holy shit, how do people get all of one of those things into their mouths? No way is that happening. He's long, though not ridiculously so – thank god – but his girth is impressive. The guy you slept with in college had a serious case of pencil prick and it was still uncomfortable – how the hell is Stan going to fit into you?

You lower your face down and decide how to proceed, licking his length from base to tip, making sure to tease him just barely with your tongue stud. Stan lets out a loud gasp. "Fuck."

You assume that means you're doing something right and continue, taking him as far into your mouth as you're comfortable with and moving your tongue around him. The groan Stan lets out is super encouraging, and you keep that up for a few more moments until you need to draw back and breathe before going down again, working up a generous amount of saliva and licking his dick all over, before grasping the base of him with your hand and running your tongue around his tip to pleasure him with your stud. He's breathing heavily. You take that as a very good sign.

Suddenly Stan grabs your shoulders and pulls you away. "Stop," he gasps. "I'm gonna cum."

"What's wrong with that?" you ask, wiping the corner of your mouth.

"Because when I cum, I'm done," Stan explains, pushing you back into the mattress. "And you're still in for some very personal attention." He grins wolfishly at you and positions himself at your knees, his hands rubbing your inner thighs and gently spreading them. "Let's see what we have here," he says teasingly, one finger slipping between your folds and sliding along its length. You whimper. God, that was good.

"Damn, you're wet," Stan observes, clearly proud of the effect he's had on you. "But I bet I can make you wetter."

You really hope he comes through on that bet.

Stan pushes your legs a little wider, as wide as they can comfortably go. "Ever had oral?" he asks, and you shake your head, feeling a little dizzy with the sudden eager anticipation. Stan grins. "Well, you won't be able to say that anymore after tonight."

And just like that his face lowers to your wetness and his lips meet the liquid center of your passion. Your back arches into his mouth desperately. You want him to go deeper, as deep as he can go. His tongue darts out and flicks your clit and you damn near jump out of your skin at the intensity of the pleasure it brings. "Shit," you gasp, your hands fisting in the bedsheets. "Jesus."

"Not over yet," you hear Stan mumble from his place between your legs, and he grabs your hips to keep you still as he goes back down, sucking vigorously on your clit. You let out a howl and try to dig your hands into your mattress. You need more. You need an anchor or you'll float away on impassioned euphoria, you're sure of it.

Stan shocks you further by hoisting your legs onto his shoulders, relentlessly lapping at your heat. His tongue probes you deep, slipping into you. You grab his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin. But it isn't enough to keep you grounded and suddenly everything explodes in starbursts and swirls of vibrant color, and you're barely aware of anything going on around you as reality begins to sink in again, a bit hazier than it was before.

"Shit, that was sexy," Stan breathes, kissing your inner thigh and then trailing them back up your body until he plants a soft one on your lips. Hi hand goes between your legs, gently stroking between your folds. "I'm gonna stretch you out," he whispers in your ear, and you're not sure of his meaning until he slips one finger inside you.

"Fuck!" you gasp, grasping his shoulders tight again. The stretching sensation is a little uncomfortable, but not bad. Stan leaves his finger inside you until your body gets accustomed to it and instead of feeling uncomfortable it feels pleasurable, and then he begins to move it around, probing your inner walls and then adding a second finger. You whimper, not sure if this more intense feeling is amazing or a little too much. Stan does the same thing, keeping still until your body relaxes and the discomfort goes away. "One more," he grunts, and slowly eases a third finger into you. You whimper and bury your face in the crook of his neck. It takes longer for your body to grow accustomed to the stretch this time, but when it does and Stan begins to languidly thrust his fingers in and out of you, you roll your head back and breathe in short gasps, feeling like you need an anchor again. Stan's shoulders aren't enough – especially not when he goes back to one finger, pushing it further than any of them have gone before and curls it slightly upwards, hitting a spot that makes your entire body spasm before you feel like you're falling into an ocean of pleasure, your every nerve exploding in the most incredible sensations as wave after wave of intense desire pulses throughout your body.

Stan kisses your forehead. "Good girl," he breathes, before getting up off the bed.

"Where are you going?" you ask. He hasn't even had sex with you yet. Is he leaving?!

"Relax. There's a condom in my wallet, which is in my jacket. I've got to go grab it," he explains easily, slipping out of your room. He's back within a minute, unwrapping the latex shield and rolling it on over his hard-on. He gets back on the bed, lowering his body over yours. "You ready?" he asks, and you nod and kiss him.

With a quick, forceful thrust he enters you, and immediately you're very grateful for the way he stretched you out. He stays still in you for a few moments, groaning with the effort, before he starts to move. In and out, deeper and faster with every thrust. Your breaths are ragged – or maybe that' him breathing, you can't really tell. Blood is roaring in your ears and your hips are grinding into his, trying to get him to go deeper. You kiss him sloppily over and over, watching through hazy eyes as his lids half-close and he gasps and shudders, thrusting in hard one final time, which sends you both over the edge. He collapses on you, thoroughly exhausted as you drown in more starbursts and pinpricks of pleasure, and when you come down off the high of orgasm you roll your head back onto your pillows, breathing heavily. "Damn," you breathe. "That was… incredible."

"You're incredible," Stan mumbles, kissing your cheek and then resting his head on your chest. "That blow job… Jesus Christ…"

"Glad you liked it," you smirk, weaving your fingers in Stan's hair. "So, um… how long will you be in town?"

Stan lets out a noise of amusement. "Well, you know, I was originally planning on shipping out in the morning—"

"Oh," you say dejectedly. You should have known this was too good to last.

"—but now I'm thinking I might stay here a while," Stan finishes. "I'm sure there's plenty of odd jobs I could do for a bit of cash."

You grin and shut your eyes as Stan climbs off you, disposing of the condom and then crawling back into bed with you. You shift so you're on your side and Stan lies down behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. "I'm going to sleep here, okay?" he asks. He sounds half-asleep already.

"That is fine with me," you whisper back. As far as you're concerned he can sleep here as long as he wants, especially if your nights go like tonight.

You let sleep take you, for once extremely satisfied with your life. Things have finally gotten interesting. You have no idea how long Stan will stick around, but you're sure as hell going to enjoy it while it lasts.