afterhours

You’re watching at the window anxiously, as you so often are these days. People pass by, shawls pulled low over their faces as they shuffle past your house on their way home before curfew. You don’t want to be caught out in the streets after dark. Nobody dares break the rules, not after a decade of cullings. That’s how he gets away with it. That’s how your Boy slips unseen through the silent city, despite being a towering hulk of a man at 6’4. You spot the shift of his brown cloak across the street, briefly illuminated by moonlight as he darts between buildings, and you push your window open and step back as he climbs through with surprising grace.

His mouth is on yours before you have a chance to say anything, lips soft but insistent as he parts yours and sucks the breath from your lungs with a low gasp. Big, scarred hands lift to cup your cheeks, covering almost your entire face with his palms as his fingers lace into your hair and tug you closer, tilting your head to the side as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and nips lightly.

Your body reacts to him instantly, as it always does. Heat rushes through you, your clit throbbing as arousal begins to kindle and slick between your thighs. You whine lightly into his mouth, and Boy untangles the fingers on one hand to skitter down your back and grasp a handful of your ass, dragging you against his firm body.

He finally pulls away from your lips to mouth ‘missed you’, and you push your hand against the stiffening bulge in his pants. “Show me.”

Boys eyes flutter closed for a moment, his brow furrowing in pleasure as his hips buck gently into your hand and the fingers in your hair tighten ever so slightly. You press your other hand to his cheek and his eyes open. “Show me.”

Boy watches your mouth make the shape, and the hand on your ass tightens, the strong muscles in his arm flexing as he lifts you easily against his body. You squeak in surprise as your legs wrap around his waist automatically, hands dropping onto his shoulders to steady yourself as your core makes contact with his clothed cock. Boy seizes your ass in both hands now, encouraging you to grind against him as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and watches pleasure flicker over your face. Because God, you’re pretty. The prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Resplendent. Having a very bright or beautiful appearance. Boy feels his cock twitch and leak against the heat of you as you roll your hips down against him, and your fingers travel up his shoulders and graze the sides of his neck before tangling in the short, sun-bleached strands of his hair. You pull him towards you, licking against his teeth until he releases his lip so you can suck it into your own mouth and trace the meat of it with your tongue.

Boy groans. He loves your tongue, he’s maybe obsessed with it. The delicate way you use it to trace his mouth or the veins on his neck. The feeling of it flicking against the head of his cock right before you take him into your throat. Transcendent. Going beyond ordinary limits; surpassing; exceeding. That’s how Boy felt, with his cock in your mouth and you on your knees, looking up at him with a hunger so intense it rivalled the aching pit of his own desperation.

You’re looking at him like that again, and Boy is about to release your ass so you can sink to your knees and show him when your head shoots to the side, to the open window, and Boy’s spine tenses.

“Whistle.” You mouth, and Boy drops you carefully to your feet, pushing you further into the room and away from the window as he looks out into the street. Jeopardy. Hazard or risk of or exposure to loss, harm, death, or injury. The hooded figure standing in the street below is small and slight enough to be a child, but Boy knows better. Knows the deadly shift in his gait, the tap of his staff against the bare earth. He doesn’t have to hear to know.

He turns, expression tight, and you nod. “I know. Go.”

Boy crosses the room, dipping his head to press his lips to yours and hoping, as he caresses his fingers against your cheek, that you understand. That he would stay, if he could. That you mean so much to him that he’d rather die than let anything happen to you. That he’ll stay away, if it keeps you safe. “I know.” You whisper against his mouth, and Boy feels the shape of the words against his mouth and the churning of regret in his stomach gets worse.

*

The sun beats unbearably hot on your back, and you duck into the shade of a canopy as you make your way through the market, purchasing your weekly staples and a few extra things for Boy. Three weeks. You hadn’t seen your Boy in three weeks. Not so much as a glimpse of him. No cabbages at the market, and the addicts of the city were getting… twitchy. Because no cabbages meant no little wrapped packages of dreamleaf, and that was what kept the most downtrodden of the population ticking over. The true trade of the Shaman, his real legacy. You hated that your Boy was mixed up in any of it. You hated that you couldn’t convince him to just leave, but you trusted him enough to know he had his reasons to stay. But knowing didn’t stop the ache in your heart or the pit in your stomach with each passing day.

You buy a cinnamon bun wrapped in parchment paper, the buttery, golden pastry flaking delicately as you slot it into your bag. You’ll place it in the window tonight, like the scent of the sugar might summon him. It would be a small price to pay to see him again. You’re thinking about feeding him the treat, about the feeling of the scar of his tongue prodding against your fingers as he sucks cinnamon from them, when you hear laughter. A high, sharp sound, so at odds with the low hum of tension that underpins market day and your head lifts to find the source.

The girl is a bright spark against a sea of brown and grey. Her blonde hair hangs over her shoulder in soft curls, and she bats her pretty, big eyes at a man as she twirls the stem of a dried desert flower between her fingers. You see the man reach for it, his big, tanned hand with the scarred fingers curling around the flower. Her fingers brush against his as she hands it over, and your stomach drops out with a sick jolt. You’d know those fingers anywhere. They’d been all over you, brushing over your cheek and pushing into your mouth and fucking you open more times than you could count. Seeing them touch her twists ugly in your gut, and you’re stomping across the market, shoving people out of your way with heat in your blood. The smile on the girl’s face drops as you approach, and you wonder just how monstrous your face must look to make her go so pale. The man turns too, face freezing in shock as you grab for his cloak and tug hard enough to tear the threadbare fabric. “Really?” You shout, slapping his shoulder with an open palm. “Three weeks.”

The Boy’s mouth opens and closes, eyes darting around the market and heart thumping hard at how many eyes are on him. On you. You’ve already drawn the attention of a handful of Van Der Koy guards, but for now they’re watching with interest rather than suspicion. For now. Boy has to get you inside somewhere private. He reaches for you, hand grabbing your wrist where you’re still hitting him. He hadn’t actually noticed, hadn’t registered the weak slaps of your palm against his shoulder through his own panic. There are tears in your eyes, and it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen.

“Three weeks.” You repeat, your lips shaking with sobs so hard Boy isn’t completely sure he’s reading you right. “You’ve been gone for three weeks, and then.” Your shoulders sag as you glance at the flower girl, and understanding lights in Boy. His eyes widen, mouth falling open as he lifts the dried flower. ‘This?’ He mouths, and you can barely even look at it as you nod. You’re staring at the ground now, and Boy tugs on your hand until you look back at him. ‘Home.’ He mouths. You shake your head. ‘Please’. He tries again, and your tongue licks out to wet your lips as you consider it. Boy’s eyes slip past you, to the group of guards that are still watching, and you realize just how dangerous you’re being, having this fight with him out in the open. How much danger you’re putting him in. So you let him pull you out of the market, following him down a winding maze of backstreets until he’s sure it’s safe to circle around to your house. He hovers at the door, and you push past him with a shove as you open the door and let him follow you inside.

As soon as the door is closed, a little of the tension bleeds out of Boy, and he sighs. You’re home safe. It isn’t over, because you’re across the room and your eyes are narrowed at him in a glare, but you’re safe. Betrayal. The act of disappointing a person’s trust, hopes, or expectations. That’s the look on your face, and it cuts Boy to his core. Boy presses his hands together, holding them out to you in a gesture of supplication. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Who is she?”

Boy frowns, shaking his head before shrugging his shoulders deliberately. I don’t know. Never seen her before.

“She smiled at you like…” you sigh, shaking your head. “Shit. I suppose I can’t blame her for it.”

Boy takes a hesitant step towards you, breaking the clasp of his hands to push his hood off. He reaches for you, and you let him cup your jaw and trace the shape of your lips with his calloused thumb as he tries to push your mouth into a smile.

It sort of works, and you pull away from him as your lips tug upwards. “Don’t.”

Boy frowns, reaching for you again, and you take a step to the side to avoid his hand. “No. I’m mad at you.”

Boy swallows hard. He knows about anger. Knows how it feels to be on the receiving end of rage. But you’re not the Shaman, thank Christ for that. You’d never hurt him. And Boy absolutely hates that he’s hurting you. He reaches into his cloak, pulling out the dried flower. Some of the petals have come loose crumpled against his shirt, and they flutter to the floor. “I don’t want that. From her.”

Boy holds the stem steady and reaches for the remaining petals, stroking them as delicately as he can manage before holding it out to you again. ‘For you’, he mouths.

You swallow as your eyes dart between the flower and his face. His pretty, sincere face. “You… got this for me?”

Boy nods sharply, eyes lighting with pleasure at your understanding. He reaches into his cloak again for his coin purse, shaking it gently.

“You bought it for me?” Your mouth opens in surprise as warmth floods your stomach. The Shaman doesn’t pay him for selling his drugs. “How?”

Boy’s hands are moving again, complicated gestures that you think might be… chores?

“You worked for other people?”

Boy nods again. He wishes he could tell you properly. It would be so much quicker, if he could use words to tell you he’d mended fences and fixed a horse cart for someone from a nearby farm, and that he was saving every penny so he could take you away from the city for good. He wishes he could tell you that he’d seen the flower, a perfect, vibrant delicacy in a sea of dust, and it had reminded him of you so strongly he’d had to buy it for you. He knows your face would soften if he could tell you that.

“And the girl was just…” You swallow, feeling an embarrassed blush creep up the sides of your neck. “Oh.”

Boy twists his mouth to the side before taking another step towards you, holding up the tattered flower again. This time you take it, pinching the dried stem between your finger and thumb and bringing it to your nose to inhale. It doesn’t smell like much, the scent of the petals has long since dried up and it smells more like your Boy, like sweat and salt and the rich earth of the forest. You inhale deeper, trapping the scent of him in your lungs. “I’m sorry.” You say, lifting your head to make sure he catches it. Boy wouldn’t have missed a single syllable, with the intensity he’s fixed on you. His hand lifts to cup your face, and you don’t pull away this time as his thumb traces the seam of your lips.

‘I’m sorry’ he mouths, eyes full of sincerity, and you part your lips to suck his thumb into your mouth, laving your tongue against the pad of it in the way you know he likes. You watch as his eyes darken, his pupils expanding, and you don’t need to look down to know he’s getting hard. You release his thumb with a wet pop. “Show me.”

His free hand slips down your side, thumb rubbing circles into the bone of your hip for a moment as he lowers slowly to his knees in front of you and looks up through his lashes. You’ve always liked him like this, he can see it in the flush of blood to your cheeks and the way your whole body seems to coil tighter. “What are you doing?” You whisper, your throat bobbing as you swallow hard against a lump of emotion.

Boy raises his eyebrows, fixing you with a look that is unmistakable. Reparation. The making of amends for wrong or injury done. He presses his lips to your clothed centre, looking up at you with electric green eyes as his hands slide up to the waistband of your pants and hover.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth and nod, and Boy drags the fabric down your thighs with careful, deliberate reverence. The scent of you hits him and his cock twitches in his pants, and he inhales deeply against the dampness of your underwear.

You whimper, your fingers lacing gently into his hair and scratching against his scalp in a way that raises goose bumps on the back of his neck. You tug lightly, and he looks up at you to read your lips as you whisper “Please.”

He needs no further encouragement, as his nose nudges against your underwear and his thumbs hook into the elastic to pull them down your legs. They join your pants on the floor around your ankles, and Boy holds your hip to steady you as you step out. His hand reaches for your calf before you can put your foot down on the ground, and his mouth curves into a smirk as he lifts your leg over his shoulder.

You’re grateful that he can’t hear the sound you make when the sharp point of his nose makes contact with the hood of your clit. It’s a primal, guttural groan. His hands tighten on your flesh, fingers splaying across the back of your thigh as he holds you against his face and wraps his lips around the bud of your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

Boy’s lack of a fully functioning tongue doesn’t matter so much when he buries his face in your cunt like he wants to suffocate there. The thumb still coated in your saliva presses against your entrance, a barely-there weight against your quivering hole, and your fingers tighten in his hair. Boy takes this as permission, pushing his thumb into you and pressing down against the sensitive flesh of your walls as he drags your clit lightly against his teeth before sucking hard.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, cunt clenching hard around his thumb, and Boy withdraws from your heat to push two long fingers into you instead. He curls them inside you, probing against the tight muscles for the spongy, sensitive spot that makes you clamp down on him. His mouth curves into a smile against you as he drags his lips harshly against your folds, nudging his nose against your clit over and over again as your hips begin to rock forward. You’re grinding against his face, soaking him and whimpering a steady stream of filthy things he can’t hear, and Boy wonders whether he should make you mad more often if this is how it ends. Your arousal is leaking out of you, soaking down his fingers and pooling on his palm, and Boy resists the urge to drag his hand over his mouth. He’s never wished for a tongue as badly as he does right now. To push it inside you, to feel the tight, wet heat of you in his mouth rather than just on his lips.

You pull on his hair, trying to drag his face away from you as your orgasm approaches, but Boy’s grip on the back of your thigh tightens as he nuzzles against your slick, suctioning his lips around your clit and dragging it back and forth over his bottom lip as his fingers fuck into you. You moan as your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking and arousal soaking Boy’s face as your muscles flutter erratically against his fingers. Boy keeps sucking greedily, nipping at your sensitive clit and digging his nose against you until you stop rolling your hips up against his face.

He pulls back and gathers your arousal from his chin and his cheeks, running the slick palm of his hand against his mouth to coat his lips in you before releasing your leg gently back to the ground. And he’d be happy with that, if it was all you’d give him. But your eyes drop hungrily to the bulge straining against the front of his pants and the dark spot of precum where he’s leaking, and you hook your fingers into the front of his shirt, tugging on it until he gets the message and stands up.

Your hand is on him immediately, fumbling with the waistband of his pants and tugging his cock out to squeeze heavy in your palm.

Boy moans softly, pressing his lips together as his hips push against you, seeking friction. You reach for his face with your free hand, brushing the tips of your fingers against his cheek until he opens his eyes to watch your mouth. “I want to suck your cock. Can I?”

Boy nods enthusiastically as his cock twitches its agreement in your hand, and you rub your thumb over his leaking slit before releasing him and bringing your thumb to your lips to lick the salty trace of him. You turn then, and Boy is powerless to do anything but follow you like a lost puppy deeper into the house, to the little room at the back with your soft sheets and dim lighting. You push him down onto the bed, palm firm against his shoulder until he lies back on the mattress. He cranes his neck to watch as you crawl over his body, settling between his legs and wrapping your fist around the base of his cock again.

“Lie back.” You instruct softly. “Just enjoy it.”

Boy wants to tell you that watching you take his cock into your mouth is a really big part of the enjoying it, but at the sharp lick of your tongue against his slit his head falls back anyway, eyes rolling. You suction the fat head of his cock into your mouth, letting drool drip down his length to coat him and jerking him into your mouth with a loose fist. It isn’t long at all before his hips are lifting from the bed to thrust into your mouth, and you relax your jaw to let him fuck into your throat .

Boy makes a keening sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper, and you feel fresh arousal throb in your clit at the desperate sound of it. God, you wish you could hear his voice. Wish he could tell you how good it feels.

Ecstasy. An overpowering emotion or exaltation; a state of sudden, intense feeling. Boy’s mind is blank of everything now, everything but the wet heat of your mouth and the drag of your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock and the tight squeeze of your fingers wrapped around his base. He knows he’s taking too much, can feel the way your throat spasms around him as you try not to gag, but he can’t stop unless you stop him. And you’re not stopping him, bobbing your head and pumping him into your mouth and encouraging him with the vibration of your moans against his length.

Boy’s hands fly to your head, tugging on your hair as a warning, and you tap his thigh in acknowledgement, the silent language of touch the two of you have crafter over the months of your secret relationship. But you don’t pull off, sucking harder and taking him impossibly deeper into your throat, and Boy cums with a startled, rough cry as his hips snap against your face and he spurts his load down your throat. You swallow around him, breathing through your nose as best you can with your face pressed harshly to his cock, still pumping his length into your mouth to milk every last drop of his release from him.

When his fingers loosen in your hair and his hips drop to the mattress, you withdraw slowly, licking over his sensitive skin and pressing your lips to the swollen tip of his cock before releasing him completely and rising to your knees to drink in the sight of him. Boy is boneless, his enormous, muscular body melting against the sheets as his breath leaves him in harsh pants. The sheets either side of his thighs are rumpled and damp from how he’s twisted them in his fingers, and you can see the pulse of his blood thrumming under the tanned skin over his throat. He’s a fucked-out wreck and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You crawl over his body, your soft chest pressing to his hard one as you press your lips to his. His arms lift to wrap around your waist, pinning you to him as his lips coax yours open, silently begging for your tongue. You lick against the inside of his mouth, and he lets loose a low moan at the taste of himself on your tongue.

It’s at that moment his stomach gurgles, announcing its emptiness, and Boy feels a blush heat his cheeks as you pull away from the kiss to tilt your head to the side, listening. Boy knows it makes a sound, though he can’t quite remember it. Your lips curl into a soft smile. “Wait here.”

Boy huffs as you wriggle out of his arms, shuffling into a seated position against your headboard and tucking his soft cock back into his pants. You pout as you return to the bed and see he’s covered up, and Boy rolls his eyes at you before fixing his gaze on the greasy paper bag in your hand. ‘For me?’ He mouths, pointing at it and then his chest.

You grin, climbing onto the bed and ripping the paper open to present the pastry to him. The scent of butter and sugar and cinnamon hits him, and Boy swallows hard. His lips part as your fingers shred a piece off the bun, lifting it to his mouth. He pulls the sweetness into his mouth, dragging the pastry to the back of his mouth to dissolve against the stub of his tongue, and his eyes roll back at the taste.

You sit cross legged in front of him and balance the open bag on your knee, shredding the bun into bite-sized pieces with your fingers as you watch his face contort in pleasure. And you’re not like… jealous of the pastry or anything, considering he’d looked just as blissed out when he was eating you, but you still press your lips to his between every bite, just because you can.

He’s watching your lips move as the last piece of pastry sticks to the roof of his mouth. He’s forgotten, momentarily, how to swallow as your words form the words. “I love you, you know?”

He can only stare at you dumbly as the words sink into his skin and wrap around his heart until it hurts. You love him. You love him back.

“You don’t have to say it. Or, you know, whatever.” You mumble. Boy squints at your mouth, not completely sure of what you’re saying.

Adoration. Fervent and devoted love. He cups your jaw in both hands and brings your face close to his, nuzzling his nose against yours before pulling back and mouthing ‘I love you, too’.

It wasn't Eric's dark hair I saw when I looked down at my chest, but Malek's. It was early Sunday morning, and I hadn't slept much that night. Not after my mom's message. I didn't even know if it was about Eric's crime, but still I was sure because that night three crows landed on our porch and sat there all night. It was obvious they were there to warn Eric, or maybe protect him.

I moved Malek's heavy head from my chest and stood up even though my muscles protested from exhaustion. I still had Eric's light blue T-shirt on, but Malek hadn't reacted to it. In just my panties and the T-shirt, I moved out to the hallway to look out through the window to see if the crows were still sitting on the porch. There were five of them now, two more crows, but also a shirtless, tattooed man. 

Eric. 

He sat in one of the wicker chairs while one of the birds sat on his knee and he tickled it lightly on the neck. The clock was 8 a.m., so some early risers had probably seen the scene. I was used to it, but for someone else it probably looked eerie or even scary. Eric might have been the kindest man, but surrounded by crows, dressed in just black boxers, showing off all his ink and with his deep gaze, he looked scary.

I sat down in the other chair next to his, with just a small table between us. Even though I had been close to the crows before, I was still afraid of them. So when the one closest to me stretched its wings, I jumped. Eric looked up at me and smirked.

“They don't care about you, so you don't need to care about them.”

He had said it before, not to sound full of himself, just to use facts to calm me. They were there for him and didn't seem to see me at all.

I nodded a little and then looked at Eric instead of watching the crows. He had stopped tickling the bird, but it still sat on his knee while he looked out over the yard.

“Something’s going on… They wouldn't be here otherwise…”

I looked down at the floor because I didn't want to be the one to tell Eric the news, but I knew I had to.

“Yeah…” I said quietly while Eric turned his big eyes to me. “It seems like they have found… it.”

I didn't want to say “body” because it sounded too harsh, and I didn't want to say “him” because I didn't want to see him as a human, so his body became an “it”. Something to fear but given no respect.

Eric stared at me, but he looked more tired than upset. Just as always, I had a hard time interpreting him, but this time I wouldn't ask him what he felt. It wasn't right because it was probably no easier for him to find the words. He nodded slowly and looked at the birds around him.

“They’ve protected me for a long time…”

I swallowed hard, still resistant to seeing the supernatural in our story, even though I had seen what happened to Eric that night. If I accepted it, I would also need to become more open to the possibility that other things might be true.

“We don't know what they have found or if it can be connected to you…” I said desperately.

Eric smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

“They will find out who he is… And then they will talk to my mom.”

“But she thanked you.”

“Yeah, but she's still afraid of the authorities. She will do anything to get the spotlight away from herself. And, yeah, it would in theory be the right thing to tell them…”

I didn't like it when he talked so bluntly, especially when everything was true. In every other subject, I was the harsh realist and he the romantic, but when it came to his crime, he was the one who saw what a thin thread it was hanging by.

“So what should we do? My mom wants me to talk to Malek—see what he can find out,” I said after long minutes of silence.

Eric leaned back in the chair and the crow moved to sit on the railing together with its siblings.

“I think you should. So we know how serious the situation is.”

He didn't say anything about how I couldn't tell Malek about his crime or anything. I knew we trusted each other blindly and he would never question my judgment. One more proof that we were soulmates. There aren't many people you trust like that.

I nodded at what he said and stood up. I gave him a final look. I didn't ask if he wanted to come with me inside. I knew he needed his time with his crows.

×××

I looked at the smiling Eric in the hospital bed. He was talking on the phone, but the person on the other end was doing most of the talking. He sat in a lotus position in cut-off sweatpants with a bare chest, but also bore an angry blue-red bruise on his neck from the TV cable. Every nurse looked at him with wide eyes, either with attraction or horror. His tattoos were a mix of drunken decisions and nightmare-fueled creativity. He had a buzz cut, so the tattoos on his head were showing too. I couldn't see what any of them were, but he explained that one was his childhood drawing of a crow. It was round and didn't look like a crow at all.

Eric laughed nervously and looked at me excitedly while he played with the TV remote. It was the record label, and I sat next to him crossing my fingers while looking up at the sky as if God was up there to help.

“Yeah, next Wednesday, that sounds great. Yeah, awesome,” Eric said in a wobbly voice before politely saying goodbye.

It was hard to believe he had tried to take his life two days before. Excitedly, he leaned forward, buried his face in the mattress and screamed into it. I giggled at his silly behavior and ran my hand over his back.

“It's happening,” I said and patted his bum teasingly.

Eric turned his face toward me and smiled dopily.

“It's happening. It's fucking happening. I must call the guys and shit… Fuck, it's happening…”

That Eric, who had gone through so much, was the one taking care of the contacts and everything administrative in the band was silly, but also the only alternative. He and Jeremy, the drummer, were the only ones who could really speak for themselves and get things done. Jeremy had three children and two jobs, so he never had time or energy. Maybe Eric was also the one who wanted it the most.

Chance was a good frontman though, much more extroverted but lazy. The idea from the beginning was that he would be in the spotlight while the others took roles in the background. It suited Eric, who really was introverted and liked his privacy. When they got famous, the fans decided something else, though. Eric was the one with the looks, and the record label could see who the girls preferred. The fact that Eric was shy, sweet, but had a dark sense of humor just made him even more appealing in the girls' eyes, which also meant I had competition all over the world.

Eric called his band members amid laughter and curse words. I looked at him with a big smile, but there was sadness in it. It was obvious we couldn't be a couple. I was happy but also relieved that his life seemed to be straightening out and even flourishing. That meant he wouldn't need me in the same way anymore.

I looked out the hospital window at the gray sky. A lonely crow was flying in circles, as if it was looking into our window. I stared at it while Eric continued to laugh.

“Please take care of him…” I whispered to the bird even though it couldn't hear me.

×××

Malek talked with some other policemen about what was happening at my childhood home. It wasn't weird that I asked when it was so close to home and when it also was my mom who had wanted the information. When he came home, Eric had just put a chicken in the oven to roast. He wanted to make a classic Sunday dinner even though he had never been lucky enough to have one as a child.

Malek let out a heavy sigh when he came into the kitchen and gave Eric a one-armed hug and me a peck on the lips. While he moved to the bedroom to change clothes, Eric gave me a wide-eyed look. It was obvious he was nervous about what Malek would tell us. I probably had the same expression but was forced to give Malek time to settle down. I didn't want him to believe I had any emotional connection to the crime.

Eric turned his attention to the boiling vegetables when Malek came back into the kitchen. We had decided he wouldn't be part of the conversation. Neither he nor I knew how he would react to hearing about a murder he had committed, so it was easier if he just listened and Malek couldn't see his face.

Malek commented on the smell of the roasting chicken and then sat down in the chair opposite me at the table, just like we had planned. From there he couldn't see Eric's face. He talked about his day the same way he always did, gave me an update on Justin's dating life, like he had done for the last three months, and then took a deep breath before saying what we had been waiting for.

“I talked with Cleo about what was happening at your mom’s house. She still has friends at the station there.”

“Oh?” I tried to sound curious without sounding desperate, but it felt like I didn't succeed completely. Eric had stopped moving by the stove so he could hear what Malek would say.

“Yeah, they've found a body.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, a man. But it's likely really old.”

I nodded a little, trying to come up with a good question to ask next, but my husband continued.

“Like really old. They're having a hard time saying exactly how old, but maybe fifty years.”

I furrowed my brows.

“You mean he was fifty when he was killed?”

“No, it's been fifty years since he died. There are several things that don't add up, though. Maybe someone moved the body.”

I looked over Malek's shoulder at Eric, who had turned around to look at us. He looked confused but still nervous. I looked at him in shock, and it made Malek turn and look at Eric too. Eric scratched his elbow awkwardly.

“Oh right, I forgot you lived around there too. Did you live close?” Malek asked.

“Ehh… No. I lived on the outskirts of town. On the other side.”

It wasn't a lie because that was where his stepfather had his house, but before that he had lived in almost the same place where we had buried his stepfather's body.

Malek nodded.

“It's an exciting case. Like, a fifty-year-old murder or something? It's like a movie,” he said with a crooked smile and looked between me and Eric with sparkling eyes.

×××

I was not happy with the bar Eric had picked for us to catch up after nine months apart. A sports bar. There was some boxing match he wanted to see and had decided he would watch even though he was meeting me. I was pissed at him, but the feeling ran off me like water when I saw him outside his hotel.

I had moved to New York and lived with another girl, so now that he could afford it, he had checked into a hotel where I could stay with him instead of him staying with me and my female colleague. He was dressed in black cargo pants, a black bomber jacket with oversized silver details, an oversized dark gray hoodie, and a black cap under the hood. It looked like he was hiding from someone, and in a way he was. He hadn't really gotten used to suddenly being famous, and even if only a few people recognized him, he could get a little panicked in public, he had told me on the phone.

“Hey, babe,” he said with a big smile as I approached carrying my weekend bag.

He couldn't see my tight black lace dress, but he complimented my burgundy coat with the big hood that made me feel like Little Red Riding Hood. I giggled and worked up the courage to kiss him. He kissed me back like it was completely natural that we would do that after nine months apart.

“I missed you,” he said sweetly, making my cheeks turn the same shade as my coat.

“I missed you too. Like crazy.”

Even though we had missed each other so much, both of us knew it was better for us to be apart. Eric had a career that forced him to keep moving, but also, his mental health would never be stable.

Chance, who knew about Eric's illness, gave me updates sometimes, and I knew Eric had self-harmed seriously. The latest thing was that he had pushed a spoon down his throat while eating yogurt. Miraculously, he swallowed it, and it came out the same way it had gone down. Chance even told me that the two of them had laughed about it afterward.

After leaving my bag in his hotel room, we went to the crowded sports bar. Plenty of people wanted to see the boxing match and were completely focused on the screen. When Eric realized that, he pulled down his hood, took off his cap, and showed off his midnight-blue mullet.

I had seen it styled in press photos and in its natural state in the pictures he posted on Snapchat. It was natural now too. It was longer at the back than I had realized, and carefully I started playing with the longer strands.

“You're so pretty,” I whispered while looking at his green eyes in profile, framed by dark eyeliner.

He looked at me, surprised, but was interrupted by a guy sitting down opposite us where we sat on the couch against the wall.

“Sorry, is this seat taken?”

The guy was well-groomed with a thick beard and a twirled mustache. I could almost imagine that he smelled of pomade.

“No, no. Take it,” Eric said with a friendly smile.

The guy looked at him one second too long. Did he recognize him? 

He stretched out his hand toward Eric, and Eric took it. Their hands were almost the same size, but Eric's fingers were slimmer and longer.

“Malek.”

×××

Eric invited Malek to follow us to the outdoor seating area of a dive bar nearby. It was just the first place we found, and Eric had invited Malek after they had screamed at the boxers together. It was obvious they thought alike and had even said the same things over each other. I would rather have had Eric to myself, but Malek seemed okay, and I liked sitting close to Eric while they talked about sports and music. The autumn night made me cold, even though I had stolen Eric's bomber jacket and had his long, heavy arm around my shoulders.

I could feel Malek looking at me sometimes, differently from the way he looked at Eric. His excited expression turned nervous, especially when he met my eyes. I couldn't read him, though, probably because for the last few years Eric had been the only guy I have had an interest in. 

“Fuck, I need to take a leak… Do you want anything?” Eric said, slowly releasing me. He looked at both of us.

“Will you?” Malek asked with wide eyes, as if Eric had the right answer.

“I'll have a beer.”

“I'll have the same, then.”

“Babe?” Eric asked me as he stood up on his long legs.

“Buy me one too, then. You can drink it if I fall asleep,” I joked, making him smile before he walked into the bar.

I yawned widely after he left and pulled his jacket closer around my body. Malek sat and looked at me in silence until I looked up at him.

“Are you a couple? I mean… It's hard to tell and… He asked me if I thought you were pretty and…” He swallowed hard while his eyes darted from side to side. “Which you are.”

He laughed nervously and adjusted his hair. I smiled kindly at him because it was obvious there wasn't a mean bone in his body.

“No… We're not a couple. We're best friends.”

It was the answer Eric and I had decided was the right one. That we did things other best friends didn't do, no one needed to know.

“Really? You look good together.”

“I know,” I joked, but then laughed awkwardly because it was probably the wrong answer. “We were a couple in our teens, but we grew in different directions. I mean, he's a rockstar.”

Malek looked impressed and opened his mouth to ask more, but then Eric kicked the door open so he could carry all three beers with both hands. I smiled at him because the kick was hot, and so was his lanky walk.

We continued talking about politics, life, and eventually Eric even touched on the subject of death. Malek believed nothing happened after death, but Eric believed we all continued to live in a parallel reality. It sounded like pure woo-woo, and Malek had a hard time following when Eric talked about souls getting trapped in the same universe.

“Baby.” I patted his cheek to get his attention. “You've lost us now. And I'm tired. It's time to go back to the hotel.”

He looked a little hurt. No one could ever follow his thoughts about death.

“Okay…” he said, as always, letting me win.

“The hotel? I thought you lived here,” Malek said after clearing his throat.

“Oh, I do, but it's crowded with a roommate. Eric is a homeless rockstar, so a hotel room is better,” I said jokingly, making Eric let out an embarrassed sound when I called him a rockstar.

“Oh…” Malek said and stood up, just like Eric and I did.

We both gave him a hug. At first I thought the hug was a little too close and intimate, but then I saw that he and Eric hugged the same way. Eric took my hand and smiled at me before we said goodbye to Malek. I could feel Malek's eyes on us as we walked hand in hand, like the best of friends.

×××

The eye on his chest was new and probably the most well made tattoo he had. He had done it at the same time as the cherries on his neck. He had actually done them at the exact same time by two different tattoo artists. I really liked the cherries though and kissed them like I wanted to eat them up. It made Eric laugh that boyish way he did when we were alone. But it wasn't the tattoos I looked the most at but his body. His body. Oh my god. Eric had always been fit, arrogantly way too easily, and seemed to just be born with perfect proportions but now… Oh my god. I couldn't even guess how much he worked out to look like that. Thick arms with prominent veins that crawled up his underarms. Back muscles that made him broaden out like the perfect V and then abs carved to perfection. Like that wasn't enough his Adonis belt made you think only about one thing when you saw him - sex. Holy fucking Satan. I thought it was Photoshop on his band’s promotion pictures but he actually looked like that. 

He loosened the broad belt in his cargo pants and unzipped them. I laid on the bed in just panties but it was obvious this was his time to shine. He pushed down his pants with his underwear and let them fall to the ground. His cock stood hard and ready, waiting for me. He was as big as the last time I saw him but it had another impact with his much more muscular body. He had also shaved off his pubic hair and the little chest hair he had gotten. He looked too good and it was obvious he knew it when he sat down, leaned back on his elbows, waiting for me to crawl up to him. I did, quickly, like he was water in the Sahara desert. I met his deep set eyes, kissed his ruby red lips and let my hands explore his body. I confess that they stopped a bit longer at the abs and his v-line and when I tickled the lines down to his cock I could hear him exhale deeply. 

“I haven't slept with anyone else…” he whispered. I looked at him seriously. There was no lie in his eyes so I nodded as an answer. 

“Me neither…” 

Harshly he pushed his lips against mine, with both of his hands framing my face aggressively. He released me to moan when I had started to jerk off his slick cock. 

“Please… Just… Just fucking fuck me…” he whimpered. Which made me smirk, pleased. 

Together we pulled off my panties so I could straddle him. It was even different to have him between my legs but it was the same glorious feeling of pain and pleasure that took over when I sank down on his thickness. I could see all his muscles strain when I had taken him completely and he breathed out heavily. 

“I love you, Hayden…” he whispered so lowly I almost didn't hear him.

××× 

We hadn't discussed how long Eric would stay at our place. Under normal circumstances, I would have hinted that it was time for him to leave because I felt too addicted to him, but now it didn't feel right when we had so many question marks hanging over our heads. 

Besides, I didn't want him to go anyway. I didn't know how I would handle bad news or how I would deliver them to him. It was better if he stayed, even if I felt it was becoming harder and harder to act like a good wife to Malek.

It was Eric who pushed me away when I tried to straddle him on the couch that Tuesday. At first I was surprised and even offended until I realized I had forgotten that Malek was actually in his office talking on the phone.

“Not now…” Eric whispered from where he sat with a notebook resting against the armrest of the couch. He was writing song lyrics. I had looked through the notebook, and there wasn't anything uplifting in it. He had written quite a few love songs, but now the word “death” popped up in every other sentence.

“Sorry…” I said sheepishly as I sat down in the opposite corner of the couch and picked up my phone from the coffee table. I opened Instagram to scroll but closed it again almost immediately. Uneasily, I glanced toward Eric to make sure he hadn't seen the ads for baby clothes, but he just kept writing in his notebook. I couldn't think of anything to do and even considered going to bed at seven o'clock just so it would be the next day and a new workday.

I looked up when I heard Malek come out of the office and hoped he would have some task for me to do, but he looked far too excited for that.

“Now, should I tell you…” he said with a pleased smile as he sat down in the armchair opposite us.

Eric looked up from his notebook, confused, and then turned to me. I could see his expression change as he studied my face. He hadn't made the connection yet, but I had, so when he saw my horrified expression he must have understood what I thought this was about.

Malek smirked at our reactions. He must have interpreted the look in our eyes as something entirely different because he leaned back, fingers intertwined over his stomach, like a storyteller about to begin.

“You know the grave in the forest? That's actually a really interesting story. They still can't determine how old the body is because some things seem even older.”

Eric awkwardly dragged a hand through his hair and down across his neck. His fingers lingered there as if someone had tried to choke him. Even though I felt my own anxiety rising, I stretched out my foot and pressed it against his thigh in a discreet attempt at comfort.

“That sounds weird…” I said, hoping Malek would be encouraged to continue.

“Yeah, and that's not even the strangest part. They've found DNA from one more person.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion and couldn't stop myself from showing it openly. Malek was too pleased with his story to notice anything unusual and probably saw it as a natural reaction. I could feel Eric's long fingers close around my foot, but I didn't dare look at him. It could be DNA from one of us, but most likely from him. That didn't calm me down at all because whether it was his DNA, mine, or my father's, I would lose him, and that could only lead to one thing.

“DNA? Like fingerprints?”

“Fingerprints? No, no. They don't think it belongs to the perpetrator. They think there was another victim. One more man.”

I stared at Malek, my mouth dry. I tried to swallow, but my throat only seemed to get drier every time. Eric squeezed my foot tightly, but I still didn't dare look at him. I didn't know what any of this meant, and I didn't know what Eric believed. For a brief second, my thoughts drifted to the things he had been telling me for ten years, but it was too ridiculous, too illogical, to seriously consider.

“They think it was a double murder from the seventies, and they're searching for missing persons from that period. Maybe your parents know something?”

Malek simply smiled because, to him, it was the kind of true-crime story you would watch on Netflix. To me and Eric, it was something entirely different.

I nodded to myself, deciding that this was just a terrible coincidence that had nothing to do with Eric's crime. Eric, however, didn't seem capable of thinking that way. Both Malek and I looked at each other in bewilderment when we heard Eric start to cry.

×××

I kissed his naked back in the hotel bed the next morning, all the way down to his cheeks where I gave him a light bite. It made him clench his ass and giggle innocently. I smirked evilly when I lay down next to him again, nose to nose. He looked at me with a warm smile, but it slowly became sadder and sadder. The angst would always find us, this time because we knew this couldn't be our everyday life.

“I want you to find a good man…” he said while stroking my hair away from my face and shoulder. 

I didn't answer because I didn't want anyone else other than him. Why couldn't I be single forever? It was enough for me to have him in short periods, but Eric had other thoughts.

“I think Malek would be perfect…”

I laughed, unamused, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Oh please… You know that just like that?” I continued to laugh, but Eric just stared at me until I stopped and looked back at him, questioning.

“I know you don't believe me, but… I had a dream—”

“Like Martin Luther King?” I joked, mostly because I knew he would talk about things I didn't want him to talk about. He sighed deeply.

“I had a dream about the future—your future—and… Malek is the right guy for you. He will be there for you when I leave—”

I sat up angrily and grunted like an angry dog.

“Eric! Not this shit again!”

I looked at him with a look I knew would make him stop, and he did. He just closed his eyes and exhaled deeply in disappointment. I didn't want to hurt him or diminish his feelings, but every time he started talking like that, every fiber in me screamed. I couldn't really say what emotion it was; I just knew it gave me violent anxiety, and the only way to stop it was to shut him up.

I sat and looked at him for a while, then looked out of the window when I thought I heard something. A big black crow landed on the thin ledge outside the window. It was a wonder the big bird could sit there at all, and it even pressed itself against the glass. It was eager to be there, and I knew why. I looked down at my tattooed lover again and sighed.

“I don't even have his number,” I said with a shrug. Eric opened his eyes slowly and blinked a few times to refocus on me.

“I got it. He gave it to me. I got it.”

×

@kikibit @malenoradgn @a-differentbrandof-beans @forrealandjustsaying @useyourwandbro @turbotasticoo @keysandthesea @muchwita @hanamirandak @hamburger-sprite  

@loushaw131460 @lunaskye999

“God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. 

The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. 

*some time earlier*

The mood in the Draven household for the past few weeks had been a stressful one and it was beginning to show up in the simplest of ways. The house had become a little messy, unfolded clothes, fast food packaging bulging out of the bin and dishes taking up space in the sink and space in your mind too. 

Working from home was supposed to be easy, but the constant miscommunications and deadlines had actually left you with more stress than you’d ever encountered. Eric had begged you relentlessly to not get a job. He wanted to take care of you and he had the means to do so. 

But relying on a man was a stupid idea, he could dump you and leave you high and dry. Then what? You’d be left with nothing. So for your own sake, you got a job. You didn’t chip in on Bills, Eric wouldn’t let you do such a thing. 

You were beginning to regret your choice and Eric was getting fed up of seeing you this stressed. When he came home one evening it all came to a head. 

“Hey baby where are you?” The exhaustion in his voice couldn’t be hidden even if he tried. When he got no answer he went to your office. And much to his annoyance there you were staring at your computer. You looked up at the sound of the door opening then looked back down straight away. 

“I didn’t hear you come in, sorry” your mind was clouded with deadlines, you did not need Eric in your office right now. 

“Come and eat, I got some take out” you could see the white bag but you had no interest in eating. 

“I’ll eat later, thanks though” you heard Eric sigh as he turned away.

He sat in the living room alone, eating the food he had picked up for the both of you. When the realisation dawned on him, he didn’t have to take this. He walked back into your office again with determination. 

“You’re coming to eat, you’ve probably been in here all day” you looked up and Eric looked exhausted, sounded it too now you bothered to pay attention. But you weren’t just going to do what he told you to. 

“No, Eric I have to get this work done” you looked back down to your laptop disappointed in how much you still had left to do. Your hands came up to your temples. The work was due in less than 12 hours, every moment mattered if you wanted to keep your job. your independence. 

“You’re not doing this to me Y/N, go and eat, it’ll still be waiting after you're done.”  The laptop lid slammed shut and Eric’s hand was placed on top of it. He was sick of trying the nice way, you needed something firmer. 

“Eric I don’t have time for this, please just get the fuck out!” The silence that followed was deafening. Eric’s eyes darkened and you knew you’d fucked up.

“What did you just say to me?” he leaned over the desk “think twice before you say it again” his low and menacing voice should have been a warning. You didn't take it as one. You’d grown sick of his pushing, now it was time to push back. 

“I said, Get the fuck out.” you spoke through gritted teeth. Standing to mirror his pose. Eric walked round and grabbed your wrist. Dragging you out of the office completely. You tried to push the soles of your feet into the floor to stop him, but your stubbornness was no match for his effortless strength. 

“Eric- Eric let go of me, I’m not just a doll you can drag around, get the fuck off me!” you shouted at him, not thinking of the repercussions. He stayed silent. Simply walking you to the bedroom, his large hand wrapped around your wrist. 

When you got to the bedroom he flicked on the light, and practically threw you at the bed, where you sat, rage running through your veins. You saw Eric take a deep breath before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I’m asking as kindly as I can here Y/N, quit the damn job” Irritation still seeped into his words even though he’d tried to calm it. 

“No Eric. I’m not quitting and you can’t make me” even while speaking to him there was a timer in your head thinking about that deadline and how much each section of work would take to write. Your eyes caught Eric’s watch and you felt the panic in your chest. 

Eric watched as your breathing changed from anger to something else. “You don’t need the job, look I’m not trying to control you, own you or bribe you.” he leaned down in front of you on his knees and reached for your hand. “I just can’t stand to see you this stressed all the time, get a different job part time at a cafe or at the library. Just don’t keep this job” his anger had dissipated into something softer. He would deal with the way you spoke to him later. 

“I’m smarter than working at a cafe or a library though, they don’t have a challenge behind them either, I don’t want to just be Eric Draven's girlfriend.” Your eyes flickered to Eric’s wrist again, 20 minutes had been wasted so far on this nonsense. 

Your words hit Eric, he knew you were smart, it was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with you. He saw you as a future wife, future mother, your mothers daughter and a determined individual. But you were driving yourself crazy and he couldn’t see it continue. 

“You’ll never just be my girlfriend, but if you keep going the way you are, you won't be anything to anyone, you’ll be someone who misses events, someone who's ruled by deadlines and work. Just get a less demanding job, please” 

Your eyes snapped to Eric’s watch again, this time he noticed. Another 5 minutes had passed. Your breathing changed again. 

“Look at you, you can’t even take your mind off the time and that stupid deadline” his hand left yours and moved to his wrist as he took off his watch, putting it under the bed. 

“I’m done asking Y/N, it's my job to look after you and to love you, tomorrow you are quitting that job” his hand landed at the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. “You can get another job, an easier one, you don’t need to prove how smart you are by burning yourself out.” 

That’s when the dam broke, your shoulders dropped, an exhale left you as you nodded whispering a broken “okay” as you reached for Eric. You stayed with your head on his shoulder, letting out a few tears you’d been holding onto since the deadlines started rolling in. After a few minutes you leaned back up and scanned Eric's face, the softness in his eyes, the kindness he always showed you. The apology poured out of you easily. 

“Im sorry for speaking to you the way I did before, you were only trying to take care of me” Eric smiled a little as your hand landed on his cheek softly. 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that apology, since I have a better idea” he placed a tender kiss to the palm of your hand before leaning in to kiss you, your eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into his touch. It had been a while since you had been in the mood to be intimate with Eric. That didn’t seem to be an issue anymore, the simple kiss gave you butterflies. 

Eric released you from the kiss and from his gentle grasp, whispering against your lips. “God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. Eric stood. 

The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. The height difference between the two of you had always been a trigger for arousal on both ends. But seeing him so clearly above you after weeks of stress made your mouth water. 

Eric had been hard since you shouted at him in the office. It was rare you stood up to him but the moment you raised your voice he was hard. His exhaustion disappeared and he could only think of putting his cock down your throat to teach you a lesson. Hopefully one you’d both enjoy learning.

You sat patiently, hands on the tops of your thighs and eyes pleading with your mouth slightly parted as Eric took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique. He had never seen a prettier sight, until your eyes widened as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, tapping it gently against your lips. His pre-cum covered your lips, you opened your mouth without hesitation.

His cock slipped easily into your mouth, Eric gasped at the sensation and you kept your eyes on him and let out a hum as the tip reached the back of your relaxed throat, you started to move, slow and steady, occasionally swirling your tongue around Eric’s sensitive tip drawing out a hiss from him. 

Your hand came up to rest on his tense thigh, gripping as you began to find a rhythm that had Eric breathing heavily above you. 

“Fuck that’s it, thought you could talk to me like that?” he breathed “maybe next time you’ll think twice” it spurred you on, you sped up your movements. You could feel the dull ache of your jaw but it wasn’t important when Eric’s tattoos were tensing, his breath faltering and his hand tightening in your hair. 

Eric came with a whimper, pushing his cock hard enough down your throat to almost make you gag, with your mouth so full some of his cum spilled from the side of your mouth but still you swallowed eagerly, willing to please. He reached down to your mouth after he pulled out, collecting the cum on his thumb and again you sucked happily. 

“You look wrecked and I haven't even touched you yet” he tucked himself away. Then got back down to eye level with you. 

This was the fun part for Eric, seeing how blissed out you were just from having his dick in your mouth, he knew if he tired to touch your pussy right now you’d be socked, ready and waiting for whatever he wanted to do with you, but this was supposed to be punishment wasn't it? 

Without warning he lifted you up from the floor, his effortless strength on display again as he placed you on the middle of the bed, all the possibilities of what he could do rushed through your mind, your favourite being the idea of Eric fucking you into the mattress. Little did you know that wasn’t going to happen. 

He began to take off your clothes, peeling off your comfortable clothing until you were left with only your bra. The relief of being free from stress meant your muscles were relaxed as you waited for Eric's next move. 

He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were laid out in front of him, affected by the simplest touch, his hand ran over your thighs, he placed gentle kisses on your stomach stopping at your sternum. He inhaled the smell of your soft skin. 

“Touch yourself for me” the words caught you off guard. 

“What?” you asked in complete disbelief. 

“You wanna be good for me don’t you?” you nodded eagerly “so touch yourself for me” his nose nudged yours as he captured you in a heated kiss, you gasped into it. While your hand began traveling down to circle your clit. 

You let out a whine that Eric found incredibly sexy, your middle and index fingers collected some of your slick, you kept your movements slow, careful not to disappoint Eric in any way. 

“You’re not gonna cum until I say you can, you understand me?” you nodded again, speeding up slightly as your need grew. Which was made worse when Eric began kissing down your body. First your neck, that one spot under your ear that made you gasp, then your collar bone, down to the swell of your breast where your nipples were hard and waiting for attention that Eric finally gave. His hands spread under your rib cage as his tongue circled your nipple. You arched into the touch letting out breathy moans. Your hand speeding up at its own accord. 

“God I can’t get enough of you baby, put your index finger inside yourself” the authority he had over you needed to be studied but you listened anyway, your finger was nowhere near as good as Eric’s but it was this or nothing so you made do. But he noticed when your breath steadied and your moans seemed to halt. 

“What is it baby? Are your fingers not as good as mine?” he kissed your stomach while looking up at you. You nodded again. 

“I’m gonna need words baby, you used them earlier, you can use them now” he leaned up sitting on his knees between your spread legs watching you lazily pump your index finger in and out of yourself. 

“Yours are better Eric, please” you whined again. 

“Please what baby?” he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Please use your fingers on me” you choked out. 

Eric wanted to resist, he really did, but your juices were on your fingers and you asked so nicely. How was he meant to refuse? 

“Since you asked so nicely, fine, but you need to keep your fingers on your clit and never speak to me like that again, got it?” 

You nodded “I swear” at this point you would have agreed to anything to have his hands on you properly. You removed your finger and dragged it back up to your clit, continuing your previous movements. 

Much to your relief Eric’s middle finger entered you, you clenched around it thankful for the welcome intrusion. His hand was so much better than yours, especially when he curled his finger, gently prodding your most sensitive areas. A second finger promptly followed driving you closer to the edge. 

“Fuck Eric I-” 

“I know baby I can feel it, you drive me fucking insane, Fuck you can cum when you’re ready baby” he didn’t mean to give in to you so easily but you sounded so pretty beneath him you were making him hard again. 

Eric watched you cum undone, you hand gripping the sheets for dear life, your thighs trying to close out of sensitivity but you only ended up with your legs around his hips. Your jaw dropped and ragged breaths left you. His favourite thing though was the way you clenched around his fingers like you never wanted to let him go. 

Your breath began to steady and you stopped clenching enough that he could slide his fingers out of you, he very happily brought his fingers to his mouth and swallowed. 

You laid on the bed, muscled exhausted, emotionally exhausted, mentally drained but free in your own way, the bed dipped beside you as Eric laid down. 

“Are you doing ok?” his tone now back to normal, gentle, patient and kind.

“Yeah I’m ok, I just feel a little shit about talking to you like that” you took a deep breath out, attempting to steady yourself. 

“Hey, look at me. You don't need to worry about it, we're all good. You're safe with me and a little outburst means nothing” his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently grounding you before you could dare to spiral.

“Eric, could you maybe help me finish off the work before I quit?” asking for help was the opposite of what you got a job for but maybe it was exactly what you needed. 

“Of course I can baby, but at least 5 minutes of cuddles are mandatory after a sexual act so it can wait” you both let out a giggle, as he pulled you to his chest, safe and sound.

Eric had left New York, left mine and Malek’s suburban life. To be honest, I was relieved. I loved Eric, but he was also a constant source of grief, guilt, and worry. When he was around, I didn't think about anything other than him; he devoured my full attention.

Malek’s and my life were safe and predictable, but with age I had started to appreciate just that. I liked coming home and cooking for us both. I liked when he came home and told me gossip from his job. I even liked talking about our future, with kids and a dog. For anyone who knew what a passionate affair I had with Eric, it would be hard to understand the full picture, but for me, who had known Eric so long, it was like he represented something else. Something that didn't compete with my relationship with Malek. Malek was my husband, Eric was a serpent around my heart.

Malek and I started trying to have a baby when Eric had been away for a month. When we reached month two of trying, we were interrupted. Once again, Eric had overdosed and once again my dad had offered him a bed at his place. When Malek heard that he had offered Eric a bed, he opened up our home instead; my dad lived so crowded. Someone needed to check on Eric, keep him above the surface, and his band members lived a life too close to his. He needed stability and our safe suburban life was perfect for it. Malek and I took a break from trying for a baby then. We would have a human to take care of anyway.

I didn't know what to feel because I was always happy to have Eric close, but it was different when his disease took over and I was one of few who knew about his hallucinations and one of few who knew about his crime. Eric was a murderer and maybe even a dead one. When I saw him in my living room again, it looked like his hallucinations could be true. He looked as alive as a corpse.

I stood and stared at him while dropping my handbag on the floor. I had just come home from work, driving way too fast in tears. Worried, especially because I knew he was alone in our house. Eric had just a pair of red plaid pajama pants on but had a blanket over his naked shoulders. His face was pale like his blood didn't seem to flow to his face. I cried silently while looking at him, my shoulders bobbing in the same rhythm. I laid my hands over my face while I started to cry more and more loudly, releasing the panic I had felt when I heard he once again was close to death.

I didn't look when he came up to me, so when his bare chest was pressed against my cheek it came as a shock. He hugged me softly while his own chest vibrated with his tears. I hugged him hard around his waist.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…!” he cried in panic and dragged a hand over his face to wipe away the big tears.

“Why can't you just understand you're here?! Why the fuck are you like this?!” I said angrily, and instead of hugging him I pushed him away harshly.

“You're not dead, Eric!”

Eric just stood in the middle of the living room with his hands over his face. I had made him cry even harder, but I couldn't stop myself. His thoughts were idiotic, even if he sometimes got me to think he was right. He was different after all.

“Please…” he whispered just to make me stop, but I wasn't done.

“You will kill yourself though! And I'm tired of saving you!”

Eric looked at me with red eyes but continued to cry just as violently. It was me who made him cry like that and I felt awful about it, so after just a few seconds I walked up to him again and hugged him around his naked waist. Even if I had been so mean to him, he held me back like he needed me to not drown. It wasn't far from the truth either because he had no one else to talk about his hallucinations with.

“You're not dead, Eric…”

“I know…”

“But you don't believe it.”

I could feel him swallow hard.

“I… You don't believe me anyway…” he sighed deeply and released me slowly.

“Tell me anyway. You want to tell me.” I knew he had a need to talk about his experiences, even if he continued to sigh deeply.

“Maggots are eating my organs. I know you don't believe me, but I fucking feel it!” he said, upset, and started to cry violently again. 

It was my turn to sigh. I had heard it all before. It seemed like he understood his hallucinations were just hallucinations most of the time, but when depression or paranoia took over, what he had done in his teens came over him. He would start to talk about insects wiggling inside him and how he had seen his own corpse on his mother's kitchen floor, the same place his stepdad had died. I wanted him to get help, but he thought in his paranoia they would just bury his body. When he didn't have those episodes, he still was too afraid to get help, but then he was afraid someone would understand he was a murderer. He was stuck in his limbo, between life and his believed death.

“Eric…” I whined, but it just made him back away from me.

“You don't even want to try to believe me! You know everything isn't as easy as you think!”

“But you wouldn't stand here if you were dead! It's just a fucked up thought!”

He stared at me with wet cheeks and the biggest doll eyes.

“You will never believe me…”

“No.” I sighed deeply and sat down on the couch, resigned. I could feel his eyes on me, but I just leaned back and looked up at our white ceiling.

Eric was quiet, probably understanding he wouldn't hear what he wanted to hear. I could hear him walk away, out to the hallway. For a moment I thought he would leave and finally take his life, because he believed he was dead either way, but I got such a bad conscience before I had even finished the thought. In panic I ran after him, as if just my awful thought could make him kill himself. I grabbed his waist and hugged him hard. Both of us cried even if we didn't hug for real. I was just happy he had stayed with me and let me touch him. He anchored me too.

×××

Both of us sat stretched out on our couch, in a corner each. My legs lay between Eric's long legs, but if I stretched out I could drag my toes over the bulge under plaid flannel. He had pushed my foot away with a small smirk and continued to read Trivial Pursuit questions for me. It was our thing, just reading the questions for each other. It often surprised people, especially those who knew Eric hadn't even finished high school. He had read a lot by himself though, and travelled the world with his band.

Any man would have felt jealous if he saw his wife laughing and playing around with such a handsome man as Eric, but when Malek came into the living room and saw me throw the cards at Eric, while he laughed loudly, he just smiled brightly. He was probably just as relieved and happy to see Eric feeling better. I had gotten used to his shifting moods and knew how the darkness and hallucinations could swallow him quickly, but also how they could leave him almost as fast. I couldn't say if he had stopped believing in his hallucinations or if he just stuffed them away for a darker time.

“Do you want a question?” Eric friendly asked Malek, who sat down in the brocade armchair opposite our velvet couch.

“Sure,” he said, but he looked a bit nervous. He always lost.

Eric pulled a history card and smirked behind it. It made both me and Malek smile and I dragged a hand over Eric’s calf.

“What's Napoleon’s first name?”

Eric and I looked at each other and had a hard time controlling our laughter. I gave Malek a teasing smile while his ears got redder for every second.

“Ehm, it's like Louis or something. I can't remember… I should know this.”

No one who watched us would guess that the man with the bare tattooed chest knew the most about history, but he did, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing lovingly at Malek.

“You're so cute,” he said to Malek, who now smiled shyly for another reason.

“It's Napoleon. Napoleon is his first name.”

I giggled a bit at them both. There wasn't anything mean in Eric's smile towards Malek and his red cheeks weren't from shame.

I know our relationship was weird. I have had dreams about seeing Eric and Malek make out and I woke up in panic and jealousy. Eric had always been experimental and I could see how he affected even the straightest men. Maybe Malek had already cheated on me with Eric.

We moved to the kitchen where I forced Eric to cook. I knew he always felt better by doing something with his hands. One time I had taken him to a pottery studio just so he could work with them. It had been a success and he had impressed the ceramicist with his sensual hands.

Eric didn't drink alcohol, so it was just me and Malek who drank while he sipped from a can of Coca-Cola Zero. Every time he had an intense period with drugs he stopped drinking too, like a white month. After a while the alcohol and drugs sneaked back into his life, though. 

He slowly cooked a spaghetti bolognese even if he didn't eat spaghetti, only to not mess up his body. He was much more shallow than people understood and gaining weight was not an alternative, especially because he most often performed on stage shirtless. He had put on a black T-shirt while cooking, but it had such a big hole in the armpit that his nipple was exposed when he moved. If you looked closely at it you could see small marks from the piercing he had had there in his early twenties. It never really healed though, so he took it out on stage one night and threw it out into the crowd as a joke. He told me with an embarrassed laugh that a few girls had started to fight over it and how one had stuffed it in her mouth. I was not amused by the story even if he looked precious when he told it with red cheeks.

“I'm really grateful that I can stay here… I understand what Matt means, being alone in the Icelandic forest is probably not the best for me right now…” said Eric while we sat by the dinner table as the bolognese simmered. He looked at us but also down at the table. I could see the shame on his face, but Malek probably didn't understand why he really acted like that. I swallowed hard. For a moment I believed Eric would spill our secret, but he just released heavy tears that ran down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry…” he said and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I could feel the pain in my heart I had felt earlier come back from seeing him upset. I was just on my way to walk around the table to hug him, but Malek was quicker than me and pulled Eric up from his chair to give him a real, close hug.

“You're family. Don't say you're sorry. When life fails us our family should be there and we are yours, okay?” said Malek while the taller Eric rested his cheek against his shoulder. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply. 

I stood up and stared at him and he must have felt it because he opened his eyes and gave me a look. His eyes were full of regret and sorrow, but also fear. 

Sometimes it felt like he had many more feelings than me and I couldn't keep up. They shifted so quickly in his ocean eyes it was like trying to see a hummingbird’s wings.

×××

I sneaked into the guest room that night. I just wanted to touch his skin. Feel him close before the sun would rise and make everything complicated again. In the night he was mine. Just like my dream. My nightmare. He took over my body and mind just as much.

I touched his skin. I crept as close as I could. I let him push into me. My dream. My nightmare. One day he would destroy me, but until then I would let him make me fall into pieces and then put the pieces back together again.

×××

We danced close together, even if Greta said she was Eric's girlfriend. She wasn't, neither was Milly, but she at least didn't believe they were a couple. I had understood that he had slept with them both, and still did when he was drunk and felt lonely. Both of them always waited for him with open arms and legs. They were in the same friend group, a big friend group with artists, junkies and employees in New York's nightlife. I had just come home from Uganda where I had lived for two years and worked at a home for abused women. I had grown a lot because of it, but I had also missed the man I loved. Eric would probably always be that, but we were different from each other and even if he thought he was slick, I could see him swallow pill after pill while we were out with his friends. I didn't know what it was and I didn't want to ask in front of his friends; they probably took the same thing.

If it wasn't for Eric I would have felt small and uncool among his colorful friends, but he openly showed how proud he was of me. I laughed at him when he said I worked in philanthropy, it sounded so fancy, while my work was far from fancy. Eric just smiled at me though, he thought I was too modest. I also felt pretty, even if both Greta and Milly looked heroin chic in a Kate Moss kind of way. He said it over and over, how pretty and hot I was, and was not shy about giving me kisses. Both of us were single so we didn't have anyone to hide from. I could dance close to him, sit in his lap and kiss his lips. The jealous people around us didn't have anything to say.

We walked away from the others when New York started to light up with the sun. We walked hand in hand, slowly and romantically, even if I noticed Eric wanted to go faster. It was obvious he was on some sort of drugs, but I was too happy to be with him and be able to express my feelings openly, so I let it be. I laughed at his eccentric stories and made out with him messily. It all took a turn though when he jumped up on the railing of the bridge we walked on and started to walk like there was just concrete on the other side, but below him was the dark Atlantic water.

“Eric…” I said worriedly and stretched out my hand. “Come down.”

Eric laughed just as ecstatically as before.

“You can calm down. Nothing will happen.”

I swallowed hard and felt my heart hammer aggressively in my chest.

“Please, just come down.”

Eric giggled like a little boy and instead of listening to me he started teasing me by more or less running along the railing. I knew he had a good physique and probably also good balance, but one step too far to the side would make him fall.

“Eric! Stop!” I screamed in panic, even if that could have been the thing that startled him and made him lose his footing.

Eric stopped though and turned to me on the railing with a big smile. He took all of it as a joke while I had started crying.

“Hayden…” he said with a smile, like I was dramatic for crying, but I wasn't. He was playing with death in front of my eyes.

“Come down now!” I said angrily while pointing at the ground in front of me.

Eric gave me a confused smile but finally did as I said.

“What?” he said and looked down at me from his tall height. Carefully he wiped away a tear on my cheek with his broad thumb.

“Nothing will happen.”

I stared at him in disbelief until I understood what it was about. Eric believed he could play with death because he had already met it. Eric believed he was dead and that he wouldn't be able to die again.

“Eric…” I said with a sigh and pressed my forehead against his chest. It was too much to explain to someone that they were alive, especially when I couldn't understand his thoughts at all. He worked, partied, played in a band and was with girls, but still he thought he was a corpse.

“You're not dead, but if you do things like that you can die and you will leave everything…”

I looked up at him and started crying again. Beautiful, kind Eric. It was a horrible thought that he wouldn't exist and I shivered while saying the words.

“It's not that easy, Hayden…” he said and sighed. He seemed to have sobered up from my big emotions, but still he couldn't take in my words.

“No, it isn't, because you can die.”

Eric sighed again and looked down at the ground. He looked hurt and misunderstood but didn't say anything more. He wasn't the type who would fight so hard for his beliefs that it would become an argument, like I was. It was also why I most often “won” arguments. I could many times see that he wasn't finished, but he swallowed it down or just walked away. Now he swallowed it down and nodded a little. After a minute of staring at the sun rising over New York he took my hand.

“Let's go home…”

×××

Somewhere I had thoughts about moving to New York to be with Eric, but the story on the bridge made me doubt. I had a diploma in social studies, while Eric had lost his job as a cleaner because he had come to work high. He was a mess and even if I loved him I couldn't see how he would fit into my life.

I took a job as a social worker in our hometown just to think about what to do. We had a relationship over the phone. It was painful to talk with him because he always was that sweet Eric I was in love with, but the stories he told me were the stories of a broken man. Even the stories that should have been fun felt filthy to me. Everything had a thin layer of white powder or an injection of something. I tried to say he could have fun without it, that drugs were bad for you and all the other things a mother would say. He agreed with me, but the next time he would tell me a story about waking up among horses or shaving off all his hair. I didn't want to hear it, but I knew I needed to, to have some sort of control over him.

Still I thought about moving to him. Maybe everything would be better then? Maybe he would change?

I was sitting at work when my phone rang on my desk. I worked in an open office landscape so when I saw Chance’s name on the display I knew I couldn't answer then. Everyone would hear and if Chance called it couldn't be good. I didn't have time to call him back because of a meeting, so during it I got to think and wonder why he had called, and why he had called again. No one probably missed how distracted I was and neither did they miss how I ran out of the building when the meeting was over.

Chance cried in my ear.

“What? What?!” I said desperately to make him talk.

“Fuck, he did it…”

For me those words meant just one thing; Eric was dead. Eric was gone and had left me while I had rejected him.

“Oh my god… Oh my god… Oh my god…” I muttered to myself while the panic grew inside me. I couldn't live without Eric. I thought about that boy every other second. If he was dead, so was I. If I couldn't hear his cute laugh again or look into his soulful eyes my body and soul would collapse.

“He hung himself from the TV cable in the ceiling… I fucking don't know how he got that idea… And he was, like, happy yesterday. Where the fuck did it come from?” cried Chance.

I knew where it came from. He constantly had a darkness inside him that suddenly started to eat its way out of him. It came suddenly and without explanation. Suddenly the idea was there. He needed to leave earth because he didn't belong here. He was a creature of pain and death.

“Where is he now?” I said, but my voice failed me. I could feel my own darkness grow in the pit of my stomach.

“At the hospital.”

“Will they do an autopsy on him?”

The thought of it scared me in several ways, but I also wanted them to confirm that he was different.

“What? Eric isn't dead,” said Chance, confused.

I stared in front of me. My emotions couldn't keep up and instead of feeling relief or happiness I got so angry I screamed out loud. I had really started to see Eric as dead, even thought about his dead body and felt the bad conscience push against my ribs. Chance had made me question my own life, made me angry at Eric for leaving me, but also made me hate myself for never giving him a serious chance to be my boyfriend.

“Why didn't you start by saying that?? You fucking asshole! I fucking thought he was dead!”

I could only guess that Chance wasn't prepared for my anger to be directed at him, but it had probably also been too much for him, because I could hear him start crying again. I listened to him cry loudly, and I did the same in his ear.

×××

Chance was a good guy, a good friend to Eric even if they had the same relationship with drugs, but when I saw him at the hospital in New York I got so angry I could have hit him. Not because he had been unclear about Eric, but because of what he held in his hands. He waited for me in the waiting room, sitting on a plastic chair by the wall. I stared first at his puffy face, but then my eyes fell to his hands.

The TV cable.

He sat with a TV cable in his hands, hanging between his legs, and it was obvious what cable it was. I didn't let it pass for even a second, but marched towards him, and pulled the black cable from his hands.

“What the fuck, Chance?!” I screamed so loudly all the people in the waiting room turned towards us. He looked at me with big glassy eyes.

“He tried to kill himself with this and you want to keep it?”

“I… I, I need it,” he stuttered, but looked ashamed.

“Buy a fucking new one! This could have been his death!”

The word death made my voice fail me and the tears pushed behind my eyes. Finally, a nurse came up to me and touched my arm calmly.

“We have private waiting rooms…”

I sighed loudly, but the tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Just… Just throw this away, please,” I said and gave her the cable that had almost taken my lover's life.

The nurse looked down confused at the cable, obviously not knowing what it was, but took it from my hand.

“Okay, but you can't scream like that here…”

“I will be quiet, but please just take that thing away.”

The nurse nodded, but gave me a worried look. She walked away through the corridor but said something to another nurse, probably to keep an eye on me.

I sat down clumsily next to Chance. I didn't make an effort to wipe away my tears; all my strength went into keeping myself from screaming out loud.

“You know I hate you, right?” I said quietly to Chance. I didn't really mean it, but in that situation I did. Couldn't Eric have a normal best friend?

Chance was quiet and looked towards a door in the corridor, probably the door to Eric's room. We didn't say anything more, but I hoped he would understand why I said what I did.

We didn't get to meet Eric that day. He slept like a baby for eighteen hours and the next day he acted like normal Eric. Even the doctors were confused because of how calm and stable he was. The darkness had left him again and I was the only one who knew what had made him hang himself from the ceiling. 

The next day, he emailed a manager who wanted to meet him and his friends. It actually sounded like they could get a record deal.

×××

We danced wildly around the living room. If people saw us they would have thought we had taken something, but we hadn't. Eric and I were just like that. Together we could be embarrassing teenagers. Our guilty pleasure music was playing loudly, Icona Pop, and Eric sang along like his life depended on it. I giggled while watching him throw himself around with his long limbs and it made him smile, a big dimpled smile.

In his ecstasy he lifted me high off the floor in his strong arms. I laughed loudly and freely while he spun me around a bit too fast. I felt dizzy, but it was worth it. These sorts of moments were my proof that Eric and I were soulmates. With another guy, even Malek, I would have felt stupid just dancing wildly, but with Eric the emotions were so big they needed to come out in one way or another.

It was also how his spinning turned into a passionate make-out session. Deep, messy kisses, hands searching for skin and the adrenaline from our silly dancing session made our clothes fall to the floor, and soon our naked bodies followed. Between my legs he thrust hard with his hips and made me sound like an upset cat. I was far from upset though, but I would always be his kitten.

His seed darkened our beige rug, but that would be a problem for later. I thought I would just enjoy being with a happy Eric, but a message on my phone changed that. I shouldn't have grabbed it from the coffee table, I should have just stayed on Eric's chest on the floor.

Mom:

Something has happened in the forest by the old oak. There are police cordons everywhere. Can you ask Malek if he can find some information?

×

@kikibit @malenoradgn @a-differentbrandof-beans @forrealandjustsaying @useyourwandbro @turbotasticoo @keysandthesea @muchwita @hanamirandak @hamburger-sprite

@loushaw131460 @lunaskye999

The curtains twitch almost every single time you leave your house. You’ve started to make a mental note of it, cataloguing each shift in the fabric as an overstep into your personal life. It’s been like this for months, pretty much since you’d moved in and received a note under your door ten minutes after you’d dragged the last box of your belongings up the steps. Not a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ or a ‘looking forward to meeting you’. A neatly scrawled ‘Please keep the noise down.’ As if you hadn’t been busting your ass hauling boxes and furniture all day. As if it wasn’t really fucking obvious that this was a one-time thing. You’d screwed the note into a ball and tossed it at the wall where you’d planned to put a trashcan, eventually. There hadn’t been another note for two weeks, until the evening of your housewarming. You’d knocked on the doors of neighbors either side of you to explain you were having a little get together, and that it wouldn’t be too loud but to please let you know if it was. The sweet older lady on the left had smiled knowingly and asked if she might pop by for a drink, if you had any cute male friends that were single.

The neighbour on the right wasn’t home, so you’d scribbled a brief message on the back of a takeaway menu, along with your phone number, and asked they text or call if the noise got too loud.

No one had called, though the lady next door had turned up with an expensive bottle of wine and charmed your friends with her stories of the neighbourhood and life as an air hostess in the 70s. Your friends had started to disburse around 11pm, and you’d just closed the door on the last one when you felt a nudge against your foot. A slip of paper, sliding under the door and catching on your socked foot. You didn’t stop to pick it up, desperate to catch sight of the phantom complainer.

He was a deer in headlights when you opened the door. Enormous, shocked green eyes in an angular face, half crouched still. “Got you.” You fold your arms over your chest, and the man rises to a stand. He’s tall, taller than he’d looked from his slim build. At least 6’3 or 6’4.

“I’m… I live next door.”

“I guessed. You’re the one leaving these notes?”

The man bites his bottom lip, pushing it out slowly through his teeth. “Just… asking you to keep the noise down. As a courtesy.”

“If we were being loud, you could have called me. And besides, we turned the music off at ten. Hardly a raucous party.”

He furrows his brows. “The lady on the other side of you is elderly, she was probably trying to sleep.”

“She was here, trying to sleep with men a quarter of her age and not acting like an asshole, actually.”

He swallows. “The walls are thin, that’s all. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Okay.” You nod thoughtfully. “I’ll try to be quieter. But if the walls are as thin as you say, I can’t promise you’ll never hear me. Just… no more notes through the door, okay?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes scanning over you. This is the first time he’s ever spoken to you. He’s had many conversations with you in his head, absolutely. But this is the first time ever that you’ve been present, your pretty eyes fixed on his face. There’s warmth seeping out from your house, and his skin breaks out in goosebumps. “No more parties.”

You roll your eyes, stepping back and pushing his note out onto the front step with the tip of your toe. “Good night, neighbour.”

Bill isn’t proud of himself for picking up the paper and pressing it to his cheek. It’s impulse though, and he does it again and again as he walks back to his own house. Despite what he said, he’s actually thrilled that the walls are so thin. He’s moved his bed into the spare bedroom, the one that backs onto your room, because he can hear you. When you sing to yourself as you get ready for work in the morning. When you call your mom to vent about your boss. And when you open your nightstand and press your vibrator to your clit Bill presses his ear to the wall as he fists his cock and cums to the muffled sounds of your moans through the thin plaster.

And this is fine, he’s just about content to think about you and watch you enter and leave and steal glances at you when he can, until Robert. Slick, tall, handsome Robert with his fancy car and his corporate job and his sharp suits. Robert starts sleeping over at least twice a week, and Bill has to sleep on the couch to avoid the sounds of him making you cum. Nothing kills his fucking boner like hearing that asshole call you his girl.

The formal noise complaint arrives on a Wednesday. Proper envelope, typed out, stamped by a city official. Periods of excessive noise, often late at night. Neighbour feels harassed, investigation imminent. Your cheeks flame and your hands shake as you read the note. Your next door neighbour hadn’t posted another note through your door since the party, and then he pulls this shit?

“What’s wrong, babe?” Robert asks, hooking an arm around your waist. “Oh, shit.”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble, eyes still scanning the words as though you can will them to change.

“You know who complained?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to go talk to them?”

You chew your lip. You don’t need a man to fight your battles for you, but you think about your neighbour, his big eyes and his tall frame and the twitching curtains, and a little bit of anxiety settles in your stomach. What if he’s crazy? What if he does… something?

“It’s the guy next door. Right hand side.”

Robert pecks your cheek and his jaw sets into a hard line. “I’ll deal with it.”

You don’t ask how he deals with it. Robert returns twenty minutes later with high spots of colour on his cheeks, and the anxiety in your stomach solidifies into something tangible that you try hard to ignore, but you lie in silence beside him that night, without the tiny shuffles and sounds from the other side of the wall, and you don’t sleep for a single minute.

His curtains remain drawn the next morning, and there’s no tell-tale twitch when you descend the steps to the street, even though you go slower than usual. You tell yourself that if they’re still closed when you return home, you’ll knock. Just to check on him. And as the day drags on, you find yourself clock-watching as emails pile up in your inbox and your phone ding, ding, dings as Robert tries to get hold of you. You can’t answer his messages because even the sight of his name on your screen fills you with such intense anxiety that you can barely function. You only make it to 3pm before you’re shoving your laptop into your bag and mumbling something about an appointment to your colleagues.

His curtains are still closed. They don’t twitch as you approach the front door, and your hand shakes as you knock, and wait. Knock again, wait some more. Pushing a breath out through your mouth you squat level with the mail slot on the door and push it open, squinting into the hallway. The layout of his place is the same as yours, though flipped like a mirror reflection. “Hello?” You call into the silence. “It’s… are you okay? Sorry to bother you, just could you let me know you’re okay? My boyfriend came over yesterday and I wanted to just check that…”

You sigh, swallowing against bile in your throat. Check what? That your boyfriend, the man you’re supposed to be building a life with, hadn’t killed your neighbour over a fucking noise complaint? “If…” you bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “If he was an asshole to you I’m sorry. If you’d just talk to me I’m sure we could straighten this out.”

There’s nothing but silence, and Bill holds his breath as he stands just to the side of the door, inches from you. Because he can’t open the door right now. Not with his eye swollen shut and his lip so busted he isn’t even able to make the shape of your name with his mouth. He doesn’t want you to pity him. And he certainly doesn’t want it confirmed if you told your fucking boyfriend to break his face.

You push to a stand and press your forehead against his front door, fully aware that it makes you look like a psycho and not caring at all. You need the sick feeling in your stomach to go away. You enter your own home and drop your bag on the floor by the door, not bothering to strip out of your jacket or take off your shoes before you flop onto your bed and groan into your pillow.

Calling Robert has your stomach flipping over with fresh unpleasant anxiety, and you silently pray he won’t pick up so you’ll be off the hook and you won’t have to-

“Where the fuck have you been all day?”

You wince and withdraw the phone from your ear, putting it on speaker and propping it against your headboard, the back of it touching the wall.

“Sorry, busy. I need to talk to you about last night.”

You hear him sigh heavily. “What about it?”

“What did you mean when you said you’d deal with it?”

There is a pause that’s too long to mean anything but bad news. “I handled it.”

“Rob…”

“I had a talk with him. That’s all. Made him see that filing his little fuckin complaints and watching you all the goddamn time isn’t acceptable.”

You feel your cheeks flush and you regret putting the phone by the wall, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. Either he’s not there and didn’t hear it, or he is and he’s proving Robert’s got it right.

“He doesn’t… watch me.”

“Be so fuckin for real right now, babe.” Rob’s voice is too smooth, and you grit your teeth against the annoyance as you picture him rolling his eyes at you. “He’s a creep. And he needed someone to tell him to back off, so I did. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“No well you wouldn’t, would you? You don’t have it in you to be assertive.”

You hear a sound, a muffled hum of annoyance covered by a forced cough, and your eyes narrow at the wall above your headboard. Then you swallow around a lump in your throat and do the first assertive thing you’ve done since meeting Robert. You hang up the phone without saying goodbye and knock on your neighbor's front door.

Bill opens it this time. He’s pretty sure you heard him eavesdropping, and he’s pretty sure you’re going to keep hammering against the wood until someone calls the cops if he doesn’t let you in. He opens the door just a crack, and you push past him and step into his space and your shoulder brushes his chest as you pass.

Your eyes scan his hallway, taking in the neat row of shoes by the door, the two jackets hanging on pegs. You look further, past the framed landscape photographs on the walls to the kitchen just out of sight at the end of the hall. There’s a stack of library books on the entryway table, and you resist the urge to flip them over to read the spines.

“I think this is technically breaking and entering.” Bill says, hating the slur to his words around the swelling of his mouth.

Your eyes drag up his torso, taking in the soft navy t-shirt clinging to his body and the faint stubble on his chin before you reach his face and your lips part on a soft gasp.

“You should see the other guy,” he says like it’ll lighten the mood. “I mean, I guess you are seeing the other guy.”

“Shit,” you whisper, reaching a hand half-way to his face before dropping it. “This is… shit I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bill lifts his chin, and your eyes drop to watch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, watching him shuffle his weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t ask him to… do this.”

“I know.” Bill’s voice is soft.

“Have you… I mean that looks bad. It looks infected.”

Bill shrugs. “It isn’t.”

You reach for him, and Bill jumps a little bit at the warm contact of your fingers on his jaw as you tilt his head down. “You should let me put something on this.” Your voice has dropped an octave, and Bill has to actually bite his tongue to stop himself asking you to put your mouth on his. His knees almost buckle with the urge to press his face between your legs and split his lip open against your clit. He’s unbearably turned on at just the light brush of your fingers against his face, and it’s embarrassing as shit.

He pushes your hand away with his wrist, careful not to let his own hand touch yours. “Not your problem. Or any of your business. And I really don’t want any more trouble with your fucking boyfriend.”

You take a step back, blinking. “I’m sorry, Bill. I know I should have-“

“Who told you my name?”

“What?”

“I never told you my name. Why do you… who told you?”

“Mabel, on the other side. I asked her about you after my housewarming party. Don’t worry, she didn’t know much. Said you were rude.”

Bill nods, even though his stomach is churning. You’d asked about him. He’s giddy with the knowledge. It’s dangerous. “Yeah, well. I’m not looking for friends with shitty psudo-macho boyfriends, so.” He nods towards the door. “You should go. Robert had his little talk with me and we’re all on the same page.”

Your eyes go wide as you take a step back, and Bill has a sinking feeling. “You were listening.”

Bill freezes like a deer caught in headlights. “No.”

Your lips curl into a tiny smile. “You were listening.”

“The walls are thin.” His voice comes out higher-pitched than he means it to, and your smile widens. “How am I supposed to avoid hearing you when the walls are so fucking thin?”

“No, you’re right.” There’s a teasing edge to your voice, and Bill wonders how you got in and under his skin in a matter of seconds. “I’ll try to keep the noise down. Wouldn’t want any more formal complaint letters from the city. Might get evicted, and then you’d have to listen to some other girl instead of me.”

Bill scoffs, but he can feel a blush creeping up the sides of his neck and you’ve won. You shrug as you open his front door and slip out. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

And it isn’t romantic and it isn’t a fucking pick up line, but Bill’s cock twitches like it can’t tell the difference anyway.

You settle against your headboard and spread your legs, rubbing small circles over the front of your underwear and breathing deeply as you relax into the mattress and feel your clit stir to life. You slip a finger into the side of your panties and rub the pad of it over your clit, letting a soft but deliberate moan slip past your lips. You’d made yourself louder than usual, shutting doors heavily and bouncing onto the bed hard enough to make the mattress springs creak in protest. You let your pleasure be louder too, whimpers and hums and breathy moans spilling from your lips as you dip your middle finger into yourself and collect your arousal to spread over your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your eyes in the direction of the wall behind your headboard. You imagine him sitting on his bed, imagine him pressing his big hand to the wall. And it would have been enough to just imagine him there, but at the tiny rumble of a moan, you freeze. There’s silence on the other side of the wall too, and you swallow hard as your head swims dizzy before you resume gently circling your own clit, jolts of pleasure zinging down your spine.

Bill’s teeth are embedded so deep in his bottom lip he can taste blood. But he’d moaned at the sound of you touching yourself and you’d stopped. You’d heard him, you must have. That had never happened before, he’d always been able to keep it together. But he could still smell the clean scent of your clothes lingering, and the spark in your eyes as you’d looked at him, really seen him, and he grips his cock with a tightness that borders on pain as he jerks his length roughly, hissing at the dry friction and the tightening in his balls.

But then you whimper, and your mattress creaks, and you moan. And oh god you’re touching yourself again. You know he’s there and you heard him and you’re touching yourself anyway. And what’s there to lose now, really? Bill’s out of his mind turned on, and he settles against his headboard and he rests the back of his head on the wall and he fucks up into his own fist, pausing only long enough to spit into his palm. “Shit,” he moans, cock already thick and twitching with his impending orgasm.

“Shit,” you moan against the wall, grinding desperately against your own hand and picturing what your neighbours face must look like, all tight and tense as he listens to you get yourself off. “Oh goddd,” you moan as your orgasm finally hits. It isn’t as intense as it would be if you had a toy or someone else’s fingers on you, but you lean into it, groaning husky and low as your hips lift off the bed. “Fuck, Bill,” you moan.

Bill cums at the sound of your name on his lips. It’s so unexpected and so intensely thrilling that his cock just does it, and he can’t hold in his own moan of pure pleasure as he paints his fist and his thigh and the sheet below him.

There’s a note sticking half out of his mailbox when Bill goes to the window to watch you leave for work. He’s almost pissed that he’s missed you, until he sees that little scrap of paper and he snatches it up. Your neat scrawl, the same one he’s memorized from the note you’d left for him the night of your housewarming.

You’re going to have to keep the noise down, Bill. Or I’ll have to come and shut you up myself.

There’s no doubt in Bill’s mind at all, now. You’d known he was listening to you touch yourself last night, and you’d wanted him to. And Bill doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know which of his dark impulses he should try to suppress and which ones you’d like, so he loses himself in a screenplay and doesn’t let himself check the porch for your arrival home.

The sun has well and truly set now, and Bill’s in the middle of commending himself for not standing at the window all day when he hears the raised voices and all-but sprints into his bedroom to listen against the wall.

“You think this is an acceptable way to manage a difference in opinion?” Rob is angry, but he’s angry in this quiet, condescending way that makes your temper flare.

“It’s not a difference of opinion. You beat up an innocent man over a goddamn noise complaint. I don’t feel safe around you.”

The words hang in the air, and you stop breathing as you watch him process this.

“You don’t feel safe around me?” Robert asks, his voice low.

“No, I mean… I just…”

“What?” He snaps, taking a step towards you. Your eyes slip past him to the door, the sinking feeling of being trapped settling over you. “You scared of me now?”

“No.” You spit. “But I don’t want to be with someone capable of being violent so easily. Bill didn’t throw a punch, he wasn’t a threat.”

Robert’s eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s Bill now, is it? You two been getting friendly, bonding over what an asshole I am?”

“I just went to check on him.”

“You’re a fucking joke. The neighbour? What a cliché.”

“I think you should leave.” Your voice doesn’t shake, even though your hands are and your pulse is hammering in your throat.

“Read my fuckin mind.” He spits, turning on his heel and stomping out of the apartment. You sink onto the couch, relief flooding you and replacing the adrenaline that had spiked during the argument.

“You okay?”

You just about jump out of your skin, a small, embarrassing yelp leaving you as your head snaps to the open doorway.

Bill winces. “Sorry. Door was open.”

“So you thought you’d just walk in?”

Bill frowns. “I, uh, heard what happened.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. Where you’d been into this yesterday, today it felt creepy and invasive and you just wanted to be alone.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for the fucking noise, Bill. Jesus Christ.”

Bill’s frown deepens, the concern he feels twisting into anxiety. “Why are you mad at me?”

And that seems to set you off, because your eyes flash with something dangerous before you push to a stand and cross the room. “Why am I mad at you? Two days ago I had a nice boyfriend and a good relationship with my landlord. Now? Single and likely to be evicted, and it’s thanks to you on both fucking counts.”

Bill swallows. “I didn’t mean to… do either of those things. Or cause them.”

You scoff. “No?”

And maybe it’s the look on your face, or the dismissive, pissy tone of your voice, but the anxiety in Bill’s stomach dissipates and he feels incredibly fucking irritated. “Oh get over yourself.”

You blink at him, your mouth opening and closing dumbly. Because you’d expected him to apologize and maybe look at you all starry eyed and pathetic. You’d anticipated regaining some of your power. But he’s towering over you, and his eyes are dark and his jaw ticks and your clit throbs at the anger on his face.

“Sorry?” You ask quietly, not trusting your voice to stay level with his turned on you’re getting.

“Yeah, you fucking will be. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

You shake your head, and Bill rolls his eyes as he approaches, stepping between your legs and bending at the waist. His long fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck and tug, forcing your face up to meet his. “We’ve been dancing around this from the beginning, haven’t we? You leave the house in those little skirts in the dead of winter for fun, or because you knew I’d be watching from the window?”

You swallow hard, tongue flicking out over your bottom lip. “You watch me?”

Bill smirks, tilting his hips towards you, and your eyes drop from his face to the very obvious bulge pressing against the front of his slacks, close enough that you could press your mouth to it if you leaned forward just a little bit. “You know I do. And you want me to. You wanted me to think about your pretty cunt, bending over to tie your shoes on the front step.”

A blush creeps up your neck, staining your face. “I’m sorry if I-“

“None of that,” he snaps. “We’re not pretending anymore. You changed the terms of the arrangement when you called out my name as you came.”

You nod, reaching shaking fingers for his zipper. “I wanted you to hear, Bill.”

Bill exhales harshly through his nose as you tug his pants and boxers down. He feels a little surge of smug pride as your eyes go wide at the sight of his hard cock, and he bucks slightly into your hand as you wrap a fist around his length and squeeze gently. “Yeah,” he hums, grazing his nails against your scalp. “You’re so fucking loud,” his words turn into a garbled moan as you wrap your lips around the sticky tip of his cock and suck against the sensitive flesh, laving your tongue over the underside of his head.

You hum against him as you open your throat and bob your head further down his length, and Bill’s fingers tug your hair to pull your face flush to his crotch. Even though you’re still mostly in control your gag reflex kicks in at the feeling of him pressing against the back of your throat. He’s so much longer and thicker than previous boyfriends, and the stretch burns your throat a little, but you’re pressing your thighs together against the overwhelming arousal throbbing in your clit and you bob your head enthusiastically, letting him fuck into your throat while you drag your tongue over the protruding vein on the underside of his length.

“God fucking damn,” Bill huffs, his free hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “You’re even hotter when you’re shutting the fuck up, who knew?”

That shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. Maybe it’s fucked up, but if he’d been this assertive, sexy asshole when you’d first moved in there’s a good chance you’d have done this a lot sooner. You can feel the twitching of his cock as he nears his orgasm, and you hollow your cheeks to coax it out of him when the fingers in your hair tighten and pull you back. You release his cock with a slick wet pop, and you pout up at him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you.” He rolls his eyes. “Bedroom, now.”

You can do little more than dumbly obey, feeling his eyes boring into you as he follows you down the hall and into your bedroom.

He hums as he looks at your bed, thinking about just how perfectly he’d lined his own up on the other side of the wall. “Take your clothes off.”

You bite your lip, shimmying out of your skirt and pulling your shirt over your head. Heat flickers in Bill’s eyes as he looks you up and down, a little of his courage guttering out as he realizes just how fucking pretty you are.

“You gunna fuck me, Bill?” You ask quietly, reaching around to unclasp your bra and letting it fall to the floor.

Bill’s eyes drop to your breasts immediately, and he licks his lips unconsciously. Nothing he’d pictured came close to the real thing. “Yeah.” He mumbles, stepping closer, eyes scanning every inch of you. “Gunna fuck you so hard we’ll both get a goddamn noise complaint.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you slip your thumbs into the delicate elastic of your panties and push them down to your ankles. Bill’s mouth waters at the sight of your bare pussy, the slight sheen of your arousal slicking on your thighs. He’s half-mad with the desire to taste you, and he doesn’t stop himself pushing you onto the bed. You land with a startled little sound, and Bill wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and pushes your legs apart and up, baring you completely.

“Bill!” You squeak, and Bill flashes you a grin before he drops to his knees and buries his face against you. Your eyes roll back in your head and you whine out something that might have been his name if you were capable of coherent thought. His tongue licks against your clit, dragging over the sensitive bud as the sharp point of his nose nuzzles over the hood of it, and you’re on the edge of cumming so fast it’s almost embarrassing.

He moans against you, the low sound rumbling vibrations through you, and your hips lift off the bed to grind against his face as your release hits you, washing through your whole body and curling your toes.

Bill is absolutely thrilled to hear you cry his name up close, the heady, rich taste of your cum filling his mouth as he laps and sucks greedily at your clit. He releases one of your knees to push a finger into you, and you squirm and whine beautifully as he probes and stretches and strokes at your walls. He withdraws reluctantly when your moans turn to actual sobs, offering a parting kiss to your clit as he pushes off his stiff knees and climbs onto the bed to hover over you.

His mouth is slick with you, and you lift your head from the mattress to press your lips to his own, tongue gliding over the seam of his lips to taste yourself. Bill lets his hips drop to the bed, lets his clothed cock grind against the soaked mess of your pussy, and you whimper into his mouth at the overstimulation. “Please,” you whisper against his lips. “Fuck me, please.”

Bill’s eyes roll back at just the sound of your voice, and it’s a miracle that he finds the willpower to pull back from you and shove his pants down. “Turn around.” He says, and you raise an eyebrow. “On all fours. Please.” Bill softens his voice, and you roll your eyes even as a blush heats your cheeks as you turn onto your front and settle onto your hands and knees.

Bill hums as he runs a hand down your spine, relishing the way you arch into his touch as he positions himself behind you and rubs the head of his cock through your folds. You whine, and Bill bites his lip to stop himself matching you whine for whimper as he pushes into you slowly. You’re tight, dragging him into your cunt with searing heat and unbelievable pressure, and Bill has to dig his fingers into your hips and squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself cumming before he’s anywhere close to ready for this to be over.

You rock backwards, desperately chasing movement, and Bill releases one hip to bring his open palm down on your ass cheek. You yelp, and Bill grins at the ripple of your flesh as his handprint sears against your skin. “You,” his voice is strained as he pulls out and pushes back into you, rocking your whole body forward as he snaps his hips. “Are a terrible fucking neighbor.”

“He-eyyy,” you groan, head dropping to your chest as bill angles his cock just right and presses into your g-spot.

“You’re so loud,” he moans, balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. “Know your routine… better than my own.”

“Please,” you whine, “I want more.”

“More?” He spits, his thrusts turning punishing as he fucks into you with as much aggression as he can muster up.

You hum, squeezing your muscles around his cock, and Bill curses under his breath as he leans forward and snatches a fistful of your hair. “You want me to make you cum again? Think I should do that for you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, milking his cock with your walls and desperately chasing the angle that has him hitting your most sensitive spot.

“Making me listen to you get fucked by that asshole?”

You swallow, arching your back to lessen the pressure on your hair as he pulls you closer and closer. “I… that hurts,” you mumble.

“Yeah?” Bill coos, pulling harder until you’re forced to lift up onto your knees. The moment you do, he releases your hair and wraps his hand around your throat, pressing down until white starbursts crackle over your vision and your cunt flutters around his cock. “Think I don’t know what you like? Heard the way you’d tell him what to do. Making him fuck you harder, begging him to choke you out. What a fuckin waste.”

You can barely register the arrival of your second orgasm, there isn’t enough oxygen in your brain to really think at all. You wail, a sound so close to a sob that you’re a little worried you’re actually crying, but then Bill’s hand releases your throat and you fall forward onto the bed and his hard torso covers yours as he fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. His hand returns, stroking through your hair and smoothing it away from your face before his palm presses over your mouth and he curls his fingers against your cheek. “You make too much fucking noise,” he pants into your ear, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress. “Always making so much fucking noise.”

You groan against his palm, drool slicking against his hand, and Bill sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he cums, burying his load deep inside you as he grinds his hips flush to your ass.

The teeth in your skin are replaced with the soft warmth of his lips as he kisses the mark he’s left and eases his cock out of you. You feel the loss immediately, and resist the urge to beg him to put it back in. Bill rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling that’s so similar to his he could believe he was back in his own room if it wasn’t for the scent of you on the sheets under his skin.

You turn your head, not yet ready to move your aching body. “You gunna file a complaint about that, neighbour?”

Bill’s head rolls to the side, a lazy smirk spreading across his full lips. “Fuck no. I’m considering knocking this wall down so I can fuck you like that every night.”

You laugh, though butterflies kick up in your stomach at the possessive edge to his words. “I think my landlord would have a problem with that. Maybe just use the front door for now.”

Bill hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you on top of him so he can press his mouth to yours. “Deal.”

I stared at the black crow that looked back at me through the window. Once again, it sat on the railing of our porch, and while I ate my breakfast at the kitchen table, I could see it and even met its beady eyes. The crows had always been around Eric, and now they were here again just because he was. I wondered if they actually came from the woods by my old childhood home or if every crow in close proximity to Eric started acting weird. In this situation, though, it didn’t really matter because I was just worried about what they wanted to tell us. They always wanted something.

I chewed my granola carefully but looked away from the bird when I heard male laughter drift into our yard. It was the laughter of the two most important men in my life — my husband and my soulmate, Eric. They had been out running together and were dressed in running gear, Eric completely in black while Malek wore a white tank top that showed off the tattoos on his upper arms. Eric seemed to try to hide his tattoos, or at least it looked that way while they walked up the pavement and he dug his hands deep into the pockets of his black hoodie. Malek walked in front of him, talking animatedly about something that made Eric laugh softly.

It was obvious that Eric’s laugh encouraged Malek to continue talking and joking more, so when he unlocked the door and kept talking enthusiastically, he didn’t have enough attention left to notice what happened behind him — but I did. Eric was two steps behind Malek and immediately acknowledged the bird sitting on the railing. While only half listening to Malek, he watched the crow intensely, and it looked back at him the same way it had looked at me.

Eric gave Malek a quick glance to make sure he was still distracted, and he was because he had already walked through the door. Eric quickly tapped against the railing with one finger, almost like Morse code, and the crow seemed to listen intensely to the little taps he created. It looked down at Eric’s large tattooed hand before tapping the railing twice with its hard beak.

I watched the interaction in fascination, especially when Eric smiled — not from my husband’s jokes, but because of the little bow the crow gave him before lifting off the railing. It was strangely sweet watching him communicate with the bird. That feeling overtook the uncomfortable confusion that should have come from seeing a man have a conversation with a random wild animal. Even though I rarely saw it with my own eyes, I knew Eric was special, and I had gotten used to it.

“Are you not coming inside?” I heard Malek say from inside the house, talking to Eric, who still stood on the porch watching the bird fly away.

“Yeah, of course. I just needed to crack my back,” Eric answered with an innocent laugh that made Malek softly laugh. It was like he had once again been reminded that he didn’t need to put on that masculine persona around him.

“Okay. Do you want to take a shower? I can take the upstairs one, so you can use the one in our bedroom.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Eric closed the door behind him. “But can you drive me into town after breakfast?”

“Of course, Mr. Celebrity. You can’t miss your interview.”

Malek spoke in a silly voice, like he was Eric’s security guard. It made him laugh, though he sounded mostly embarrassed.

I could hear them walk in two different directions — Malek upstairs and Eric to the left, into the master bedroom. He had come over that morning just to make Malek go out running. They had talked about how hard Malek thought it was to stay active the same way he had when he was younger, so Eric had offered to take him out a few times now that he was back in the country.

Like always, no one ever said no to Eric, and Malek was so grateful just to have a running buddy for a few days. I knew he was jealous of Eric’s body, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He probably knew I didn’t want to hear him complain, but also that he didn’t want to say anything that could sound negative about Eric. Eric was too nice for that — or at least that was what Malek believed.

Eric had come so early that I was still asleep when they went out running through our little suburb, so now, hearing his familiar sounds, it was the first thing I had heard from him that day. I thought about walking out and saying hello to him, but I appreciated just listening to the shuffle of his clothes and the sound of him clearing his throat.

I also listened to him close the bathroom door and start the shower, but then I stood up to put away my yogurt bowl and coffee mug in the dishwasher. I tried to remember what I needed to do that day, but my thoughts drifted instead to the master bedroom where I knew Eric was — now naked and wet. Just like Malek, I appreciated Eric’s body, maybe far too much, even if I appreciated him more as a person.

I couldn’t stop the images in my head of his tattooed body under the shower stream. My phone was still lying on the bedside table. So even though it was wrong, I entered the bedroom, closed the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed so I could listen to Eric shower. Waiting while he showered felt familiar, but my thoughts weren’t as innocent as they had been when I was a kid.

I had just started to relax when the shower stopped running, and when Eric opened the bathroom door, I looked at him unapologetically. He had my dark purple hair towel wrapped around his hips, but otherwise I could see all the ink and all the muscle underneath it. His hair was wet and messy, probably because he had dried it by violently rubbing a towel through it. I had seen him do it before and knew exactly how rough he was with it. He was almost as rough when he dyed it.

“Hey?” He looked toward the bedroom door to make sure it was closed. Still, he looked worried when he stepped fully out of the bathroom.

“Hey…” I said with a small smile and stretched my arms out toward him like a child wanting to be picked up.

Eric cleared his throat again and dragged his large hands over the towel wrapped around his hips. He kept glancing at the door even though it was closed.

“Is he home...?” he asked carefully, looking guilty for even asking.

“He’s upstairs…”

I felt awful seeing how much Eric cared and how worried he looked. I felt bad for Malek, whom I cheated on, but also because I made their friendship to something fake. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.

“Please, I just want a hug…” I whined and stretched my arms out even more toward him.

He looked at me with wide eyes. It was obvious it was hard for him to resist, and after glancing at the door one more time, he walked over to me with his arms stretched out in the same way as mine. He probably thought I would stand up and give him a normal hug, but I quickly pulled him against me while I stayed seated so I could press my cheek against the towel, against the body part it was there to conceal. I felt Eric tense for a second, but then he dragged his fingers through my hair in that soft way only he could. No other man could give me goosebumps so easily.

It was just something about Eric, something that made everything else in life feel unimportant, and I had a feeling he felt the same way. I knew the secret he carried made him feel like he needed to be a good person all the time. But when we were alone, he seemed to forget about that, so even though my husband, who was also his friend, was upstairs, he let me open his towel. His cock right in front of my face, up close and personal. He was half hard and growing harder, begging for my attention.

Even though it was morally wrong, it was also incredibly erotic to have that large, tattooed man standing so close with his hard cock pressed against my lips, but it also felt romantic. Spiritual, even. The way I felt when I was close to him was how I imagined some people felt when they went to church. 

There was such a strong feeling of love and devotion, even when he whispered, “Suck my cock.”

Even though Malek could have been just outside the door, I deep-throated Eric as much as I could. He always said I was the only girl who could almost take him completely, and that was probably because I’d been doing it for so many years. For twelve years we had had a romantic relationship with each other, on and off, so even though I was married and he constantly had new girls by his side, I still felt a sense of ownership over his heart and body. He was mine, even if we couldn’t be together.

×××

New York. The big, big city. I wasn’t used to all the people, all the cars, and all the tall buildings. I would have felt completely swallowed by it all if Eric hadn’t been walking next to me.

We walked through the crowded streets of Ridgewood hand in hand. I had never been to New York and had never even heard of the neighborhood. It was hot outside, and stupidly enough I had chosen to wear skintight black jeans and a long-sleeved taupe-colored top. It was cropped, though, but that didn’t help much in the heat.

Eric, who dragged my suitcase beside him, wore bleached jeans so distressed it was a wonder they still counted as jeans. They looked airy, though, especially paired with a black tank top with armholes so large I could see his pale ribs. He never seemed to tan, even when he walked around so bare in the sun.

Both of us had the latest trendy haircut with one shaved side. I only let mine peek out beneath my long black hair, but Eric had the rest of his swept to the side and dyed in an eclectic mix of black and turquoise. Combined with the black eyeliner, he looked like his own species — an impossibly beautiful one.

“He lives there a few days a month. I don’t really know what he does otherwise,” Eric explained about his and his friend Chance’s landlord. Most of the time, the two twenty-year-olds had the apartment to themselves, a tiny one bedroom apartment. It was a huge improvement. 

The last time I had spoken with Eric, he had been living in shelters whenever he managed to get a bed there. Otherwise, he tried to find unlocked storage rooms to sleep in or sneak into apartment buildings just to have somewhere warm for the night.

“That sounds nice, though. Having the place mostly to yourselves.”

“Yeah, but we can’t really rehearse. The old lady next door calls him, and then he calls us and threatens to kick us out. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do… But yeah, what about you? Your new job?” He gave me a small smile.

I smiled back at him almost shyly because he was really the only guy who ever asked me about my life. You’d think it was the bare minimum, but with twenty-year-old boys you couldn’t expect much — especially the guys I usually hung around with, the ones who saw themselves as the next stars of the metal scene.

Their egos were huge, but Eric’s wasn’t. He didn’t see himself as some undiscovered rock legend. He saw himself as the cleaner he worked as, someone who just happened to love music. I had listened to a lot of the songs he and Chance recorded, though, and they were much better than anything any of those “undiscovered stars” I had dated had ever made.

My boyfriend — yes, I had a boyfriend even though I was visiting Eric — had become almost poetic after hearing them, but quickly downplayed it when I told him the songs were Eric’s. Seb was a musician too and had an easy time finding places for his band to play because all their parents had garages, but they still weren’t even close to being as good as Eric. Their music lacked depth — the kind of depth only someone who had actually lived through things could bring to music.

“It’s okay. It’s a job,” I said with a laugh. I worked as a nanny for a wealthy family, and even though it was probably a better job than Eric’s, I still couldn’t feel fully satisfied with it. It wasn’t the life I actually wanted.

We talked about the kids I took care of, what I actually wanted to do with my life, and all the fights with my mom. Eric was probably the person I talked to the most. Most of the time we just texted each other, but during the few times I had been truly devastated, he was the person I called.

The building he lived in didn’t stand out in any way. It actually looked like many of the apartment buildings back in my hometown. He lived on the third floor, and he carried my suitcase all the way into his room — or technically the living room. He didn’t have his own bedroom but slept on a bed tucked into the corner beside the TV. He explained that he paid less rent because of it.

“Is it okay if we share the bed? I can—” he started rambling nervously.

“Of course,” I interrupted, placing my hand against his chest while looking up at him with a warm smile.

I watched his cheeks flush pale pink while his dimples deepened. He looked down at the floor and laughed quietly. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing too, mostly because I couldn’t understand how I could have such power over him when he had the exact same effect on me.

“Maybe it’s weird since you have a boyfriend—”

Once again I interrupted him, this time by rising onto my tiptoes and kissing his soft lips. Maybe I had a boyfriend, but whenever I was with Eric, he completely owned me. I couldn’t stop kissing him over and over, and he kissed me back just as desperately. There was an electricity between us that neither of us could resist. When we were alone, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

Eric pulled off his tank top so I could see his fit body but also his newer tattoos. He still had the lankiness of a teenager but the broad shape of a grown man. I dragged my hands over his chest and stomach and lightly pinched the barbell through his right nipple.

He made a pained sound.

“It never wants to heal…” he admitted with an embarrassed little chuckle, and it made me laugh softly too.

“I’m sorry… It’s sexy, though…”

“That’s why I got it,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

We laughed together, but then he pulled off my top and confidently unclasped my bra. It was obvious he had gained some experience since the last time we had been together. The thought made me jealous, but I was also happy to be with a guy who knew how to take the lead.

He pulled me down onto the bed while opening his grommet belt and shoving down his jeans. They were so loose he didn't even need to unbutton them. I could feel the urgency in him, and it spread through me too, so I struggled out of my own tight jeans.

Eric stared at the delicate lace panties underneath and swallowed hard.

“Fuck… You’re so… You’re everything.” His throat sounded dry and he licked his lips over and over.

I sat straddling his hips just above his cock so I could feel his erection pressing against me.

“They’re new,” I teased, tugging the lace higher on my hips while watching Eric’s facial expression become more and more tense.

“Can I touch them?”

I leaned back onto my hands in invitation, and carefully he dragged his fingers over my panties. At first it was innocent — slow touches over my mound — but gradually his fingers moved lower until he could feel how wet the fabric between my legs had become.

I was the one who slid the lace aside, but he was the one who slipped his fingers underneath to touch me directly. His fingers moved in delicate circles that felt so good, especially when he found my clit.

I had spent months teaching Seb how to touch me properly, but it took Eric maybe twenty seconds to figure it out completely. By the time he rubbed tighter circles over my most sensitive part, I was already coming apart against his hand.

I felt my wetness spill over his lower stomach while I gasped for breath. It felt too good, and more than anything I wanted him inside me.

I knew he was big. I had thought about him every single time I touched myself, even while I had been with other guys. I rose onto my knees to pull my panties off completely while Eric shoved down his black boxers.

“I need you… I need you so much…” I whined desperately.

Eric helped free himself from his boxers, and his cock sprang free between us. It was beautiful but also so intimidating. I wanted him in every way, in every hole. We started with my pussy.

He pushed into me slowly while I lay on my stomach, inch by inch even if it hurt. But it felt amazing, to be completely full again. 

His cock was everything.

He was everything.

And by the time we finally left that bed, he had used every part of me until my entire body ached.

×××

I sucked his cock deeply, like it was the only thing I was made for, and whenever I was with Eric, it honestly felt that way.

If he had wanted me to, I would have gladly been locked to his leg and spent every minute ready to take him into my mouth whenever he wanted. I moaned around him like he tasted like vanilla ice cream, and for me he actually tasted even better. 

Eric came in my mouth so I could swallow his full load just before we heard Malek descend the stairs. Both of us immediately turned toward the door when we heard him, but I still kept licking Eric clean until I heard my husband stop right outside the bedroom.

×××

Eric and Chance’s apartment wasn’t actually that bad, but it was hard to believe Eric worked as a cleaner. Stuff covered every surface: clothes, LPs, instruments, DVDs and empty food containers, but mostly it was beer bottles, and coffee mugs. It wasn’t surprising that both of them constantly ran to the bathroom, it was even hard for me to get time in there. The first night also explained exactly why the apartment looked the way it did.The two of them finished beers in ten minutes before immediately opening new ones. I sat with the same beer for almost half an hour while they got drunker and drunker. I liked Chance, though, and even if he encouraged Eric to drink more, he genuinely seemed like a good friend.

He watched Eric and me a little too closely whenever we kissed, but it was probably just jealousy. Boys that age thought about little beside sex, and between Eric’s wrecked sheets and the awkward way I sat down on a chair, it wasn’t hard to guess what we had been doing.

When Eric suggested leaving the kitchen table to put on a movie in the living room, Chance claimed he was tired but he was probably enough of a bro to realize Eric wanted alone time with the girl who had let his sheets escape down to the floor.

We crawled back into bed and made love slowly that time, even though my body still hurt. Eric kept asking if I was okay, and every time I told him I was, because all I wanted was to be close to him. The boy I loved.

I wished he could have been my boyfriend. I wished I could have stayed with him forever. But I knew I couldn’t because of his demons. I was reminded of that later that night. 

When I woke up, I saw him sitting alone on the couch. He perched on the edge of it, rocking back and forth while muttering to himself. He looked like a mad man and he actually was one. I knew that by the things he had told me. He had called me to tell me he was dead. He had told me how he had laid in his casket and gotten eaten up by worms. He had told me his body was decaying. 

Eric kept rocking back and forth, mumbling nonsense beneath his breath.

Seeing it in person was different from simply hearing him describe it, but strangely enough I just lay there watching him.

Eric was different. And I loved him because of it.

Maybe his strange thoughts about death could strike at any moment. Maybe they were true. Maybe he was dead. I didn’t know. I only knew he was my everything, and I would let him be different. 

Eventually Eric curled up into himself on the couch before turning his dead-looking eyes toward me.

“Am I still here?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Yes,” I answered softly. “You’re still here, Eric.”

He nodded and took a shaky breath before closing his eyes so I closed mine too.

It was strange how calm I felt — how easily I accepted him acting like a madman but I didn’t care if he was crazy. I loved him anyway.

But both of us knew he wasn't boyfriend material.

×××

Eric stayed in New York for a week. I didn’t see him many more times after I gave him that blowjob. Both of us knew we were terrible people for what we did to Malek. Sweet, sweet Malek.

But I couldn’t stop myself when I was around Eric, and he acted like he felt the same way. We didn’t want anything except to see each other, to be together, to be close to one another, but nothing good could come from it. It was better not to see each other at all. Or at least not alone.

I stood at the airport beside Malek and my dad, hugging Eric like he was never coming back again. I saw tears in my dad’s eyes as he stretched upward to pull Eric into a close embrace.

Everyone liked Eric. Everyone loved Eric. But only Chance and I really knew him.

He still had episodes where he believed he was dead and tried to somehow resurrect himself again, or even moments when he wanted to leave the earth behind completely. I wondered if people would still see him the same way if they knew about his inner thoughts.

When it was finally my turn to hug him goodbye, I rose onto my tiptoes — as usual — and kissed him on the cheek. His arms wrapped tightly around me, long and strong, and I could feel his heartbeat close to mine.

I took his face in my hands and looked directly into his eyes.

It was our moment.

“You’re alive…” I whispered softly. “And don’t you dare leave me…”

×

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