maybe in another world

robert with his face nestled in the sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder, breathing you in as his hands roam across your body as they please. those same tender hands guide you forward, bending you at the waist

robert murmuring encouragement and sounds of appreciation as he slowly presses into you. never going faster than you are comfortable despite your welcoming snugness as your body stretches to take him in. pausing for a moment of gratitude as his hips finally kiss your skin

robert, physically incapable of taking his eyes away from where you merge, again and again and again. your body trembling and your heated gaze cast over your shoulder the only things strong enough to draw his attention elsewhere

robert, coaxing sounds out of you like he wouldn't be able to sleep at night without them. rewarding each gasp of his name with a groan of yours

robert slowly losing his sharp focus on the world around him, instead solely existing in the sensation that is you. mumbled curses and praises form reverence as his lips butterfly against your back

robert reaching his peak, hips stuttering against yours and his eyes squeezing shut as the cosmos swirl in his mind. his fingertips pressing their claim into the curve of your hips while his body gushes claim to your innermost depths

robert wholeheartedly believing that every moment with you is a blessing he will never earn

BUT ALSO

robert tilting his head back into the pillow behind it, biting back noises of pleasure until your encouraging whispers next to his ear persuade him differently. warmth coiling low as your gentle hands wrap around him like he's something worth treating delicately

robert, putty in your hands as you press him against the mattress and sink onto him. fisting the sheets is the only thing keeping him from latching onto your waist — in recognition or in desperation, he's not sure

robert intoxicated by the liberation that comes from completely surrending to your loving touch. knowing that he can give the most personal parts of himself to you and trusting you'll cradle it like one would if they were trying to keep a snowflake from melting

robert, louder than he ever thought he could be in the bedroom, nearly self-conscious about the unadulterated noise until you respond in kind. his sounds coming out unrestrained now to sinfully harmonize with your own, a snake rising to the call of its charmer

robert curling his toes as his eyes roll back, fighting to keep his composure until you've used him for all he's worth. his eyes flying open as you break apart atop him because he can't bear to miss a second of it

robert's own release shuddering out just moments after, a peaceful nothingness blanketing his mind. your own barely coherent confessions of adoration are the first sensations to break through this blank noise — the throbbing hug of your heat is the next

the concept of giving robert the sloppiest head of his life, sin incarnate as you suck and stroke and tease him like your life depended on it. intentionally chasing every sound, every clench of his thighs, every whisper of your name

from his perspective, you look like an angel wrapped in the divine as golden morning light frames your form, on your knees worshipping like you were trying to breathe life into him

his hand on the back of your head, not to push but just to ground himself in his blissed-out reality. praises and curses and incoherent sounds of gratitude, of appreciation, and pleasure creating a symphony of intimacy in his too tiny, too bare apartment

pressing kisses to his pretty pink tip, to his veiny and swollen shaft, to his twitchy thighs bracketing your head, up his stomach and abs and chest and neck and higher so he can taste himself on your mouth and you can swallow his groans while your hand continues to work him tirelessly

your knees aching and thighs burning and jaw sore, but you refuse to stop until he finally tips over the edge, spilling salty ropes across your tongue as his entire body tenses and his words come out garbled and he sees the brightest of stars

the moment forever engraved into robert's mind as the time he was gifted more than he would ever deserve. the time he was loved like love wasn't conditional. the time he could've sworn angels walked this earth and they looked like you

Panic’s talons grip your heart as it races in its bony cage, but you try your damndest not to let it show on your face. The two of you had undoubtedly made eye contact. God, he had caught you looking. The flames of embarrassment lick your cheeks as you force your eyes to continue onward, almost as if you had simply met each other’s gaze while you were simply sweeping the room. With any luck, he’d buy it.

Despite your better judgment, you quickly cast your gaze back toward your crush of the night. Luckily, he had turned his attention back toward his drink at the bar. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding until this very moment, but there’s a small part of you that can’t help but be disappointed. Those gorgeous brown eyes weren’t turned your way any longer.

“...and you’re not even listening. That’s so awesome, thanks.” Tara leans back in a huff, arms crossed over her chest as an extra hint to you that she was annoyed.

“No, Tara, you’ve got a point,” you concede, turning back to the conversation for good. The one instance of eye contact was enough to ward you off from any other attempts for the foreseeable future. Plus, you still had yet to really work on your drink. You had treated yourself to a Dirty Shirley because you deserved a little something extra at the end of your vacation, and no person in sound mind would let a sweet treat go to waste. The first few sips are utterly divine. “I really should put myself out there more. Lord knows I’ve gone long enough waiting for someone to come up to me.”

Tara watches you for a moment, her gaze still incredibly sharp for someone a few drinks in. After seemingly confirming something for herself, she nods slightly before rummaging around in her purse for something. “What I don’t get–” she takes out a scrap of paper before returning to foraging for who knows what in her handbag of mysteries– “is how you can be so different in different situations.”

You pause for a moment, detaching your lips from your straw after sucking down nearly half of your glass. Maybe you really had drank quite a bit tonight. “What do you mean.”

“You know, like… There’s you now, when you’re my sweet and considerate and too-hesitant-for-her-own-good bestie, and then there’s you in the field. My badass and sassy and head-partially-up-her-own-butt bestie,” she explains, distractedly motioning with her free hand while her other scribbles a pen on the paper she had grabbed before. “And I love you one hundred percent of the time, you know that, but it just feels like you’re setting up roadblocks for yourself and then wondering why there’s no traffic. Does that make sense?”

“You’re saying it’s my fault I get no play?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, exactly.”

The instantaneous reply catches you off-guard, but really, you shouldn’t have expected anything different from your best friend. Why you even bothered to clarify what she first said is beyond you. “Couldn’t even lie a little for my sake, huh? What are you even doing with that paper?”

“Something important.” She doesn’t even glance up at you as she finishes scribbling her final words. Satisfied, Tara folds the paper in half, tucks it in her pocket, and promptly drains the rest of her drink. Setting her glass down with a clink, she pushes back from your shared table with a grin as she gets to her feet. “Shots on me. What do you want?”

Your eyes briefly flick down to your half-finished drink as you contemplate how kind you want to be to tomorrow-you. …but the more you think about it, the more sure you become that tomorrow-you would fully support present-you in taking this shot because you love shots. Especially ones you don’t pay for! You’re sold, goddammit. “As long as it’s yummy, I don’t care.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, babe.” Tara winks as she ruffles your hair, a suspicious sparkle in her eye that you just don’t have the energy to confront tonight. “It’ll be just what the doctor ordered.”

With that, she strides toward the bar, the determination in her steps helping her slide up to the counter pretty easily. You’re pretty sure she’s able to flag down one of the bartenders, so you instead shift your focus to genuinely surveying the bar scene before you. You know, like what you were pretending to do earlier.

It’s a livelier atmosphere than some of the other bars you’ve been to in recent memory–a few people were teasing each other over darts, there are a few intense games of pool going on (with one impressively sneaky blonde knocking balls into pockets whenever backs are turned), and the dance floor has an actual crowd. It feels like a classier version of your college bars, truth be told, which is probably why it's easier to relax here. The bartenders tend to mix the drinks a little light, you note as you slurp down the rest of your Dirty Shirley, but there are worse things in the world.

Like crime.

And criminals.

And having to go back to work in a couple days.

You groan as you slump forward onto the table, your head held up by one of your hands while your other sadly twirls your straw in the ice cubes remaining in your glass. They clink a despondent melody to harmonize with your sighs. You’re usually never one to take a day off unless absolutely necessary, but now that you have? You don’t want it to end. The free time, the lack of stress, the ability to go out like this with your friend and not having to worry about getting an emergency call in? It’s nice. Try as you might, you can’t remember the last time you actually took a break like this.

At some point, your eyes switch from focusing on your empty glass to the bar in the background behind it. It’s taking Tara longer than you thought it would to come back with your shots, and your initial cursory glance doesn’t find her. Your second glance, however, brings the world to a screeching halt. Tara was next to the brunette you were salivating over earlier, and she was very obviously chatting up a storm. She grins, claps her hand on his shoulder once, plucks two shots off of the counter, and pivots directly toward you. The mystery man’s eyes track her for a moment before flicking over to you, a look you can only pin as mild curiosity weaved into his expression. 

Mortification swirls in your stomach, and if you could create a hole in the ground to swallow you up right this second, you would. There’s only one reason why Tara would have been talking to him, after all–because she was talking about you. Instead, you force an embarrassed smile and give him a small wave that he returns with a lift of his drink and what almost looks like a half smile. Moments later, Tara blocks out your vision as she finally returns with two shots in hand, a satisfied grin, and the overwhelming stench of betrayal.

“What did you just do?” you hiss, face surely bright red at this point.

“Just what I needed to. Told him my friend’s super hot and sweet and thinks he’s fine, and then I gave him your number. He's got a nice voice, by the way,” she says pleasantly, as if she hadn’t just dropped the floor out from underneath you. Too calm for the situation, she places one of the shots in front of you and then takes her seat. “You’ll like these, by the way. Caramel apple. Top shelf, because I care about you.”

“There is absolutely no way…” your voice trails off. You’re dumbfounded–flabbergasted, even–at this turn of events.

“Okay, well, as top shelf as the liquor from a place called the Rusted Lantern can be,” she concedes, like that was the important issue here. Before you open your mouth and make a mountain out of a molehill, you pause to take a deep breath and collect yourself. Tara is one of your best friends, and you know she would never do anything to hurt you; but you also know she might do something well-intentioned that is the absolute opposite of what you would ever wish for. Either way, she does it because she cares, and that’s what you focus on.

“Tara, why on Earth did you say that to him?” you ask. She blinks, confused, before leaning back in her seat, shot precariously still in hand. A few drops leak down the side of the cup and fall onto the table. You make a mental note to try to clean up a bit before you both leave tonight.

“Because I care about you a lot, y/n. And I also know you, so I know that you’re not gonna take that first step without a little push,” her voice loses all silliness and is just left with total sincerity. “I’d never say you need a man to make you happy–anyone can make happiness on their own. I just know this is something that’s been bothering you for a long time, and if there’s any way I can help you out I wanna do it.”

She pauses as she finally rests her shot against the surface of the table. The look in her eye is something more gentle and sentimental than what she usually shows, and its enough on its own to keep your mouth shut until she finishes her thought.

“Even if it makes you upset with me for a bit. It’s worth it because you’re worth it, you know?”

Despite your initial disbelief and annoyance, you can’t help but to soften with her words. Truly, you’ve had very few friends who genuinely cared about you as much as she does, and even amongst them she might take the crown. Tension trickles out from your body now, your shoulders lowering from your ears and your hands slowly unclenching. “Thank you for caring, Tara. Seriously. Just… Please don’t do something like that in the future without talking to me about it first, okay?”

“That’s a fair line.” She nods. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. I really do think it was worth it, though. He seemed like a nice guy.”

“Doesn’t mean he’ll reach out,” you sigh, fingers curling around the miniature cup holding your shot for a moment before you raise the alcohol between yourself and Tara with a grin. “Well, let’s not let your hard-earned money go to waste.”

“We would never,” she gasps with mock horror, raising her own cup to tap against yours. You both grin as you tap the cups down on the table and then throw them back in your mouth. She had said this would be caramel apple flavored, but the only thing you could taste was how much it burned. “Girl, it’s not even that strong.”

“Shut up, you’re making a face too,” you point out. She can’t even hide the grimace on her face, but tries to anyway. You know, like a liar. “The aftertaste is kinda caramel apple-y, though. Don’t think I’d order it again.”

“You go get us some shots then, since you’re such the connoisseur.” Her eyebrows furrow as she huffily shoes you off. “Go on, then. No tequila for me, though–you remember what happened last time, and I’m not trying to wake up tomorrow with a feeling of overwhelming shame.”

“Yeah, yeah. No tequila, I got it.” You wave your hand dismissively as you ease to your feet, stretching backwards until you hear the crack! you’re looking for along with that telltale wave of relief. The years have not been the kindest to your body, even though you haven’t lived that many of them. Maybe you should look into changing your profession–a desk job, or maybe something from home? You’d think on it.

It’s easy enough to weave your way through the steadily growing crowd, even on slightly unsteady feet. Duck some wide elbows here, dodge some overly enthusiastic couples carrying drinks there; it’s simple. The next thing moment, you’re waving over a bartender and biting back a shit-eating grin as you order two Blowjob shots, giggling to yourself like a teenager over the name.

“Haven’t had one of those in a while–the shot, I mean,” a voice murmurs off your left shoulder, adding in the hasty correction after a short pause. You turn your head just enough to still keep eyes on the bar but also to catch a glimpse of your crush of the night himself. Instantly, your stomach starts twisting into knots, but you slap on your best poker face as the mystery man gives you a slanted grin. “Probably should’ve started off with something a little less accidentally creepy.”

Jesus, saying his voice was nice was a major understatement–his voice was hypnotizing. Just the right mix of soothing and gravelly but velvety.

“No, you’re good! I’m actually just ordering them as a joke for my friend.” You tip your head in the direction of Tara, who was passionately talking to someone on the phone. Maybe you should get back sooner than later. 

“So you’re y/n, I take it?” he asks, watching you closely over the rim of his glass as he takes a slow sip. “I think that’s what your friend said when she was over here earlier.”

Scratch that, you should get back to Tara now so the two of you can get the hell out of here and pretend tonight never happened. The bartender comes by at the perfect moment with your shots, giving you a few beautiful seconds to collect yourself as you thank her and ask to close out your tab right away, quickly handing over your card to her waiting hand.

You can’t avoid the conversation forever (as much as you’d like to), so you brace yourself and turn back to his calm gaze. “Yeah, that’s me! y/n. I’m sorry she came over and talked to you about all of that, by the way. Definitely didn’t mean to put you in a weird spot.”

Somehow, by some divine blessing, you’re graced with a chuckle. The sound could heal the injured and cure the sick. It’s like the world pauses for a split second, giving you just a moment longer to appreciate the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the earnestness of his smile. What a gorgeous man. “Don’t worry about it; I’m actually glad she did.”

Come again?

“My name’s Robert, by the way.” His eyes flick downward for a moment as he slides something toward you. It’s a scrap of paper, and, by the looks of it, it’s the same scrap Tara had been scribbling what must’ve been your number on earlier. Enchanting chestnut eyes return to yours almost sheepishly. “Seems like you might want this back. Figure it’s the sort of thing you’d want to give out yourself.”

You already know your response without even having to think about it, the sentiment bubbling up from deep within you despite every one of your reservations. The bartender returns with your card, which you smoothly pocket before preparing to make a break for it with your BJ’s. Despite your best efforts, your voice starts out a little shaky, but you just hope it’s not noticeable and plow ahead anyway. “Actually? You can keep it. She, uh… She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, so…”

Somehow, you’ve already moved a couple steps away, like your feet were on autopilot to get you out of this situation while Robert just watches you with a hint of surprise. Even with your heart racing, you manage to give him a small smile. “Feel free to toss it, if you don’t want it. No hard feelings.”

With that, you pivot and beeline straight for Tara, your eyes wide and steps not fast enough. Whether real or imagined, Robert’s eyes burn holes in your back as you retreat. If only you were brave enough to stick around and actually talk with him. Instead, here you are, running like a coward.

“Tara? Tara,” your words are a forceful whisper as you try to calmly set her shot front of her. Key word: try. “I talked to him. Officially gave him my number.”

She blinks a few times before breaking out into a large grin, clapping her hands together in excitement, clearly buzzing in more than one way. “y/n! That’s awesome! Good for you!”

“No, not awesome. I am absolutely freaking out,” you hiss in a panic, suddenly all too aware of how many people were buzzing around this bar. How many probably overheard that interaction. How many were probably laughing to themselves about it right now. “Let’s take the shots and go. I’m ready to go home.”

She wants to argue with you about it–you can see it on her face. Tara is an extrovert through and through, and she could very easily stay out until the bar closed; most nights, she does. Whether it was the anxiety radiating off of you, a feeling of guilt for being the catalyst to this situation, or something else entirely, she lets it go tonight. “Alright, we can go in a minute. At least sit down so we can do this properly?”

She gestures at your vacant seat across from her, raising an eyebrow. Honestly, it’s a fair request, so you settle down despite your burning cheeks and growing desire to leave this very second.

You grip the shot in one hand, mumbling, “It’s a Blow Job–” another snicker sneaks past your lips– “because I thought that would be funny.”

“Oh my God, y/n, you are a child,” Tara groans, fooling absolutely no one with how big her grin is. You’re friends for a reason, after all. When you call her out on laughing at it too, her only response is: “I never said it wasn’t funny.”

Without further ado, the two of you knock back your shots, cream decorating your upper lip like a foamy mustache. There’s a slight pause before you both erupt into giggles, wiping the cream off. Some how, some way, she always manages to pull you back from the ledge in the simplest of ways, like a breath of spring air after a cruel winter. A warmth spreads in your chest–your fondness for your friend or from the alcohol, you’re not sure–and it almost blocks out the anxiety tearing up your stomach. Almost.

Like she’s got a sixth sense for your emotional state, Tara eases to her feet and starts to gather her purse and loose items. Without missing a beat, you follow her, very intentionally not looking over toward the bar on the off-chance Robert is looking your way as the two of you head out into the cool night.

It’s all chilled air and street lights, the stars peacefully lighting the dark blanket of the night sky as you and Tara slowly walk back to your shared apartment complex. Laughter and stories of work days from the past fill the otherwise tranquil neighborhood. It’s not an uncommon walk for the two of you, so your feet know the way without any need to really think about where you’re going while the night blurs by.

What a perfect end to one of the last days of your time off from work. Well, minus the lingering mix of feelings from tonight’s bar encounter–pride over finally putting yourself out there (with a lot of help from Tara) and nerves over what may come out of it (if anything.) Tomorrow will be your last opportunity to relax and get some much-needed work done in you apartment, and then it would be back to carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Or, the weight of whichever customer is disgruntled enough to call in a request. 

After parting from Tara with a soft good night, you key in to your apartment and flick on your entryway light. Dorito is waiting just inside your door, circling impatiently with a tail flick here and there. As soon as the front door clicks shut behind you, you drop to your knees and scoop your orange child into your arms. Purrs as loud as a motorboat immediately rumble from his furry chest. The little attention glutton soaks in all of your praise and pets with a satisfied grin on his little face. After a few minutes of impromptu snuggling, you send him off with a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Good to see you too, little man,” you croon with a grin. Dorito chirps back at you before trotting off toward his food bowl, urging you to feed him after your late night. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it. People would think I don’t feed you.”

Cat food pellets clink against his ceramic bowl while he circles your feet impatiently with his tail in full sharkfin mode. He’s already swarming the bowl as you set it down for him with an amused huff. “Sorry for feeding you so late tonight, baby. I gave you a little extra to make up for it.”

As your cat scarfs down his dinner for the night, you find your mind drifting back to the bar. Back to Robert, truth be told. Against your better judgment, you pull your phone from your back pocket and check for a text.

Nothing.

Disappointment swirls in your chest for a moment, but you dismiss it with a sigh. Dorito pauses his ravenous binge for just a moment to give you a look, his head quirked inquisitively. Such a little sweetheart, checking in on you–in the middle of mealtime, no less.

He returns to his bowl before you respond, but the words come out anyway. “I met someone tonight, Dorito. Well, Auntie Tara kinda forced me into it, but I technically gave him my number myself. So maybe he’ll reach out to me!”

The kitchen tiles are cool underfoot as you pad over to your sink and fill up a glass of water, staring into its rippling surface before taking a sip. He really might reach out. He said he was glad he got your number, so that’s got to mean something, right? 

Or he was just being nice and trying not to make things awkward for you. Your glass hits the counter with a soft clink. One brief conversation doesn’t really give you enough of a read on the guy to know for sure, so it might be better to prepare for the worst-case scenario. 

“I always forgot how not-fun this feeling is,” you sigh, hands finding the edge of your countertop and gripping. Before you can sink too deeply into your pity party, Dorito brushes against your leg once again–his signal that he’s ready for bed. Without a moment of hesitation, you scoop him up in your arms, nuzzling your face into his soft fur. “You always know how to cheer me up. Mama’s little therapist, that’s what you are.”

Being summoned to bed by someone as adorable as Dorito isn’t something you can easily escape from without feeling immense amounts of guilt, so it’s best to not fight it and just give in. The thought of sleep seemingly summons a wave of sleepiness, because you could swear that you felt perfectly awake just a moment ago. Now, a yawn splits your face as you shuffle off to bed with your little angel tucked safely in your arms. Once you’re close enough, he launches out of your arms and sinks into the comforter instantly, circling a couple times before settling in for good.

You wash up and brush your teeth as quickly as possible, shrugging out of your day clothes in favor of your comfy pajamas, and plugging your phone in for the night to charge. (One last glance for a text proved fruitless.) Dorito’s position doesn’t exactly make getting into bed a breeze as you do your best to not disturb the sleeping feline, but after a few readjustments you settle in too.

Sleep takes you quickly, your consciousness blinking out just as your phone blinks with an incoming text.