Elly

Technically true. Completely irrelevant to her argument. But you went anyway because you were twenty years old, it was Saturday night in Los Angeles, and there was a limit to how many nights in a row you could stand staying in the apartment listening to your neighbor fight with her boyfriend through the drywall.

The venue was smaller than you expected. One of those spaces that operate in a half-renovated warehouse, where half the renovation was intentional and half was simply giving up. High ceiling, brick walls, lighting that was clearly trying to make the place look cooler than the budget allowed. You had liked it as soon as you walked in. It had that energy of a place that still hadn't figured out its own size.

Di had disappeared in literally eight minutes. You had turned to comment on something and she was on the other side of the space hugging three people at once with the golden retriever energy that was her trademark in any social situation. She had shot you a smile from across the room, half apology, half you know how I am, and you had responded with a magnanimous gesture because it wasn't the first time and it wasn't going to be the last.

You knew how to be alone in places like that. You had your system: a drink in your hand to have something to do with your fingers, strategic position with a view of the stage and the crowd, expression of a person who is exactly where she wants to be. It always worked.

The first band was good. Genuinely good, a guitarist who knew what he was doing, a short, well-executed set, the kind of thing that makes you think okay, this might be worth it. You had walked out of there with your mood lifted and the financial guilt slightly relieved.

The second band had gone up and you had been excited for exactly forty-five seconds, until the sound in the speakers exploded at a volume that involuntarily reorganized your thoughts. It wasn't even a question of style, you gave up personal preference easily when the execution was good. It was that you physically couldn't distinguish guitar from vocals, bass, drums, anything. Everything arrived as a compact wall of frequency that hurt behind the eyes.

You had stayed staring at the stage with the expression of someone doing mental math about how much that had cost per minute.

When the second band came down, Di had reappeared with two drinks and the absolutely clean conscience of someone who wasn't there to listen.

— Are you enjoying it?

She had disappeared again before you could elaborate. You had taken the drink and decided to explore. There was a side hallway that led to an area in the back of the venue, not exactly signposted as forbidden, but clearly not the main space. One of those areas that exists in every small venue, a kind of limbo between backstage and nowhere, with a long couch leaning against the wall that had seen too many things to tell and a lamp on the ceiling flickering with a slightly disturbing cadence.

You had sat down because your feet were asking for it and the third band hadn't started yet and you needed five minutes away from the noise.

You were on your phone when you heard footsteps.

The boy who appeared at the entrance was tall in a way that seemed slightly inconvenient. One of those lanky ones who were still finishing understanding their own extension, shoulders slightly curved inward like someone who grew up too fast and hadn't made peace with the ceiling yet. Dark hair, black t-shirt, skinny jeans. He saw you, stopped for exactly half a second with the expression of someone who wasn't expecting an audience, and then made the universal movement of ignore, I have an objective here toward the boxes stacked in the corner.

He stood near the boxes long enough for it to become evident that he had no objective at all.

Then he turned.

You looked at each other.

— Hey — he said.

— Hey.

— You hiding from the noise too?

— More or less. My feet are calling for help.

He looked at the couch, looked at you. Made a slightly interrogative gesture toward the empty space. He sat down, left generous space, elbows on knees, sat looking forward for a few seconds before turning slightly in your direction with the expression of someone who wants to start a conversation but is calculating the approach.

— You liking the bands?

— The first one was good — you said, on autopilot.

— And the second?

You looked at him. He had an open expression, curious, with no sign that he was expecting a specific answer.

You had paid for the ticket. You were in the red. Honesty was the least you deserved.

— The second one I thought was shit, honestly.

He blinked.

You saw the exact moment he considered speaking and decided to speak anyway.

— I'm the vocalist of the second band.

The silence had texture.

You felt the heat rising in your face before any rational thought arrived, and your brain offered, in a completely useless way, a replay of everything you could have said in place of what you said.

— I… — you started.

— No, please continue — he said, and there was something in his voice that was containment with great effort — I accept the feedback.

— I didn't know…

— Clearly.

— In my defense — you reorganized — the sound was blown out. I literally couldn't hear almost anything you guys played.

— That's... technically true — he said, with a calm honesty you weren't expecting — I couldn't even hear myself up there. I was basically screaming into the void and hoping for the best.

— That's horrible.

— It was genuinely one of the worst sonic experiences of my life — he said, with the seriousness of someone being completely honest — and I was participating in it.

You tried not to laugh. It didn't work.

He heard it and something in his face changed, came out of that slightly hunched posture and turned into something else, lighter, more real.

— So technically — you said, when the laughter passed — you also think it was shit.

— I think the sound was shit — he said — The band is good. Important distinction.

— Really?

— I'm legally obligated to say yes.

— Legally?

— I signed a document. I can't elaborate.

You laughed again, and this time he laughed with you, and something in the space between you two changed address without warning.

He had leaned back on the couch, his shoulders finally at peace with gravity. You had lowered your phone at some point without noticing. The lamp continued flickering on the ceiling with its cadence of mild psychological terror and neither of you commented because there were more interesting things happening.

— How did you get in here? — he asked — This area isn't open to the public.

— The door was unlocked — you said — I'm not an intruder. I'm opportunistic.

— That's somehow more concerning.

— Or more honest.

He looked at you with a smile that arrived slowly, from the corner to the center, and there was something in it that was different from the previous smiles, less contained, perhaps more comfortable.

The conversation went to places that venue conversation doesn't normally go. Bands you both had seen, the absurd price of rent in LA which generated a tangent of disproportionate joint indignation, the crowd up front, the questionable architecture of the venue.

— Who puts exposed pipe up there — he said, pointing at the ceiling with genuine aesthetic offense.

— Someone who ran out of money for drywall.

— Or someone who watched too many YouTube videos of lofts.

— Same thing.

He let out a laugh that was more sound this time, real, and you felt that in your chest in a way that was useful information you preferred to ignore for now.

He was funny. Not in the way that tries to be funny, in the way that observes things from a slightly crooked angle and says what it sees without ceremony, and you laugh before realizing you were going to laugh. It was the most dangerous kind. You knew that. This type of funny guy was the one that joke by joke when you noticed you were already without panties.

You stayed anyway.

At some point you had turned more in his direction. At some point he had gotten closer. The geometry of the couch had shifted configuration without either of you consciously managing it.

He was in the middle of an observation about the first band's setlist when he stopped.

Not because he finished the reasoning. Because you were looking at him in a way that wasn't just listening anymore, and he had noticed, and when you lifted your eyes from the place where they had landed without permission he was looking back at you with an expression that didn't have anything shy left in it.

The lamp flickered.

— That lamp is really something — he said, looking up, and his voice had dropped a tone for no apparent reason.

— Ignore the lamp — you said.

He brought his eyes back to you.

The smile that appeared was quiet and completely sure of itself, and it was the first time that night you had seen that smile, and it was exactly then that you understood you had stayed too long on this couch.

The kiss happened in the space between that word and the next flicker of the lamp. Organic the way those things are when neither one of you is pretending you don't want it, without ceremony, without announcement, just the logical continuation of everything that had been said and unsaid in the last forty minutes.

He kissed with attention. Not the performative attention of someone who is aware they're being evaluated, but that of someone who is genuinely interested in what's happening, slow where it should be slow, deeper when you responded in a way that asked for it. His hand went to your face first, then to your hair, and the contrast between that careful gesture and the mouth that wasn't being careful at all caught you off guard in a very good way.

You put your hand on his chest, feeling his breathing accelerate under your fingers, and he came closer as a natural response, his whole body leaning in your direction.

When you stopped to breathe he stayed looking at you for a second with an expression that was hard to categorize.

You laughed against his mouth and he took the moment to pull you in for good, his hand going down to your hip with a firmness that wasn't shy at all, and you went, with no resistance whatsoever, until you ended up in his lap in a way that was clearly where the situation had been going for some time.

He was more solid than the thinness suggested. You felt that in your hands, in his shoulders, in the way he held you without apparent effort. And you felt something else too, when you settled in his lap, that made you stop for half a second.

He noticed that you noticed, and let out that low laugh, more in the chest than in voice, and his mouth went to your neck with an intention that ended any additional processing in progress.

His hand found the way to your thigh, going up slowly under your skirt, and you let it, with your fingers in his hair and your head tilted to the side giving room to his mouth that was doing things on your neck that made it difficult to remember your own name. When his fingers got where they were going and found you already completely without patience for foreplay, he made a low sound of approval that went straight to your stomach.

He knew what he was doing. Not in the insecure way of someone who is trying to get it right, but in the way of someone who pays attention, to the sounds you were making, to the small ways your body had of saying yes, there, like that, and responded to that instead of executing a memorized sequence. His mouth continued on your neck while his fingers worked, and you let your head fall back and the sounds come out because the band up front was making enough noise to cover it and the couch had seen too many things to care.

You came right there, in his lap, with your fingers closed on his t-shirt and your breathing completely undone, and he stayed with you until the end before pulling his hand up and hugging you with a naturalness you weren't expecting from someone who didn't know your name.

You stayed like that for a second that was just breathing.

— Hi — he said, again, his mouth in your hair.

— Stop — you said.

— I'm just saying hello.

— You're horrible.

— You just made a sound on my shoulder that suggests the contrary.

You were going to answer but he kissed you first, and the answer became irrelevant.

At some point the geometry of the couch stopped being enough and you migrated to the back wall. You were on your knees before you had consciously made the decision. It was more a natural consequence of the situation, his hand in your hair, you looking up, and the logic of the moment leading to an obvious place.

You had started to work his pants when he put his hand on your shoulder.

— You don't have to…

— I know. — You looked at him from below, with all the calm in the world — At least let me touch you.

You didn't wait for an answer. You put your hand on him over the fabric and the sentence died in his throat before it came out.

It was a lot. You already knew since his lap, but with your hand you had a more precise dimension of the size of the problem, and the problem was considerable, the kind that requires respect and planning.

You worked slowly, feeling him get harder under your fingers, hearing his breathing lose the constant rhythm he had maintained until now.

You opened his pants.

When you put your hand on him for real he let out a low and involuntary fuck that escaped before it could be held back, and you smiled before you could stop yourself.

He looked at the ceiling with the expression of someone asking for patience from a higher entity, and you found that so funny and so good at the same time that you made an executive decision.

Just the tongue first, light, just the tip, just to see, and the sound that came out of him was longer and deeper than the previous one, his hand closing in your hair without pulling, just holding as if he needed an anchor.

Fuck it, you thought.

And you did, for real.

He went very quiet in a way that was clearly active effort, his hand in your hair firm but without pressing, his breathing going down and up in a rhythm you were controlling without him having given permission for it. You weren't going to be able to take it all, it was obvious you weren't going to, it was too big to pretend otherwise, but what you could do you did well, and the sounds he was emitting were sufficient confirmation of that.

You tried to go deeper, gagged once, tried again and gagged again.

— Wait — he said, after a while, his voice completely unrecognizable — You don't have to… — he stopped. Started again. — It's a lot.

You took your mouth off for exactly one second.

— I know what I'm doing — you said.

— I'm not doubting it, I just…

— Relax.

— I'm trying to…

— I know. — You ran your thumb over him once, slowly, with intention, and the argument died right there. — Let me continue.

He went quiet.

You went back to what you were doing, at your pace, the way you wanted, and his hand in your hair was the only language available to him, how much he tightened when you did something right, how much he loosened when you slowed down on purpose because you had discovered that you liked the sound he made when you took away what he wanted before giving it back.

When he got close you felt it before he spoke, the tension different, the breathing different, the wait, wait, wait low that was honest warning.

He stayed with his eyes closed for a moment, his hand in your hair now just resting, his breathing coming back slowly. He threw his arm over his eyes and stayed like that for a few seconds.

— Give me a second.

— Am I in a hurry?

— No — He took his arm off his face and really looked at you, with an expression that was a lot of things at once — You're a problem.

— I know — you said.

He pulled you back up with his hand on your arm, and when you got to the level of his face he kissed you in a way that was different from all the previous ones, quieter, deeper, the kind of kiss that says something without being able to put it into words yet.

He turned you with your back to the brick, his hands on each side of your head, and the height difference that on the couch was irrelevant now became evident in a way that was completely inconvenient for your nervous system. His lips came back to yours while his fingers went back to between your legs, pushing your underwear aside just enough to be able to slide two fingers into you. And the bastard knew well what to do with those long fingers.

And it was there, in that kiss, leaning against the wall with your knees still weak, that you felt it.

It wasn't dramatic. It was that familiar and absolutely traitorous sensation, a low and discreet cramp that your body chose the worst possible moment to announce.

No.

Not now.

For the love of everything that is sacred, not now.

You stayed quiet for a second, hoping very much that you were wrong.

You weren't wrong.

He felt you stop. His fingers that were practically buried inside you also stopped.

— Is everything okay? — His voice low, his mouth still close to yours.

— I think I… — you started, and didn't finish because there was no elegant way to finish that sentence.

You pulled away a little. Looked at him. He was looking at you with that whole attention turned toward you, no rush, genuinely asking.

— I think I got my period — you said, with the voice of someone delivering bad news at a board meeting.

He blinked.

You saw the processing happen in real time.

— Ah.

— Yeah.

Short silence.

— Are you okay? — he asked, and the tone was real care, not the embarrassment disguised as politeness you were expecting.

— I am, it's just… — you looked at his hand, which had landed on your thigh, and didn't need to finish.

He looked too. A small stain on the tips of his fingers. He stayed looking for a second with no readable expression, then lifted his eyes to you with a calm you definitely didn't deserve.

— Relax — he said, simply.

— I'm so sorry…

— It's okay — Firm, gentle — It happens. It's happened before. I don't care at all.

You had already grabbed a tissue from inside your purse before he finished, passing it to him without being able to look directly, and he cleaned his hand without drama while you died inside on a level that went beyond cellular, reaching molecular.

I wanted it so much, you thought, looking at the couch in front of you. I wanted so much to give it up for this man and my uterus decided to sabotage me at the worst possible time of my entire life.

You stayed in silence for a few seconds doing the bitter calculations of the universe conspiring against you, and that's when the idea appeared. It was a slightly insane idea. It was an idea you would normally save for another occasion, with someone you knew better, in less improvised circumstances.

On the other hand: decommissioned green room. Los Angeles. Tall and funny stranger who had just made you come for the second time against a wall using only his fingers.

— I have an idea — you said.

— Go ahead — he said, with the tone of someone who is genuinely willing to listen but reserving judgment.

You said the idea. The silence that followed had a very specific texture.

— Are you… — he started — Sure?

— I'm very sure.

He ran his hand through his hair. Looked at the ceiling. Looked back at you with an expression that was clearly doing its own calculations.

— I've never done it that way… — he stopped — I mean, it's not that I object, I just want to be sure that you…

— I want to — you said, with a clarity that cut his sentence in half. — I just want you to fuck me. That's all I want right now.

He stayed looking at you for a second with an expression that was a lot of things at once.

— Okay — he said. — But I'm going to use a lot of saliva.

— I know.

— No, for real — He made a pause, slightly mortified with himself — A lot. An embarrassing amount.

— That's fine.

— And I'll go slow. Very slow.

He stopped.

You looked at him.

— Fuck me — you said.

He closed his eyes for exactly one and a half seconds with the expression of someone making peace with an important decision.

— I have a condom — he said.

— Of course you do.

— I'm a responsible adult.

While he went to his wallet you repositioned yourself on the couch, and when he came back there was something different in the way he moved, more focused, more present, that whole attention concentrated on you in a way that made it hard to breathe properly.

He used his fingers first, slowly, with a patience that bordered on cruel, preparing carefully, his voice low and his eyes on you every second, asking and listening to the answer before continuing. His mouth stayed on your neck, on your shoulder, on your ear, keeping you present in your whole body while he opened you up with an attention that was almost irritating it was so good. You had your hands on his shoulders and your face buried in his neck, waiting for your body to give in layer by layer.

And he really kept the promise, every now and then spitting on his own fingers, sliding better to continue stimulating you. When he finally entered it was so slowly that you held your breath and stayed like that.

— Is everything okay? — he asked, his voice completely hoarse, and you felt the effort it was being to hold the rhythm.

— Keep going — you said against his skin — Don't stop.

He didn't stop.

It was slow. It was deep. It was with that attention he had in everything, his hand anchored on your hip, his mouth alternating between your neck and your shoulder, and you went relaxing until you reached a point where it wasn't discomfort anymore but something else entirely, a dense and full sensation that climbed up your spine and left you with your head completely empty.

And then the switch flipped. The shy boy who had just said he had never had sex like this had now assumed the posture of the man who was willing to make you come one more time before having his own relief.

It was a specific and identifiable moment, the rhythm changed, the hand on your hip tightened with that pressure he always got right, and a sound came out of his chest, low and involuntary, that went straight to your stomach.

— Touch yourself — he said, low, his mouth in your ear.

It wasn't an order or a request, it was the exact middle ground between the two, the voice of someone who knows what they're asking and why.

Your hand went down without hesitation, and when you started he deepened the rhythm at the same time, as if the two movements were part of the same thing — and they were. Everything connected, everything building together at a frequency that had no parallel with anything else.

You touched yourself and he moved and the sensation multiplied in a way that left you with your head absolutely empty of any useful thought, dense and constant and growing without pausing. You heard your own breathing turn into something else, louder, less controlled, and your free hand went to his back because you needed to hold onto something.

— That's it, just like that… — he said, more to himself than to you, his voice completely undone.

You came with a sound you would never describe to anyone, your fingers leaving marks on his back that he would feel tomorrow, your whole body tightening around him, and he came right after with God's name in his mouth and his hands on you as if he needed to hold onto something.

You stayed quiet for a while that was just breathing and heartbeat coming back to normal.

The lamp flickered.

He lifted his head. Looked at you with a soft and slightly stunned expression, like someone who didn't expect the night to be like this.

— I really wanted to have fucked you the normal way too.

The mourning in the voice was genuine, measured and absolutely sincere.

You laughed first. He resisted two seconds before going along, and the two of you laughed on the old couch with the lamp flickering above as faithful witness to everything.

— I really need to go to the bathroom — you said, with the urgency of someone making an official statement.

He let out a laugh on your neck.

— Me too. Go first. — A pause — Meet me back here after?

— Sure — you said.

You went to the bathroom. You didn't come back.

It wasn't cruelty. It was more a question of you being sitting in the women's bathroom of the venue doing the balance of the situation and coming to the conclusion that if you went back you'd want to stay more, and wanting to stay more would make it harder to leave and especially to look back into the face of a very handsome stranger who had been the first person to enjoy this kind of unconventional pleasures.

In the Uber home you stayed with your head leaning against the window glass watching the lights of Los Angeles passing by, and your brain went cataloging the night with that specific honesty that only appears when you're alone and don't need to maintain any version of yourself for anyone.

You had let a stranger fuck you in the ass on a green room couch.

Without lubricant. Just the condom, a dream, and an amount of saliva he had promised and delivered without lying.

And it hadn't hurt at all. Like, not at all. It had gone in smoothly in a way you weren't expecting and that clearly said something about the care he had taken, about the irritating and wonderful patience he had in everything, about the fact that he had stayed inside you asking are you okay more times than anyone had bothered to ask in a long time.

You looked at the Uber ceiling.

You don't even know his name, you thought.

That was true.

And you're probably never going to see him again.

That was probably true too.

You stayed with this truth for a second, testing its weight, waiting to feel something that was regret.

Part two: whatsapp, after

you Di

Di i'm here i'm here what was it

you so do you remember when you said it was going to be a good night

Di yes???

you it was

Di TALK

you so i was in the back hallway right sitting on that old couch then a boy showed up very tall very hot very funny

Di CONTINUE

you we kept talking for like an hour then we hooked up, it was delicious but then i got my period in the middle

Di NOOOOOOOOOOOO HOW HORRIBLE POOR THING

you Diiiii LET ME FINISH

Di ok ok sorry talk

you so i was like it's fine but i wanted so much to fuck this man you know so i had an idea

Di what idea?????

you i let him do anal

Di YOU LET HIM DO WHAT???????? YOU LET A STRANGER DO ANAL JUST BECAUSE HE WAS HOT

you he was VERY hot in my defense

Di I DON'T EVEN DO THAT WITH MY BOYFRIEND

you but that's your problem

Di are you okay?? did it hurt??

you it didn't hurt at all he was very careful asked if i was okay like six times

Di oh my god i'm processing

you i'm in an uber going home btw i went to the bathroom and didn't come back

Di YOU GHOSTED HIM???

you i strategically withdrew

Di it's fine i love you but you're crazy

you i know

Di no, seriously stop for a second you went to a show that you complained a lot about the price of the ticket met a hot stranger got your period in the middle and the solution your brain found was to LET HIM DO ANAL

you when you put it like that it sounds crazy

Di BECAUSE IT IS CRAZY but you know what it's very feminist of you

you HOW IS IT FEMINIST???

Di you prioritized your own pleasure literally took it up the ass because you were horny that's feminism applied in practice

you D this has nothing to do with feminism

Di it has everything to do with it simone de beauvoir would be proud

you i'm going to kill myself

Di was it big?? was it or wasn't it just yes or no

you it was a lot

Di MY GODDESS and you left without his number? you're very fearless and very stupid at the same time it's a rare talent

you i know it was better this way it was just one night, you know

Di but his name at least you asked for?

you So…

Di YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR HIS NAME???

you we didn't ask each other's names

Di you let a nameless man do anal on a green room couch of a venue without lube

you he used a lot of saliva

Di I DON'T NEED THESE DETAILS

you you asked

Di i needed to know but i didn't need to KNOW you know i'm putting this in the category of things that only happen to you

you big category

Di very did you get home?

you just arriving now

Di go to sleep drink water take a shower and tomorrow you tell me everything in detail

you i already told you everything and you said you didn't need it

Nerves fluttered in your stomach as you approached Noah’s house. His long-time best friend (and your former one-night-stand), Nick Ruffilo, was visiting California for the week. You were never one to shy away from pain, but you didn’t know what to expect that day. You had felt much more confident about your decision not having seen Nick in forever. Thoughts of that night  a year ago still gave you butterflies, but you had brushed it off as a mistake, both fearing a disturbance in your friendships with Noah and the guys. Sliding your keys out of the ignition and grabbing your bag, you headed in.

You reached the door and let yourself in, immediately met with Harper's excited barks alerting everyone of your arrival. Each of them greeted you, and at last you turned to Nick. You took the site of him in; tan skin, jet black hair, ink snaking up his neck, peeking out of his sleeves over his knuckles, and the most striking eyes.You forgot just how alluring and attractive he was to be around.

“Hey, y/n, good to see you again. You ready?” he asked excitedly, “I’m all set up in the other room.”

You subtly wiped your damp palms down the front of your shirt.

 “As I’ll ever be.”

You followed behind him into the room the boys used as a music studio and saw each of his things set up in the middle. A long foldable bench covered in a thin sheet of paper, a steel tray wrapped in plastic with Nick’s array of ink and supplies spread neatly atop. As you surveyed the room he swiped on his tablet, pulling up the sketch he had come up with so you could visualize the piece complete with shading. Days prior you and Nick had brainstormed over text, discussing placement and style. He had drawn up a floral piece that would stretch up your thigh and wrap delicately around your hip. You beheld the gorgeous arrangement. 3 huge peonies made up the center, and lantanas peppered the spaces in between. Chutes of ivy accentuated where it would hug around your curves. Leaves extended from the flowers, tapering off at the edges. 

“Nick…this is perfect, I love it!” you exclaimed, the nerves morphing back into excitement.

“I’m glad you like it” he replied, “I printed the stencil in a few sizes, we can try ‘em out and see what you like.”

You smiled at him in his element, flannel sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back and slipping on black gloves. He gathered the trimmed stencils and placed them on the tray.

“All set” he said, placing the last stencil out for you to examine. You looked over each and chose a size to try, one that was bold yet still delicate. He nodded, picking it up off the tray.

“All right, if you wanna just...slip your shorts off I can pop it on there and you can check it out in the mirror.” He said looking down as he grabbed the bottle of stencil solution.

You looked down at the black jean shorts you wore, cheeks heating as you realized just how exposed you were going to be. It’s nothing he hadn’t seen before, but something about it still felt vulnerable. Your thumbs hooked at your waistband and Nick walked to close the door as you shimmied them down your legs, averting his gaze as much as possible it seemed. Left in your oversized band tee and high-cut thong, you walked to the bench and laid your shorts down as Nick approached you, stencil in hand. He positioned you sideways and knelt before you, gently spreading a thin layer of stencil solution across your skin.You carefully lifted the elastic of your underwear, giving him access to where he needed to place it. You practically held your breath as his hands roamed your skin. He then lined the transfer paper up carefully with both hands and lowered it into place, smoothing over it firmly before peeling it back to reveal the purple outline underneath. Dropping the hem of your shirt, you walked to the full length mirror and admired the sight, shifting around to see each angle. Nick stood behind you, his gaze fixed on your thigh.

You smiled at the site of it, already imagining what it would look like finished.

“I love it,” you said, meeting Nick’s eyes in the mirror.

Next thing you knew, you laid on the table, shirt pulled up on one side as Nick’s machine began whirring. You felt his gloved hand brace the skin on your thigh as his eyes met yours. You gave him a nod before he began the outline. Several minutes passed as Nick traced line by line.

“Damn you’re sitting so good” Nick praised as he wiped the area with a paper towel. You smirked at his comment, wincing at the burn.

The truth was that it wasn’t bad at all. Not only did you have a killer pain tolerance, but pain often excited you. Nick worked the needle upwards with each pass, now working where your hip curved upward gently under your soft flesh. The feeling of the needle passing over the prominent bone sent a sweet sting through your body. The intense vibrations of the tattoo machine traveled from your hip, across your lower stomach, and straight down to your core.

“I know this is a tough spot right here. You’re doing so good for me.” Nick praised again. 

His words hit you differently that time. Your mind raced, feeling so many sensations mixed with his praises. As Nick wiped the excess ink off, his fingers ghosted over your clothed pussy. His hand was splayed across your lower stomach and he continued to work on the outline. You bit your lip as you looked down at him, his eyes focused intently on your skin and his brow furrowed in concentration. Everything about the situation was building up pleasure between your legs, and you wondered if he had caught on. He worked his hand back and forth following the bright purple lines of the stencil, sending thrilling stings and buzzing pains across your skin that he gently soothed with ointment and encouragement after. His hands continued to wander up and down your thigh and around your hips. You squirmed slightly and let out a soft whimper, pressing your thighs together for some relief. Nick's hand stilled and he looked up at you.

“Do you need a break?”

“No. Keep going. Please.” You say, trying not to sound desperate.

“For this next part I’m gonna need you to uh.. move this strap,” he said, eyeing the thin line of your panties that crossed your hip, “so maybe you want to cover yourself and…take these off?” His gaze met yours.

Your lips parted as he finished his sentence. You sat up and he gave you a hand to help you off the table. With your back turned to him you carefully slipped your thong down your legs and let your shirt fall, covering most of you. When you turned around you saw Nick, eyes darkened and leaned back in his chair admiring you. The tension in the room increased exponentially as you placed a knee up to crawl back on the table. You shifted to lay on your back once again, covering yourself as best you could with your t-shirt. Nick continued his work on your now fully exposed hip, gently brushing his free hand along the curves of your body. 

He paused and watched your face after finishing a pass, the way your thighs pressed together and you squirmed when he ran his hand slowly down your body, covering the tender skin with ointment. Your nipples peaked through your shirt and you looked down at him with pleading eyes. 

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren't you?” He asked

You nodded silently in reply.

“Does this make you feel good?” Nick questioned as he turned the machine back on. He continued to work, eyes focused where the needle met your flesh, but allowed a single finger of his free hand to reach under where your shirt concealed your skin. Your stomach fluttered as you came to the realization that he knew how much this was turning you on, and was excited about it as well. He finally finished the last few lines, then gently worked his hands up and down the length of the tattoo to clean it. He got up, adjusting his stiffened length in his jeans, then turned to grab the sheet of Saniderm, cutting it to shape and placing it over the freshly finished tattoo. He stepped back to admire his work.

“So fuckin pretty” he said, his eyes traveling up and down your half naked body, “now let me see how much you enjoyed that.” 

He pulled gently on your bent knee to spread your legs. He gave you no warning as he spread you open with two fingers, admiring the wetness that had gathered. You threw your head back and let his name slip past your lips.

“You’ve been fucking killing me with these pretty thighs” he planted a kiss on the soft skin, “the looks you’re giving me” he nipped at your inner thigh, drawing a moan from you. “That needle felt good? So fuckin wet all from that? Thinking of all the things I’ve done to you?”

He began to toy with your clit, circling his thumb gently over it as he teased your entrance with two fingers. He pushed into you, filling you just how you needed to be. He periodically dipped his head back between your things, sucking and nipping at them as purple marks began to bloom across your skin.

“Come here” he commanded. You sat up, his fingers never leaving your center, and met him in a heated kiss. He increased his pace as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, a moan leaving your mouth. He pulled away and his fingers slipped from you as he worked the buckle of his belt open. You glanced down as he sprung free from his briefs and excitement rushed at the memory of the last time he was inside you.

“Fuck, Nick” you panted.

“Don’t worry I know what you need” he responded, lining himself up with your entrance.

His hand braced your throat lightly, the other settling into a bruising grip on your hip as he thrusted into you. A slight jolt of pain went through you at the sudden fullness pounding deep into your pussy, quickly melting into intense pleasure. Sounds of skin meeting skin and the bench creaking with your movements filled the room. Nick grasped your chin, forcing your gaze towards his luminous grey eyes as he pounded into you.

“I think about this pussy all. The. Fucking. Time" he said, his thrusts punctuating each word. He released your jaw and your head rolled back with pleasure, your release building up inside you. You leaned back on your elbows and Nick’s hands slid up your thighs, holding your legs open as he watched himself ruin your dripping pussy. 

“You look so beautiful like this, baby. Every time you see yourself now? You’ll remember my hands on you.”

You knew it was true. Long after his fingerprints and bruises where he nipped and sucked your soft skin faded, his work would forever be branded your skin. Anyone who ever admired it, anyone who ever had the pleasure of seeing the ink uninterrupted by the fabric of your clothing would know where he’d been.

Nick’s body tensed the closer he got to finishing, and feeling him grow even harder inside you had you gripping the ends of the table, desperate to prolong the moment. You leaned up once again, meeting Nick’s lips with yours. You both breathlessly kissed each other, separating to gasp and moan as the pleasure reached a new high. When Nick’s kiss traveled from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. He sucked and nipped at the skin right below your ear, soothing it with his tongue and it sent you crashing over the edge. You gripped the back of his shirt and pulled yourself closer to him, breathing in sharply as your orgasm rippled through you and you felt yourself tighten around him again and again. 

As you came down from your high he pulled out of you, continuing to fist himself.

“On your knees, baby” he said roughly as you quickly maneuvered to kneel in front of him, mouth open wide and ready for him. He placed the tip of his cock on your tongue and continued to jerk up and down his length. Nick gritted his teeth and threw his head back as he released his load into your mouth. You felt ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat and you waited patiently to swallow each drop he gave to you. He watched your face and cursed as you used your thumb to wipe a stray drip from your chin and licked it off.

Each of you restored your appearances and clothing, and Nick began to wipe down his equipment and put away his set up. You stood in front of the mirror and admired Nick’s work; both the gorgeous tattoo and the marks he had left claiming your body. He finished cleaning and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You did a number on me, huh” you said, feeling the soreness bloom between your legs and the tenderness of the new tattoo.

“Pleasure doing business with you” he quipped, leaving a light smack on your ass and turning to leave the room, “that was quite a generous tip.”

______________________________________________________

“Imagine if you caught the bouquet,” Natalie snickered, throwing you a shit-eating grin through the mirror as she reapplied her mascara while you washed your hands in the sink. “Noah would lose his shit.” 

Rolling your eyes at your best friend’s remark, you tried to keep your focus on the soap you’re lathering, on the bubbles your hands were producing way more than necessary, on the grey marbled sink, on literally anything to make you ignore the familiar warmth creeping up your cheeks. 

For once, you hoped your blush makeup had concealed it enough for her to notice. 

“How long has it been? Two years? Bro’s still hung up on you, I swear. Bryan said he couldn’t even find–”

“Cut it out, Nat,” you interjected, groaning as you finally rinsed and dried your hands with a paper towel. “Please don’t make things awkward.”

“Hey, I’m just stating facts!” She smirked, raising her hands in surrender, obviously trying (and failing miserably) to keep herself from teasing you further. 

“Then I don’t wanna hear it,” you muttered while narrowing your eyes at your giggling best friend. “You guys promised me you won’t make it weird if I came.”

Natalie snorted. “Then you certainly don’t wanna know about the bet they’ve been doing since your ex went stiff like a tree when you…” she paused, smirking as she slightly faced you to look at you from head to toe. “…when you walked in looking like that earlier.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she sing-songed, dropping her mascara tube back to her vanity pouch. “I was just saying, you’re making some heads turn, babe. And a certain someone is surely not liking it.”

“Natalie–”

“Let’s go; I think they’re serving dinner soon!”

Groaning, you followed her out of the washroom and back to the hall where Nicholas’ and Nadine’s wedding reception would be held in a bit. 

A few weeks ago, the thought of dressing up for one of your closest friends’ wedding never crossed your mind. It was still fresh in your memory how you sent your regrets to Nick’s invitation, despite his thoughtful personal delivery of the textured blue envelope with a gold ‘N&N’ stamp to your doorstep. As an advanced planner, you had already made your decision even before you got the chic linen paper in your hands— even before confirming that he would actually want you there after everything. 

Who in their right mind would invite their best man's ex-girlfriend to their wedding, anyway? 

Yeah, no one. No one but Nicholas Ruffilo. 

Sure, you were all friends before things went south, but was inviting you to their momentous occasion really worth the trouble? Save for a few inevitable meetups, you successfully stayed away from almost all of them over the last two years. What difference would it make if you came now?

Despite these questions running through your head, Nicholas was insistent. Annoyingly, at that matter, like his life depended on it. Therefore, after all his persuasion tactics and with Natalie promising you so many tempting favors in exchange (you swore those two were conniving), you eventually gave in. 

What’s the worst thing that could happen, anyway? It’s not like your ex would deliberately corner you and make you uncomfortable on his best friend’s wedding day, right?

Besides, it would be nice to reunite with everyone after two long years. The thought of catching up with the boys rather than just hearing unsolicited updates from Natalie— who started dating their photographer— sounded enticing, despite the setup you knew you’d be in.

So after days of contemplation, you RSVPed ‘Yes’ on the condition that none of your friends pull any moves to make you uncomfortable in the presence of your ex-boyfriend. You wrote those exact words on the response card that you sent back to the groom. To which he happily agreed and even promised to keep Folio on a leash throughout the event. Nick made a mental note to assign that task to Jolly and Davis.

And here you were, a couple of weeks later, all dolled up and clad in a navy blue maxi dress, walking beside Natalie towards the rest of the boys, who all looked dapper as Nick’s entourage. Sitting at your assigned table were your old friends Vince, Jolly, Folio, Bryan, and Davis in their color-coordinated suits and ties. You couldn’t help but tease them earlier for looking so out of character in such formal attire compared to their usual all-black alternative outfits. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve surely mistaken them for men who worked 9 to 5 in corporate.

You chuckled at the thought, and as if right on cue, Folio turned his head your way and greeted you with his signature mischievous grin. It was the same annoying grin he had been throwing at you since the ceremony began— since your ex, who also looked as uncharacteristically sharp as they all did (especially with his overgrown hair slicked back and his shirt collar hugging his inked neck), stood beside Ruffilo at the altar earlier.

“Hey, neighbor, sit next to me,” Folio called enthusiastically like a golden retriever, tapping the empty seat to his left. As much as you wanted to be with Natalie, her boyfriend Bryan had already saved her a spot between him and Jolly. 

You narrowed your eyes at the drummer, your gaze moving from the seat he was offering to the other empty chair beside it, which had a black suit jacket draped over its backrest. 

Seeing how the boys at your table had theirs on, you were not stupid not to piece it together and tell who was (and would soon be) occupying the other seat next to yours.

So much for not making things awkward, huh.

“Nick, just stop whatever you’re planning,” you groaned.

“Have I told you how glad I am to see you tonight?” Your younger friend ignored your remark and practically pulled you down next to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and squeezing you against his side. “I was so excited when I knew you were coming! Noah was— ow! What did I do?”

Before he could even continue, you swatted his arm with your purse, making the other guys chuckle at your antics. Just like the old times.

–

If it wasn’t obvious enough, you, Folio, and the rest of the boys were once part of a tightly-knit circle bound by the same taste in music and hobbies. 

That was until you had to date one of them for seven years, and unfortunately, break up with the said guy and eventually with the rest of the group. 

You knew from the start it was a package deal. The guys had been friends for so long before you came, so it was just appropriate for them to be on Noah’s side when you separated.

Noah.

Noah Sebastian Davis.

Lead singer of a now-popular metalcore band you once witnessed struggle and grow.

Tall, charming, heavily tattooed, with a perfect nose and cute smile, now with thousands of girls throwing themselves at his feet.

The guy who could sing you a lullaby to sleep one moment and growl like a man possessed in the next.

The guy who used to hold your heart around those long tattooed fingers.

The guy you once thought of as your endgame. 

Well, everyone else did. Even your grumpy work supervisor back then, who always complained about that one tattooed ‘Asian white boy’ ‘loitering’ in the shop all day, silently rooted for the two of you. 

You and Noah met in your late teens, back when Bad Omens was still barely getting out of Folio’s garage, a few years before they released their first LP. You used to work part-time at a coffee shop across the tattoo parlor where Ruffilo apprenticed, so you earned yourself a couple of new regulars after their group made it a habit to rendezvous at the shop to discuss band stuff or just to hang out. You clicking with the long-haired guys covered in tattoos and piercings was a no-brainer. Growing up with an older brother who used to lead a mediocre metal garage band made it easy for you to connect with their music taste and other interests. It was also an advantage that you lived on the same street as Folio, so you’d easily get invited to their band practices and dive bar gigs. 

It was all fun and platonic until two years later, the tallest among them had to ruin it and start showing interest in dating you.

Noah tried to be subtle at first. He would send you random text messages that you were sure he sent to everyone else, which he later admitted were only sent to you. He would tend to come alone to the coffee shop during your shift, casually chatting you up while pretending to be waiting for Nicholas (even during those times when you knew Nick went home to Virginia; you just played along). He would randomly appear at your favorite salad stop during your break, making awkward excuses like he was in the area or Nick or Vince sent him on a salad run (even though it’s a known fact in the group that the aforementioned guys had an aversion to vegetables). Every night out or gig, Noah always made sure he had an excuse to be the one to drive you home, countless times not even allowing your neighbor Folio to come with. And in every hangout, he always had your favorite snacks on hand, while not even bothering to get anything for his other friends.

With those, among so many things, it didn’t take the rest of the guys too long to decipher his feelings towards you. 

And once they did, it was pure chaos that the then 21-year-old frontman had to prematurely confess to you after their set at Chain Reaction (RIP) one spring night. 

It was peer pressure at its finest, you couldn’t help but gush at how Noah rambled nervously like a schoolboy talking to his crush for the first time. Funny and endearing– certainly not what your lanky long-haired friend was aiming for. 

To his (and the rest of your friends’) delight, his feelings were happily reciprocated. It would be hard not to when you had been on the receiving end of Noah’s kindheartedness, his silly antics, his thoughtful acts of service, and his overall protectiveness. Not to mention his terrible flirting skills that always left you cringing and blushing at the same time. And to top it off, the guy was eye candy despite Natalie describing him as ‘too thin and tall like a praying mantis’.  

How your best friend had to shut up when Noah finally got buffed a few years later was forever etched in your memory. 

So, the 20-year-old you took the risk and went on a series of dates with Noah Davis. Your friendship was at stake; you knew that. But in your defense, you never thought your relationship would go seriously far; you were sure it would be over by the next weekend. And in no time, you’d be back to just being friends again, casually hanging out with the other guys at the coffee shop or Folio’s garage. 

But you and Noah morphed organically. The two of you became inseparable and hopelessly in love that after a few months of dating, you did not hesitate to make it official. And just before marking your first anniversary as a couple, you moved with him and the rest of the guys to LA, with you and Noah sharing a small one-bedroom apartment. 

In your second year, Bad Omens released their second album. It was in the same year that they started to get more attention and obtain an even wider audience reach. They started touring with bigger bands across the US and overseas, and in no time, their traction grew exponentially. 

Young and in love, the two of you tried to live your life together and separately at the same time. As more shows and touring opportunities opened up for the band, you were also starting to build a career you were happy with. While Noah would miss your company whenever he’s on the road, not once did he ever think of asking you to drop everything to be with him 24/7. Sure, you lived on the same roof, acting like a married couple. But you also had your life, and he had his own. 

You were pretty much happy with your arrangement. Both of you allowed each other to chase your own dreams without affecting your relationship. At the very least, you made sure you had time for each other despite everything. Month-long tours were almost nonstop, so you’d set aside a week or two to be with your boyfriend on the road. Noah, on the other hand, always got himself a non-negotiable minimum of 1 month break to come home to you before hopping into another long grind.

That became your routine for a couple of years– your normal. Your time apart surely tested your relationship, but like soulmates in a Hallmark movie, things always worked out for the two of you.

Until it didn’t. 

After the pandemic, Bad Omens started headlining shows and selling out venues left and right. Noah, in particular, had become so sought after that he slowly started to become… absent. 

At first, the unanswered texts, missed calls, and coming home late were understandable. He was just overwhelmed with the hustle from his newfound fame, you thought. You were lenient and considerate enough to give him time to adjust. This was his dream after all. You knew he would do the same for you.

But then it happened again and again that the alarms in your head just started blaring from every corner. Despite the countless apologies and promises to do better, the situation worsened to the point that he would miss important occasions. Noah had let his rockstar life consume him that his supposedly “non-negotiable” month-long breaks with you were cut short to two weeks, and during those weeks, he would still be cooped up in the other guys’ house producing their next hits, planning tours, brainstorming merch designs, and whatnot.

Save for the occasional dinner dates and sex, it was as if you never even existed.

Doubts had long been plaguing your head, but still, you tried to understand. That’s your Noah; he’d come around eventually– you tried to make yourself believe that.

But then came the night when you finally had enough. 

It was your birthday, and the day started nicely with Noah making you your favorite breakfast after making love with you at 7 in the morning. You blushed profusely like a teenager when he’d drawn you a bath and surprised you right after with a big bouquet of roses on the bed and a gift box containing a new dress and a diamond necklace with a note saying, ‘Can’t wait to see you in this for our date tonight. Happy birthday, my love.’

For the rest of the day, it was just impossible to wipe that giddy smile off your face. 

Everything finally felt right. It was as if the sweet, lanky, non-famous Noah Davis from Richmond, Virginia, with the wolf-cut hair, had finally returned home to you. 

For the first time in a long time, your heart was happy. 

But as hours passed and it was finally time for your scheduled dinner date, your chest gradually felt heavy, and you started wishing Noah were sincere enough to at least let you keep that happiness until your day ended… to let you pretend things between you were fine, even just on your special day.

Because clad in your new elegant black dress, you were buzzing with excitement when you entered the restaurant he had booked for your intimate dinner.

Because you were very much looking forward to having your boyfriend again, all to yourself, after he had spent the whole afternoon at the studio. On your own birthday.

Because you didn’t expect your nerves to creep in when 30 minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Noah Sebastian— no ounce of decency to send you a text or call to tell you he was running late.

Because the 30 minutes of waiting dragged on to an hour that the servers started looking at you sympathetically; you couldn’t gauge if the public humiliation was worse than the heavy feeling weighing down your chest.

Because as you finished your wine and placed a $100 bill on the table when you decided to leave, your worry surprisingly did not turn into anger, but disappointment— disappointment in Noah for tonight and all the other empty promises he made, and disappointment in yourself, most especially, for still believing things between you could still get better. 

Because for the first time since he started drifting away, you cried yourself to sleep, not because of him, but because of you and how much you were to blame for letting the situation get this far.

So after seven long years, you finally made the hard decision to let him go. It was high time to set Noah free into a life with no burdens, with no you to worry about and hold him back. 

You didn’t cry when you talked to him the next morning, not even when he didn’t say anything other than a quiet ‘I’m sorry.’

You didn’t cry when you started packing up almost a decade of your life from every corner of your shared house, with him not even attempting to stop you.

You didn’t cry when you hung your house keys on your designated hook beside his for the last time.

You didn’t cry when you started driving away from the familiar neighborhood… and from the man that you could no longer call home.

Tears only blurred your vision and started trickling down your cheeks when you drove by a random taco truck. 

Because memories of you and Noah grabbing your first dinner in LA came flooding back: two ambitious young adults freshly out of Virginia exploring the downtown plaza hand in hand, with nary a care in the world— no thoughts about tours, fans, or the pressure from record labels just yet; you being dragged by your tall ass boyfriend in front of the Mexican food truck because it’s the only thing he could afford that time, and your only concern was you couldn’t choose between the soft and hard shell tacos; you stealing a bite off his soft tacos as he bit off your hard ones; him placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek with his breath disgustingly smelling like cilantro. 

‘I love you so much, I’d get you one of these taco trucks when I’m rich.’

‘Wow, are you gonna make me sell tacos while your band gets to see the world?’

‘Nah, you’re coming with me when our music finally gets us to places we’ve never been… And when we’ve made it big, I’ll buy us a house with many rooms and a backyard for our kids to play around.’

‘And who said I want snotty little babies with you?’

‘I know you do, because you love me.’

Fat tears streamed down your face at the memory as you pressed on the gas pedal. 

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him, but what difference would they have made? 

You knew it was a losing fight from the beginning, but you still took the risk. It was impossible to compete when you’re up against none other than his biggest dream.

You just wished he cared enough to realize that he never had to choose between you and his career in the first place.

–

Heaving out a sigh, you settled in your seat beside Folio and just hoped for the best. 

Thankfully, your ex decided to stay and catch up with Nicholas’ family throughout the dinner service, so you were able to talk freely with the guys. Your heart warmed with their stories of how much they had accomplished over the past two years. You had read the news and seen the trending videos online, but you still couldn’t stop your eyes from welling up when you finally heard from them how they sold out arenas across the country and overseas. 

Noah finally got what he had long deserved after all. 

A part of you wished you could tell him how proud you were of him.

A part of you wondered if things would be different if you didn’t let him go.

Folio wolf-whistling on your side snapped you out of your thoughts. 

Brows furrowed, you glanced at him and mouthed ‘what?’

He just smirked in response as his focus moved towards the stage area, where a very familiar, tall, tattooed guy in a crisp grey dress shirt now stood awkwardly in front of a microphone stand, smiling sheepishly as if he didn’t pick up one for a living. His long sleeves were now rolled up to his elbows, perfectly showing his fully decorated forearms.

After all this time, Noah was still hunched like a shrimp, looking like he wanted to look smaller, as though he wanted to hide or run away from everyone’s line of sight. 

His eyes briefly met yours before he cleared his throat, making you snort internally. Two years ago, you would’ve annoyingly sung ‘Dear Maria, Count Me In’ to him after hearing that. 

But sadly, all you could do now was swallow nervously as you averted your gaze and decided to glare at your seatmate instead, who was throwing you his signature grin that screamed nothing but mischief.

“Oh, shut up, Nick,” you muttered before taking a small sip of your cold water.

“I haven’t said anything.” The drummer giggled quietly beside you.

It did not take long for Noah to start talking, and you swore you tried your best to drown his voice out with your own thoughts. Instead of listening to how he spoke about his and Ruffilo’s childhood, you tried thinking about your cats at home and if the automatic feeder had dispensed their dinner. Instead of paying attention to how Noah knew Nadine was the one for Nick, you tried to daydream about your upcoming trip to Bali– about the nice villa you booked, the pristine beaches, the warm weather, the sun finally kissing your skin. 

You tried to let your thoughts wander from your pending work deliverables, to your next meal plan, to the hot gym guy you had been crushing on– anything to cancel the noise coming out of your ex’s mouth.

If only it weren’t rude, you would’ve put on your AirPods and had Will Ramos’ squeals usher you into oblivion. 

But fate did not seem to be on your side as Noah said his parting words at the very same time your brain deliberately stopped thinking of anything else to further distract you. 

“Cheers to Nick and Nadine,” he said, a little bit more enthusiastic than his usual self as a smile danced around the corners of his mouth. 

And just when you thought it was over, your ex-boyfriend huffed and pursed his lips before uttering his next words slowly, as if wishing worms would not get out of the can if he were careful enough.

“What you two have is… is something… I… I wish I still had for myself...”

Swallowing, you stiffened in your seat as your heart started hammering against your ribcage. Your eyes trailed towards Noah’s face, now adorned with his signature tight-lipped smile that instantly activated your fight-or-flight response. With brows slightly furrowed, you blinked away and glanced at the groom, who sensed your unease but could only give you an apologetic smile. And as if everyone else shared the same brain cells, the whole table’s eyes were on you, Folio giving your wrist a gentle squeeze.

The words rang in your ears as your chest tightened.

Something I wish I still had for myself.

I wish I still had for myself…

I wish I still had…

You wanted to scoff hard at your ex’s stupid face.

How could he say that when a whole lot of Nick’s guests knew you two used to be together? When he knew that you, his ex-girlfriend of seven years whom he promised to build a life with, were there listening to him stutter those words out? 

As Noah ended his speech with everyone raising their glasses, you found yourself standing up– carelessly for that matter– feeling the sudden need for fresh air.

“Um… I’ll be right back,” you mumbled to no one in particular before you hurried your way out of the hall towards the adjacent veranda. 

You dryly laughed to yourself as you pushed past strangers and acquaintances alike to get to the ballroom exit. 

How silly of you to believe this whole time that it was Folio whom Nick needed to put a leash on.

###

The email arrived on a Tuesday, which was already the worst day of the week for you now.

Non-Refundable Trip Notification: Maldivian Escape - 7 Days. Final itinerary attached.

Noah. Maldives. Seven Days.

I stared at the screen, praying for a lightning strike or a sudden, merciful amnesia.

Six months ago, I’d been blissfully in love. Six months ago, Noah and I had booked the trip of a lifetime: overwater bungalows, private sunset cruises, the kind of place where you had to specify if you don’t want rose petals on your pillows. Six months and two weeks ago, I’d found a used scrunchie that wasn’t mine in his car and, after a spectacular fight involving a thrown pillow and a lot of yelling, I’d broken up with him.

Via text.

In my defense, he’d been impossible in person. Too charming. Too good at using that low, rumbling voice to make you forget your one name. A text was clean, efficient and brutal.

Its over. Don’t call me!!!!

He’d replied with a single eggplant emoji. The absolute audacity.

Now, karma had booked a non-refundable suite directly next to my sanity.

The breakup had been messy. The trip however, was legally binding. We’d both tried to get out of it. The travel agency’s response was a polite but firm: Sorry, but we can’t.

Neither of us could afford to eat the cost, so, after a painfully awkward series of emails with our travel agent, the terms were set: We would go, together, like to polite strangers who had definitely never seen each other naked.

And we're going on a trip together.

===

The fluorescent lights of LAX on a Tuesday night were a special kind of hell. Too bright, too impersonal, bouncing off the polished floor like they wanted to expose every single bad decision you’d ever made. And right now, standing near the check-in counter for Maldives Air, you were staring at your biggest one, your ex, Noah Sebastian.

He was leaning against a pillar like he had nowhere else to be, ankles crossed, arms folded, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his hair was artfully messy (probably on purpose, bastard), and his eyes, those stupid, stupid brown eyes, were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

Inside the airport, at 10 PM.

You tightened your grip on your carry-on and muttered a prayer to whoever was listening.

You can do this. It’s one week. The maldives. A five-star resort. You’ll survive!!!

— Y/N.

His voice hit you like a freight train wrapped in velvet. Low, warm, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

— Noah. - you stopped a few feet away, close enough to smell his cologne, cedar and sea salt, because of course he still wore it, but far enough to maintain the illusion that you weren’t actively dying inside.

— Ready for the trip of a lifetime? - you asked, the sarcasm so thick you could cut in with a knife.

He pushed his sunglasses up into his brown hair, finally revealing those dark eyes, your ‘ex’ favorite eyes.

— Of course. Me and you, in the same room again… wow… I can’t wait to see -

— Noah, stop!!!!

The corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely. And you hated how your stomach flipped anyway.

====

The check-in process was silent and efficient. You both handed over your passports without looking at each other. You went through security in separate lines. You sat on opposite sides of the gate, pretending to scroll through your phones while stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking.

He looked tire. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there six months ago. His hair was longer, curling at the nape of his neck. He kept running his ringed fingers through it, a nervous habit you remembered from the early days, when he wasn’t sure if you actually liked him.

Good, you thought viciously. He should be nervous.

The twelve-hour flight was a masterclass in torture. First class was sold out except for two seats next to each other. Of course. You spent the first three hours pretending to sleep, your head turned toward the window, hyperaware of every tiny movement he made beside you. He watched two movies. He ordered whiskey, two glasses, then a third. At some point, his knee brushed yours under the shared armrest, and you both jerked away like you’d been burned.

====

Malé Internacional Airport hits you like a wall of warm, wet air. The humidity wrapped around your lungs, thick and tropical, and the smell of salt and flowers and jet fuel made your head spin. Noah was already ahead of you, his black duffel slung over one shoulder, his posture tense. The resort sent a private speedboat, all white leather and chilled champagne, to ferry guests to the Dhoni Mirage. You sat on opposite sides of the boat, watching the Indian Ocean blur past in shades of electric blue and deep violet. The wind whipped your hair across your face. Noah watched you tuck in behind your ear, then looked away quickly, jaw tight.

The Dhoni Mirage was everything the website promised and more. Wooden walkways stretched over turquoise water. Overwater bungalows dotted the horizon like jewels. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and the sound of a steel drum band drifted from somewhere in the distance.

The check-in process was smooth until it wasn’t.

— Suite Nautilus - said Ravu, the concierge, his smile so wide it looked painful. — Our finest accommodation. King-sized bed, ocean view, private jacuzzi -

— We requested two rooms - you interrupted.

— Ah, yes. We deeply apologize, madam. Due to an overbooking situation, the high season, you understand, we cannot accommodate separate rooms for one price. However, the suite has a pullout sofa. Extremely comfortable.

— Fine, thanks Ravi and you Noah -

— I know, I’m on the sofa.

====

The Suite Nautilus was, to your absolute horror, stunning. Floor-to-ceiling that seemed to float directly over the ocean. A massive king-sized bed dominated the center of the room, draped in white linens and scattered with the rose petals that someone had clearly thought was romantic. You wanted to be angry, but you were too tired to be angry about the petals.

The pullout sofa sat on the other side of the room, separated by a wooden room divider carved with intricate flowers. Noah was already yanking sheets out of the closet, his movements efficient and irritated.

— Rules - you announced, dropping your suitcase on the bed.

— Here we go.

— No walking around in just a towel. Knock before entering the bathroom.

— You know that I don’t like rules, just break.

— If you break my rules, I’ll break your face Noah.

— So aggressive… you know I like it, right?

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it without thinking, old reflexes, and for a moment, you both just stood there, frozen in the space between a memory and the present.

He looked away first.

====

The first day was a careful dance of avoidance.

You woke before sunrise and did yoga on the private deck, wearing a sage green set that left your stomach bare. The ocean stretched out before you, endless and impossibly blue, and for twenty minutes, you almost forgot why you were here.

Then you heard the sliding door open.

Noah stepped out, shirtless, his black sleep pants hanging low on his hips. His chest was covered in tattoos, his hair was messy, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and he was holding two cups of coffee.

He froze when he saw you mid-downward dog.

— I didn't know you were — he started.

— Separate schedules — you said, voice tight, forcing yourself not to stare at the way the morning light caught the ink on his ribs.

He set one coffee down on the deck railing and retreated inside without another word. You waited until you heard the bathroom door close before you let out the breath you'd been holding.

---

By evening, you'd convinced yourself you could survive this. Seven days. Keep your distance. Don't look at his hands. Don't remember the way they felt on your waist.

The resort's "Mystic Luau" was happening on the main beach. Tiki torches, live music, a bonfire that painted the sand in shades of orange and gold. You'd changed into a dress you'd almost left at home — red, backless, dangerous. Your hair was loose, wavy from the humidity, and you'd put on the silver necklace he'd given you for your birthday because you were petty and wanted him to notice. He was already at the bar when you arrived.

He'd changed too: black button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the silver chain he always wore glinting at his collarbone. His rings caught the firelight as he raised a glass, something dark, whiskey probably — to his lips. He saw you coming. His hand paused halfway to his mouth.

He noticed the necklace.

His jaw tightened.

You ordered coconut water and pretended you didn't care.

---

— Wow, that is a dress.

The voice came from your left — Australian, bright, entirely too cheerful. You turned to find a tall man with sun-bleached hair and a floral shirt so loud it should have come with a warning label. He was smiling like he'd just won the lottery.

—Thanks — you said, cautious.

— I'm Tim. — He extended a hand. His grip was firm, maybe a little too firm.

— Y/N.

— Y/N.— He tested the name like he was tasting it. — Beautiful. Like the sound of waves. You want to dance?

You hesitate.

Across the bar, Noah was watching. His dark eyes were fixed on you, unreadable, his whiskey glass forgotten in his hand. He wasn't moving. Wasn't blinking.

He doesn't get to care, you reminded yourself. He's your ex. He gave up the right to care six months ago.

— Sure, — you said to Tim, taking his hand. — Let 's dance.

---

The band was playing a slow, breathy cover of something you couldn't name. Tim's hand settled on your waist, lower than you would have liked, but whatever. You moved together in the sand, his sun-warmed skin sticky against yours, his smile never faltering. He was a terrible dancer. Awful. Uncoordinated. But he was enthusiastic, and he kept making jokes about the other tourists, and for a few minutes, you actually relaxed.

You didn't look at Noah.

You didn't look at him when Tim spun you a little too close.

You didn't look at him when Tim's hand slid to the small of your back.

You didn't look at him when Tim leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and murmured:

— You're the most beautiful woman on this beach.

Liar, you thought. But your heart was beating faster anyway.

Tim pulled back just enough to look at your face. His gaze dropped to your lips. — Can I -

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

You saw Noah move out of the corner of your eye.

It happened in slow motion.

Noah crossing the sand, his expression perfectly blank. His hand wrapped around his glass — a Piña Colada, for some reason, bright pink with a little umbrella and a slice of pineapple. He didn't say a word. He just walked up to Tim, raised the glass, and poured the entire thing down the front of his floral shirt.

Tim yelped.

The crowd around you went silent.

— What the fuck?! — Tim shrieked, jumping back as pink liquid dripped down his chest. A slice of pineapple slid sadly off his collar and landed in the sand.

— Escaped my hand, — Noah said flatly. His voice was calm. Too calm. His dark eyes didn't leave Tim's face.

— You poured a drink on me!

— It was an accident.

You stood there, frozen, your heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat. The fairy lights above you swayed in the breeze. The band had stopped playing. Every single person on the beach was staring.

Tim looked down at his ruined shirt, then at Noah, then at you. His face cycled through confusion, anger, and something like reluctant admiration.

— You know what, mate? — he said finally, wiping pink foam off his chest. — She's all yours.

And then it was just you and Noah, standing in the sand, the bonfire crackling behind you, the air so thick with tension you could choke on it.

— What the hell, Noah? — Your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

— He was going to kiss you.

— So?! That's none of your —

— Did you want him to? — He stepped closer. His dark eyes burned. — Did you actually want that guy to kiss you? The one in the flamingo shirt?

— That's not the point —

— That's exactly the point.

He was close now. Too close. You could count the rings on his fingers. He smelled like whiskey and smoke and something else, something that used to feel like home and even when you were angry, you felt an overwhelming urge to kiss that mouth you already knew so well.

— Follow me now!! — you said and he followed.

The luau faded behind you. The music became a distant thrum. The torches disappeared one by one until the only light came from the moon and the stars and the soft glow of the resort villas far in the distance. You stopped walking when the beach was empty.

The waves crashed beside you, loud and relentless. The sand was cool under your bare feet. The palm trees swayed overhead, their fronds whispering in the wind.

You turned to face him.

Noah was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his dark eyes were fixed on you, calm, waiting.

— What the hell was that? Are you crazy? You’re my ex!

— I know.

— Jesus, so acts like my ex, fuck!!

He just looked at you, those dark eyes traveling from your face to your bare shoulders to the curve of your waist, tracing every inch of exposed skin. He stepped closer.

— Are you done?

— What?

— Are you done with the speech?

— Excuse me?

— You heard me. I don’t care about your speech.

He reached out, his fingers found the strain of your dress, the one on your shoulder, the one holding everything together. He traced along it, feather-light from your shoulder to the edge of the fabric.

— I care about this dress, in the way your back looks in it. Every time you move, every time you breathe…Fuck Y/N.

You couldn’t breathe. His hand flattened against your lower back, palm hot, fingers spreading wide across your bare skin. He pulled you closer. Your hips met his. Your hands came up to his chest, not pushing, just resting there, feeling his heartbeat under your palms, fast, just like yours.

You should push him away. You should remind him of every reason this was a bad idea. You should walk back to the luau and find Tim, but instead, your fingers curled into Noah’s shirt.

— You’re impossible.

— And you’re still here.

— Only because -

— Only because you want to be. — His hand slid lower on your back, fingers dipping just below the waistband of your dress. — Only because you’ve been wanting this since the airport. Only because you put on this dress, this specific dress, the one from the back of your closet and you wore my necklace that I gave you.

He smiled, slow, sharp, devastating.

— You’re gorgeous — His lips brushed the corner of your mouth. — This dress is driving me insane.

His hand slid up your back, trancing each vertebra. His fingers reached the top of your zipper. — Feel that? You’re shaking.

— I’m cold.

— You’re not cold — His lips found your ear. — You’re excited. I want to take this dress off you, I want to pull this zipper down. Slowly. I want to see all of you, the parts of you I remember. The parts I have no right to see anymore. I want to pull his zipper down with my teeth.

Your entire body went up in flames.

— You -

— Shh. No more speeches. No more fighting. Just let me.

You closed your eyes, you felt his breath on your neck, felt his hand on your hip. Felt the cool metal of the zipper tab against your bare skin as he lowered his head.

His teeth found the lab, he pulled the zipper and slid down.

Not fast. slow enough that you felt his breath in your skin. The zipper reached the end, the fabric loosened. The dress sagged against your chest, held up only by friction and the desperate clench on your own arms at your sides.

His hand slid from the zipper to your shoulder, pushing the thin strap down, not pulling, just nudging, letting gravity do the work.

The strap slipped. Fell. Hung loose against your arm.

He did the same to the other side. His fingers hooked under the fabric, gentle, almost tender, and pushed. The second strap slid down your other shoulder. The dress fell.

You stood there in nothing but your lace underwear and the silver necklace. The moonlight painted your skin white. The wind kissed every exposed inch of you. Your back was still to him, but you could feel his gaze — heavy, dark, hungry — tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips.

His dark eyes swept over you, from your face to your neck to the lace covering your breasts to your stomach to your hips to your thighs and back up. He looked at you like you were the first thing he'd seen in years. Like he was memorizing every line, every curve, every shadow.

— God — he whispered.

You couldn't speak.

His hand came up, slow, trembling slightly, the rings glinting in the moonlight. His fingers touched your collarbone. Just one finger. Just the tip. Tracing the bone from your shoulder to the center of your chest.

You shivered.

His finger followed the line of your necklace, the silver chain, the star charm resting between your breasts. He touched the star. Pressed it against your skin.

His finger moved lower, tracing the edge of your lace bra, not going under, just following the seam, from the center of your chest to the curve of your breast.

— I've dreamed about this — he said, his dark eyes fixed on his own finger as it moved across your skin. — Every night for six months. I'd close my eyes and I'd see you. Feel you. Remember what it was like to touch you.

Your breath came in short gasps. Your hands hung at your sides, useless, shaking.

— I'd remember the sounds you made, — he continued, his finger tracing back to the center of your chest, then down, down the line of your sternum, stopping just above your belly button. — The way you'd say my name when you thought I couldn't hear you.

— Noah —

— The way your skin would flush right here. — His finger pressed lightly against your stomach, just below your ribs. — The way your heartbeat would feel under my lips.

His hand flattened against your stomach. His palm was hot. His fingers spread wide, spanning from your hip bone to your ribs. He pressed gently, pulling you closer. Your bodies met, his chest against yours, his hips against your hips, his thighs against your thighs.

The lace was the only thing between you.

His hand slid from your stomach to your waist, gripping your bare skin. His other hand came up to your face, cupping your jaw, tilting your head back.

He kissed you. Not hard this time. Soft. Slow. His lips barely brushed yours at first, a question, not a demand. His tongue traced your lower lip, asking permission.

You opened for him.

He deepened the kiss, but not rushed. He explored your mouth like he had all night, like the beach was empty and the moon was stuck in the sky and time had stopped just for the two of you.

His hands moved while he kissed you.

One hand stayed on your face, thumb stroking your cheek. The other hand, the one on your waist, slid lower. Over your hip. Down your thigh. Then back up, tracing the outside of your leg, following the curve of your ass, coming to rest on the bare skin just above the waistband of your lace underwear.

His fingers pressed there. Not moving. Just resting. Letting you feel the weight of them.

You moaned into his mouth.

He swallowed the sound.

His hand slid lower, not inside, just over the lace, his palm covering you, his fingers pressing against the thin fabric. He didn't move. Didn't rub. Just held you there, his hand warm and heavy, feeling your heat through the only barrier between you.

You broke the kiss, gasping.

His forehead dropped to yours. His eyes were closed. His breathing was ragged.

Your hands came up to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt. You needed something to hold onto. The world was spinning.

His fingers moved, just slightly, just a shift in pressure, his middle finger tracing the seam of your through the lace. Once. Twice. Three times. Slow. Deliberate. Maddening.

Your hips bucked toward his hand. He smiled against your forehead.

— Someone's impatient. — he said.

—You're — You couldn't finish. His finger traced the same line again, and your words dissolved into a broken exhale.

— I'm what?

— Torturing me.

— No. — His hand stilled. His palm pressed flat against you again, not moving, just holding.

— Then what are you doing?

He lifted his head. His dark eyes met yours — heavy-lidded, dark, pupils blown so wide there was almost no brown left.

— I'm reminding you, — he said, — what it feels like to be touched by me.

His hand slid back down — from your ribs to your waist to your hip, gripping hard. His other hand left your face and joined the first, both hands now on your hips, fingers pressing into your bare skin.

He pulled you closer. Your bodies pressed together, his chest against your lace-covered breasts, his hips against your stomach, his thighs between your legs.

— You feel that? — he asked.

— Feel what?

— How hard I'm trying not to lose control.

You felt it. Everywhere. The tension in his muscles. The rapid thrum of his heartbeat. The way his breath came in short, sharp bursts.

— Don't hold back.

His jaw tightened. His fingers pressed harder into your hips.

He stared at you for a long moment, dark eyes burning, chest heaving, hands trembling against your bare skin.

Then he lowered his mouth to your shoulder.

Not kissing. Biting. Soft at first, then harder, his teeth pressing into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. You gasped. Your fingers tangled in his hair.

He soothed the bite with his tongue, then kissed his way down your arm, shoulder to elbow to wrist, leaving a trail of fire.

— I want to touch every inch of you, — he said against your skin. — I want to put my mouth on every part of your body. I want to learn you all over again and right now, right here, on this sand.

He smiled at you.

Slow. Dangerous.

And then he lowered you both down into the sand.

The coarse sand bit into your skin, sharp against the heat of his body pressing down on you. He gave you no time to adjust, hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wide, leaving you exposed to the salt air and his hungry gaze. The sting was electric, a delicious reminder of how raw and untamed this moment was.

His mouth abandoned your neck, tracing a path lower, leaving fiery kisses along the sensitive valley of your breasts. He didn’t tease—he claimed. He nipped at the tip of your left breast, tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles before moving to the right. Your back arched, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as his hands kneaded and pinched, pulling at your flesh, jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

— Tell me you want this, — he rasped, voice thick with lust.

— I want it, — you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair.

A dark, predatory smile curved his lips. He slid down, burying his face between your legs. Your body convulsed as his tongue pressed against your folds, tasting the sweetness of your arousal. He didn’t lick—he devoured. His tongue explored, plunged, and circled, teasing every inch of your wetness. His nose brushed your clit, sending shockwaves through you. You bucked, nails digging into the sand, riding him like a wave.

Two fingers slid inside, stretching, opening you wide. The sensation was dizzying, a fullness that made your head spin. He found that secret spot deep inside, curling his fingers in slow, deliberate strokes. Your hips met each movement, breaths ragged, heart hammering.

— So wet for me, — he growled, pulling his fingers free and licking them clean, eyes feral with hunger.

He positioned himself at your entrance, cock throbbing, heavy and eager. No slow approach, he drove into you in a single, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

The sensation was explosive. You screamed, arching off the sand, filled completely, stretched to your limits. Every ridge, every vein rubbed against you, friction searing, pleasure sparking like fire across your nerves.

He moved with relentless rhythm, hips pistoning, the slap of flesh echoing in the night. The friction was exquisite, a sweet burn, borderline pain.

You rose to meet him, hips syncing with his. The sand scraped your back, a distant annoyance compared to the pleasure consuming you. His balls slapped against your ass, sound driving you wild.

— So fucking hot — he groaned, gripping your hips until it hurt.

He leaned forward, claiming your mouth in a messy, searing kiss. Tongues tangled, a taste of salt, sweat, and pure desire.

He picked up the pace, thrusts growing urgent, unstoppable. The friction burned deliciously.

— I’m gonna cum, — you gasped, body trembling.

— Me too, — he growled, each thrust more frantic.

One last brutal, perfect slam. He buried himself deep, pulsing hot and thick inside you, coating you completely. You cried out, muscles clamping, body shuddering as you rode your orgasm to its peak.

You both lay tangled in the sand, breaths heavy, bodies slick with salt and sweat. The tension between you was raw, the memory of everything you’d shared, and everything you’d lost, buzzing in the air. He propped himself up on his elbow, dark eyes catching yours, a smirk tugging at his lips.

— You always had this effect on me, — he murmured, voice low, rough, dangerous.

You laughed, breathless, brushing your fingers over his chest, leaving trails of sand across his skin. Every touch, every memory of stolen nights and whispered secrets, came rushing back, mixing with the heat of the sun and the ocean’s salt.

— Some things never change, — you teased, heart pounding.

He leaned closer, nose brushing yours, eyes dark with want and something sharper, possessiveness.

— I’m not asking, — he said, voice firm, almost growling. — I’m telling you. Come back to me. Do you hear me?

— I… — you whispered, breath catching, but he silenced you with a hand on your jaw, tilting your face up to his.

— Don’t. Just don’t. I want you. All of you. No games. No excuses. — His lips brushed yours in a possessive, searing kiss, and you melted against him, knowing this was far from over.

The waves whispered against the shore, and for a moment, the past and the present collided in the heat between you. You didn’t know what would happen next, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t letting you go, not tonight, not ever.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

When the house lights came on, the band took centre stage to throw out setlists and leftover gear. You, however, found your way to the secondary green room. You usually had five minutes from the end of Dethrone to Noah appearing in your space, which was plenty of time to get into position.

Right where he liked you.

By the time the door creaked open, you were already undressed and kneeling in the centre of the space. Your clothes were neatly folded on a nearby stool. He liked the space to be clean after all. More room and fewer distractions to have you exactly the way he wanted.

The cold tiled floor bit into your knees, arguably one of the most uncomfortable surfaces you had found yourself kneeling against before. You didn’t care; you couldn’t bring yourself to care when his eyes settled on you with an invigorating hunger in his gaze. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath when he first caught sight of you, right before he caught himself and slipped back into that controlled persona you had become so familiar with. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Always so patient for me.”

Noah crossed the room in four long strides. He didn’t bother locking the door; he never did, for there was an added thrill in knowing the space you were in was still so available to outsiders. The secondary green room was usually less populated, everyone choosing to hang out in the main space instead, but that knowledge did not deny you the exhilaration that still came intrinsically with knowing you could be caught at any moment. 

He took a seat on the settee directly across from you, not yet moving to touch or move you, but drinking you in with his eyes instead. He assessed every inch of your body with dark desire, taking mental note of each change since the last time you found yourself like this: the slight swell in your breasts from your birth control; the bruises on the inside of your thigh from your last outing; the new necklace he had bought you the day prior from a jewellery store you had passed on your way to the hotel. His attention settled over the latter for a long moment, tracing the way it settled against your collarbones. 

It was only when he was satisfied that he finally lifted his eyes to meet yours. It was another long moment before he patted his lap. Words were needless, the invitation clear. 

You moved quickly, almost stumbling in your desperation. When you reached him, you slipped onto his lap with ease, the fabric of his jeans rough against your bare skin. Noah’s hands found your waist, pulling you flush against his hips so you could feel the growing desire that your obedience alone had caused.

“You’re already so wet for me and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he noted, moving his thigh experimentally under your weight so that the heat of you pressed into his clothes. He did not need to look properly to know; it was obvious from the glide of you against his body. “How desperate you must be. Watching the whole show knowing you’d end up here like always.”

He was right, of course he was right. Like always, you had spent the entire show watching from the wings with a growing ache developing in your core. You knew what would be in store for you when the lights came on, and that alone was enough to drive you mad. This was only heightened whenever he moved off the stage during the breaks between songs, ignoring you entirely in a way that would only make it sweeter when you finally had his full attention. 

You didn’t voice your response in the form of words, but a small whimper escaped your lips when he pushed your hips backwards and then pulled you in once more. The motion had you dragging against his leg deliciously, and the sound was involuntary at the delight it sent through your system. You couldn’t help but rock against him at the sensation, but that only earned you a low tut as he steadied you again with nails digging into skin.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to do that, or did it slip my mind?” Noah’s eyes found yours again, boring into them with an intensity that threatened you to challenge him. “Well? Don’t just stare. Use your words. Did I permit you?”

All you could manage was a shake of your head, but the look he gave you prompted you to choke out a response before you made the situation worse for yourself. “N-No…”

At that, Noah hummed, his pointer finger travelling in an arch against your pelvis. “And here I thought you were being so good tonight.”

“I’ll be good,” you promised, but the words were small and meek thanks to the restraint you were practicing. “Always want to be good for you.”

Noah tilted his head, one hand releasing your waist only to brush a fallen strand of hair back behind your ear. “And if I wanted to tease you all night? Make you ride my thigh but never let you cum? Would you still be good?”

“Yes,” you agreed without hesitation, although your breath caught in your throat at the prospect of being denied what you wanted the most.

“Yes, what?” Another squeeze to your hipbone with the hand still there, hard enough to leave fingerprints behind. 

“Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied, Noah let his head dip forward to brush his lips against your collarbone; still gentle but with an underlying promise that it wouldn’t last for long. You were so caught up in the sensation that you almost missed the click of the door as it opened. 

Noah froze momentarily, and although you couldn’t see the action, you could feel his attention shifting to the doorway. His chin moved against your shoulder as he looked up, taking in whoever had stumbled upon the two of you. There was a level of shame that rushed over your body at the sudden realisation of the position you had been caught in, naked and sat atop him, but Noah did not release you to cover yourself. Instead, he spoke with an air of authority you had somehow never witnessed before, despite seeing him in all such states. 

“Either get out, or join us.” His words were muffled slightly against your skin, but he was not talking to you. “I don’t have the patience for a spectator.”

There was movement, but you did not turn and look to avoid Noah’s reprimand. Instead, you waited, quiet and patient with the growing ache between your thighs. The door closed with a soft thump, and you assumed it was the intruder leaving the space, most likely aghast by whatever they had just walked in on. 

Hence why your breath caught in your throat when a third voice joined the party. 

“Jesus. She’s divine, man.”

Folio. Sweet Nick Folio who had never done more than offer you a soft smile and the occasional surface level conversation whenever the two of you inhabited the same space. 

“Isn’t she just?” Noah agreed, and you could feel the sadistic grin on his face before he pulled back enough for you to see. He looked back at you then, smirk disappearing all at once as he addressed you again. “Stand up.”

There was no need for pleases and thank yous, for you obeyed without any little thought. The third party in the room weighed heavily on your mind, and you could not yet bring yourself to look in his direction. Still, you could feel the weight of Folio’s attention on you, clearly undeterred by whatever he was witnessing. 

Noah reached out a hand to stroke against the side of your breast, a simple touch that did nothing to dwell the fire in your belly. Then he instructed again, “Kneel.” 

You hesitated now, not out of disobedience, but out of indecision. You didn’t know where he wanted you, what he was planning. 

Noah did not share the patience to elaborate, rising out of the chair so that he could move you himself. He grabbed you by the shoulders, drove you back a few paces, and pushed you down to the floor. You hit the tile with a thud, not far away from where you had begun in the room. Except now, from this position, you could see your company clearly.

Folio was standing a few steps away from the door, obvious enough that he was not going to bolt, but still respecting the moment in the space. He looked just as tired as Noah surely was from the exhaustion of the show, hair damp with a layer of sweat, but he did not pay that any mind right now. Instead, he focused his remaining attention on you and the way you fell against the floor. 

It felt strange to have another man’s eyes on you like this. You and Noah had discussed it before, of course, what would happen if someone else witnessed your activities, but the reality was somehow more thrilling. And for it to be Folio, of all people? Well. That alone was enough to send another chill of anticipation through your body.

The two of you had never particularly interacted beyond pleasantries that came with touring with the band, but you would be a liar if you did not admit you had thought about him on more than one occasion. It was hard not to when you watched him play, focused and fixated on the drum set in front of him. The exertion alone when he was in the zone made his biceps bulge and his head loll around as if transfixed, and you had allowed your mind to wander on more than one occasion. 

But he had always kept his own attention on you polite. Never really more than a passing glance or a nod of acknowledgement when you entered a room. He was kind and sweet to you, even if the rest of the band told you he was a menace behind the curtain.

Now, knelt in front of him, you were beginning to expect you might see more of that side. 

Noah positioned himself behind you, one hand resting against the top of your head as if you were his pet (which you supposed you were). You couldn’t see, but knew he was watching Folio just as intensely as you were. When the shorter man managed to pull his attention away from your naked form, he looked up at your companion with a smirk. 

“So this is where you rush off to after every show?” Folio asked in his accented drawl, folding his arms across his chest.

The hand on your head gripped your hair, tilting your head back until you were forced to look up at Noah from where he stood above you. When he spoke, it was about, not to you, and that alone was exciting enough. The knowledge that you were simply a decoration in this conversation. “She’s the perfect way to destress.”

Noah’s other hand reached around to cup your chin, fingers firm against the sensitive skin of your cheek. If his grip in your hair wasn’t restraining enough to stop you from looking away, this certainly was. You kept his eye until he decided he wanted to look away, but even then you kept staring up at him until your neck ached. 

"Mmm. I can see that." Folio's voice was quieter now, like he was trying to control something. "Fuck, she's beautiful like this." 

Noah chuckled behind you. "She's even better when she's being used properly." His hand shifted from your chin to grip your jaw, thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth. "Open." 

You obeyed immediately, your lips parting as instructed. Noah's fingers slid past your teeth, pressing against your tongue with firm pressure. You sucked instinctively, tasting the salt of his skin. You knew Folio was watching you, watching you take Noah's fingers into your mouth, watching your tongue work around them. You could hear the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted his weight. You couldn't see him now, but you could feel his attention on you where you were displayed for him to see, tracing the line of your hips, the way your back pressed against Noah's legs. 

Noah's fingers pressed deeper, until you gagged lightly around them. He held them there for a moment, letting you struggle, before slowly pulling them out and dragging them wetly across your lower lip. "See?" he said, words directed at Folio. "Perfectly obedient."

The hand that was in your hair still did not relent, now choosing to push your head forward until you could see Folio clearly. Just as you had assumed, he was watching you with undisguised interest. At the moment you met his eye, he averted his gaze to instead trail your body. You saw the moment he found your thighs and the wet heat between them, on display with the way your legs were parted in the kneeling position.

Next, he looked at Noah, and something must have passed between them because soon, your boyfriend was pushing you forward onto your hands and knees. “Give his boot a kiss for me, baby.” 

The endearment was so juxtaposed with the intensity of the moment that it had your head spinning. It took all of your might to move forward, crawling until you were perched in front of where Folio stood.

You look up at him from under your lashes, heart pounding. He was wearing the same boots he had worn on stage, heavy and worn in, covered in faint scuffs from months of commanding the drum pedals. 

Folio exhaled roughly when you leaned forward, pressing your lips to the toe of the boot in a chaste kiss. The leather was warm under your mouth, material rough against your swollen lips from biting them. You stayed like that for a moment, waiting for permission or further direction.

The sound of footsteps behind you rang heavy in your ears. Noah waited until his shins collided with your back before he hooked his arms under yours and lifted you from the ground just as roughly as he had put you down. You let your body move with the motion, little resistance as he held you up against his taller form until you stood properly in front of Folio. Your back arched instinctively, pushing your shoulders into Noah’s chest.

“Do you want him to touch you?” Noah snarled in your ear, and you nodded wildly, aching desperately to be touched by someone. Anyone, anywhere. “Then beg him.”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. You simply stared at Folio, and he waited, apparently content to play by Noah’s rules. His eyes were fixed on yours, only waiting with forced patience as you’re held in front of him. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air becoming charged with want as you were sandwiched between the two men. Then, you finally whispered a cracked “Please,” spurred on by Noah’s breath against your ears.

Folio’s lips curved slowly into a wicked smile, one you have never seen him wear before. It was entirely different to the casual greeting, or the way he grins during soundchecks and show endings. It was hungry. Alive. “Please what, sweetheart?”

You heard Noah chuckle against you at Folio’s gentle insistence, clearly realising he made the right choice in allowing the man to join.

Swallowing roughly, you forced out. “Please touch me.”

In mercy, Folio wasted little time at that. He reached a hand out to your body where Noah held you firm, trailing a hand down from the separation of your breasts, to your stomach, and finally between your folds. 

His touch was exploratory at first, but still something that you’ve been aching for. His fingers moved through your wetness with a detached curiosity that makes you whimper, gratifying but not enough all at the same time. Your hips bucked into the touch, body arched out in front of you, but Noah put a stop to that immediately.

The singer gripped your arms between his harder, a warning to stop, and you obeyed despite it taking all your might. You can’t help but lean your head back against Noah’s shoulder, and he granted you a small kiss to the crook of your neck in return. A kiss which quickly turns into a bite.

As you let out a moan over Noah’s attention, Folio shuddered out a breath of amazement. “Jeez, she’s soaked.”

Folio’s fingers circled your clit with a maddening precision, rhythmic in the way that only a drummer can be. The sensation was unbearable, building a coil of tension deep in your belly. You're teetering on the edge already, the combination of Noah's teeth on your neck and Folio's fingers pushing you toward release. But just as you felt yourself begin to tighten, Folio pulled his hand away entirely. 

You whined out, a pathetic sound. Noah only laughed softly against your skin. "Did you think it would be that easy?"

Noah pulled you back suddenly, clearly content with how his companion has taken on his role in this dance. He manoeuvred you with little difficulty, not bothering to be gentle as he put you back on your knees. This time, he makes sure you’re facing away from the drummer, and when he pushed your head down until it was pressed against the ground, you knew that Folio had the perfect view of your ass from where he was standing. Here, you were exposed, vulnerable and impossibly aroused whilst on display. 

There was the sound of movement, someone stepping up behind you if the noise of boot against tile was anything to go by. A rustle of clothing, a clatter of metal, and then Noah appeared in front of you. Slowly, he sunk to the ground until he was in your eyeline. His hand reached out, gripping you roughly by the cheeks again until you had no choice but to look at him. 

“Should I let him fuck you, baby?” You almost let out a moan at the words alone, your hole clenching around nothing but cool air. “Use your words.” You nodded, hopeless and frantic, but Noah’s grip only tightened until your jaw burnt pleasantly. “Words.”

“Yes!” You practically yelped out, not caring about sounding desperate by now. “Please, yes.”

Noah released your face, satisfied with that, and he let your head fall forward, but only briefly before he used that same hand to grip your hair and tilt your head around so you were forced to watch as Folio unzipped his jeans. 

He didn’t give you the pleasure of watching the whole thing, no matter how desperately you wanted to watch Folio sink into you, as soon he was turning your attention back to him. In distraction, Noah kissed you roughly. It was harsh and hungry, devoid of any romance beyond what constantly thrummed beneath the surface. 

It was a diversion. You knew that. You learnt that when suddenly, as Noah’s tongue slipped into your mouth, Folio’s cock breached your entrance with an alarming intensity. You hadn’t even heard him kneel behind you, far too consumed by the feeling of Noah’s mouth on yours. 

The stretch was divine, a rough burning sensation that had you gasping into Noah’s mouth. Folio didn’t let you adjust to his size, shorter but thicker than Noah, instead wasting no time in taking you with a brutal intensity. You gasped into the kiss, Noah refusing to give you a break to vocalise how you felt until it suited him. 

When he finally did pull away, hand still tugging against your hair, Noah’s eyes didn't bother finding yours. Instead, he stretched, bending over your body until he could see exactly what was going on.

The breath he let out turned into a moan halfway through. “Fuck. God, wish she could see herself.”

Folio mumbled a strangled agreement of his own. “She’s so fucking tight.”

Every sensation was multiplied by the way they spoke about you, as if you were not even present in the discussion, sending another thrill down to your core. It was met by a blistering thrust from the drummer that had you falling onto your elbows.  Noah didn’t let you fall entirely, using your hair to pull you back up and releasing only once you were stable.

Your gaze fell to the ground as you moaned helplessly, clenching around Folio’s cock as you committed the unfamiliar sensation to memory. You didn’t look up again until you heard the telltale sound of a belt fastening being undone, and Noah was tapping his own member against your cheek. 

“Open.”

You obeyed instantly.

You opened your mouth, submissively relenting to Noah's cock between your lips. The taste was deliciously familiar, his girth filling your mouth as you suck him in. Behind you, Folio continued his relentless pace, thick cock stretching you perfectly. The dual stimulation was overwhelming; your body caught between the two men as they used you for their pleasure. 

Noah didn’t give you a moment to adjust, immediately setting a punishing rhythm. He fucked your mouth with the same intensity he had on stage, his hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. Your eyes watered, but you kept them open, looking up at him through your lashes as he watched his own cock disappear into your mouth.

Folio's thrusts grew rougher, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He landed a slap against your ass, smoothing his hand over the sting. You gasped out, the sound turning into a gag as you choked around Noah's cock, the vibration of it causing a groan to leave his lips. 

"Keep going," Noah murmured, his hand coming down to wrap around your throat, not restricting your air but holding you in place. “You’re taking us both so perfectly.”

The praise sent another jolt straight to your clit, coil in your stomach tightening further than you thought possible. You could feel Folio twitch inside you, the first sign of his approaching release. You whimpered around Noah's cock, the sound muffled but still loud, and you felt his hips stutter in response. 

Folio cursed under his breath. "Fuck, she's gonna make me cum already."

Noah laughed in response, but the sound was shaky, using the last of his restraint to hold himself upright. Folio landed another slap against your ass, and as you jolted this time, he pulled you back against his member. The angle caused his thrusts to go deeper, cock dragging against the edge of your clit with each motion. 

This time, when you gagged around Noah’s cock, inaudible words forcing their way out of your throat, the singer pulled back momentarily to allow you to speak.

You gasped quickly, air rushing to your lungs now that the intrusion in your throat was gone. “I, fuck, I need to cum. Sir… Please, please please can I–?”

Where sometimes he would deny you, the sheer desire to get his cock back in your mouth seemed to drive Noah as he nodded with a newfound fervour. “So good asking for permission. You can cum, baby.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before your orgasm hit, hard and fast. The wave of pleasure hit you from both ends, Folio's cock buried deep inside you and Noah's fingers threading through your hair as you shuddered. You cried out, damped as Noah shoved himself back into your mouth immediately, taking advantage of the moment to push you over the edge. 

Folio's rhythm faltered as you clamped down around him, and with a guttural moan, he followed suit, spilling inside of you without faltering for even a moment. He stayed buried inside of you even after, the fullness driving you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

As he finally began to pull out, the slow drag of his cock against your sensitive insides made you moan loudly, and that was enough to send Noah similarly over the edge.

He thrusted twice more into your mouth before holding himself deep as he spilt into your throat. You swallowed instinctively, salty and warm as he came down your throat in waves. 

Noah pulled away steadily, watching his own release drip from your swollen lips with a satisfied smirk. He wiped his thumb across your lower lip and pushed it back into your mouth to clean. You sucked obediently, eyes fluttering shut as you savoured the taste.

Then, when they had both left you and there were no hands on your skin anymore to support your body, you collapsed, arms going limp as the exhaustion of such an encounter caught up with you.

Noah was there instantly, not even bothering to tuck himself back into his trousers as he pulled you into his arms on the floor. There was a kiss being pressed against your hair, the feeling hazy and not quite registering in your mind. 

Someone was talking, you don't know who. There’s a whole conversation that happens before you zone back in again, only brought back by the soft caress of Noah’s fingers against your waist. He brushed absentmindedly over wherever each of them had grabbed, massaging the aches out of you before they could even develop.

“–sure you’ll be alright?” It was Folio. Vaguely, as you look up, you could see him standing by the two of you, close but not imposing himself. He was dressed again, you registered before fading out once more.

The nod Noah gave him moved your whole body, still limp in his arms. “I’m sure,” one of his hands came up to stroke against your hair, so gentle in comparison to minutes ago. “Can you just make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us?”

Folio gave him a salute, one which you could somewhat see before the haze took you again. Then, the sound of the door opening and closing reached your ear, and it was just you and Noah left in the space. 

He held you as though you were impossibly fragile, and at the moment, you felt it. Your whole body throbbed, spent but satisfied, and you were content to simply curl into Noah’s lap for the time being. 

He whispered praises into your hair, but you only caught the end of some. Your daze didn’t deter him, only spurred him on as he rocked you ever so slightly. And when you did come back around, it was to a soft smile down at your relaxed form.

“Hi,” he murmured gently when the cloudiness left your eyes and he knew you were back with him.

“Hi,” you smiled in response, leaning your head against his shoulder. Quieter, but with a small smile on your lips, you added “I liked that.”

Noah only laughed, adjusting your position in his arms until you were entirely consumed by the feel of him. “Yeah. I could tell.”

a/n: so i cannot defend myself on this one i am sorry it came to me last night and i spent the better part of my day writing it so um. hope you enjoyed?? did not proof read and may have missed a warning or two so i apologise profusely if i did <3

i was attempting to wait to post this as i only posted dethrone ch8 yesterday and did not want to spam the tags but also.... fuck it (they did)

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