astrid

What a long fucking day.

          Graduation season is the worst in terms of work-life balance. The money is always good because you get such a swarm of people wanting senior pictures, but you always overbook yourself. Even when you say you won't, you do. Someone tells you how you have the best prices they can find and they love your work, or their friend used you last year, or everyone else is booked. And, like usual, you cave and squeeze them in. It is a vicious cycle that you can’t help but repeat.

          Your bathroom is cool from the air conditioning pumping through the vents, but you crank the shower up to a medium heat. As it heats up, you step away to get a towel and hang it over the curtain with a sigh.

Steam starts to creep in from the edges of the mirror towards the center. Your reflection fades as you wash your face and the running water subtly numbs your mind. It still races with the photos that need editing, the weather for tomorrow and how it might affect your shots, half of it things that you never have to worry about on the road.

          After stripping off your clothes and letting your skin breathe, you slide the shower curtain aside and step into the warm stream of water.

          It soaks your hair and into your body, melting your tense muscles and calming your nerves. You close your eyes and heave a breath of relief at the feeling. The water washes off the stress and chaos of the day with every trail it makes cascading over you.

          As you lather shampoo into your hair, there is a gentle knock on the bathroom door. You smile a little at the sound and rinse the soap off your hands. Quiet shuffling begins and once you have your hair rinsed, a cool draft of air sweeps over your abdomen.

         You open your eyes and are met with deep, warm brown and a soft smile.

         Nick reaches forward and grabs your hand, stepping in closer so he can wrap his arms around your waist. You grin at him and turn so he can get under the water. His hair is in a mediocre bun at the crown of his head, so at least you won't both be trying to wash your hair at the same time. He turns so the water is on your back again, but neither of you move to keep cleaning off.

          "Hey, baby," you whisper over the running water.

          Your arms settle around his neck and he keeps you flush against his body.

          "Hi, love," he murmurs back. "I hope you don't mind me joining."

          "Not at all. I've barely seen you for the past two weeks," you say.

          "I know. I've missed you."

          You lean in and press a tender kiss to his lips. His hands shift so his fingers dig into your skin, keeping you close. It's not a long kiss. It is lazy and tired from how long your days have been, neither of you able to be bothered with much energy.

          Nick had been on the phone when you got home. He was standing in the living room by the couch rather than sitting down. You knew he was on a work call from the look on his face, and the stoic expression meant it wasn't just Noah or one of the other guys. He gave you a quick smile before answering whoever was on the line, something about cables. You gave him a quick side hug and he left a silent kiss on your temple while you whispered you were going to shower.

          You had been fortunate enough to do a lot of camera work for Bad Omens since you met Nick. It allows you the freedom to tour with them or at least join for several dates and see him more often than you would if you had any other job. But there are some times of year that are insanely busy and this is one of them, which has you out of the house working or holed away editing about as often as he is in the studio. It hasn't been this bad in a while, but with the next album being in steady progress, he is home a bit less just like you are. This wouldn't be the first time it has been like this either, but at least now you are both able to manage it a bit better.

The last time almost tore you both apart until you finally knocked some sense into yourselves and actually talked about how hard it had been. Sure, it took the most heated argument you’ve ever had and a couple nights on your friend’s couch to get there, but it was needed.

Both of you had found your person in each other and even after a few seamless years together, something had to give. There was bound to be a fight along the line and you were just grateful it wasn’t worse. It was nothing a little change in perspective couldn’t change.

          "I miss you, too," you mumble, pulling away just enough to speak. "We probably shouldn't waste all this water by standing around, though."

          His lip twitches up like he will start laughing, but he only nods and loosens his grip so you can actually both carry on with bathing while starting idle conversation about your days of work. You get conditioner to start working in while he works on scrubbing at his arms, then his abdomen and legs before turning to let you work the soap over his back. What tension he still carries in his shoulders dissipates and they fall to a more normal resting position. Once you have him caked in bubbles, he rinses off and you carry on with your own body wash. 

          He is already prepared to return your favor when you expose your back to him. His rough hands are softened by the water and they glide effortlessly. You revel in the touch before he uses the actual cloth you have soap on. Despite how it grates against your skin, his movements are smooth and relaxing. The relief has you going quiet, letting the conversation slip away as your mind and racing thoughts go with it.

          Before you can get back under the water, he sets the soaked towel aside and despite the heat of the water, which he turned up, his fingertips gliding over your hips gives you goosebumps. You feel him smiling when he nestles himself into your neck, nose brushing your earlobe before falling to your shoulder. His hands disrupt the water flowing onto you and he trails them around, over your belly and then up and down your sides, lips planting the same lazy kisses all over your shoulder and your neck.

          You hum in satisfaction and lean back onto his chest, letting your head linger to the side he isn't nipping at so he has room to continue.

          "Do we have to get out?" He asks, his voice full of disappointed pleading.

          "Yes, sadly," you reply.

          "Just a few more minutes?"

          "Nick," you say with a halfhearted laugh.

          "Fine," he whines and turns you so the rest of your body and hair can quickly get cleaned off.

          He pushes his fingers through your hair, rinsing the conditioner that had been sitting until it is all washed out. You look at him, water droplets all over, vulnerable and truly himself, and decide another minute can't hurt.

          You loop your arms around his waist and he meets your kiss with his own. It is still loose and drawn out, but there is always a sensuality to the way you kiss each other that leaves no room for doubt. One of you could be half asleep and it would still be sweet and loving. He has always been able to say more with his lips than his voice and you learned how to speak that language just as fluently.

          The water stops hitting your back and only reaches the lower part of your leg as he leans you into the wall, hands running up your arms and resting at your jaw. Soft, quiet moments of intimacy like this are something you and Nick do well, just not often enough over the past month. It feels like a re-connection and establishing what you both know, but love to be reminded of: what it feels like to love one another. And it always makes you happy to remember that you can show this much physical affection to each other while dripping wet and slippery in a shower without needing to take it any further. Sure, you have amazing sexual chemistry and there is no lack of lust and desire, but sometimes this is better.

          You are turning off the water a minute later, unable to get over how much you’re already wasting. Both of your towel now hang over the curtain rod and you hand his off before taking your own to dry off. Nick helps you get dried even though he doesn't need to because he likes the principle of it, leaving himself to air dry until you’re finished.

The comfortable silence lingers while you do some quick skin care and he gets changed into his clean sleep pants and t-shirt. Nick rests his hands on your hips and watches you apply your favorite moisturizer.

          "You still have editing to do?" He asks.

          "Always," you sigh and turn around as he releases you from his hold. "You have music to practice?"

         "Always," he echoes and grabs his phone from the counter.

         "Does it count as spending time together if we both go into the office and work on our own stuff?" You suggest.

         Nick chuckles and then shrugs his shoulders. "Good enough for me. I’ll order dinner—unless you feel like cooking.”

“Fuck no,” you scoff, making him laugh.

        You pick up your sets of dirty clothes and head towards the door. "I'll try not to let you distract me from work,” you say with a joking wink.

         Nick stops you before you can get too far, tugging you back against his chest. His lips graze the arch of your ear and it makes your breath catch.

“Speak for yourself. I will gladly let you distract me,” he mutters with a hint of that sexy smirk he keeps hidden just for you. “Maybe I’ll find another use for that new desk of yours.”

Okay, maybe taking it further wouldn’t be so bad.

Vinny was frustrated. Not in a typical ‘this place has shitty internet, and now I can’t play League’ kind of frustrated either. No, he was more frustrated with the fact that it seemed as though every single time he had even an ounce of alone time with his boyfriend, it was interrupted. Everyone getting off the bus to explore? Perfect, until one decides to stay behind. Vinny and Ricky about to go out somewhere? Perfect, until someone decides that also sounds like a great idea. And don’t get Vinny started on the fact that every time the two are in the dressing room alone, it feels like everyone suddenly forgot something and has to circle back one by one.

So, yes, Vinny was frustrated because he couldn’t get laid.

It also might have to do with the fact that his luggage was delayed from their previous flight, and he was running on maybe four hours of sleep for the past week, but Vinny was sure all of his problems would be solved if he simply got laid. 

He was standing in front of a mirror, his shirt abandoned somewhere in the room as he began to mix the paint up in the bottle, swirling his brush around to combine any paint that had separated to avoid it being a watery mess. Arms loosely wrapped around his waist, and a quick glance in the mirror showed Rick directly behind him, fingers gently brushing over the exposed skin of his stomach and hips. Justin had just stepped out, leaving the two of them alone, but for how long?

Placing down the paint and brush, careful not to spill anything, his hands rested overtop of Ricky’s as he leaned back into his chest with a pleased little hum from the warmth that was radiating off of him. Gentle kisses were being left on his shoulders as pale fingers dipped into the waistband of his jeans, just barely past the band of his boxers. He was a little relieved that it seemed Ricky was missing him in the same way.

“That door have a lock on it?” Vinny asked, breaking their silence as he shifted to be able to face Ricky, that hopeful little look in his eyes. He was only met with a chuckle, a kiss planted to his cheek.

“No. But even if it did, what do you think they would say if they came back and couldn’t get inside?” Ricky made a good point, and Vinny hates it when he does that.

“What if we found somewhere else to go? Make it quick?” Rick shot him a look, almost amused by the suggestion, and his face just screamed what he really wanted to say. ‘We don’t do quick’ could almost be heard in Vinny’s head, as though his boyfriend telepathically planted it in his head. And he was right, but Vinny was almost positive that he could finish him off in one sloppy kiss and a few tugs from how pent up he was right now.

In hindsight, maybe they should have just put a chair in front of the door and risked it. Maybe they should have circled back to the bus, and Vinny could have tried to ride Ricky in that tiny back space they had past the bunks. It seemed as though the only unoccupied space in the backend of the venue was a poorly supplied janitor's closet. But it had a dim light, just enough room for them to be pressed together, and it was plenty far away from the dressing room. Besides, this door had a lock on it.

(“What kind of stupid ass venue is this that they put a lock on a closet and not a dressing room?” Vinny had asked himself, but got no answer.)

The moment the door was shut and locked, Ricky was yanked forward with Vinny’s lips on his. Hungry, passionate, and full of a need that had been growing for the last couple of weeks. He heard the little noise of surprise, feeling the vibration against his lips, before he finally felt the kiss be returned. Hands fumbled, and hips rolled forward in desperate little attempts for more.

Feeling Ricky step forward, he had mistakenly taken too large of a step back, being pushed back right into a shelf where the back of his head collided. Vinny cursed, breaking the kiss as his hand came up to hold his head where a dull ache had been left behind. He was just going to ignore it, to move on, and keep kissing his boyfriend that he definitely wanted more than anything, and if that meant risking a concussion, then so be it. But the sound of Rick’s laugh had stopped him. When he looked at him, he had a hand over his mouth, laughing into his palm with those sweet eyes that almost looked apologetic, had it not been for the smile lines right next to them.

“It’s not funny!” Vinny playfully hit his shoulder, but it only served to pull another laugh out of him. He had finally calmed down, though, shortly after, until only a small snicker was left on his lips.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny.” Despite his words, he could still see the smile in the dim room – well, closet. But Vinny could forgive him, even if he didn’t mean it, if it meant he could get laid.

It was awkward, maneuvering and twisting to get comfortable, their hips bucking against one another and their limbs tangled together in an effort to stay close. Vinny really didn’t want to smack his head again, so he might have stayed closer than he really needed to. Ricky managed to shove his hands under the shirt that Vinny had hastily thrown on before they left the dressing room, although part of him was really wishing that he didn’t even bother, so he could feel those calloused and rough hands on his skin without the fabric being bunched and in the way. 

Vinny thinks for a second that they could pull this off. They could make this tiny closet work. Even if Ricky couldn’t fuck him like needy, wild animals, then at the very least, they could make out and grind their dicks together. Maybe Vinny would get lucky and find a way to get on his knees in here, because if he could do it, then surely Ricky could too.

But it seemed as though that was wishful thinking.

Something had fallen, a dustpan or a broom clattering to the floor and startling both of them. Ricky had jumped a little more than he had, leaving it to be his turn to bang his head back against something on the wall.

“Fuck!” He cursed, looking back at what he could have hit his head on, to see a metal rack of cleaning supplies and rags. And suddenly, Vinny could understand now where all the humor came from, a hand immediately flying to his mouth as he laughed, only slightly muffled from his palm. He could tell Ricky wanted to smack him in the arm or tell him to quit laughing, but after the annoyance disappeared from his face, he couldn’t help the giggles that escaped him too.

It felt silly. Vinny couldn’t help but find the whole situation ridiculous. Pressed so close together, both of them half hard, and risking injury over a handjob — maybe a blowjob. There was no way they could do much here, and he felt a little stupid for thinking they could.

“They couldn’t have a bigger supply closet?” Rick asked, a hand grazing the back of his head, only to come back into the light to check if he was bleeding. He wasn’t, but he checked again anyway, just to be sure. 

“I think we’re probably better off waiting for the hotel tomorrow.” Vinny still had a hint of a giggle on his lips, which occasionally slipped out. He felt like a teenager right now, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Or…how about this?” Ricky grabbed him by the hips, adjusting them so that the drummer’s back was pressed to the door. He pressed close to him again, and he could feel the slight bulge against his thigh as Ricky slotted his leg between Vinny’s. “Think you could get off like this?”

Vinny’s brain felt a little fuzzy. Something about humping his boyfriend’s leg to get off like a dog shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and he could feel his cock stir in his jeans at the thought. He could tell Ricky could feel it too, based on the smirk that pulled on his lips, clearly very happy with his idea. Maybe they could add this to their growing list of things they were into, because Vinny had really been wanting to explore their kinks and fetishes now that they were a little further into their relationship. He made a mental note to keep this in mind for the future.

“Grind on my leg, Vin. Show me how desperate you are. You like it when I call you a whore, don’t you? Prove to me how much of a whore you are.” Vinny thinks he could cum just hearing him talk like that. In comparison to how hesitant Ricky was at first to degrade him, this was probably the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

He did exactly as he was told, rocking his hips back and forth, using Ricky’s thigh to create that desperately needed friction. The zipper of his jeans kept pressing against him, and the fabric of his underwear rubbed against his dick, getting caught for a second on the leaking tip. He buried his face in the guitarist’s neck, arms wrapped around him as he tried to muffle his noises with a mouthful of Ricky’s shirt. Little praises fell to his ears, a mix of ‘good boy’ and ‘such a good slut’ left his brain spinning.

Vinny’s hand fumbled between them, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing Rick back just enough to tug his dick out from the confines of his underwear. He whined from the lack of friction, despite causing this himself, and Ricky only laughed a little at him. It wasn’t long, maybe a few moments before he was able to feel him press his thigh right back to where it was. It shouldn’t have made him moan as loud as it did, but feeling the drag across the black denim with the warm air of the tight space brushing against his now exposed cock, he couldn’t help those noises that seemed to just flow out of him.

They couldn’t be too loud, and he knew that, so he was thankful that Ricky had pressed their lips together when he did, muffling his noises with a sloppy kiss that would certainly leave their lips red and slightly swollen. Vinny isn’t sure what was really doing it for him. Was it his tongue down his throat? The feeling of Ricky’s hard cock pressed against his thigh and the occasional rock of his hips? The fact that anyone could notice they were missing at any time, or be heard through the walls? Or was it really just the needy, desperate grinding? Whatever the case may be, he didn’t have much time to think about that right now. He was more worried about the build of warmth in the pit of his stomach and the desperation that only grew stronger.

“Rick —. Fuck,” Vinny gasped as he pulled away from the kiss, his hips moving a little quicker and a little more frantically, slowly getting sloppier. “Gonna fucking cum like this.”

“Yeah?” He panted softly, catching his breath from their kiss. Vinny could only nod, his head pressed back against the door as his breath got a little quicker. He reached down, shoving a hand into Ricky’s pants to wrap his fingers around his dick that practically throbbed in his light hold. The angle was a little awkward, and it resulted more in Ricky grinding against his palm rather than Vinny jerking him off like he had tried to do.

Vinny adjusted, placing his other hand on top of his dick, feeling the friction of his calloused hand and the rough denim. He had a brief thought that some lube would be amazing right now, but they didn’t have that luxury at the moment, so he settled on what he could focus on. At the moment, that was how Ricky was moaning as he used Vinny’s hand to get off and the weak little bucks of his hips that came with it. Who wouldn’t want to cum to the sight of that? Especially when his head was tilted back, and little strands of his hair fell out of place.

He got a little faster as he admired the guitarist, his hips bucking as his hand pressed down a little firmer. When his orgasm finally washed over him, he wasn’t thinking at all about how he had spilled those white streaks onto Ricky’s black pants. All he was thinking of was if his orgasm from simply humping the man’s leg was this good, then how was he finally going to feel tomorrow at the hotel when Ricky gave him his dick?

He barely noticed the hand over his mouth or the fact that his moan ripped through him so much louder than he had anticipated. His body shuddered, his dick pulsing and jerking weakly as he slowly came down from his high, his hips slowing until he could do nothing but twitch a little involuntarily. Vinny was so wrapped up in catching his breath and trying to come down from his high that he didn’t even recognize Ricky’s movements getting more desperate too. 

“Oh shit, my bad.” Vinny laughed a little breathlessly, sounding as though he had just run a marathon. Was he apologizing for the jizz he left on Ricky’s pants or for forgetting to finish him off? Both, probably.

“Shut up, just touch me.” When Ricky got demanding like that, it was hard to ignore. In fact, if he didn’t just cum, Vinny would probably be a little hard right now. But he did as he was told, tightening his fingers slightly around his length to give him a little more friction to work with. With his thigh no longer shoved between Vinny’s legs, they were in a bit of a better position now for Ricky to fuck into the shorter man’s fist with a low moan.

Two or three thrusts later, Vinny watched as his hips jerked forward, Ricky’s head dropping down onto his shoulder as he tensed, gripping onto his shirt. The noise that came out of him was somewhere between a moan and a growl, and holy shit, it was hot. He wondered if he could get Ricky to do that in his ear while he fucked him tomorrow.

The room was filled with their heavy breaths, the two panting as they slumped against one another against the door. Vinny wasn’t sure how long they were there, just catching their breath. But he does know that he was brought back to reality rather harshly when Ricky smacked him on the chest, bringing a soft ‘oof’ out of him.

“Hey!”

“You’re leaving this room to get me a new pair of pants. I am not letting anyone else see me walking around with your cum on my jeans.”

Sometimes this whole agreement feels a little odd — in reality you couldn’t be happier that you had ended up with him and not some sleazebag who would be all too excited to abuse the delicate balance you have. But no, Jolly doesn’t want a lot from you in exchange for what he gives you. He doesn't want sex or favours, all he asks for is company. You’re still not entirely sure how he came to have all of this money. He’s never said that the topic is off limits, but who are you to question that hand that quite literally feeds you.

Aside from the apartment, Jolly provides you with a generous allowance for your everyday expenses. That balance doesn’t include purchases for events he takes you to.

You’re going some fancy dinner later today. He’s already taken you to various beauty treatments, fully knowing that you wouldn’t do it on your own. You also know how much joy it brings him to pamper you. Making sure that you’re well taken care of is one of his favourite things.

You pick up your phone from the bedside table.

As always there’s a text from Jolly already waiting for you.

Good morning my dear, I’m coming over with breakfast at 9. The stylist is coming an hour earlier so that you’ll have more time to get ready.

You check the time — it’s just after eight.

One of Jolly’s requests for you had been that you follow a daily routine he had set up for you. Really it’s a small thing in return for everything he does for you. If you hadn’t met him when you did your financial situation could have ended up a lot more — dire. And if all you have to do in return is go to events with him and get up when he asks you to you’d gladly do it. The routine had come up in one of your early conversations, where you had mentioned that structuring your days sometimes felt like an overwhelming nightmare. He’d offered to make it part of the exchange, giving you a little helping hand to figure things out.

You know that he will expect you to be ready by the time he arrives, so you will yourself out of bed and under the shower. You had quickly learned that Jolly moves in a very different sphere from you. When you had first moved into this place, it had been stocked with luxury products that would have been very far out of your price range before. He’d been surprised to find that you preferred the less expensive products you have been used to over the fancy stuff he enjoyed. Of course, you had kept some of his recommendations now that you could afford them. Some of the skincare items he had encouraged you to buy when he had taken you out for a shopping trip, had become new favourites of yours.

Jolly never enters your apartment without notifying you first, despite having a key. You buzz him into the place, patiently waiting by the door for him. A few minutes pass before you hear the elevator doors slide open, announcing that he's made it to your floor. You still feel a little nervous around him. Something about him sets your entire nervous system alight. Your heart makes a little thump when he rounds the corner towards your door.

Jolly gives you a little wave, holding up the paper bag from one of the cafés he likes to get breakfast from on occasion. He tries to meet you for breakfast at least once a week, but you know that his schedule doesn’t always permit that. He’s a busy man, which is exactly why he has struggled with traditional relationships. The agreement you have gives him what he wants — company and someone to take care of — and takes the financial burden off your shoulders. The parameters of your relationship had changed over the weeks and month. He had eased off some of his initially rather controlling demeanour, while you had learned that you learned that you liked having someone else in charge on occasion.

“Good morning, dear.” he says, coming to stand in front of you.

As always, he’s dressed in all black. The surprise is that his hair is down for once — a weakness of yours, but you won’t let him know that. Your relationship isn’t like that. He’s made it explicitly clear that isn’t for anything romantic or sexual.

“Good morning.” you mirror.

You allow him into your space. Whatever he’s brought for your breakfast today smells absolutely divine. Jolly walks ahead of you into the kitchen. He’ll prepare whatever still needs to be done. You take your usual seat by the kitchen island.

“How was your night? Did you sleep alright?” he asks, as he begins to work on your coffees.

“The new pillows are a lot better.” you reply, “Thank you for buying them.”

“Of course, dear. I’m glad they helped you.” Jolly says with a soft smile.

You watch him for a moment. The practised repetition makes his movements look so very effortless. You love watching him. It’s a brief glimpse into something you won’t ever have.

“How did you sleep?” You ask after a few more moments of silence.

Jolly lets out a heavy sigh, “It was a very short night for me. I had to let go one of my assistants and spent most of the night cleaning up his mess.”

With how tense his shoulders look it’s easy to tell how heavy this all weighs on him. You flash him a sympathetic look, hoping that it’ll ease some of that burden.

“I’m sorry. At least we’ll have a nice day today.”

“That we will.” He says softly, “Would you be so kind and put out plates on the table, dear? We’ll need the big ones.”

You do as he asks, plucking two of the gorgeous flower motif plates from the drawer. When you had moved into this place, Jolly had given you several options for the interior, allowing you to make the space feel like it’s truly your own.

“What did you get for us?” You ask as you place the plates and cutlery on the table.

“I went to the little boulangerie you like so much. I got you that yogurt pot you like from there too.”

The gesture makes your heart thump a little. He remembers so much of what you tell him, all of the little one time mentions appear to be saved somewhere in his head.

In a couple of minutes the table is set with all the options he brought. It’s a nice spread of things, some of it will be left over and as always he will insist that you keep all of it here.

You don’t bring up work again once you’ve sat down for breakfast. Jolly has once told you that being in your apartment feels like he’s able to actually clock out for the first time. He leaves his phone in the chest of drawers next to your door when he arrives and only picks it up again when he leaves.

He asks about your week, how your lunch with friends was the day before. And in turn you ask about the trip he’s mentioned — a week in Sydney.

“Do you want to come with me?” He asks between bites of his pastry.

He's been on trips before since you started this, but this is the first time he’s asked if you’d join him.

“I only have two meeting that week so you wouldn't have to be alone a lot. I know you’ve wanted to go.”

“I wouldn't want to be a burden.” You reply out of habit.

Jolly flashes you a stern look, “What have I told you about this?”

You what he wants to hear from you.

Your constant worry about burdening him had clashed with his desire to care for someone right from the start. Jolly’s determination to make you actually believe that you’re not burdening him is honestly commendable.

“I know you said it’s not a burden.”

“It's not.” He says, still sounding rather stern, “You know that me taking care of you is a part of this agreement. I would have asked you to come with me on other trips, but I wouldn’t have had a lot of time for you. And I don’t want you to feel like I’m dragging you along for my entertainment only.”

His hand shifts on the surface of table and for a second you wonder if he’s going to reach out for you.

But he doesn’t.

You’ve only slowly started get closer physically. You suppose that both of you have been hesitant to do that out of the worry that it’ll bring you too close. And so you stay at a distance, always careful to not get too attached to him.

You agree to come to Sydney with him, even if it already fills you with nerves.

It’ll be nice to see more of the world — especially with him.

After breakfast, Jolly excuses himself again to get back to his work for a couple of hours. He’ll be back in time to pick you up for dinner, meaning that you’ll have most of the day to yourself.

He only returns when the stylist is already there and hard at work. This is another thing you’re not quite used to yet. Before you would have just done all of this on your own, but Jolly makes hiring a stylist sound like the most normal thing to do.

You catch him watching you from the door. And as much as you try to deny it there’s something awfully fond about the way he looks at you. He’s already dressed for the evening — sharp as always in a clean all black suit and shirt.

“Absolutely gorgeous — as always.” he says as the stylist steps away to view their work.

The stylist looks over to him, waiting for him to say more.

“Thank you for your work. I’ll take care of the rest.” He says after a few more seconds.

You watch silently as the stylist picks up. As they leave, they inform Jolly of something you can quiet hear from where you’re sitting. He gives a curt nod, shakes their hand and shows them towards the door.

He waits until the door has fallen shut again before he steps back into the bedroom.

“They did great work, didn’t they? Not that it’d be hard with you.” He says gently, “You look wonderful, my dear.”

He comes to stand behind you, placing his hands on the back of your chair. His eyes find yours in the mirror, watching you closely for a long moment.

“With the dress we picked you’ll be the centre of attention tonight. I’ll have to keep a close eye on you.”

You feel your cheeks tinge pink at his words. The attention he gives you always makes you feel a little nervous.

“Why don’t you go get dressed? I’ll help you zip up.” He says after a few more seconds of tense silence.

Jolly pulls your chair back as you get up. His hand catches your shoulders, stopping you from moving too far away. It wanders towards your chin, allowing him to inspect your face properly. You want to shrink away from the attention. It’s almost too much to bear, but the soft smile on his face somehow makes it all feel better.

“Gorgeous.” he says with a nod, “Now go. I don’t want us to be late.”

You scamper off into the dressing room where your dress is waiting for you. It’s a beautiful dark green number. You hadn’t picked it purely because it was Jolly’s favourite but you always consider his opinion when you make your choices.

“I talked to our host tonight. You’ll enjoy the menu.” Jolly says from the other room, “If you can't find anything I’ll take you to the diner afterwards.”

Your tummy does a little flip at that. It’s a small thing, but he always watches out for it. Always makes sure that you find something good to eat, despite how picky you can be about the choices. He’s never made a big deal out of it when he cooks for you either.

Jolly pokes his head into the room just as you slip the dress on. You watch him approach you in the mirror.

“This may be the best one we got for you so far.” he muses, as he places a warm hand on your shoulder, “I’ll have to come up with more occasions for you to wear it.”

“I’m sure you can find something.”

You feel him dragging the zipper upwards entirely too slowly almost as if he’s trying to make the moment last. His fingers linger on your skin for longer than they usually would. The touch is tender, gentle and so much more intimate. It makes every hair on your body stand up straight. Every inch of your body crawls with nerves you try so hard to suppress.

“We should go.” he says then, seemingly having shaken off the trance he’d found himself in, “Wouldn’t want us to be late.”

The dinner is good but — as always — rather boring.

Jolly’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh unless it absolutely has to. For most of the night it remains firmly attached to your leg. And for once you can quite decide if the gesture is comforting or possessive. He does make good on his promise to keep an eye on you. Every man that so much as looks at you is met with a very intent glare from him.

You mingle with some of the other plus ones while Jolly is entangled in his business conversations but thankfully you do t have to wait very long for him to return.

“Are you ready to head home?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your middle.

You give him a nod, before briefly returning your attention to the girl you’d been talking to.

“It was so nice to meet you.” You tell her, “I’ll text you and then we can figure out a date to meet up.”

You can feel Jolly’s approving gaze on your face. He’s always encouraged you to make your own connections at these events, all in the hopes that you'll eventually have circle to fall back on when he’s not there. He’s acknowledged how isolating this agreement could be for you. Some of your friends hadn’t been exactly accepting of your new situation, calling you all sorts of awful names. It had been hard to let them go despite their behaviour. Having Jolly to support you through it had been tremendously helpful.

“Driver is on his way already.” Jolly tells you as he walks you back towards the elevator, “Did you have a good time?”

“It was nice.” You reply, “The food was good and I met some nice people.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you had a good time.”

His hand is still resting on your waist when you step into the elevator. Normally this is the moment where he stops touching you. He doesn't have to keep up appearances once you're behind closed doors.

Tonight, his hand remains where it is.

“People kept asking me where I found my gorgeous girlfriend.” Jolly says, and you don’t have to look at him to know that he’s smiling, “I told them we met in a cafe.”

“It is true. Technically.”

He nods, “It is. We should go back some time. The pastries there were really nice there if I remember correctly.”

“I would like that.”

Jolly nods solemnly, but doesn’t get to say more as the elevator arrives at the lowest level — the parking garage.

The air inside the car feels stuffy — thick with something you know you can't have. That craving you have for him has never been stronger. He’s been so tactile with you, always touching you somehow. You know that you’ll never have a real relationship with him, Jolly has been more than clear about this. He doesn’t want romance and you’re not even sure if he’s even interested in something more physical.

It wasn’t explicitly ruled out in your initial agreement, but you had agreed to keep things as platonic as possible for the time being.

Regardless of what you agreed on something has changed tonight. And when you arrive back at your apartment, it becomes even more evident. Jolly drops his jacket onto the arm of your sofa.

“Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?” He asks, sounding almost a little timid.

You watch him closely.

This is new.

“Of course.” You reply quickly.

His shoulders immediately slump with relief.

“I didn’t want to assume. We don’t have to do anything. I just — I think need a little bit of that.”

You’ve noticed it throughout the day. He’s never sought this much physical contact before.

“I think that’ll be nice for both of us. I missed getting cuddles.” You reply and you try your best to hide the nerves that come with the statement.

Settling into bed with him is odd. It feels like you’re sharing a bed with a new partner for the first time and in way it is exactly like that. For a few seconds everything feels awful and stilted. You don’t know how close you can get to him without it being too much. Jolly seems to sense your reluctance. His hand loops around your middle, pulling you close against his chest.

“Is this okay for you?” He asks softly.

You shift for a few seconds, trying to get comfortable before you nod, “This is good.”

Behind you, Jolly lets out a content hum. You feel his hands shifting across your middle, until one big hand settles against your stomach. It’s heavy and warm, comforting in ways you haven’t felt before. You let yourself sink into his embrace, allowing his warmth to take over your entire being.

You don’t know how you’ve ever gone without this — or how you’ll go on without this closeness should he decide that this is a one time only thing.

And then you feel it. A barely there kiss pressed against your bare shoulder.

Your relationship has changed fundamentally tonight, and you already know that he’ll want to have a conversation about it in the morning.

And for once you don’t dread this conversation.