edgingthedarkness

You have the worst luck.

That is the only explanation.

Not bad luck. Not occasional inconvenience. Not the normal, everyday kind of misfortune most people deal with.

The kind of luck that makes your car die in the middle of traffic on a Tuesday afternoon while smoke pours from under the hood.

The worst part is— You love that car.

Objectively, it's a complete piece of shit.

The paint is faded. The air conditioning only works when it feels like it. The driver's side window makes a horrifying grinding noise every time you roll it down, and there's a stain on the passenger seat that has existed so long neither you nor science can identify its origin.

But it's your piece of shit.

You've had it forever.

It's gotten you through high school, college, terrible jobs, worse relationships, and more late-night drives than you can count. It rattles when it hits fifty-five miles per hour and sounds vaguely concerning whenever you start it in cold weather, but it always gets you where you need to go.

Until today.

Today it finally decides to give up.

So now you're standing in the open bay of the most popular auto shop in town while your beloved disaster sits on a lift looking pathetic and betrayed.

Because apparently everyone in town agrees there's only one person worth taking a broken car to.

Jake.

The best mechanic in town.

The hottest man you've ever seen.

Brown hair carelessly gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, as if he'd twisted it back without a second thought hours ago and never bothered fixing it.

His eyes are dark brown, heavy-lidded and sharp all at once, carrying the kind of weary intensity that made your stomach flip when they landed on you.

A strong jaw anchored his face, softened only slightly by surprisingly full cheekbones. There was a permanent crease between his brows, like he spent most of his days concentrating on things that came apart for a living.

He wore a dark blue work shirt with his name stitched above the pocket, tucked into a pair of worn jeans that fit far too well for a mechanic. The fabric stretched across solid thighs, making you wonder how he managed to crawl beneath cars without splitting a seam.

He wasn't particularly tall, but he didn't need to be. There was something undeniably sturdy about him— lean muscle built through years of work.

Grease stained his shirt and smudged his forearms, but his hands resting on his hips were unexpectedly nice; broad-palmed, capable, and rough in all the right places.

You watch as he circles your car slowly, hands shoved into the pockets of grease-stained work pants. The smell of oil and hot metal hangs heavy in the air around him.

“You should scrap this piece of shit,” he says simply.

You immediately frown, “I'm emotionally attached to her.”

“That seems to be the only thing keeping her together,” he says, looking up at you.

“How much will it cost to fix it?”

“More than it's worth.”

“Can I get a number?” You ask, matching his tone.

He lifts a brow, “Around four or five.”

“Thousand?” He stares blankly at you as you sigh, “Fuck.”

“You'd be better off selling it to a junk yard and getting something better,” he shrugs a single shoulder.

“I can't afford something better,” you grumble, rubbing a hand over your face, “I can't even afford to get it fixed!”

He looks away, his lips pursed as if to say— That's not my problem.

“Can I do payments?” You ask weakly.

He sighs, “Alright, look. If you want me to fix, I will. I'll cut the cost in half, and yeah, we can do payments. Just let me know what you wanna do.”

“I want it fixed, I just—”

“Alright,” he cuts in, “Then I'll fix it.”

“Okay,” you nod once.

“You should probably get what you need out of it and get a ride home,” he says, reaching up to shut the hood, “It's gonna be a few days, at least.”

“Okay,” you repeat, your shoulders sinking, “Great.”

—

Jake is waiting beside your car, looking exactly like someone preparing to deliver bad news. His arms are crossed over his chest. His expression is unimpressed. Annoyed, even.

You force a smile, "Hi."

His eyes sweep over you once before settling somewhere over your shoulder, "I give it a week."

You blink. "What?"

"A week before this thing breaks down again."

A laugh escapes you despite yourself. "I thought you fixed it."

"I did." His jaw tightens. He reaches into his pocket and holds out your keys. "Doesn't change the fact that it's probably the worst car I've ever worked on."

You snatch the keys from his hand, "You're such an asshole."

He shrugs, "I'm right."

You roll your eyes, though it's harder than it should be when he's standing this close. Grease smudges the side of his forearm. His dark shirt is stretched across broad shoulders. He smells faintly of motor oil and whatever soap he uses.

Unfortunately, it works for him.

"Well," you say, taking a step backward toward your car. "Thanks. I guess."

Jake exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you've personally exhausted him, "Yeah."

For a second neither of you move.

The air hangs heavy between you. The distant sounds of the garage drift across the lot. Neither of you seems particularly eager to leave, despite the fact that neither of you has anything left to say.

Then Jake breaks first, "Try not to kill it."

A grin tugs at your mouth, "No promises."

He mutters something under his breath before turning toward the garage.

You watch him go.

Just for a second.

Maybe two.

Your gaze drifts lower before you can stop it, lingering on the way his jeans fit far too well.

Jesus.

—

You've had your car back for possibly not even three days.

It's running better than before, but you can still hear the faint rattling and feel the jerky idling it does.

It's not normal, but it's familiar.

You're humming to the radio, fingers tapping on the dash, when your car suddenly lurches. Panic immediately fills your body as you hear the engine start to sputter.

“No,” you whisper, as your beloved car slows, a sick sputtering noise coming from beneath the hood, “No, no, no—”

It dies.

You shift it into park, turning the key off, before you stare at the dash, watching it light up like a Christmas tree. Your eyes shoot to the gas level, frowning when you find it's still got three quarters of a tank in it.

You turn the key once, and you're met with a loud grinding noise, before you shut it off again.

“Fuck!”

You sink down into the seat, tears falling your eyes as you realize you're fucked. You're going to have to call someone.

Jake.

You stare at the windshield for a few moments, before you reach for your phone, huffing a sigh of dread as you go to your contacts.

After a beat of your finger hovering over the call button, you press it.

It rings three times, then, “This is Mark, how can I help you?”

You nearly sob with relief— it's not Jake on the line. You quickly tell Mark your name and your situation, and he chuckles.

“Didn't Jake tell you that would probably happen?”

“I didn't expect it so soon!” You defend, “Besides, if he's the best mechanic in town, this shouldn't have been a problem!”

“You got me there,” he says, still laughing, “Alright, where are you at?”

You tell him, looking around at the street signs.

“Okay. Give me about 20 minutes, we'll getcha.”

“Thank you, Mark,” you say softly, “I appreciate it so much.”

“Of course! Jake's gonna love this when he finds out,” he says, and ends the call before you can even respond.

You slump back into your seat. At least Jake wouldn't be showing up to rub it in your face. No I told you so's to ruin your night even further.

You're not sure how long you wait, but by the time the tow truck shows up, you're antsy and exhausted. You want to go home and sleep. And possibly cry.

You get out of your car, fidgeting with your keys as the truck door opens.

And fucking Jake gets out.

“Oh, my God,” you mutter, your stomach sinking as he places his hands on his hips.

“You still think it's worth fixing?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow as he smugly tilts his head.

“Who asked you?” You snap, crossing your arms.

And for the first time since you've met him, he grins at you. An actual grin. And God help you, it's beautiful.

Then he looks at your car and shakes his head, “Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he says, hooking his thumb toward the tow truck behind him.

You sigh, your shoulders slumping as you trudge toward the cab, grumbling to yourself all the while.

You watch through the side mirror as he works— you nearly cry at seeing your car being lifted onto the bed of the tow truck once again.

You slump into the seat, tears brimming your eyes as Jake gets in.

“What happened to it this time?” He asks, leaning over and setting the air vents onto you, letting the warm air blow over you.

“I dunno,” you grumble, “I was driving, it sputtered, a bunch of lights came on, so I pulled over— and it just fucking died.”

“I told you that car wasn't worth it.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us have the money to just go out and get the hottest thing on the lot, Jake.”

“There are other options, Y/n.”

“Mind your business.”

“This is the second time your car has been towed to my shop in under a week, sweetheart— I'm pretty sure your car is somewhat my business.”

“Whatever.”

He shakes his head, but lets it die. Good, you think, didn't wanna talk to him anyway.

But fuck, he looks good tonight. His hair is down this time, his hair tie on his wrist, and he's in normal clothes versus the usual mechanic garb you've always seen him in.

A black shirt, unbuttoned halfway, denim jeans that cling perfectly to his thick thighs.

“Were you working tonight?” You ask, Looking like that?

“No, I was supposed to be off tonight.”

“Why'd you come get me then?”

“Office called.”

“Oh.”

And what do you say to that?

You think he does it on purpose— gives you short answers so you'll shut up. But you can't take a hint, or you're just too stubborn.

“Were you out somewhere?”

He glances at you, “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, c'est la vie.”

“What were you out doing?” You ask, picking at an imaginary loose thread on your jeans, trying for conversation.

“Why are you interrogating me?”

“I'm not, I was just—”

“Interrogating me.”

“Why is everything so difficult with you? I was trying to make conversation, but you're genuinely just a total dickhead.”

“I was out with my brother, does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, was that so difficult to have an adult conversation?”

“Fuck's sake,” he sighs.

“Sometimes I just wanna hit you over the head with the closest heaviest object.”

He actually stares at you as if you'd grown two heads, a slightly mortified, annoyed expression on his face,“I could drop your car and leave you on the side of the road tonight,” he says tightly.

“Bad for business,” you say sweetly.

“Not for me— You're rude.”

“You were rude first! And I can tank your Yelp reviews,” you threaten with your arms crossed.

He glances over at you, “You're a dramatic little thing, aren't you?”

Something about that makes your insides warm in a way you hate. So you glare at him and look away.

“You have an odd way of making conversation,” he says after a long moment of quiet, “Makes me uncomfortable when you quiz me like that.”

“I didn't mean to do that, I was just trying to talk to you,” you say weakly.

He nods once, “I'm— sorry.”

You hesitate, before you sigh, “I don't wanna hit you with anything,” you mutter, before you glance at him again. “Mostly.”

He hums, a soft Mm that sounds almost amused.

You let the silence settle, hoping the drive to the shop goes by quickly.

It doesn't.

The last five minutes drag on forever. You spend most of them biting back questions, resisting the urge to fill the quiet with nervous chatter. By the time you pull into the lot, you've managed not to say another word, and you're almost proud of yourself.

Jake parks beside the garage and kills the engine.

"Go wait in the office," he says. "I'll get your car inside."

You nod and head in.

The familiar bell jingles overhead as you step through the door. Behind the front desk, Mark looks up from the computer.

"You again," he says, already grinning. "What happened this time?"

You let out a long sigh and explain everything. The strange noise. The smoke. The tow.

By the end of it, Mark is wincing.

"Oh," he says. "That's... not good."

"Don't tell me to sell it," you say before he can continue. "I can't afford a new car."

"Shit." He leans back in his chair. "C'est la vie, huh?"

You resist the urge to pull your hair out.

It isn't Mark's fault. He's always been nice to you— nothing but sympathy and easy smiles every time you've had to come in here.

A lot nicer than Jake.

"Why didn't you come get me?" you ask. "He said he was off tonight. Why did he have to show up?"

Mark shrugs,"I dunno. Usually I take the truck out. But Jake told me if you call, come in to make a payment, need a tow— anything like that— I should call him. Said he'd handle it himself."

The words make something warm and uneasy settle low in your stomach. It takes you a second to recognize the feeling. It's the same one you used to get when your middle-school crush said hi to you in the hallway.

You frown. "Why would he do that?"

"I honestly don't know." Mark gives you a knowing look. "Maybe he likes you."

You bark out a laugh, "He fuckin' hates me."

Mark laughs too, "He's a dick. Don't take it personally." He shrugs again. "He's a good guy. Just terrible with people." He pauses, still smiling. "But I think he likes you.”

The bell above the door chimes before you can respond, and you turn to find Jake wiping his hands on his jeans with a slight glare.

“It's hopeless. Scrap it.”

“I'm not fucking scrapping it!”

“You should,” he mutters. “Come here.”

He nods for you to follow him, and after a helpless glance at Mark, you trudge along behind Jake to the garage.

Your hood is already lifted, it's already parked in place over a lift, and you sigh.

He leans over the engine, moving around for a second before he turns to you with the dipstick from the oil reservoir.

And the oil on the thin metal stick— It looks like chocolate milk. Fuck.

“Oh.”

“You know, this shit was fine just a couple days ago.”

“Why are you acting like it's my fault?” You frown at him.

“Blown head gasket. And— judging from the way it sputtered and died, probably a fuel pump. Your radiator is also leaking, by the way, Y/n,” he looks at you with something that resembles pity. And it makes your skin prickle, “It isn't worth it anymore.”

“I can't afford—” You almost stomp your foot, “Can you fix it?”

“Of course I can fix it,” he says, almost offended, “It just isn't worth it.”

You look away, unsure exactly how to ask him to just fix it without annoying him further.

He sighs after a moment, “You still want it fixed.”

“I can't afford a new car.”

“I— Fine. I'll fix it, again. But if you have to come back again, I'm sending it to the junkyard myself.”

“Jesus,” you breathe. “Maybe I'll just take it to a different mechanic next time.”

He stares at you for a long moment, before he scratches the back of his neck as if annoyed, “It's almost two in the morning,” he says, letting his hand fall with a sound smack against his thigh, “I can take you home.”

You blink at him, “You don't have to.”

“I know. I offered.”

“I— It's fine. I can just walk, I don't live that far—”

“You are not fucking walking home at two in the morning,” he says tightly, his nose wrinkling in disgust or annoyance, “Just get in the fuckin’ car.”

“That's twice now you've told me to get in a fucking vehicle tonight.”

“Because you tend to argue with me and not listen to me,” he points out, “It's annoying. Get in the car, I'll take you home.”

“Jesus, fine,” you sigh, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you follow behind him.

You take one look at his car and you almost laugh— Because of course. You're not sure entirely what year it is, but it's an old Chevy, a classic, something that makes your car definitely look like it belongs in the scrap yard.

You sigh, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder, “I'll sit in the back,” you say tightly, moving to pull the back door open.

“Don't be ridiculous. Get in the front seat.”

“I'm good.”

“I'm not fuckin’ driving Miss Daisy— get in the front seat, Y/n, Jesus Christ.”

“You're such a fucking dick,” you snap, doing as he says regardless.

He sighs when you slam his door shut, “You know, even when I'm doing something nice for you, you're still ungrateful.”

“Your delivery's all wrong,” you say primly, “You're rude, Jake— It's a problem.”

“You've been a fuckin’ problem since I met you,” he says, his tone harsh as he starts his car.

And that stings.

But you hide your hurt with anger, and you whip your head to glare at him, "Maybe if you weren't such an asshole from the get-go, I wouldn't still be dealing with you.”

“No, you would,” he says with a dry laugh, “Your car's still a piece of shit.”

“You're a piece of shit,” you grumble, looking out the window again, though he's still parked.

“And you're a mouthy asshole.”

“That's rich, coming from you,” you snap, glaring at him once more.

He says nothing to that.

But he sits there and stares at you. His eyes slightly narrowed, head tilted like he's assessing you, his hands on his thighs, before he hums and shifts the car into drive.

You keep your eyes out the window, focusing on the city streets and the buildings passing by.

Finally he speaks.

“I don't have good people skills.”

You blink, before you turn your head toward him, studying him in the passing street lights.

“No shit,” you say, but it holds no heat.

He breathes a short laugh through his nose, but says nothing else.

You internally sigh, “At least you're a good mechanic though…”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I don't think you're too bad,” you lie, “Maybe just be a little nicer.”

“I try,” he says, “I don't give my customers rides home.”

“Then why are you giving me a ride home?”

“I pity you.”

“Jesus,” you grumble.

“Not like that.”

“How?”

He shrugs, “I dunno.”

“I think your problem is your conversation skills.”

He hums, almost smiling at that, “Yeah.”

“You could try being a little nicer. You know, ask people how their day is, show some concern— People like that.”

He frowns, “I don't care how their day is. And it's obviously a shit day if they have to bring their vehicles in.”

You can't help but grin, “What do you care about?”

He slows to a stop at a redlight, picking at the grease and dirt beneath his nail, eyes glued to the light, “Getting my job done. Being reliable, doing it right. I guess making sure people are alright.”

Fuck. Why is that attractive?

“You could pretend to care about how people's days are,” you say, almost jokingly.

“Mm.” After a pause, he says, “Alright. How was your day?”

And you can't help but laugh, which makes him frown a little before he looks away.

“It was good until my car died on the highway again.”

“I told you it would.”

“I can't afford anything better,” you sigh, leaning back into the seat, “I know I need a different car, I just… She's gotten me through so much.”

“Put her down.”

“Don't you have any emotional attachment to anything?”

He seems to think about that for a second, “I have a guitar I'm really attached to.”

“You play guitar?”

“Kind of.”

You smile, “Are you any good?”

He glances at you, “That's relative.”

“So you're a hands-on kinda guy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mechanic. Guitar player.” You shrug. “It just seems like you're good with your hands.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you wish they hadn't. Because now they sound flirtatious.

Jake is quiet.

You stare very hard out the windshield. The light ahead turns green.

“That's a weird thing to say.”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

Finally he shakes his head, almost to himself, “Are you gonna tell me where you live, or are we just gonna drive around all night?”

“Oh!”

—

You walk into the office an entire three days later.

You glance up at the crooked clock on the wall. The shop closes in ten minutes. Something tells you Jake's going to have an opinion about that.

You sink into one of the plastic chairs, chewing on your bottom lip while you wait. The office smells faintly of grease and stale coffee. Somewhere in the garage, metal clangs against concrete.

Five minutes later, the bell over the door jingles.

You look up in time to see Jake step inside from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyebrows pull together the second he sees you.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi." His eyes flick over you once before he tosses the rag onto the counter. "Your car's not done."

"I know. I just came to make a payment."

"Gotcha." He moves behind the desk and wakes up the computer.

You hesitate, "I'm guessing with all the extra work, the bill's back up to four grand?"

"No."

"More?"

His fingers tap against the keyboard, "Still two."

You blink, "What?"

"Still two."

"But— why?"

He doesn't even look at you, "Because I don't want to deal with you any longer than necessary."

Your jaw drops. "What the fuck have I done to you?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you always mean?"

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

He sighs like you're exhausting him. "How much did you bring?"

You tell him the amount and set the cash on the counter a little harder than necessary.

The office falls quiet. Then, "How was your day?"

You huff, "You don't care."

"I'm trying."

The answer catches you off guard. Jake keeps looking at the screen, expression flat, but somehow he sounds sincere. Which is honestly more confusing than if he'd insulted you again.

"It was fine," you mumble. "How was yours?"

He shrugs, "Alright."

Silence.

You narrow your eyes, "Do you have some personal issue with me?"

"No."

"Because it feels personal."

"It isn't."

"You act like you hate me."

That finally gets his attention. His head lifts, and he frowns, "I don't hate you."

The look he gives you is almost offended.

You shrug, "You're just kind of an asshole."

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. The printer beside him suddenly starts screeching and rattling like it's moments away from a violent death.

You look over, lifting your chin, "You should get a new printer."

Jake snorts, "I don't work up here. Not my concern."

"Poor workplace conditions— I'm adding it to my Yelp review."

That earns an actual huff of laughter. Barely there, but it's enough to make your stomach flip. He tears off the receipt and hands it over, muttering, "Yeah, that'll show me."

You grin, "Can I be annoying for a second?" He opens his mouth, but you cut him off, "A little more annoying than usual."

Jake sighs. One hand braces against the desk while the other settles on his hip, "Something tells me you're gonna do it either way."

You ignore that, "How much longer on my car?"

His expression softens just a fraction.

"I don't mean to rush you," you add quickly. "It's just my ride to work and everything, and I was wondering—"

"You talk a lot." You stop. Jake continues before you can argue, "I'll probably finish it tonight."

"Oh." Your face lights up immediately. "Oh, that's amazing— What was wrong with it this time?"

"A lot."

You wait. Jake stares. You realize that's the entire answer, so you nod, "Right. Okay."

A beat passes. Then Jake looks away. Almost like he's debating something. Finally, he sighs, "It'll probably only be another couple hours."

You nod, "Okay."

"If you want, you can stay."

You blink, "What?"

"You can stay while I finish it."

The offer is so unexpected it takes a second to process.

"Are you sure?"

"Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."

"Oh." You swallow. "Yeah. Okay. I'd like that."

Jake nods once. Then he turns toward the garage. You stay exactly where you are. A few steps later, he stops, and looks over his shoulder, "Are you coming?"

Your face immediately heats. "Oh. I thought you meant stay in here."

"No."

"Right."

You hurry after him.

—

Watching Jake work is dangerous. You discover this almost immediately. The man barely talks, barely smiles, and somehow that makes everything worse.

He's focused. Confident. Completely at home underneath the hood of your car. Every movement looks effortless. Like he already knows exactly where everything goes before he reaches for it.

You've spent the last ten minutes pretending not to stare. Jake slides out from beneath the car long enough to grab a wrench.

Your eyes accidentally drift lower, to his thighs. Jesus Christ. You immediately look away, then immediately look back.

You clear your throat and force yourself to focus on the engine instead, "It's really shiny."

Jake's voice drifts out from underneath the car, "What is?"

"The engine."

"No it isn't."

"It is."

"No."

You squint at it, "It definitely is."

Jake sighs. "It's a new engine."

You freeze. "A what?"

"A new engine."

You stare into the engine bay. Then back at him. Then back at the engine. "Jake."

"What?"

"A whole new engine?"

"Yep."

"Those are expensive."

He shrugs from underneath the car, "It wasn't bad."

"That's way more than what you charged me."

Silence.

A second later, Jake slides himself out from under the car. He sits up and fixes you with a look. "Are you complaining that I did something nice for you?"

"No."

"Sounds like it."

"I'm just trying to understand why.”

Jake stands, and tosses a wrench onto the cart, "Because I can."

"You're losing money."

"It's not always about money."

You stare at him. Jake immediately looks annoyed that he said it.

"Jake—"

"Nope." He points across the garage. "Go sit over there."

You glance toward a tiny kids' table shoved into the corner. A box of crayons sits on top. Your lips turn down, "What?"

"Go draw me a picture."

You laugh, "I'm not a kid."

"I know."

You cross your arms. Jake raises an eyebrow. You hold out for exactly three seconds. Then you sigh dramatically and walk over, "You're impossible."

"That's what they tell me."

"I don't understand you."

Jake ducks back under the car, "You're not supposed to."

You roll your eyes.

But as he disappears beneath the vehicle, you catch the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

And somehow that's enough motivation to spend the next half hour coloring a cartoon dinosaur while sneaking glances at him.

—

It's nearly one in the morning.

And you're bored out of your mind.

You'd colored through every page despite insisting earlier that you weren't going to touch them. Now you're slowly spinning in the rolling chair beside his workbench, pushing yourself one direction until your feet bump the table leg, then kicking off toward the wall. Back and forth. Back and forth.

The garage is quiet except for the occasional clink of tools and the faint hum of an old radio somewhere in the corner.

You glance up when Jake slides out from beneath your car. The look on his face immediately makes your stomach sink.

His jaw is tight as he tosses a wrench onto the nearby tray with more force than necessary. The metal rattles loudly through the garage. He plants his hands on his hips and stares into the open engine bay like he's seconds away from destroying it.

Jake looks over at you, and you slowly stop your chair as you stare back. Then his gaze drifts away again, returning to the car as he lets out a long, measured sigh.

"Y/n."

"What?" you ask weakly.

"Every time I work on this fucking car," he says carefully, like he's trying very hard not to lose his temper, "there's always something else wrong with it."

Your shoulders immediately slump.

"What happened?"

Jake drags a hand down his face, not seeming to care that he's smearing grease across his skin. Somehow it only makes him look annoyingly attractive.

"I'm gonna take you home," he says after a moment, sounding exhausted. "It's probably gonna be another couple hours."

"I don't mind waiting." His expression says he doesn't believe you. "I can help—" The look he gives you kills that idea instantly. "Okay, maybe not help," you correct. "But I could... I don't know. Get food? Coffee? Something?"

Jake glances toward the clock. Then back at the car, and mutters, "Alright."

Before you can argue, he's already pulling his keys and wallet from his pocket and handing them over.

"Jake—"

"Just go."

—

When you get back, he's cleaned up a little.

Not completely.

There are still smudges of grease on his forearms and a faint streak near his jaw, but his hands are clean for once. Actually clean.

You try very hard not to stare.

His hair is still tied back, though several loose strands have escaped the bun and fallen around his face. Combined with the tired look in his eyes and the sleeves pushed up his forearms, it's weirdly attractive.

"You took forever," he says.

"Well— there was a line."

Jake grunts in acknowledgment. You set the bags on the table next to your coloring sheets.

"At this point," he mutters, already reaching for his food, "I'm half tempted to just buy you another fuckin' car."

You laugh quietly.

"That seems a little excessive."

"No."

"It is."

"It'd probably be cheaper."

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again because there's a very real chance he's done the math.

The two of you settle onto opposite sides of the table.

And then comes the silence. Not uncomfortable exactly. Just... awkward. The kind that seems to linger longer than it should.

The radio crackles softly in the background.

A few times you catch him staring off toward your car. A few times he catches you staring at him.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

Eventually the food disappears, wrappers piling up between you.

Jake crumples the last of his into a ball and tosses it into the trash can without looking. It lands perfectly.

Of course it does.

For a moment neither of you move. Then Jake pushes to his feet with a quiet sigh. Without a word, he heads back toward your car.

You watch him stop in front of the open hood, hands settling on his hips as he stares into the engine bay again.

Studying, thinking. Already mentally back at work.

“I know it’s a lost cause,” you murmur, eyes fixed on your car like if you stare hard enough it might magically apologize for itself. “I just… I don’t know. You put a whole new engine in and—”

“I can take it out,” Jake says, like it’s nothing. He’s leaning against the open hood, expression unreadable in that way that always makes you feel like you’re slightly annoying him just by existing in his vicinity. “Return it. No money lost. Your old engine’s still behind the shop— I can put it back in. Help you sell it off if you want.”

You huff a small, humorless laugh. “Probably wouldn’t get much for it.”

He goes quiet for a moment, eyes drifting over the car like he’s already rewriting its fate in his head. That’s what he does— you’ve noticed. Fixes things. Rearranges broken parts until they make sense again.

“Or,” he says finally, voice lower now, more thoughtful, “I fix it properly. Get it running clean. You sell it for more than it’s worth. You walk away with something better.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It’s work either way,” he replies, flat as ever, like it’s obvious you’re being difficult.

You glance at him then quickly look away when you catch him already watching you. That does something strange to your chest. It’s been doing that a lot lately— small, inconvenient tightening feelings you keep trying to ignore.

“I don’t know what would be best,” you admit quietly.

“Then I’ll figure it out,” he says without hesitation. “I’m not going to cheat you out of anything, Y/n. I’ll help. All of it.”

There’s no softness in his tone. But there’s something steady underneath it— something that holds. And that’s what unsettles you most. Jake isn’t supposed to feel like that. Jake is supposed to be grumpy, blunt, borderline rude when he’s stressed, not… constant.

“Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious. Like you’re missing something everyone else can see.

“Because,” he says.

“Jake.”

His jaw tightens a fraction. “Because I want to.”

Your heart stutters. You hate how quickly that lands.

“That seems like a lot of effort for someone who can’t stand me most of the time,” you try, half teasing, half defensive.

That finally cracks something in him. He pushes off the car, posture shifting, tension snapping into place along his shoulders.

“I don’t hate you,” he says sharply.

You blink. “You sure act like it.”

He exhales through his nose, like you’re exhausting him in the most infuriating way possible. Then he looks at you properly, and something about it makes you go still.

“I like you, Y/n.”

You stare at him.

For a second, your brain refuses to process it. Like it’s spoken in a language you don’t quite understand.

“Like… romantically?” you ask carefully.

His expression shifts instantly— too fast. Something guarded snapping into place.

“Forget it,” he mutters, already turning away.

“No, wait— Jake, I—” You follow him as he heads toward the shop door. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s late,” he cuts in, voice tight again, all edges. “I’ll take you home.”

“Jake.”

He opens the side door to his office without looking at you. “Did you grab your stuff?”

That tone— the shut down, the wall slamming back into place— makes something in you flare.

You cross the distance in a few quick steps and grab his shirt, turning him toward you. He stops immediately. Not because you’re stronger. Because he lets you.

“Will you stop for a second?” you say, sharper than you intend. “Just listen to me.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “So you can laugh at me? I misread it. Sorry.”

“I like you too,” you say quickly.

That makes him freeze.

“I asked because I like you,” you add, quieter now. “Romantically. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up if that wasn't what you meant.”

Something flickers across his face— shock, relief, frustration all tangled together like he doesn’t know where to put any of it. Then he scoffs under his breath, like he’s angry at himself.

“Why is everything so fucking complicated with you?” he mutters.

“You make it complicated,” you shoot back without thinking.

That earns you a look— sharp, heated.

And then he moves.

His hand catches your shirt and pulls you in with a suddenness that steals your breath. His mouth is on yours before you can even think to react, rough and urgent and entirely unlike the careful restraint he’s been wearing all night.

It knocks something loose in you.

Your hands find his shirt instinctively, gripping like it’s the only stable thing in the room. The door behind you swings shut, but you barely notice. Everything narrows down to him— heat, pressure, the way he exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding it back for too long.

When he finally pulls just enough away to look at you, his forehead almost touches yours, “I really do like you,” he says, like it irritates him to admit it. “It’s fucking annoying.”

A laugh slips out of you, breathless. “Tell me about it.”

That gets you the faintest flicker of a smile before he kisses you again— slower this time, but no less intent.

He starts guiding you backward without breaking contact, until the edge of his desk presses against the backs of your legs. His hands are steady against yours now, like he’s anchoring himself as much as he is you.

You shift slightly— and that’s when you see it.

A camera mounted in the corner of the room.

You go still.

“Jake,” you murmur against his mouth.

He pauses immediately, pulling back just enough to read your expression. “What?”

“There’s a camera.”

His eyes flick to it. A beat of silence. Then he exhales like it’s an inconvenience he can fix, “Stay here,” he says.

You watch him cross the room, move behind his desk, and start working on his computer without hesitation.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly.

“Cutting it,” he replies simply.

“Why?” You ask, warmth budding inside of you as you realize he isn't done with you.

“Because I'm gonna fuck you,” he says simply.

“Oh.”

The intimacy of his office suddenly hits you. The couch against the wall. The worn tools. The framed photos you’ve never asked about. The quiet, lived-in mess of him.

It feels like stepping into a space he doesn’t usually let people see. When he comes back, he’s quieter. More focused. And then he’s in front of you again.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, hand sliding up to your jaw.

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning into him despite yourself.

“About what?”

“I don’t know,” you breathe. But that’s a lie, and you both know it.

His thumb brushes your cheek slowly, grounding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he says after a moment, voice rougher now. “I just— I get this instinct. To make sure you’re okay. To keep you from dealing with everything alone.”

Your chest tightens again, softer this time. “I usually am alone,” you whisper.

“Not with me,” he says immediately.

There’s no hesitation. No room for argument. His hands settle at your waist, steady and warm.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he adds, quieter now. Like a promise he didn’t mean to say out loud, “God, I'm going to take such good care of you, Y/n.”

You can't help the breathy, “Please,” that leaves your lips.

He hoists you back up onto the desk, splitting your thighs around his hips, and pulling you tight against him.

You feel his hand snake to the bottom of your shirt, slipping beneath it and giving your waist a tight squeeze that makes you sigh into his mouth.

Your own hands move to the buckle of his belt, tugging him tighter to you and whining at the pressure against your core.

Then you hear the front door open.

“Jake?”

He pulls back with a quiet curse at Mark's voice in the lobby, his jaw tight with frustration as he straightens his clothes to look less disheveled.

“I'll be back,” he mutters, clearly annoyed.

You nod, grinning like a lovesick puppy as he leaves. You can hear them talking, Mark mentioning something about having to come in for a tow. Jake's voice is lower, harder to pick up on, but you listen all the same.

After a few moments, Jake comes back in, looking almost uncomfortable, uncertain for the first time since you've known him.

“He killed the mood.”

You smile, “Wanna take me home?”

His eyes flick between your own for a second, before he says, “I— Do you want me to stay, or—”

“Yeah,” you nod, maybe too eager, but you don't care. “I do.”

“Okay,” he breathes, eyes softened with a smile, "Come on, then.”

—

The drive takes a different turn entirely.

Somewhere between your place and his, the conversation shifts, and before you know it, you're pulling into Jake's driveway instead.

You step out of the car and glance up at the house.

Damn.

It's not flashy in the way you'd expect. No marble columns or ridiculous fountains. Just solid. Expensive without trying to be. Dark wood, black steel accents, a wide wraparound porch, and enough land around it to make the place feel private.

Very Jake.

Inside is somehow even worse.

Or better.

The house smells faintly of cedar and motor oil, a combination that shouldn't work but somehow does. The furniture is heavy and well-made. Leather couches that have actually been lived on. Custom metal shelving. Framed photos mixed between family pictures, and projects he's clearly proud of.

You trail your fingers over a polished wooden countertop.

"You know," you say, looking around, "This is ridiculously nice."

Jake huffs out a laugh from somewhere behind you.

You glance over your shoulder.

He's leaning against the kitchen island, hands tucked into his pockets, watching you with a small smile.

You continue wandering through the open living space, taking everything in. The exposed beams overhead. The stone fireplace. The garage visible through a set of glass doors, spotless and looking like it belonged in a magazine.

You don't hear him move, so when you feel his chest brushing against your back, you flinch before you relax into him.

He uses a gentle hand at your jaw to tilt your head back to look at him, before his hand slides down to your throat, his palm rough and warm against your skin.

Dear God.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, as you whisper a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, pressing his lips to your temple. Then your cheek, your jaw, using his hand at your throat to angle your face to the side, and he leaves a kiss just below your ear.

You let out a shaky breath, and his other hand snakes around your waist, slipping beneath your shirt and resting against your bare skin.

You move your own hand to his belt buckle, tugging his hips flush against your backside, and he hums as he uses his own hold on you to pull you tighter to him.

His lips continue their way across your heating skin, making your knees almost buckle when you feel his teeth graze over the sensitive area.

You reach a hand up, tangling it into his hair to keep yourself steady, and his hand moves from your waist to the button of your jeans.

You tilt your head forward just a little to watch as he pops the button and slides the zipper down, and your insides give a weird twist.

“Can I—”

You grab his hand and shove it toward your panties, “Please.”

“God,” he whispers around an endeared laugh, and you bite your lip as he slips his fingers beneath the thin cotton.

You melt the exact second his fingers brush over your clit. You let your head fall into the hollow of his throat, your lips parted around a heavy sigh as his fingers tease over your wet folds.

“You're so fucking wet,” he murmurs, fingers slipping along your achy slit, “Is this all for me, baby?”

He asks like he doesn't know.

You nod regardless, giving him a weak, “Mm-hmm,” as your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Fuck,” he whispers, tracing his fingers over your clit again, humming when you gasp, “Yeah, that's what you need, isn't it, honey?” His fingers circle over the swollen bud slowly, “Just need someone to take care of you…”

“Yeah,” you mindlessly agree in a breath of pleasure, your hips moving lightly into his touch.

He moves his hand down, fingers prodding at your entrance now, “I hate these fuckin’ jeans,” he tells you, his hand limited in the tight denim.

“Take them off,” you say.

“What happened to that pretty little skirt you wore the first time I met you, hm?” He asks, pressing a single finger inside only to the first knuckle.

“You liked it?” You ask, rocking your hips for more.

“Fuckin’ loved it, baby.”

You whine when his hand slips out of your panties completely, “Jake—”

“Come on,” he nudges you toward the hallway, and you eagerly follow his lead to the bedroom, your poor cunt aching with need, feeling neglected as your core throbs around nothing.

His room is fucking incredible— guitars line the walls, a giant tool box against one wall, a shirt hanging off the handle of it. His room is clean, but there's more signs of him in here. Even more intimate and warm.

Against the far wall is his bed, and it's fucking huge. Black sheets, dark red comforter over them, and it's made like nobody's ever slept in it before.

And before you know it, you're spread out over the bed, your jeans that had annoyed Jake are somewhere on the floor, and he's on top of you with his lips pressed to yours and his thigh pressed between yours.

His hands are all over you, like he doesn't know which part of you he wants to touch the most. They wander to your hips, gripping tight as he rocks you against his thigh.

Fuck.

You hadn't ever done that before, but the feeling of his denim-clad thigh beneath your swollen clit makes you hot all over.

You start to move on your own, sighing into his mouth for the umpteenth time tonight. And when you chance a glance at it, the sight nearly leaves you breathless.

“Fuck, Jake,” your voice comes out pitchy, a whine to it that makes his cock ache.

He leaves another kiss to your lips, before he starts his way down, and your heart skips a beat as you watch him settle between your thighs.

“You don't have to do that…” You start, trailing off when he frowns in offense at you.

“Have to?” He repeats, already moving your thighs over his shoulders.

“I just— I know some guys don't like to do that—”

“I do,” he says certainly. “And this is all I've fucking thought about since I met you, so shut up and keep your legs open for me, honey.”

God, you'd never in your life had someone talk to you like that! You'd never even had a man who wanted to do this, your last ex treated it like a chore and it was always just… awkward.

It makes you almost nervous as he impatiently tugs your panties down your thighs, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder without a care.

You feel on display as he spreads you open and stares. You feel a slight apprehension, your hands fidgeting in the sheets, and you open your mouth to tell him your fears when he finally speaks.

“God damn.”

You finally muster the courage to look at him, and you'd swear the man had seen heaven with the way he's looking at you.

“What?” You ask shyly.

“She's so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he murmurs.

He leans in, leaving a kiss just above your clit, and you swallow heavily. You don't think you're going to survive this entire night, truthfully.

Not when he's already started to kiss over you, his mouth warm and soft against you, and fuck, your thighs twitch when he kisses directly at your clit, humming low in his throat.

Your head falls back against the pillow beneath you as he wraps his lips around your clit, suckling lightly.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, thighs tightening around his head.

His mouth seals over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He doesn’t suck hard; he just holds you gently between his lips and begins to massage you with the broad, wet heat of his tongue. Slow circles. Lazy, deliberate strokes that press and roll and linger.

Jake’s eyes flick up, dark and soft. “That’s it,” he murmurs against your clit, the words muffled and warm. “Let me feel you.”

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you a fraction so he can get even closer, and then he’s back to that unhurried, thorough massage— tongue working in steady, sensual laps that make your thighs tremble.

He’s not even trying to make you come yet… he’s just enjoying it.

Fuck.

Two of his fingers slide through your wetness and press inside without warning, curling immediately against that spot that makes your back arch. He doesn’t thrust; he simply fills you, holds you open, and keeps that same slow, devoted rhythm on your clit.

Oh— oh.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Jake moans softly into you, the sound almost desperate even though his movements stay gentle.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes, voice rough. “I could stay right here all night.”

His tongue never stops its careful massage, circling and pressing, while his fingers work deeper, coaxing more slickness out of you with every slow curl.

Your thoughts are starting to fray.

“Pull your shirt up,” he orders, lips brushing over your slick folds.

“Why?” You ask, pouting as you tangle your fingers into your shirt regardless.

“Let me see those pretty tits, baby.”

You whine quietly, but you lift your shirt, glad you'd decided to wear the cute bra today. It was black, the cups a thin lace with flowers stitched across them, and you can't lie— your tits do look really good in it.

He pulls away, lifting his head to stare at your chest for a moment, his eyes heavy as his fingers continue to work inside of you, “God damn, Y/n.”

“Shut up,” your cheeks are burning red hot, your body is burning from the inside out, and he's just staring at you like he can't help it.

“You're the prettiest little thing,” he sighs, “So soft and sweet… God, I can't get enough of you.”

You can only manage a moan in response, because his mouth is back on your clit, and this time he's working with a purpose. His tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit, his fingers are slicking in and out of you, curling and twisting so that you see stars.

“Jake—”

He hums against you, a low, rough Mm-hmm that shoots straight into your core, because he knows you're close.

You tell him anyway, a weak gasp of a warning.

“Come for me,” he whispers, tongue circling quickly against your clit, the words half-plea, half-command. “I need to feel it. Please, baby— let me have it.”

His fingers speed up, working just a little more, but the desperation in his voice makes the pleasure spike sharply.

The orgasm hits hard and sudden, your walls clenching around his fingers as your clit pulses under his tongue.

Jake groans like he’s the one coming, the sound low and grateful, and he doesn’t pull away— he keeps licking you through it, slow and thorough, drawing every last tremor out of you while his fingers stay buried deep, stroking you gently as you ride it out.

When your thighs finally stop shaking, he lifts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your over-sensitive clit, then another to your inner thigh. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice warm and a little hoarse. “That’s my girl.”

You let out a strangled sound, your eyes falling shut as you recover.

Holy shit.

You've never come from that— you've never had someone eat at you as enthusiastically as he did, much less enjoy it as he did.

You hope this isn't a one-time thing…

You huff a laugh, your eyes fluttering shut as he frowns at you almost defensively, but still soft, “What?”

“I was right,” you say, smiling up at him as you nudge his hip with your knee, “You are good with your hands.”

His smile is slow, but genuine, “You're ridiculous.”

“I know,” your voice softens as he climbs up over you, and your hands slip down to his belt, tugging lightly at it.

“You want something?” He asks, leaving a kiss to your jaw as his hand covers yours, moving it down until it's pressed against his rather large and prominent bulge.

“Yeah,” you answer honestly, your voice no more than a sigh, “I want that,” you say, squeezing lightly, just enough to make the muscles in his jaw tick.

“Keep talking, baby, tell me what you want,” he murmurs, now pressing small, warm kisses along your jaw, down the side of your throat as he rocks his hips into your touch.

You hum, your hand not grabbing at him moving to unbuckle his belt, “I want it inside me,” you say, desperation airing your words as you realize he's perfectly content just like this— no rush to get his cock inside you, just rocking against you and leaving kisses on your heated skin, “I want you to fuck me, Jake.”

“I'm gonna,” he assures you gently.

You slip your hand away from his dick, now using both hands to fight against the belt buckle that you've come to absolutely hate. Finally, you all but yank it open, and get to work on his jeans.

And he's no help— still just kissing you.

“You could help,” you grumble, gasping when his teeth nip lightly just below your ear, “I'm trying to fuck you.”

He hums, amused and rasped, "I'm just happy to be here,” he says, but he reaches down and pops the button, pulls the zipper with ease while you stare.

“Go on,” he encourages, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as you tug at his jeans and underwear.

You wrap your hand around him before you can even fully see him— you're desperate, you feel too empty, and you need him to fuck you more than you can fathom right now.

He's thick, long and hot to the touch, the skin soft despite how achingly hard he is. God. The head is a bruised red, leaking at the tip, and it makes your mouth water as your thighs part further of their own volition.

“Fuck, I want it,” you breathe, angling your hips to get closer to him.

“I know, baby,” he says soothingly, reaching between the two of you and replacing your hand with his own.

You can't help the pathetic whine that claws its way up when you feel him tap the head against your throbbing clit, before he teases it along your slippery heat.

“Put it in,” you plead, rocking your hips up, “Please, Jake, put your cock in me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, almost in disbelief at your wanton display of desperation.

He leans in, smearing his lips messily with yours and swallowing down the loud moan you let out as he finally pushes his way inside your pulsing walls.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he grits out, huffing a sigh when he bottoms out, his hips pressed snugly to yours as he straightens up to take in the sight of it.

You can only manage to make an unintelligible sound, lifting your head to look, and you have to look away— Fuck.

“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers, ghosting a thumb over your clit, before tracing it around where you're taking him in, “Your sweet little pussy’s taking me so well, baby— So fuckin' pretty.”

His words make you whine as he leans back over you, his arms slipping beneath you and sliding up to your shoulders. He presses his lips to yours, one hand moving to cradle your head, the position pressing your chests close together, and he starts to rock his hips.

You let out a sound you should probably be embarrassed about, but it feels good already. Really good.

He's everywhere around you, surrounding your senses in a way you didn't even know you were craving.

The fullness is intense— his length throbbing inside you, the smooth skin of his shaft dragging along sensitive spots that make your toes curl.

Jake draws back until only the head remains inside, then thrusts forward again in one smooth motion. The slide is slick and hot; your walls cling to him on the way out and part greedily on the way in.

Each stroke sends a rush of sensation through you— the blunt pressure of the head nudging your cervix, the thick ridge of him rubbing your inner walls, the way your clit brushes against his pelvis with every deep push.

"That’s it," he breathes, pace steady and controlled. "Feel how deep I am? Fuck, your pussy squeezes me so fucking good."

He keeps you pinned beneath him, chest brushing yours, hips rolling in a rhythm that lets you savor every inch.

Sweat-slick skin slides together. Your nipples graze his chest with each movement, adding sparks to the overwhelming fullness between your legs.

His voice stays gentle even as the words turn filthy, "Your cunt’s so greedy for it— hugging my cock like it never wants me to leave."

Jake angles his hips slightly, changing the angle so the head of his cock drags along your front wall with every thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. The new pressure makes your breath hitch; he notices immediately.

"Right there? Yeah, I can feel you fluttering around me. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I’m going to fill you up so good."

He maintains the same deep, measured pace, never rushing, letting the wet sounds of your bodies fill the room.

Your arousal coats him, easing the glide while your walls grip and release around his thickness. The heat of him radiates through you, the pulse of his heartbeat matching the throb of your own.

"Such a good girl," he praises, lips brushing your temple. "Letting me fuck you open nice and slow. I love watching your face when I’m buried all the way inside. Your pussy’s so warm and wet— perfect around my cock."

He laces your fingers together, holding your hand above your head while his other arm supports his weight.

The position keeps you spread open beneath him, completely at his mercy yet cradled by his steady presence.

"I’m going to keep fucking you until you come all over my cock,” he grins at the whine you give him, “Then I’ll fill this pretty pussy with every drop."

His thrusts stay deliberate, each one pressing you firmly into the bed, the head of his cock nudging that sensitive spot inside you again and again.

The constant stretch, the slick drag, the way his pelvis grinds against your clit with every downstroke— all of it builds steadily, your body tightening around him in response.

Jake keeps that same deep, steady rhythm as your body starts to tighten around him. His cock drags along your soaked walls with every thrust, the thick head pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs shake.

“Fuck, Jake—” you manage to gasp your words, “I'm so close…”

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, voice low and rough in your ear. "I can feel it. You're getting so fucking tight around my cock. Squeeze me harder— let me feel you come."

Your orgasm hits fast and hard. Your cunt clamps down on him in pulsing waves, walls rippling and gripping his shaft as slick gushes out around his thickness.

Jake groans low, hips never stopping as he fucks you straight through it. "Fuck, just like that. Your pussy's making such a pretty mess on my cock. Fuckin’ come all over me, baby, that's it."

He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your swollen clit while his cock keeps pounding into your spasming hole.

Every thrust forces more wetness out of you, the sounds filthy and loud as he works you through the aftershocks. "Don't stop coming, baby. Keep that greedy cunt squeezing me. I want every drop."

Jake's control finally cracks as your pussy keeps fluttering around him.

His thrusts turn sharper, deeper, "Fuck," he growls, voice breaking.

With a final hard thrust he buries himself to the hilt, cock throbbing violently as he unloads inside you. He stays buried, grinding his hips in slow circles as he empties himself completely, your releases mixing and dripping down.

"God damn," he pants against your neck as he stills, your sweat-slick bodies pressed tightly together.

After a moment, he pulls back, looking more put-together than you feel, still fucked out and worn. Strands of his hair stick to his forehead, his eyes heavy as they flit across your face.

He leans back in, his hands gently cupping either side of your face, “You okay, baby?”

You nod, humming a soft sound as he presses a kiss to your mouth, “M'okay,” you sigh, a satisfied smile pulling at your lips, “I'm more than okay,” you add around a giggle.

He smiles, his hands moving to your waist, moving you with him as he lays beside you. He's still sheathed inside of you as he lifts your thigh to rest over his hips, but it's not sexual anymore, just intimate.

It makes your heart flutter and your head spin just a little.

Jake's breathing evens out against your skin, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip where your thigh drapes over him.

He gives a low, amused huff, lips brushing your temple. "Guess I should've fucked you stupid weeks ago."

You push lightly at his arm, grinning despite yourself as he only tugs you closer, “You should've been nicer to me.”

“You should've been less stubborn.”

“Fuck off,” you giggle, “I'm not even stubborn.”

He gives you a look, one that tells you you're full of shit, before he shakes his head with a smile, “Quit arguing with me.”

I stared back at Josh with pretty much justified indignation during the brief silence that followed, and to my astonishment, it did have an actual effect on him this time. As it should! My rather abrupt and very definite reply wiped that crooked smile off his face and he went from a cocky bastard to a wounded puppy within a few seconds. No more playful pouts, no feisty smirks. 

Sadly, no hints that he had been joking either… which only made it worse. “Yeah, I feared you’d say that,” he sighed and carefully put his glass down, suddenly finding the place mat in front of him extremely interesting. 

So interesting it made his cheeks burn. 

Consequently, it made my own face heat up as well. So, he had been serious? And asking me such a thing in public, no less! Anyone could hear him. 

Well, at least he looked like he seemed to realize how impudent his request was. But still…

I opened my mouth, and then closed it with a huff, before I took a deep grounding breath and finally blurted out: “Feared? You should have expected that! Have you lost your mind?” A few more people sitting at the nearest tables turned their heads and I immediately cursed myself for my own lack of decorum. Josh just bit his lip and visibly shrunk, which made him look like a very tiny tomato. 

Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, because I still expected him to wave his hand and say something like ‘yeah, gotcha’, followed by his signature giggle. I’d take anything that would assure me that he in fact had not been serious. Then the two of us could just laugh it off as a joke that uncustomarily didn’t land. It would still feel slightly awkward, but at least we could go back to the previously abandoned topic and everything would be well. 

But Josh remained silent. He also refused to meet my gaze. Those two phenomenons were pretty rare and unusual even when they happened separately; their mutual occurrence felt almost like a cosmic rupture. Knowing him, it had only one explanation. So, not only he had thought it would be a good idea to ask me such a thing, but also…

“Josh… please…  tell me you didn’t actually think I would agree to that! That’s insane.”

It started as a purely professional relationship, and it certainly was my intention to keep it that way, because I consider myself a professional. Duh. Josh loves having his pictures taken and I dare say I was rather good at it. We clicked. I understood what he wanted, and I delivered. Simple. 

However, befriending him is extremely easy… or so I thought. It was a trap, actually. It’s only easy when he decides, which in retrospect should make me feel very flattered. And it does. 

To clarify – Josh is in general a very outgoing person, which already fooled many poor, naive souls into believing it meant anything more than just pretty much nothing, because while he tries to be friendly with everyone, he chooses his people carefully. Only the ones who really “get” him can get really near. I know it now; I was unaware back then. 

As I kept my professional distance, it was all just casual banter to me. A wise choice on my part, based on years of experience. Josh treated us all the same, always greeting us with his radiant smile. It didn’t really matter if it was me, Liz the makeup artist, or my technical assistant Mark. 

Over time, I saw how people who mistook his joviality for real friendship received a proverbial slap in the face the moment they crossed a line they had failed to see. Poor Mark was one of them. Bless his soul.

I also saw others being lured into his trap without even realizing it, but not before it somehow happened to me once Josh started encouraging me to keep making unwise choices. Again, very flattered. When Josh decides you’re allowed to love him, you really have no other option but to accept that offer, whether you like it or not… but I can guarantee you’d like it. 

I remember when Josh saw the pictures I had just taken displayed on my laptop screen for the very first time and his face visibly lightened, though with a tinge of cute timidness and wonder. After hours of strutting around the studio like a peacock, he suddenly looked very small and almost bashful, giving me rather mixed signals, to be honest. 

“Is it bad?” I asked with an apprehensive smile. I knew those pictures were good, but I had learned over time that those things are almost always subjective and sometimes my eyes see different things than what my clients want or expect me to see. They tell me what they want, and they think they’re in full control, but I am the one who controls the shutter, and that can be merciless. Not everyone likes what it reveals sometimes. And Josh definitely seemed a bit surprised. 

“No, it’s… it’s absolutely perfect. Very… candid… in a way.”

That was it for the time being. Apart from telling me what I already knew, I had to wait a bit longer for him to elaborate on why exactly he thought the result was perfect. However, that doesn’t really matter because I think that was the moment when something shifted between us. I could hear it… or rather I could feel it, because Josh’s voice makes you feel things. I never understood how easily he manages to modulate it so that it sounds pretty much thunderous one moment, and then soft and balmy the next second. But it does, and it always has a direct effect on those who listen. 

I walked right into that trap. It took only three sessions for our initially casual and politely impersonal conversations to get more… well, personal. 

The strangest thing is that it didn’t feel wrong at all. Not for a second. We got there quite naturally, or maybe I should say he got us there quite effortlessly with me in a passenger seat, and it so happened that the third photoshoot ended with him getting me awfully drunk. In my favorite bar, no less. After he somehow made me suggest the place. 

Josh still had gemstones on his cheeks when we got there, flashing his extravagant looks with dignity despite a few stares. It fascinated me. I wasn’t oblivious to the controversial reception of his band, or him as a public figure. I had come across some nasty shit firsthand when I had posted a few pictures on my Instagram just a few days prior, and the nastiness of some of the comments genuinely appalled me. Especially since I got to know him as a person. 

“I admire you,” I blurted out after finishing my third drink. I was already a bit tipsy, but still not drunk enough to miss the subtle changes in his expression when I said that. At first, a spark in his eye that matched the barlights reflected in those gemstones, like a tiny tear you can still blink away if you want to. It lasted maybe just a split of a second, but that flash of pure joy didn’t go unnoticed, before it was replaced by yet another toothy grin. Just as flashing, but a just bit less sincere, as if he was still not completely sure whether to trust me. That didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I hear that quite often,” he practically screeched, using his shrill, theatrical shield-voice reserved for moments when he feels the need to hide his soft side. For a moment, I thought I overstepped and was about to get Marked for ruining the moment with an ingratiating flattery. 

But I meant it, and not really in a way he probably thought, so I continued: “I’m serious, Josh. I admire your ability to put up with the people who do the very opposite. And some of them are quite loud about it. And yet you just continue being yourself. Turning the other cheek and shit. I couldn’t do that.”

The smile vanished, although his eyes continued to sparkle. Josh pursed his lips and let out a snort that could be easily interpreted as both amusement and annoyance. I think he couldn’t really decide. “Well, maybe I deserve it. I don’t know,” he said rather matter-of-factly before he took another sip.

“Bullshit. You know you don’t.” I could see he cared. It wasn’t like he didn’t give a shit about those haters, which made the fact that he didn’t let them stop him even more admirable. “I just love how you don’t let it get under your skin too much. Every time I see a negative comment about my pictures, I feel crushed. I wish I could be more like you, instead of giving them what they want.”

“Well…,” Josh took a deep breath and put a hand on my shoulder. He had done that before. In fact, he does that pretty often, always being so touchy feely when talking to people. Josh uses touch as punctuation. It’s one of the reasons why he’s such a trickster. 

This was new, though. Different. It felt like a question mark. His hand slid gently down my upper arm in an almost intimate manner. If it was anyone else, I’d flinch. Instead, I waited with a baited breath for him to continue. “It used to worry me a lot, I won’t lie. But you gotta learn how to deal with it if you wanna survive.” 

“Ok, but how?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. You have to… to acknowledge what’s letting you down, and then just let it gooo.” To accentuate his point, he thrust his right arms to the side, barely missing the man who was just passing by our spot at the bar. “Oh, sorry, sorry.”

To be honest, it sounded like some cheap guru advice, but thankfully Josh wasn’t offended when I told him. Instead, he just urged me to try it. 

That night, Josh charmed me into telling him things I hadn’t confided in my own sister, and even though I woke up with a terrible hangover afterwards, I felt significantly lighter emotionally. 

It was the beginning of a friendship that I truly cherish.

But let me make one thing perfectly clear. When I say friendship, I really mean it. Josh is very attractive in his own unconventional and quirky way, and I must admit that he invaded the sacred space of my fantasies more than a few times. 

However, he’s got Gabe. And that’s really all I needed to know. 

Entering Josh’s world meant I had to befriend Gabe as well. And I really didn’t mind. What girl wouldn’t want to have a fashion stylist as a friend, right? 

No, really, I genuinely like the guy. He’s just as cute, though in a slightly different way than Josh. Gabriel possesses this effortless, gracious charm that never makes you wonder whether he’s aware of his good looks. It’s obvious he is. Where Josh sometimes hides his insecurities behind goofiness, Gabriel stands tall and calm, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes always ready to wink at you instead of wasting unnecessary words. I suppose that’s pretty easy when you’re endowed with dark wavy hair, porcelain skin and a well-defined jawline. Straight brows and a greek nose only add to his inherently calm facial features, and his glasses are just a cherry on top. Like a pinch of sophistication. 

Together, they’re like a cherub and a seraph. Mr. Feisty and Dr. Suave. And – what’s most important – they’re really head over heels for each other. One loves fervently, while the other responds with sensual calmness. It’s very entertaining to watch.

Which brings me back to Josh’s indecent request. 

Josh never answered my question, which basically meant that – yes, he really did think that I might eventually agree to take photos of the two of them making love. 

I remember that just the idea made my heart beat like crazy. And yes, I immediately imagined that scene in my head. I’m only human. And so are they. Two very pretty specimens. 

What started as one of many of our casual weekday dinners turned to something I wasn’t ready for. The atmosphere between us got tense, and I hated it. The subsequent silence was gnawing at me and I could see Josh felt the same. Abandoning the subject entirely would probably only make things worse. Getting up and leaving him there alone was out of the question entirely, simply because I really didn’t want to do that. I would never do that. Just the simple fact that he asked me to do such a thing meant he trusted me with his life. Literally. I could ruin it very easily with one click if I ever was in possession of such photos. 

So I refilled our glasses – a simple gesture meant to assure him that I wasn’t really mad at him – and then I took another deep breath. “Whose idea was that?”

Josh looked up, surprised by the sudden question, but I could see relief in his eyes as well. “Well…” He flushed again. As if trying to mask it, he reached for his glass of wine and took another sip, but the wine went down the wrong pipe, making him cough. A few droplets of the crimson liquid trickled onto his lower lip and I couldn’t help but admire how sensuous he managed to look even in such an awkward situation. “Well… it’s…,” he tried again in between coughs.

I already knew the answer. “Josh, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I hope you know what.” As I said, I really liked Gabriel, but that man was a dark horse, ready to strike or to make a grand entrance when you least expected it. Including relationships. Sometimes it was for the best, because he encouraged Josh to step out of his comfort zone more than once and with results that were almost always beneficial for both, careerwise or in bed. Or so I’ve heard. 

But there were a few times, maybe just once or twice, when I had been wondering whether his true intentions hadn’t been a bit egocentric. Or maybe even insidious in the long run…

“No…,” Josh suddenly interrupted my train of thoughts. “The truth is that… the… that I’ve wanted to d… to try something like that. I just felt like I… no, I mean, I knew I couldn’t. Trust’n’shit, ya know?”

Yeah, I knew. And once again, I was deeply flattered he had decided to trust me with such a thing. Still worried, though. It probably showed on my face. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I do, I just… I’m just wondering what makes you think that now you can.”

It sounded exactly the way I didn’t want it to. The conversation suddenly shifted from my reluctance to do it to something completely different. A dangerous territory. I knew he knew who I meant when I questioned his sudden trust in the people involved. No wonder I cringed when Josh cleared his throat in disapproval. 

“Listen… yes, it was initially Gabriel’s idea, but I’m not a fucking child and I dare say I know him better than you!” 

It was the night of throwing daggers, apparently. The lady sitting at the nearest table on my right clicked her tongue, making me roll my eyes in annoyance. “Stop listening then!” I snapped back at her, ignoring the fact that we were in fact the loud ones. Josh laughed. He always did. Presumptuous little bastard. I couldn’t help but join in, grateful that it cleared the lingering tension between us at last. I also apologized. And then I once again assured him that I really wasn’t going to do that for them. 

Or was I. 

One thing that Josh and Gabriel have in common is that they just can’t drop the subject. At least not until they get what they want. They asked me again a week later. And then again. Eventually, they altered the strategy, making me believe that I won, only to strike with renewed forces. 

It was a small dinner party at Sam’s house. We had a nice meal, a few… or more than a few drinks, and then some music was played. Just the usual shit. 

The guys looked dazzling that evening. A bit overdressed for the occasion, but that was nothing unusual with the two of them, so no one batted an eye. “That’s a really cool jacket,” I giggled, admiring Josh’s newest addition to his wardrobe when the three of us went to the kitchen to refill our glasses. I ran my fingers down the rhinestoned ornament on his sleeve. Gabriel’s shirt decently sported a very similar one, though he always preferred just embroidery. “And I love how you too match, without it being over the top.”

“Oh yeah?” I noticed the fleeting look and the wink shared between them, but I paid it no mind. Not only because they both liked flattery so that was nothing unusual, but also because Josh’s hand between my shoulder blades was rather distracting in a way I would never openly admit. “Let’s take a picture then. I wanna send it to mom. She loves matching outfits.” 

Again, nothing unusual. I took pictures at their parties pretty often. Sometimes it was just for me. Memories of precious days I wanted to keep.

“OK, strike a pose, you bastards!” I giggled again, already fumbling with my phone. They quickly wrapped their arms around each other and Josh grinned into the camera in his usual unserious way, but there was something in Gabe’s eyes and his soft smile that made me linger. As if the time suddenly slowed down. It was exactly what he wanted, and as I waited for the best moment to capture, he turned towards Josh, grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him with passion. 

I gasped. It was a sight previously unseen. I had witnessed a few fleeting kisses before, I had seen them cuddling on the couch or stroking each other’s arms in passing, but never anything so heated. 

They didn’t stop. They made me watch. Josh mirrored Gabriel’s movements when he ran fingers through the raven locks with eagerness and urgency that normally belonged behind their closed doors, and Gabriel hummed in appreciation. I realized I was holding my breath. The surrounding sounds of the living house around us dulled down, and all I could focus on through my sudden tunnel vision were their tongues playing together in a slow, sensual motion. It was at that moment when I realized they had deliberately orchestrated this to make me feel things. And it did. Just when I thought that it couldn’t get any worse, Josh moaned into Gabriel’s open mouth. I bit my lip, unsure whether to say something or just run away from the room and the situation I didn’t ask to be part of. 

It was my unconscious choice to remain rooted on the spot, painfully aware of my panties getting wetter and wetter with each passing second. And just when Gabriel’s hand started moving downward towards the growing bulge between Josh’s legs, the embarrassment became unbearable. “Ok, STOP!” I suddenly bursted out. “What the fuck is this about?” 

That was rhetorical. I knew exactly what the whole thing was about. My answer was still a no.

Those fuckers took their time, unlocking their lips with delighted smiles as if I wasn’t even there, and obviously enjoying those theatrics as much as I tried not to. “Ehrrm, so,” Josh cleared his throat when he finally dared to meet my eyes. “Did you catch that?”

“The fuck I did,” I hissed through clenched teeth and angrily threw the phone on the counter table behind me. “Why the fuck did you do that?” 

“We do that all the time, baby,” Gabe chimed in and shrugged his shoulders with feigned innocence. He desperately tried to keep his poker face, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching. So did the vein on my temple. “It looks really good, doesn’t it? I mean, we. Doing… you know… I wish I had it printed on my w…”

“Fuck you!” I blurted out, pointing my finger at him menacingly before I jabbed Josh in the chest with it. “And fuck you, too!”

“Oh no, Darling, we want you to just…” But I was already storming out the door, while waving my middle finger at them. 

If you already think that I couldn’t stay mad at them for long, you’re absolutely right. And if you wanna ask whether they tried again – yes, they did. And the reason why I’m telling this story in the first place should also be pretty obvious by now, because – yes, they eventually succeeded. 

It so happened that one rainy day I found myself adjusting studio lights in Josh’s bedroom (without Mark’s help this time), all while questioning my life choices. 

“Tequila?” 

The sound of Josh’s voice coming seemingly out of nowhere made me jump, nearly knocking down one light stand. I was so nervous and so inside my head that I hadn’t heard him enter the room, already just in his silk bathrobe. “Sorry,” he mumbled and handed me the bottle which I readily accepted. I really needed a drink. Just let it burn my throat, and a few brain cells as well, baby. I gulped it down like a sailor, much to Josh’s amusement. 

“Are you nervous?” I asked rather unnecessarily when I was done, because he looked like he was going to spend the afternoon by the swimming pool… rather than fucking his boyfrind right in front of me. And of course, the question made him giggle. 

“No, not really, but it looks like you are.” And there was that hand again, stroking and gently squeezing my forearm as if he were afraid I was on the verge of fainting… which wasn’t that far from the truth, actually. I just didn’t want Josh to know. “Hey,” he added in a different tone that only assured me that he knew anyway. The hand now found my cheek, and I blessed his obliviousness. Josh obviously thought that running his thumb over my cheekbone and forcing me to look at him would somehow make it better, while the opposite was true. 

He was the most beautiful like this, stripped of all the make up and trinkets. That’s when his eyes really shone. It made me feel almost sentimental, for the lack of more appropriate words. I managed to have all those sentiments under control most of the time, but this was a brand new territory, and my heart was suddenly skipping a beat at the thought of what was to come. Now the truth reared its ugly head, taking me by surprise at the least convenient moment. It’s just lust and hormones you bitch, I tried to reassure myself. You didn’t get any in a while. 

Still mercifully clueless, Josh took the bottle from me and smiled encouragingly. “Just pretend you’re working for Discovery Channel.” 

I tried to laugh, but it sounded more like something between a sniff and a huff, so I averted my eyes, pretending to be busy with my equipment again. “So, what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckled. “Some kissing, hugging, heavy petting… my hair might not hold up. Oh, wait! Now I’m actually nervous.”

He finally managed to make me laugh. “I promise I’ll make you look lovely no matter what.”

“Aaahh, that’s why I love you, Darling.” Now the hand found my side. Right under my left boob, to be more exact. Fighting off the monster it kept awaking, I turned towards Josh with an ironic grin plastered on my face just when he tried to kiss my cheek, and our noses collided rather painfully. 

“Ouch! Fuck! I’m gonna keep this here you buffoon.” I snatched the bottle back from him as he excused himself to go check on Gabriel, leaving me alone with more than one owie.

I checked the shutter speed and ISO settings one more time, because the tone of their skin messed with my previous adjustments a little bit. “Ok, I think I’m ready.”

And tipsy. 

The bottle was already half empty by the time we all got set. Which means they were now both already stark naked and idly (and shamelessly) lounging on the bed in front of me. They assured me they were ready too… in fact, had been getting ready for the last half an hour in the other room to spare me some ‘less visually attractive and unnecessarily hindering details,’ as Gabried had put it. It was an information I could easily live without. 

Assessing the view with just one eye open, I clasped my hands together. “Should I say… I don’t know… action, or something?” My voice cracked a little, and I really hoped they wouldn’t notice, which was really just wishful thinking. “No, that’s actually a bad idea…”

“You ok?”

“Yeah, Gabe, I assure you I’ve seen that thing before,” I snapped. That thing was already looking back at me, so I assessed they were both just politely waiting for my professional approval to start devouring each other. It felt awkward. What was I supposed to say? ‘Let the fucking commence?’ 

“Ok, guys,” I sighed. “Whenever you’re really ready. The key is to make all this look as genuine as possible. And natural. Take your time. Improvise. Just forget I’m here… please. And ignore the occasional flash.”

Photographers and cameramen are completely different creatures. You usually can’t escape the loud and commanding presence of the latter. We who capture still life memories prefer to be invisible. I always loved photography more exactly for this reason – because it feels more intimate in every way. The best camera is the one that’s unseen, and the same thing goes for the person who handles it. Everything was set to resemble their usual, private environment as much as possible. Their favorite scented candle was lit, some neutral background music was put on, and I stepped into the shadows behind the lights, focused solely on the viewfinder and waiting... 

Soon I found my footing.

Without any specific instructions on my part, I let them take the reins. Their muffled conversation became a pleasant hum in my ears, and their bodies were just shapes of light and living matter that morphed into new visually pleasant compositions with each passing second. With a bit of luck, I would be able to go through the whole session treating every snapshot I took exactly this way. I call it ‘dissociated focus’.

The first photos were simply beautiful, which is easily done when the object’s full of love. At first I thought they really looked no different than some of my other clients. Serene and loving gazes you can find on good wedding portraits. Maybe just a bit more… primeval. They were both sitting on their heels facing each other and looking into each other’s eyes. It looked like the beginning of a ritual. I suspected it was vastly different from their usual foreplay, but they were the actors, the directors and the ones who were supposed to enjoy it, so I just let myself marvel at the magic of it. 

I zoomed at Gabriel's palm gently caressing Josh’s bare chest. What a beautiful detail. Snap. Josh’s closed eyes and his head tilted slightly back, his lips parted as if in devotion – I’ve seen the sight many times before and always admired it. Snap. Many of my colleagues had photographed  it in the past and I envied them. Now I took undoubtedly the best one. Now he raised his arms up and let Gabriel trace the outline of his sides. Snap, snap, snap. 

The kiss that followed… I took quite a lot more pictures just of that first kiss, because I sensed that’s what they wanted when they took it slow, inviting me to capture every detail. 

Their lips slightly parted, barely touching. Almost bashfully. The electricity was almost visible, the anticipation almost tangible. Snap.

Eyes closed one second – snap – only to lock them in an unfocused gaze a moment later when the tips of their tongues finally met. Sexy as hell. I quickly zoomed in again. Snap. Josh’s eyebrows scrunched together when the feeling intensified and he whimpered to let the other one know how good that shared proximity felt. Snap. A brief moment of vulnerability when they pressed their foreheads together. Snap. 

This is art, I thought. 

I was aware of the fact that the atmosphere would shift soon, but my confidence grew every time I pressed the button, and my heartbeat slowly returned to a normal rhythm as I focused on the details showing how their pulse gradually quickened. 

I proceeded with surgical precision, careful not to miss any facet of their emotional responses to the physical touch. 

Gabriel slowly pushed Josh on the pillows and bent down to pepper his heaving chest and exposed neck with kisses. He had been right; they really did look good like this. Divine. 

They sounded even more so, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut for just a tiny second. Just to ground myself. It had been easy to remain calm when I could concentrate purely on the visual aspect of what was happening in front of me, but the moment their intimacies invaded my other, less professional senses, my heart betrayed me again. 

I took a deep grounding breath and focused on the tiny droplets of sweat that had just formed on Josh’s chest out of pure excitement. They glistened under my spotlights with each intake of his breath just like the rhinestones on his jumpsuits. 

They kissed again, fervently this time, moaning into each other’s mouths and gasping for air. Josh reached out to pull Gabe even closer and wrapped his legs around his lover’s hips. I tried to make the best of it, slowly realizing that doing so became increasingly harder with my camera attached to a tripod. 

Almost as if he could read my mind, Josh suddenly stopped and frowned. “Wait!” he breathed out, looking first up at Gabriel and then at me. It alarmed us both, each one for different reasons. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Gabriel whispered and stroked Josh’s cheek, trying to make him focus solely on himself. It made me feel like asking the same question would come out as extremely intrusive, even though I had probably every right to do so. 

“Those lights… I just don’t like it. Doncha think it just looks… staged?” That belonged to me. 

“Oh, fuck it!” Yes, he was completely right. I turned their bedroom into a fucking studio, completely ignoring the fact that it could erase the very essence of what they wanted me to capture. I wasn’t there to photograph porn stills, for fuck’s sake. I quickly slid the camera out of the tripod mount and switched off the lights. “You’re fucking right. I’m sorry. Light more candles.” 

I feared this stupid intermezzo would completely ruin the mood and the magic they had been building, but it had to be done and thankfully, once more candles were lit and I readjusted my camera settings, they quickly went back to where they had started: slowly exploring each other’s bodies as if nothing else in the world actually mattered. 

It probably didn’t. At least for a while. 

I could no longer hide, though. I had to come closer and essentially invade the personal space of their bed. They didn’t mind, so I just had to convince myself to be okay with it as well. 

Gabriel climbed up the bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling Josh in between his legs and letting him rest against his chest. “How does it look?” he asked me quietly. 

What did he expect me to say? I wasn’t supposed to take any part in this, but my presence in the room suddenly became nauseatingly loud. They were both staring at me lazily, their naked bodies bathing in the candlelight and their faces already fucked out even though nothing had really happened yet. 

Well, not in front of me, I quickly reminded myself.

Without breaking eye contact with me, Gabriel took Josh’s earlobe in between his teeth. His middle fingers quickly found Josh’s nipples and started drawing slow circles around them. The latter one just closed his eyes and, letting his head rest against Gabe’s shoulder, he let out a contented hum. Snap. 

“It looks arousing,” I answered truthfully, done with their games. 

“You should come closer.”

What a preposterous suggestion. I was already hovering above the foot of the bed, with one knee already on the mattress to keep balance, and I could feel my heart in my throat when Gabriel slid his right hand down Josh’s stomach and wrapped his fingers around his cock, which earned him a breathy whimper. Encouraged, Gabriel started pumping him slowly while his lips attacked Josh’s neck. 

I almost whimpered too. 

Josh’s eyes suddenly opened again and he looked right into mine. Snap. Another high-pitched moan escaped his parted lips. I couldn’t stand it. I lowered the lens, only to see the swollen tip of his dick in the viewfinger, already glistening with precum. Snap. It was without a doubt the most obscene photo I had ever taken. 

“You really should come closer.” My eyes snapped back at the familiar sound and I saw Josh still watching me intently. My head was spinning. 

“I can’t,” I whispered, but my deceitful body already moved on its own. I slowly put the camera aside and placed my palms down on the mattress, clumsily and reluctantly. I almost touched Josh’s foot. 

“He’s been talking about that mouth for weeks.”

Gabriel’s words made the air in my lungs freeze. He continued stroking his lover’s dick all the way up and down and a few juicy profanities escaped Josh’s lips. It all seemed like a strange fever dream. My eyes started stinging with tears, although I couldn’t really explain why. It was all just overwhelming. “Did you… set me up?” I barely recognized my voice. There was hurt in it, but also something close to exhilaration. I realized I felt both. “You’re an asshole, Joshua Kiszka,” I whispered again, and he just closed his eyes and sighed.

“I guess… I, …am… but I swear, uh, we didn’t.” 

“So what is this?” I barked at Gabriel, suddenly full of fiery defiance. My blood ran hot with it. 

“I guess you would call it improvisation.”

Right…. RIGHT! 

So Josh wanted me to suck his dick. And his boyfriend was ready to watch. I was no stranger to kinky shit, so if they wanted to play with fire they’d better get ready. 

And god knows I really wanted to do that. To lick those shiny droplets off the slit… and then to choke on the size of him. 

Without any further ado, I reached for the hem of my tee and pulled it over my head, instantly flashing them with my bare tits. I rarely wear a bra, because I can confidently say that I don’t really need it. I hoped they would at least appreciate them for their natural beauty, but the way they both sucked in breath encouraged me even more. 

“Hold him,” I commanded Gabriel and immediately grinned at their vastly different reactions. Josh’s eyes popped out, but Gabe just grinned back with malicious glee.  

“Oh, ma donna, me likey.” He grabbed Josh by the elbows and pulled his arms back, while I stood up right on that mattress to pull my shorts and panties down. I almost lost my balance, but it was worth it. If they wanted me to actively participate in this beautiful filthiness, it shouldn’t be just a one sided spectacle. 

I quickly slid back down on my knees and playfully nudged at Josh’s knees to make him spread his legs a bit more for me. Why waste time? I licked a long stripe up his abdomen and chest before meeting his eyes up close this time. “So tell me, what were you imagining? I can do anything.”

For the second time in a few months, the cosmos raptured again, rendering this little blabbermouth speechless. I wasn’t interested in waiting for the reply anyway, already dying to have him in my mouth. “Just remember, both of you… ‘stop’ is the word. OK?” 

I wanted to be sure, because unlike them, I had nothing to lose. 

After getting the assurance, I slid further down and planted a soft kiss on his inner thigh before looking up for one last time. “Gabriel, do me a favor. Keep kissing his neck. I want him to lose his mind.” I was realistic enough to know that I couldn’t compete with the brunette in any way, time or space, so – already flattered by the sheer fact I had permission to make Josh feel good – I just wanted to make it unforgettable. 

With all my senses alert, I planted another kiss on the same spot as before and simultaneously wrapped my fingers around Josh’s balls to knead them gently. He emitted a soft sigh and his things shook a little. It was good, it was indeed very satisfactory indeed, but I wanted him to squirm and beg for more. At least for once. I moved my parted lips slowly up his thigh and Josh suddenly moaned right before I reached the desired destination, just before I felt him run his fingers through my hair. 

I tried to look up to confirm that Gabriel was no longer holding him. Instead he got back to rubbing and pinching his nipples. Good. I let go of Josh’s balls and sucked them in my mouth instead, relishing in the immediate, very vocal reaction. 

He smelled so good. Like dried apricots with whipped cream. My desire to taste all of him grew stronger, so I let go of the soft mass with a playful pop and let my flattened tongue slide all he was up from the base to his leaking head. I planted a soft kiss there before darting my tongue out to finally get a taste of that salty nectar.

I could feel his fingers tremble on my scalp, but nothing more. A lot of the guys I had been with would already push me down, but Josh was a true gentleman. I wanted to reward him for it, so I took him fully in my mouth until he hit the back of my throat. 

Josh cried out and his grip on my hair tightened. I loved it. Somewhere at the back of my head, I saw all three of us on that bed, with Josh sandwiched between us and completely at our mercy. Squirming and moaning with his eyes squeezed shut and his plump lower lips trembling. Too bad there was no one else to take the picture of it, because just the idea made me so wet I could feel it trickling down my thighs. 

It would be a shame to let it all go to waste, I thought. I’m not greedy, just a little vain. As I kept bobbing my head up and down, my vanity led my hand to reach down and scoop that juice on my fingers before I reached up to push them rather unceremoniously in Josh’s mouth. 

He understood immediately, wrapping his lips around them and sucking them deeper in. He was a natural, and for a split second I wished I had a dick. 

“Shit, I need more of this,” Josh breathed out when he finally let go. I was more than willing to oblige, but then I heard a groan and someone suddenly grabbed my wrist, making me look up. 

It was Gabriel, and I halted. Confused and worried, I let Josh’s cock slide from my mouth. I had completely forgotten about him and now I feared he may have had enough. “That’s not what he meant,” he said simply with that aloof grace that was both magnetic and intimidating. 

It took me a while to realize what was going on. I straightened up a bit because I felt like an idiot looking at them in confusion on all four. There was the hand again, caressing my cheek like it had done earlier that day. I searched Josh’s eyes for an answer and he just smiled, before he straightened up a bit as well and pulled me in his arms. 

I suddenly understood why their foreplay looked like a ballet. He was doing the same thing to me now, making me feel like a feather being blown around. Before I could make sense of it all, I was suddenly lying on my back with Josh hovering above me. “Remember, ‘stop’ is the word,” he repeated my previous words with a soft smile. I still didn’t understand, until I saw Gabriel behind him, already planting soft kisses on his back. “Darling… OK?” Josh repeated. 

“Ok,” I breathed out at last and closed my eyes. 

I shivered a bit when he started planting soft kisses along my clavicle, and then moving further down. The sensation was soft and steady at first, before his lips started to treble too just somewhere above my navel. 

Somewhere behind him, I heard a bottle cap pop. So this is what we were doing, I thought still in disbelief. I didn’t know why I suddenly felt so sentimental about it, but it all just felt so good. There was no way I’d ever tell them to stop. 

But Josh suddenly did, though he never really let go. He just rested his forehead against my inner thigh as his breath grew more and more heavy. I still didn’t dare open my eyes, still feeling a bit like an intruder, which was completely ridiculous as I lay there naked with Josh between my legs. His labored exhales slowly turned to moans and soon I heard another voice join him. 

It made me feel completely lightheaded. 

The hand ran down my thigh now, all the way down from my knee to my left buttock where he stopped and squeezed my flesh gently in a silent query. I could only nod. 

His next kiss made me gasp. I knew it was coming, but it still felt too good to be true. He started with hesitant catlike licks, so I made sure to let him know with my next exhale how wonderful it felt. Fuck, I had never felt so sentimental about having my pussy eaten before. 

I finally dared to open my eyes only to see his own peeking at me from under the mass of messy curls. He raised his eyebrows just a tad. Another silent question. Yes, I yearned for more of this from him and I brushed my fingertips gently over his forehead, hoping that was a good enough answer because I momentarily forgot how to speak. Josh closed his eyes and finally sucked my clit in his mouth. Behind him, Gabriel hovered over both of us with his head tilted back and his mind lost somewhere in his own growing pleasure. 

Soon I was grasping at the sheets around me and arching my back as the room kept rocking and spinning. 

Josh came first, briefly pausing so as not to hurt me. He let out a strangled cry and just his hot breath on my pussy was almost enough to send me over the edge as well. 

“Josh, please…,” I found my voice again. “I don’t care if you bite me, just…”

Just. He had just enough time to envelop my bud with his lips and send waves of delightful spasms though my whole body before his own started to shake as Gabe quickened his pace. 

As soon as I came back to Earth, I briefly looked around, only to see that a small stool with my camera on it was just within my reach, so I got a devilish idea. Snap. 

I caught it this time. The most obscene photo I had ever taken.

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