✨ elle the space unicorn 🦄

Knowing that Chaz is hoping to start an argument, Mike tries to keep his focus on the laptop. The rents around the city are atrocious, but it might be worth getting a tiny studio just to get away from this. It's way too soon to ask to move in with you, and that's assuming your place has room for him.

That you still want to be with him. Mike's not used to relationships, sure, but does it normally take this long to have sex? Is he not doing enough? Are you embarrassed to be seen with him? Is it because he's not an exec? Not making the big money?

No, that doesn't track with what he knows about you. You're honest. If you weren't having fun, if you weren't actually interested, you'd tell him outright. And besides, in a relationship sex isn't the end goal, right? He can wait. Be mature. Especially for you.

Stressing over dates isn't something you're used to. It had become so routine to show up, be disappointed, and just head home. But with Mike, it was so delightfully different. It's been so long since you went on a date with someone interested in you.

That's probably why you've been putting off sex for so long.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you eye every single flaw. Every stretch mark, wrinkle, grey hair, chin hair. Your breasts sag more and more each year. You gave up shaving your pubic hair, even just to trim, because you knew no man would ever want to see it anyway.

You can already picture Mike's disappointment, maybe even revulsion, should he see you.

But that doesn't play well with what you already know about him. He's so sweet, especially towards you. He could have been an ass like his brother, but he's really found his place as a charismatic, charming, kind young man.

Those thoughts can't quiet the negative voice in your head saying he'll turn into just another disappointment once he sees you naked.

Tonight is the first date with Mike that doesn't take you both to the club that caters to people of your age difference. You're actually going to be out amongst people significantly less likely to be tolerant of your relationship. Sure, there's been a lot of progress in accepting older women with younger men, but societal norms like this are slow to change.

When you exit your building, Mike runs out of the car to open up the passenger side for you, smiling brightly. His enthusiasm and gentlemanly behavior make you giggle in a way you haven't for decades.

"Thank you, so much," you beam at him as you get into the car.

Running back to the driver's seat, Mike sits back down and leans in for a kiss that you're happy to give.

"You're such a good kisser," you purr, making him blush.

As he drives, the two of you chat about various topics. You're especially interested in how his apartment hunt is going. What little he's told you about his current living situation has you worried about him. But with his new job, he's got proof of income and that dramatically increases his options for a new apartment. Every time he talks about his progress you make sure to praise him in the same ways you wish someone had for you when you were figuring out the world. It's been a while since you were in a relationship but you still know how to be a supportive girlfriend.

Mike finds a decent parking spot and insists on you waiting for him to open your door before you get out, making you smile, even if you feel a little shy from the attention.

"Thanks for not minding that the place isn't fancy," he blushes as he opens the door to the restaurant for you.

"It's not a problem. I don't care for fancy places, anyway. They always overcharge for such tiny pieces of food."

"Right?! And you're always hungry afterwards!"

"Exactly! Best to get a cheaper meal that's actually filling."

The two of you keep chatting as you find a table. It's such a different environment for your dates and you're doing your best to not pay attention to others in the restaurant. Focusing on Mike, you try to make yourself as openly affectionate as you are when you know people aren't judging.

Mike absolutely soaks up the attention and affection. It helps him fight that little voice telling him you're not as interested in him as he had hoped. Especially as, throughout the night, you're inching your chair closer and closer to him. It's subconscious for you, wanting to be physically close to him. He's so warm, attentive, and you've been missing that. By the time your food arrives, you're close enough to be touching elbows.

A few times you couldn't help but look around, it was relieving to see how few people were looking at you and Mike. The one or two that were seemed more impressed than judgy or disapproving. It really helps you to relax and Mike picks up on it.

"You're really happy with me, aren't you?" he beams.

"Of course I am. You're not just cute, you're sweet, intelligent and, most importantly, patient with me."

"I gotta admit, I've been worried you were losing interest."

"Oh?" you blink a few times in surprise. Then it hits you. "Oh. Because I haven't let it go past making out?"

Mike blushes, "yeah. But that' just because I've never really been in a relationship. I don't know how it's supposed to go, you know?"

"If it helps, I've been wanting to drag into bed," you confess and Mike perks up. "I'm curious to see what you can do. But I'm also scared of what you'll think of me."

"Wait, you think you're not sexy?" he gapes.

"I'm able to hide a lot of flaws with my clothes," you shrug.

He thinks for a moment before scooting close, wrapping an arm around your waist and looking deep into your eyes.

"You need me to be patient, I get that. But when you're ready, I can promise you I will be full of compliments and eager to show you what I can do to that gorgeous body of yours."

"Oh," you blink, cheeks heating up. "Oh, you're good."

"Just wait and see," he winks.

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Knowing that Chaz is hoping to start an argument, Mike tries to keep his focus on the laptop. The rents around the city are atrocious, but it might be worth getting a tiny studio just to get away from this. It's way too soon to ask to move in with you, and that's assuming your place has room for him.

That you still want to be with him. Mike's not used to relationships, sure, but does it normally take this long to have sex? Is he not doing enough? Are you embarrassed to be seen with him? Is it because he's not an exec? Not making the big money?

No, that doesn't track with what he knows about you. You're honest. If you weren't having fun, if you weren't actually interested, you'd tell him outright. And besides, in a relationship sex isn't the end goal, right? He can wait. Be mature. Especially for you.

Stressing over dates isn't something you're used to. It had become so routine to show up, be disappointed, and just head home. But with Mike, it was so delightfully different. It's been so long since you went on a date with someone interested in you.

That's probably why you've been putting off sex for so long.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you eye every single flaw. Every stretch mark, wrinkle, grey hair, chin hair. Your breasts sag more and more each year. You gave up shaving your pubic hair, even just to trim, because you knew no man would ever want to see it anyway.

You can already picture Mike's disappointment, maybe even revulsion, should he see you.

But that doesn't play well with what you already know about him. He's so sweet, especially towards you. He could have been an ass like his brother, but he's really found his place as a charismatic, charming, kind young man.

Those thoughts can't quiet the negative voice in your head saying he'll turn into just another disappointment once he sees you naked.

Tonight is the first date with Mike that doesn't take you both to the club that caters to people of your age difference. You're actually going to be out amongst people significantly less likely to be tolerant of your relationship. Sure, there's been a lot of progress in accepting older women with younger men, but societal norms like this are slow to change.

When you exit your building, Mike runs out of the car to open up the passenger side for you, smiling brightly. His enthusiasm and gentlemanly behavior make you giggle in a way you haven't for decades.

"Thank you, so much," you beam at him as you get into the car.

Running back to the driver's seat, Mike sits back down and leans in for a kiss that you're happy to give.

"You're such a good kisser," you purr, making him blush.

As he drives, the two of you chat about various topics. You're especially interested in how his apartment hunt is going. What little he's told you about his current living situation has you worried about him. But with his new job, he's got proof of income and that dramatically increases his options for a new apartment. Every time he talks about his progress you make sure to praise him in the same ways you wish someone had for you when you were figuring out the world. It's been a while since you were in a relationship but you still know how to be a supportive girlfriend.

Mike finds a decent parking spot and insists on you waiting for him to open your door before you get out, making you smile, even if you feel a little shy from the attention.

"Thanks for not minding that the place isn't fancy," he blushes as he opens the door to the restaurant for you.

"It's not a problem. I don't care for fancy places, anyway. They always overcharge for such tiny pieces of food."

"Right?! And you're always hungry afterwards!"

"Exactly! Best to get a cheaper meal that's actually filling."

The two of you keep chatting as you find a table. It's such a different environment for your dates and you're doing your best to not pay attention to others in the restaurant. Focusing on Mike, you try to make yourself as openly affectionate as you are when you know people aren't judging.

Mike absolutely soaks up the attention and affection. It helps him fight that little voice telling him you're not as interested in him as he had hoped. Especially as, throughout the night, you're inching your chair closer and closer to him. It's subconscious for you, wanting to be physically close to him. He's so warm, attentive, and you've been missing that. By the time your food arrives, you're close enough to be touching elbows.

A few times you couldn't help but look around, it was relieving to see how few people were looking at you and Mike. The one or two that were seemed more impressed than judgy or disapproving. It really helps you to relax and Mike picks up on it.

"You're really happy with me, aren't you?" he beams.

"Of course I am. You're not just cute, you're sweet, intelligent and, most importantly, patient with me."

"I gotta admit, I've been worried you were losing interest."

"Oh?" you blink a few times in surprise. Then it hits you. "Oh. Because I haven't let it go past making out?"

Mike blushes, "yeah. But that' just because I've never really been in a relationship. I don't know how it's supposed to go, you know?"

"If it helps, I've been wanting to drag into bed," you confess and Mike perks up. "I'm curious to see what you can do. But I'm also scared of what you'll think of me."

"Wait, you think you're not sexy?" he gapes.

"I'm able to hide a lot of flaws with my clothes," you shrug.

He thinks for a moment before scooting close, wrapping an arm around your waist and looking deep into your eyes.

"You need me to be patient, I get that. But when you're ready, I can promise you I will be full of compliments and eager to show you what I can do to that gorgeous body of yours."

"Oh," you blink, cheeks heating up. "Oh, you're good."

"Just wait and see," he winks.

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"Now head out before I call my assistant. Gotta figure out what this payment to the flower shop is all about."

"Oh, it was Valentine's this weekend," Mike explains. "Doesn't she normally get Mom flowers for you?"

Dad blinks a few times. "It was Valentine's already? Huh. Feels like it comes by earlier and earlier each year."

He shakes his head and motions for Mike to leave his home office.

Out in the living area of the penthouse, Mike spies a giant bundle of fresh flowers in the garbage. Mom must've already gotten in her social media photos showing them off and bragging. All the stuff she needs to make people think she's living her best life.

She walks up to him, glass of wine in her hand. "So, you think you're better than me and your brother?"

"What?"

"Going out on your own? Getting a real job instead of the job your father gets for you? You think you're better than us?" she seethes.

"No, of course not," he shakes his head, not making eye contact. Eye contact with Mom is taken as a challenge by her.

She huffs. "Damn right you're not. Won't be long before you're begging him for spending money like the rest of us. Debasing yourself for the bare minimum of attention. Losing yourself to his control over you."

Mike doesn't answer, just keeps his head down. This time of year is always tricky with her. Best to keep quiet and let her rant until she finds another target or needs to refill her wine.

When she finally slogs off for her next bottle, Mike hurries to his room. He really should have moved out already but he's gotta get the funds. Maybe someday he can move in with his Boss Lady. The thought makes him smile. But first, he's gotta get ready for their first date!

First date jitters were something you haven't experienced in such a long time. And certainly not to such an extreme. Not only is it a potential new relationship, but it's the first time you're with someone significantly younger.

What if you're a disappointment? You've never been any guy's first choice, why would that change with Mike?

Well, at least you and Mike have gotten to know each other a little bit before trying to date. That's something, right?

The two of you agreed to go to the same club where Maggie had taken you previously. It was an attempt to not feel so out of place, to know that you weren't getting disapproving looks and the like. Plus, you asked Maggie if she was willing to be at the club in case something went wrong. Sure, Mike acts like such a sweet puppy, but you still need to be careful.

Sitting at the table and waiting for him gives you even more time to contemplate how many ways you can screw this up.

You're startled out of your thoughts by a small bouquet of gladiolas.

"Hi! I remember you saying how much you love gladiolas, but also that you're allergic to them so I got you some fake ones! I hope that's okay."

"I love them," you answer truthfully, beaming at the beautiful bouquet. It's incredible that, with just one gift, Mike shows that he's paying attention to your wants and needs. You're not sure you've had that before. At least not without expressly saying what it is you were wanting.

Mike sighs in relief before sitting across from you.

You lean forward a little, resting your elbows on the table and notice how his eyes are immediately drawn to your breasts. He catches himself and sheepishly looks into your eyes, gently biting his lower lip.

Trying to hide how much the look affected you, you smirk, "I think it's important we set up some...boundaries? Expectations? We work in the same building and it wasn't that long ago I was your boss. I want to be sure we're not breaking rules or getting either of us in trouble."

"Okay, yeah, that makes sense," he nods. He looks like he's scared he's already doing things wrong. Something you can truly relate to.

You gently take his hand. "It's okay," you coo. "We're both a little out of our depth here and that's why I want to make sure we're careful. Don't want to trip over a divot we could've seen coming."

Mike blushes a little at the touch. "I get it, I promise!"

"Thank you for that," you smile at him.

Truly you are grateful. How many men have bulldozed over your concerns? Called you frigid because you wanted boundaries? Demanded you make them your priority and never expect them to do the same for you?

"And I need you to know that you have agency here, too," you encourage. "It's not just me setting boundaries for the office, it's you as well. It's not just me getting my needs met, it's you too. You're allowed to tell me if you feel like I'm not giving you enough attention, or too much. If one of my boundaries or requests isn't fair to you."

Mike looks like he could cry. "I understand. And thank you! I've never really done the relationship thing before so I'm glad I've got you helping, leading the way and all that."

The next hour or so is spent talking, drinking a bit and snacking. Mike is eager to show off by regularly going to fetch you refills and you let yourself admire his posterior before he disappears into the crowd.

You're also not sure how it happened, but you find yourself sitting closer and closer to him, your chair moving inch by inch. Probably his chair as well, given how you're both placed now. The proximity is comforting, relaxing, safe. You even let yourself touch his arm more often, occasionally his leg. He leans into your touch when caress his cheek. You make sure to remind him he can tell you "no" at any time. He doesn't think he ever will.

By the time you're ready to call it a night, you make sure to make plans to meet up again. He looks like he wants to kiss you goodnight, but isn't sure how or if it would be appropriate. So you help him out by bringing him in for a deep, heated, passionate kiss like you've always wanted.

When you let go, he's got a dazed, but happy look on his face that makes you feel so damn sexy.

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You’re dressed in your usual style: your favorite Joan Jett shirt with the sleeves cut off, a denim jacket, a pair of figure-hugging black jeans, and a pair of Doc Martens boots. While normally you walk around with a sense of power, tonight was different.

A chill in the air makes you wrap your arms around yourself. You step off the curb into a dirty puddle, crossing the street after looking both ways. With your hand on the bar door, you pull it open and step inside.

The smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke hits your nostrils as the door closes behind you. A dozen heads turn to you, and your heart pounds. You look across the dimly lit room and notice one person who hasn’t paid you any attention, sitting on a stool at the L-shaped bar. You walk up and sit on a stool, a couple of seats away from the large man.

While you wait for the bartender to attend to you, you peek at the behemoth that sits near you. Wild, dark hair that comes to a point on each side, bushy sideburns, and a non-connecting beard outline his face. A white tank top stretches across his wide, thick frame. Bulbous, sweaty biceps glisten in the glow of the lights behind the bar. Hairy, veiny forearms lead down to strong hands: one grips around a lowball of amber liquid so tight that his knuckles are white, and the other balances a fat cigar between two fingers.

“Take a picture, bub, it’ll last longer,” the stranger says, letting out a plume of smoke from his chapped lips before turning his tidepool blue eyes on you.

After a few seconds that feel like minutes, you’re finally able to turn around and look away, mumbling an apology. You can still feel his eyes on you for a bit before he turns back to his drink and his solitude.

Your eyes shoot up once the bartender knocks on the bartop in front of you. “What’ll you have?”

“Uh, yeah. Moosehead and a shot of J.P. Wiser’s,” you reply, unsurprised when the bartender raises a brow at you. He then shrugs, cracks open a bottle of lager, and sets it in front of you. Grabbing a shot glass, he pours you a bit of the blended whiskey.

As soon as the light golden liquor is pushed toward you, you lift it and inhale the vanilla aroma. Tossing it back, the taste of licorice and cinnamon cascades over your tongue and down your throat. You exhale the burn and turn your attention to your lager.

You notice the murmurs behind you. A chair is pushed away from a table, and heavy boots are walking up behind you. A strong hand lands on your shoulder, and you freeze. “Hey, doll. Can I buy you a drink?”

You hold up your beer and decline, “I’m fine, honey.”

“Aw, come on. Just one drink. Promise I don’t bite, ‘less you want me to,” the source of the voice laughs, coming around to lean on the bar between you and the cigar-smoking stranger, his bald head glistening in the low light as he strokes his long, scraggly beard. His beer belly is barely contained in a Limp Bizkit shirt. This man is a walking red flag, and you roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Look, pal. Let me enjoy the drink I have, ok? This is my one fucking night off this week, and I’m not in the mood to let you ruin it with any of your shitty pick-up lines or the promise of hanging out with you and the rest of the rejects from Sons of Anarchy, got it?” You surprised yourself by bellowing these words to a stranger, one who could probably benchpress you with ease.

You flinch as his expression turns dark and he raises a hand. “You stuck-up little bitch, I ought to—”

The cigar-smoking stranger interrupts, seizing him by the throat and lifting him effortlessly off the ground as if he were a mere feather. While holding him aloft with one hand, the other hand balls into a fist while sharp blades appear from his knuckles.

He’s a mutant! You’d never seen anyone use their abilities up close, but now a man with incredible strength and metal claws is gallantly defending your honor.

“I think the lady has everything she needs, so why don’t you and your little friends scurry along before I get really angry and carve you up in front of everyone, eh?”

The sound of a pump-action shotgun being cocked has every head whipping to the bartender. “Get out of my bar, freak!”

The mutant simply turns and deposits the asshole on the ground in a crumpled mess. Blowing another puff of smoke into the ceiling, he throws back the rest of his drink before grabbing a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar and walking out. Halfway to the door, he turns to you and asks, “You coming or what, bub?”

You couldn’t scramble off your stool quick enough after he challenged you to follow him. Stepping over the man left on the floor, you scurry after your mutant savior. Once back in the night air, you look over as he stuffs the bottle into the storage of his Harley-Davidson. As he swings his leg over the bike and settles into the seat, you can't help but notice the bike sagging under his weight, as if he weighs a ton.

He turns back to his storage, taking out a helmet and holding it out to you. You’ve seen enough movies to know that riding with a stranger is a dumb idea. However, if that mysterious stranger happens to be attractive and cruising on a Harley, who could resist the allure of a thrilling adventure?

Taking the helmet, you pull it down over your head and lift a leg to get onto the bike behind him. As he turns the key, you clench your thighs at the vibration and wrap your arms around his waist.

“You don’t have to hold me so tight,” he informs.

“Oh, this isn’t tight," you remark, suddenly realizing that you don't know what to call this man. You offer your name, and he repeats it before giving his own.

“The name’s Logan.” He drops his cigar butt on the asphalt and stubs it out with his boot before putting up the kickstand and backing out of the parking spot. He revs the engine, and you are off on your way to wherever Logan wants to take you.

The drive is smooth, the city whizzing past you as Logan speeds down the highway. You end up at a garage that houses a few more Harleys in various states of repair. Logan puts the kickstand down and lets you get off the bike first. He watches as you take off the helmet and look around at where he’s taken you.

Exiting the bike, he takes the helmet when you hold it out to him. You don’t miss the way his fingers lingered on yours for a beat. He takes the bottle out of his bike pack and takes a hefty swig, then hands it to you.

You read the label, ‘Forty Creek Confederation Oak’, and put the bottle to your lips. Tipping it, you are delighted to taste the honey flavor. Handing him the bottle, you hold the liquor in your mouth until it starts to burn, and then you swallow and exhale the nutty finish.

He appears to be quite taken aback that you managed to drink without gagging, and his intrigue deepens as you begin to move closer into his personal space. The warmth in your chest from the alcohol has you feeling full and content. The heat coming off of his body as you stand close enough to breathe in his air has you feeling something completely overwhelming: pheromone-induced arousal.

Your libido is making itself known as you watch him watch you. Unable to stop your hands, they find themselves smoothing up his tank-covered torso until you tug at the collar. He gets the hint and sets the bottle down before removing his shirt.

You encounter a soft, furry chest that invites you to sink your fingers into its warmth. Tightening your digits in the hair on his pretty pecs, you revel in the growl he makes. He then levels the playing field, grabbing you by the nape of the neck with one large paw and bringing your face to his.

As you part your lips, a soft whimper slips out, unable to be contained, while he teasingly brushes his tongue against your lower lip. Growling again, he dips further to slot your mouth with his. He devours the moans that come out of you as he grabs a handful of your ass, chuckling into the kiss as you let him take the lead. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you feel drunk on his whiskey-laden kiss.

Breaking the kiss, he pushes down on your shoulders until you are kneeling at his feet. You start to unfasten his tight-fitting jeans, but he swats your hands away.

“Not yet, bub,” he warns. “I wanna try something.”

With that, he has you pass him the bottle. He takes a drink and then holds your cheek against his denim-covered cock. You can sense that he’s packing quite a surprise down there, and you’re eagerly anticipating the moment it’s unleashed.

“Eyes on me,” he commands.

You watch as he takes the bottle and pours about a shot’s worth of liquor over his chest. Watching as the liquid washes over him, you are more than eager to taste it directly from his skin. After you’ve cleaned his chest of all traces, he takes another drink. This time, he holds your face by the jaw and leans down, spitting the whiskey directly into your mouth.

You gulp it down eagerly, on the verge of pleading for another sip, when he scoops you up from the ground and twirls you around, positioning you over the bike you arrived on. He yanks down your jeans, your panties going with them. He lands a slap on each cheek before you hear him unzip his pants and feel his heavy dick teasing your clit.

He kicks your legs open further, pulls your denim jacket off, and lines himself up with your soaked entrance. Sliding in, he hisses at the heat of your tightness. You whine at his girth, stretching you more than any other cock you’ve ever taken. Once he bottoms out, the tip kisses your cervix, and his hairy ball sac rests against your puffy pussy. He pauses to let you get used to his size, but as he continues to take his time, it seems he is just tormenting you.

“Logan, please. Need you to move,” you plead, wiggling your hips to get any kind of friction.

You don’t see the toothy grin that covers his face, but you know by the way he tightens his grip on your hips that he is about to fuck you ten ways from Sunday.

Gradually withdrawing his hips, he eases out until only the tip of his shaft stays nestled within you, and then he thrusts back in with force. Doing it again, and then again, he pauses after each thrust to tease you. But on the third plunge, he doesn’t stop; he just keeps driving into you.

The rhythmic sounds of your sweat-soaked skin colliding form a captivating tune, harmonizing with the slick, squelching rhythm of his thrusts deep inside you. Coupled with Logan's deep, primal growls and your breathy moans, it creates an intoxicating symphony of desire.

You sense one of his hands sliding away from your hip, pushing your top up your back, and then a sharp SNIKT! pierces the air. You almost turn to inquire where the sound came from, but you soon feel something razor-sharp and hot to the touch sliding down your back. Once you realize that he’s touching you with his claws, you’re overcome with arousal, and your walls flutter around him. He fucks you through your orgasm and retracts his claws.

He slows his hips, pulling out and moving you both over to a nearby armchair. Sitting down first, he crooks a finger at you, and you remove your jeans and boots before straddling his hips. As you lower yourself onto him, you feel him fill you once more, the sensation overwhelming as you settle in.

You close your eyes and begin to ride him slower than before. Before you know it, you feel hot steel, or what you assume to be steel, at your neck and open your eyes to see his fist a few inches from your face. The claws, held within a millimeter of your jugular, glide across your skin.

“Hey, bub? You gonna keep pussyfooting around, or are you gonna ride this cock like the good little slut I know you are?” He asks, his pupils dilated until there is barely any blue left.

Your mouth opens and closes, but there is no sound coming out besides whimpers of fear that he might push those claws through your neck. Honestly, it added an extra little something to the experience, feeling that he might cut you at any moment.

The claws disappear back into the skin between his knuckles, and instead, he wraps a hand around your neck, guiding you to ride his length exactly as he wants. Your hands hold his thick wrist as you impale yourself over and over again.

“That’s it. Ride my cock just like that,” he praises, sticking two fingers in your mouth that you gluttonously suck. He locks his gaze on yours while you reach another peak of pleasure, your inner walls tightening around him as you release a wave of warmth that cascades down his length and between his legs.

When you threaten to slow down, he fucks into you, chasing his release. At this point, you are drooling over his fingers and looking like the fucked-out little doll that you are. You can tell that he is close as his hips stutter and his brows furrow as he removes his fingers from your mouth.

“Come inside me, Logan. Want it, need it so bad,” you beg, moving your hips as he drives into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. He lets out a throaty growl and buries himself to the hilt inside of you. Feeling him twitch inside you, rope after rope of his cum painting your cervix, you reach back and play with his balls.

It’s minutes before his cock softens enough to slip out of you, and you rest your head on his chest as his jizz drips from your thoroughly used hole. To your astonishment, his hand rises to gently stroke your back while you find yourself gripping his chest hair.

Little did you know, this was only round one with the big lug. He’ll let you get some shut-eye for now, but later? He’d like to fuck you on every available surface in his garage. And what he wants, he always gets.

A/N: I intentionally used a line from the X-Men (2000), but then failed at “Chekov’s Gun” sort of. But this story only has two acts. So, fuck Chekov. I hope you all enjoyed my little fuckfest here, and please do let me know what you thought!! Writers are fed by comments!

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