౨ৎ bambii ౨ৎ

Tensions in the safe house have boiled to a breaking point, ca't go anywhere without someone being at his throat and so, in a huff, and typical Adler fashion, he opted to go off the grid for a while and to blow off some steam by having a drink.

As he walks through the door, he stills at the sight, hand still holding the door open, the summer breeze blowing hot as he stands and stares at the body blocking the, usually, empty screen of the arcade machine. His fingertips curl into a fist, and he steps forward, intrigue taking over him as he approaches you.

From over your shoulder, he sees you jamming the buttons with a hunger in your eyes. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he cranes his neck and calls out, 'Give the robot some time to breath.'

You turn to look at him briefly, apples of your cheeks blooming as you offer him an anxious grin. He feels like he's been struck in the chest, absent-mindedly scanning the room for cupid. With one final mash of the buttons, your opponent lay dead on the floor, and the words 'K.O.' flash up on the screen.

While you're distracted, he observes you and how you're dressed, having opted more for comfort over style; your jeans are washed out, and your sneakers are slightly beaten up. The hoodie you're wearing looks to be about as old as he is, but you pull it off and you pull it off well.

When his eyes meet your face, he realises you're looking at him, face beaming red. 'Oh, uh, sorry, mister, would you like a go on the machine?'

He chuckles and shakes his head, 'No, kid, I think I'm alright... Just never seen anyone playing that thing before.'

'Oh, uh, yeah,' you say, glancing over your shoulder. Behind you, there's a group of girls and, unlike you, their hair is crimped, wearing vibrant dresses, squealing with one another as they tilt their heads back to down the shots in their hands. You take hold of your wrist, looking down at your shoes. 'I'm here with friends... just, this isn't really my thing.'

He hums, taking a step forward, asking, 'Well, what is your thing kid?' He looks back at the arcade machine, 'Video games?'

'And comics,' you say tightly, sounding embarrassed. 'They said that I'd forget about all that if I came with them, but I think the only people who have forgotten anything is them.'

His lips drew together and he shakes his head, 'How about I buy you a drink?'

Immediately, you shake your head, 'Oh, no, no, I really couldn't accept something like that; it's expensive--'

'Hardly,' he says with a laugh, 'C'mon, I won't keep you from your game for long, just don't want you to spend the whole night alone.'

Much to his surprise, you accept his offer and walk with him to the bar. As you walk beside him, he takes note of your height -- you're much taller than most of the girls he's seen since being back in the city, and from the way you carry yourself, frigid and timid, he imagines that quite a few comments concerning your height have been made at your expense.

You take a seat at the bar beside him, asking for a mocktail while he orders a glass of whiskey, slipping the bartender a twenty dollar bill, uncaring for the change as he turns to face you.

'You not a big drinker?'

'No, sir,' you say, shaking your head, 'My friends are though.'

'I wouldn't say they're your friends,' he says, looking back over at the girls sitting the booth, 'More like associates -- and that's me being kind.'

You sigh, following his eyes. 'I guess,' you say with a shrug, 'I just thought it'd be a good way to make some new friends, but none of them really share the same interests as me. They keep calling me a boy.'

Adler pushes your drink to you as the bartender places it down, 'Fuck 'em.' You gasp, hand covering your mouth. 'Seriously, kid, you got more personality than all of them, I can tell you that just from looking at them.'

'Do you like comics?'

'I did when I was younger,' he says, downing his drink, 'Read a lot of the Fantastic Four when I was a teenager but fell off them when I joined the army.'

You beam at this information, taking a sip from your drink, leaning in slightly as you ask, 'You're in the army?'

'Was,' he says, 'Felt like I was too old to be reading anything like that when I joined.'

'You're never, ever too old for anything like that -- I have a lot of comics back at my apartment, if we see each other again, I'll make sure to bring you some.'

You're grinning ear to ear and his heart is nearly thudding out of his chest at the proposition of meeting you again. He too smiles, eyes creasing as he hums, 'I'd like that.'

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There's no evidence of tension in the safe house but he still slips into the shadows in his typical fashion, having sprayed an extra spurt of his cologne on, tucked inside the inner pocket of his coat as comic book you'd given him the last time the pair of you met.

It's been a couple months since the pair of you met at the bar and he's been spending less time at the safe house, thoughts entirely consumed by the thought of you.

You called him on the phone earlier this morning, asking if he would like to come to your apartment; you said you were planning on picking up a copy of Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back on VHS from the local Blockbuster, and was wondering if he would like to watch it with you.

Hell, he's never been dressed and out the door as quickly as he has when he got that phone call and before he knows it, he's back in the city and driving to your apartment.

The pair of you have been on what you call 'hang outs' and what he, inwardly, calls 'dates', although for the first time in his life, he's behaving himself because, for the first time in his life, he's found someone who he actually cares about.

After stopping at a local pizza joint to pick up your favourite and some ice cream, he's at your apartment in the blink of an eye and you're standing outside, waiting for him. When your eyes meet, you're looking back down at your shoes, toying with the sleeve of the sweater he gave you after one of your hang outs.

It fits you nice, if not still a little bit too long as it stops at the middle of your thighs and you step forward, hands out to take something off him. 'You got pizza?'

'Your favourite,' he says with a wink, 'Got some ice cream too for the movie.'

'You're the best,' you beam, 'Give me something to carry.'

'I'm fine, kid,' he says, 'You just hold the door for me; I don't want to get covered in ice cream.'

You nod, turning away from him and he follows behind you, eyes still training on his sweater on you, wishing he had a camera so he could savour that moment forever. Unfortunately, he's only got his eyes and he's making good use of them.

'I see you like my sweater.'

Pinching the edges of it, you look down, 'O- Oh, uh, I- I haven't done my washing and I saw it and just threw it on, do you want it back?'

'No,' he says, 'Keep it; looks good on you.'

Your eyes are anywhere but him as you mumble out, 'Thank you.'

He follows you upstairs to your apartment on the second floor of the building, noticing your hands shaking as you unlock the door. You walk in and he follows are you. Immediately, he's greeted by a small, quaint kitchen, the kitchen island which looks on the living room flooded with comic books and a few unboxed figurines.

On the fridge to his right, there are magnets from various different TV shows and cartoons -- the place is cluttered, but clean. Smells like vanilla cookies, and it's warm.

For the first time in his life, he feels at home.

Moving into the living room, he finally allows you to take the pizza box and ice cream as you set the pizza down onto the coffee table, mumbling about how you're going to put the ice cream in the freezer before it melts. He shrugs off his jacket, laying it down onto the arm of the sofa.

'Did you read the comic I gave you?'

'I did,' he answers, 'Enjoyed it... Do you have the next part?'

The freezer door closes with a slam as you turn to him, smiling, 'I do! Come with me.'

You push open on of the doors beside the sofa, and the pair of you step into your bedroom. He's rendered almost breathless at the sight of the space which is so wholly you -- the girl he's been smitten with since seeing you in the bar that night.

The walls are plastered with movie posters, drawings of action figures, your bed is loaded with plushes, and the bookshelf sitting beside your room is full of books and comic books.

You motion towards your bed, 'You can sit down if you want; it's gonna take me a minute to find the next part... got so many of them.'

He takes a seat watching as you scour the bookshelf. 'Your bedrooms nice,' he says, looking around, 'Never seen something that screams you as much as this place does.'

'Really?'

You turn back to him with the book in your hand, holding it out him. He takes it off you, setting it down beside him. You're standing in front of him and he takes hold of your wrist, drawing you nearer to him. He's looking at you, feels like a damn teenager with a crush as he looks at you.

His hands arm clammy and his mouth is dry, he doesn't know what he wants to say, but he knows he wants to say something.

'I- I, uh, I like you a lot, Russell,' you say, eyes still unable to meet his. You wince at your own words. They seem to slip past your lips before you have a moment to rationalise just what you're saying.

He places his hand gently against your cheek. 'I like you a lot too, kid,' he answers.

You seem genuinely shocked at his words. 'Are you sure?'

He scoffs, taking your hand in his, 'Would I lie?' Well, yes. So, he adds, 'To you -- that is?'

Giggling, you shake your head. 'No,' you say, 'Sorry... I'm not very good at this romance thing or anything like that; I'm not used to someone actually liking me back.'

'And what did I tell you about people like that?'

You bite your bottom lip, eyes finally meeting his as you whisper, 'Fuck 'em.'

Standing up, his hand moves from your cheek to your chin. He tilts your head up slightly. 'Can I kiss you?'

'I don't think I'm a very good kisser,' you say, 'Are you sure?'

He swallows down the urge to tell you to shut up; your ramblings are charming and he takes a much softer approach as he quiets you by placing his lips against yours.

And with you against him and in your room surrounded by possibly every single comic book ever printed, he finally feels a home.

half-heartedly, you shove the money back in and make some awkward shrug of slipping your purse’s strap onto cardigan-clad shoulders. it's easy to cross the space to the door when you were already standing underneath the wooden awning next to it, feeling sorry for yourself. grabbing the handle with a brief glance toward the tilted 'pull' sign above it, your face scrunches at the realization that it's sticky and supposed to be pushed. what the fuck?

it was dimly lit inside, and smelled something of cigarette smoke, pinewood cleaner, and ethanol. no neon signs; just low-hanging overhead lights, placed strategically, giving the impression that the bar wasn't as gross as you had pictured initially. they just need to clean that door handle. you moved past tables and booths, out of place in your baby blues and dainty jewelry.

thighs to the cold foam barstool, you pulled down the hem of your dress in a graceless shimmy and put your purse in your lap. you were dressed a decade late to the party, something you'd find in a late 1960s magazine of doll-like women with glamorous, long eyelashes and big hair, covered in ribbons and bows with peter pan collars and mini-length dresses.

it was a decently short wait. you tap your nails on the counter and nervously drag the tip of your heel up your calf. a barely audible "something strong, please…" as you fished around for the only $10 bill you had. it was more than enough, though you still told the man to keep the change. the bill was crumpled with a small tear in it, and you couldn't look at the bartender as he unfolded it, only feeling soothed once he turned to put it in the register.

“cape cod.”

your eyes went wide, and you blinked slowly. cranberry juice, vodka, ice, and a sliced lime is a cape cod; what was in the glass before you was not even remotely close. there was no lime, the diluted pink color came from too little juice, and you were pretty sure this was more ice than vodka. "...thank you?" reaching for the glass was pointless. another hand appeared from behind to push it away with the civility to reject it for you.

"remake it, if you can." you hardly needed to turn around as the man who spoke made the move to sit at the stool beside yours. looking at him wasn't a priority; you didn't come for a great drink, why did he care? "you weren't gonna drink that, were you?"

with a small shrug, you muttered, "i mean, i don't know? i'm just looking to waste my cash."

"that's how pretty things get sick."

was he flirting? peeking at him, he was more handsome than you had visualized. nicely dressed, a bit older, and a scar that itched to be asked about. "what's your name?" he questioned. you tell him while throwing a brief smile at the bartender, who drops a properly made drink before you.

in exchange, he tells you his.

russell is easy to talk to, and makes you lose interest in your drink. he isn't strictly cagey with some of your questions, though it's evident that his personal life isn't to be discussed with a woman he just met in a local bar, no matter how pretty he thinks you are.

you, however, still opened up to him about yours with no hesitation, beginning with your reasons for leaving home and ending with why you were pissing away $10 on a $4 drink.

“i can pay the missing amount for your room.” russell interrupts to offer, taking a detached sip of his drink while looking away. you frowned, shaking your head. “why?” it was a soft question, half expecting him to tell you he wanted to hook up with you. would you even deny him?

“because i’m not from around here, either.”

the decline of his kindness, if it could be called that, doesn't even pass your mind as you easily accept.

following behind felt automatic. he took your hand as you stood, but let go relatively swiftly, walking ahead a step or two naturally. you didn't bother with trying to catch up. at least he was enough of a gentleman to hold the door open for you? russell's hand slid on the small of your back while guiding you toward his car in the parking lot, navy blue with dirt along the lower edges. it’s not much cooler outside than before, and when walking by, you glance at the stars and hearts you earlier made.

body weak with dread as he unlocked the doors, you hesitated as he opened the passenger side. "you're not gonna, like... murder me, right?" his lip curled in the slightest. "right." you answer your own question, pressing your lips together as you ducked and slid into the seat.

the drive took fifteen minutes, and he wasn't very chatty. the radio played music you'd never heard—personal cassettes from his console collection. you missed your vinyl collection, the records among many things left behind. the motel had two stories, with outdoor hallways; its only interior space was the lobby.

"are you getting your own room?" you ask as russell helps you out. fixing your dress, your heels click on cracked asphalt of the parking lot as you hurry to keep up with him. "do you want me to get my own room?" you start to answer, but it's clear your response would be a weak lie.

check-in was short and sweet, leaning on the wall while he filled out the necessary information and paid with a card, leading you back outside with only one room key.

the key ring on his middle finger, russell held your hand as you ascended the staircase and the rest of the walk to the door. he didn't unlock it as you assumed, instead staring at him as he took out a pack of cigarettes and started to light one, or at least attempted. “can i have one?” you quietly asked.

"can't hear you," he responded smoothly, struggling with the zippo. "speak up." russell's voice was harsher despite the obstruction of his cigarette hanging off his lips.

"can i have one?" you repeated, louder and avoiding the earlier hesitation. with perfect timing, too, watching him finally inhale and lean on the guardrail. you walk slowly and stand next to him, examining him with a softness you doubt he deserves. you put your hands on the railing as he leans into you, cradling your face, pointer and middle finger against your lips with the cigarette in between them. it takes a second to realize what he’s doing. you inhale and look up at him from under your lashes when the lightbulb goes off.

he pulls his hand back to give you the space to exhale. “let me finish this alone?" he asks, passing the key to you.

his words leave you feeling unexpectedly alone. he won’t go, right? you have your room—technically all you need—but the thought of departing makes you pause.

"you'll stay with me?"

unmoving, russell stays silent until offering a matter-of-fact "yeah." that doesn't help you feel very reassured. still, the idea of appearing desperate for his presence disturbed you enough that you outwardly let it go, except for leaving the key in the lock—maybe it'll remind him you want him to stay.

you do nothing after entering the room, standing briefly in front of the closed door after flicking the light on. the room is clean, a bit small, and has the usual amenities. you don't explore, opting to sit on the bed and wait. a man you met less than an hour ago was right outside the door, as you assumed and hoped, but you missed him.

a long five minutes pass of fidgeting and looking at the wall clock, before russell finally comes in and tosses the key onto the entryway side table as he approaches.

Adler whimpered at the sight, began begging for some release, and mumbled how good you were making him feel. His glasses were fogging up, and his face was only getting redder by the second. He kept staring at the door, hoping no one would come in, that no one would catch you both. You were his student, and he didn't want to lose his job for getting his dick sucked by his student.

Though he wouldn't lie, he had been fantasizing about you for a while. You were in grad school, far from naive or innocent. He was older and alone, but you happened to know more about his needs than he himself did. He was cornered by you one day, and the next, you were flirting with him about how well he smelled. You made sure to make your interest obvious. Adler struggled to accept it.

It didn't stop him from pulling his pants down for you when you asked him to, and it didn't stop him from letting you do what you wanted to him.

He let out a desperate gasp when you spat on his tip and dug his nail into the arms of his chair. He was so close, and you kept fucking with him.

"Please-" Adler gasped as he spilled all over your hand, some of it getting on your face. You licked what got on your hand off, but made sure that he got a taste too. You shoved your tongue into his mouth, Adler moaning into the kiss as you pushed his cum into his mouth.

Before he knew what to do, he was already tasting himself, and you were cleaning up. He groaned as he tried catching his breath and getting himself sorted before his next class.

"Let's do this again soon, ok?" You smiled at him before leaving the classroom. Adler was left to clean up the mess he had left on the floor and on his own clothes. Lucky for him, he always carried a second set just in case he stayed over to finish grading.