Forevermorekayley

Leather squeaks beneath your bare thighs, sweat-slick skin sticking to the thick material. A soft stream of cool air buzzes out of the AC, not doing much to fight against the humid spring air. 

It smells strongly of Kurt’s cologne, a smell you’ve grown so used to that you could pick it up out of a lineup if someone asked you to. Somewhere underneath the amber musk, you pick up a hint of mango. A sickly sweet artificial scent, no doubt from his vape, a habit you’ve been trying–and failing–to get him to kick. Every once in a while, when a breeze filters through the window, you get a hint of the coconut oil he’s been swiping through his hair, claiming it “helps it grow.” To you, it just makes him smell great and look greasy. A win-lose situation.

You’ve been doing this a lot recently. Just sitting in your driveway in Kurt’s car hours after hangouts, just enjoying each other's company. Sometimes you vent, sometimes you talk shit about whoever's bothering you, Kurt adding gas to the fire, no matter how little he cares about the subject matter. Now, you both just silently scroll on your phones, just relaxing in the comfort of each other's presence.

With a grunt, you click off your phone and gather the hair that’s plastering itself to your neck in your fist.

“Need a hair tie?” Kurt asks, already reaching into his center console. 

“Ugh, thank you. You’re the best,” you breathe out, watching him fish around the organized mess in search of one of the extra hair ties you’ve littered throughout his car.

He hands it to you with that goofy smile you’ve grown to adore over the years, teeth shining in the sunlight leaking through his tinted windows.

It’s always been this way between you two. Easy, simple. Even all the way back in middle school, when you had braces, and Kurt had thick, wired glasses that always seemed to slip down the bridge of his nose. More often than not, you think back to that day.

How anger pulsed through your veins when you saw your school's biggest asshole dumping the contents of Kurt’s lunch on the table, in front of everyone. How you dumped your own lunch all over the kid's head while screaming in his face, threatening to do even worse if he continues to harass a boy you didn’t even know.

You both were inseparable from then on. You’ve both been through each other's worst phases, seen things no one else has. Like your wannabe goth phase, filled with far too much eyeliner and outfits you claimed were ‘edgy’ when they really weren’t. You were there for the beginnings of Kurt’s gaming phase, and you’ve spent years watching it develop into more. Into passion.

It’s charming, really, how much thought he puts into his videos. How his eyes light up on the rare occasions he reaches double digits, how fast he starts to talk when he discusses his next idea with you. Although you can’t lie, sometimes it’s slightly annoying. 

Like, now, when for the past ten minutes he’s been refreshing his YouTube page on his phone and groaning when, surprise, surprise, the view count stays at nine. “I don’t fucking get what I’m doing wrong!” Kurt groans, throwing his hands up.

“What was the last thing you posted again?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning over to peek at his screen.

“The keyboard review video, remember? The one I told you about where the keys light up. It’s like, really popular right now.”

Slowly, you just blink at him, giving your best “really?” face. Because, really? Personally, you’ve never been scrolling the depths of YouTube in search of a keyboard unboxing video. Hoping he sees the subtle disappointment scrawled all over your face, you raise a brow.

“What?” He murmurs, lips parting. “Come on, what now?”

“Kurt, no one wants to watch you talk about a glowy keyboard. I’m sorry,” you say gently.

In response, he groans, running his fingers through his hair and dragging them down his face. “I’m telling you, dude, I should just go through with The Lesson. I genuinely think it’ll be my magnum opus. I’m serious!”

The Lesson.

It’s all Kurt talks about nowadays, nonstop. It was an idea that developed after your weekly horror movie binge filled with way too much Sprite and over-buttered popcorn. To him, it’s genius—a way to clickbait possible viewers and catapult himself into infamy. To you, it just sounds convoluted. And a little snuffy, if you’re honest.

Which you’re not afraid to tell him. Again.

“You gotta let that go! It’s like, weird.”

He pouts, hazel eyes almost pleading with you to hear him out. “Come on, it’s cool! Think of it like an indie slasher. You love those!”

“Okay, but you want people to think you’re actually killing people!”

Pausing for only a second, he shakes his head. “Only gullible people will actually believe it. Do you actually think people would believe I’d be able to get away with murder? Me? Of all people?” he questions, motioning to himself. “I’m too cute.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes so hard you’re shocked you haven’t gone blind. “Even if you go through with it, how are you planning to hire all those actors?” “I dunno, Craigslist.”

Fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose, you shake your head. “With what money, idiot? You already blew all your Spree tips on all these cameras,” you say, motioning to every single window of his vehicle. Frankly, it looks like the set of a bad porno.

He just breathes out in response, leaning his head back against the headrest, eyes focusing on nothing in particular. This angle gives you a perfect view of his side profile, something you’ve been noticing a lot more recently–the strong slope of his nose, the soft curve of his full lips. Those freckles you love so much, airbrushed over his tanned skin. 

Eyes trailing down, you swallow at the bump of his Adam’s Apple in his throat. Cheeks flush pink as you watch it bob. Once your mouth goes too dry, an idea cycles through the forefront of your mind. “Why don’t you like, post videos of you jerking off?” You murmur, looking down at your phone like it’s the most casual conversation in the world.

“What?!” Kurt sputters, a dusting of rose creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears. “That’s- You’re joking, right?” Clearing your throat, you carefully pull your face to be neutral, as if this topic doesn’t affect you. Like the mere thought of your best friend with his hand wrapped around his dick, his phone in hand, doesn’t absolutely drive you to madness. “No, I mean… People would probably pay for it. Some… Some people think you’re attractive. Own it, you know?”

“I- I can’t just post that! YouTube would take it down, literally immediately. Like, their fucking moderation is crazy.”

With a soft snort, you shake your head. “I mean, on PornHub or something.”

Just hearing the word “porn” on your lips leaves Kurt a blushing mess, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. Before he can argue, you cut him off quickly. “It’s views you want, yeah? That’s kinda a surefire way to get you views.”

“I don’t- I don’t wanna, sell my body to strangers, dude,” he murmurs, barely able to keep eye contact. 

“It’s not selling your body! It’s not like you’re posting to OnlyFans. I mean, you could if you want, I guess.”

“Absolutely not,” he huffs.

“Just a suggestion,” you shrug. “Personally, I’d rather make myself feel good for views instead of trying to convince people I’m a mass murderer.”

“Spree killer,” he mutters, correcting you.

“Whatever,” you laugh, turning back to your phone. 

Really, you’re not exactly sure why you pushed it so hard. It’s not like you’d actively search the trenches of PornHub to find his account. And it’s certainly not like you’re attracted to him, right? You can just simply point out how he might be…Pleasing to look at to others. Very pleasing.

While you think, you can just about hear the wheels turning in his head. A sort of silent understanding of him you’ve developed over time. 

“You really think people would watch it?” he murmurs. 

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug.

He sighs, like he’s genuinely considering this. You almost laugh at how deep this is to him, like he’s deciding whether or not to mortgage a home. “I don’t know how I feel about being a pornstar, though. Like, if it does go viral.”

At that, you can’t help but giggle. “Jerking off doesn’t really make you a pornstar. I think that title only applies if you have sex with other people and post it.”

Kurt’s silent for a little while, his eyes focused on the steering wheel where one hand is resting. Just as his silence begins to get concerning, you clear your throat. “You… Could do that, you know? Find someone down.”

His spine straightens, hazel eyes turning as wide as saucers. Somehow, if it's even humanely possible, his face gets even redder, the tips of his ears glowing under the setting sunlight peeking through the windows. “I- No, what? That’s-” He sputters, looking past your shoulder, not quite able to meet your eyes.

Raising your eyebrow, you drag your eyes up and down his body. “Why are you so weird about sex?”

It’s not like you haven’t discussed your own sex life before with him. And it’s not like he gets this weird and squirmy when you do. But for some reason, whenever you turn it around on him, he looks like a spooked kitten, wishing to dart under the nearest piece of furniture.

“I’m not! I’ve just…” He trails off, picking at his nails.

Suddenly, it dawns on you, your face dropping. “Kurt…” you murmur gently. “Are you a virgin?” His eyes widen, and he throws up his hands quicker than you’ve ever seen anyone do before. “No! I’ve had sex!” “How many times?”

That causes him to pause, to sink his teeth into his bottom lip. “Like…”

“Hm?” you urge when he trails off once again. “Twice,” he murmurs, finally building enough courage to meet your gaze.

“Oh.”

It’s really all you can manage. It’s not like you’re particularly promiscuous, but no one can argue that you’re not experienced. At this point in your life, you’ve just about lost count.

“But I watch, like, porn and stuff! I know what I’m doing,” he throws on, as if you were wondering.

If you’re honest, you kind of were.

Still, you laugh, shaking your head. “Kurt, you kinda sound like an incel right now.”

“I’m not an incel,” he groans, looking out the window.

Gently, you place your hand on his bicep. No matter how many times you’ve comforted him in this way, it always surprises you how… Sturdy, he seems. “I’m joking, dude, I promise.”

Slowly, his eyes settle on where your skin meets his. You can see the way his jaw ticks, the slow ascent of his eyes to yours. It seems like the idea settles in both your minds at the same time. It’s even more evident once he readjusts in his seat.

You say it anyway, just in case you’ve jumped to the wrong page in the same book. “What if we film together?”

His pink lips part, like he didn’t expect you actually to say it out loud. To actually throw the idea into the void. “You’re not… Seriously?”

With a nod, you take your hand away and lean back in your seat. “It’ll get you views. Lots of them, probably. I mean, I’m hot, right?” You joke, hoping to soften the gravity of what you’re suggesting.

It takes him a beat to respond. “Yeah,” he nods along, surprising you slightly. “Isn’t that, like, really fucking weird?”

“Kinda. But so is pretending to kill people on YouTube.”

“Right,” he breathes out. “I don’t know about this. I don’t want things to be different between us.”

“It’s just sex. It’s not like we’re doing it for pleasure. It’s just for recognition, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he nods, that sparkle leaking back into his irises. The same one you’ve seen so many times before. “For views.”

When the silence drags on for a beat, you both laugh. “Fuck, are we actually considering doing this?” He says, almost breathlessly.

“I’m more than considering. I’m in if you are.”

His eyes find yours. They drag up and down your face, like he’s scanning for any ounce of hesitation, of deceit. When he’s unable to find it, he nods, unable to stop the laugh that leaves his lips. “Fuck, okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, the warmth that sparks through your body, stopping between your thighs. He turns his body towards yours, running a nervous hand through his slick hair. “Okay, so, how are we doing this? Like, what are the logistics?”

Looking down, you consider his question. How does one film a sex tape with their best friend of almost a decade? Breathing out, you chew your thumbnail. “Okay. Okay, how about tonight, you pick me up. We could park in that old abandoned construction site, you know, with the gravel lot?”

Kurt holds up his hands, shutting you up. “Wait- You wanna do it in my car?”

“You’ve already got the cameras set up in here,” you say with a gentle shrug of your shoulders, although your heart is beating so quickly at the thought it’s dizzying.

“Okay. Wow,” he whispers, looking at you in awe. “Why not right now?” “Someone's eager,” you laugh, the sound rumbling your chest even louder once he flushes and scratches the back of his neck. “I wanna shower, we’ve been in this car for like, three hours. And I want you to wash all this coconut oil out of your hair.”

He chuckles, batting your hand away when you reach over and ruffle the strands. “I’m trying to grow it out, give me a break!”

“I seriously don’t think it does anything but make you look greasy. And smell like a tikki bar.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Another giggle leaves your lips, making the corner of his eyes crinkle. “Seriously. Wash it out,” you say, gathering your purse and your phone. “See you tonight, Kunkle.”

“Yeah. Tonight,” he whispers, watching you climb out of his car and up your driveway.

As you unlock your door, you’re beginning to wonder what you just got yourself into.

♡♡ 

You lean over your vanity, dragging thick, chunky mascara through your bare lashes. Gloss shines on your lips, the strawberry flavour spreading across your taste buds when your tongue swipes out. Once your eyelashes are standing tall, a perfect mix of clumpy and natural. The type that always seems to make Kurt pause in the middle of his sentences.

Just as your phone starts ringing, you dab your favorite perfume on your neck and wrists, the smell of warm vanilla wafting around the room. Picking up your phone, you check the text.

Kurt: in driveway.

Just those two words, improper capitalization and all, make your heart flutter, your stomach clench. All night, you’ve been counting down the minutes, almost in disbelief. You would’ve never thought you’d even see Kurt naked, let alone film a fucking porno with him.

It’s certainly taboo. Something you know you might regret afterward. But you can’t help it. Every part of your body feels drawn to him, a sort of gravity so strong it just about knocks you off your feet.

And the wondering. God, the wondering. What sounds he’ll make, what his pretty face will look like when he’s close. If he truly knows what he’s doing, if he knows what to do with those thick fingers, those big hands-

Your phone dings again, knocking you out of your daydream. 

Kurt: r u nervous? cuz I kinda am…

Chuckling, you type a response, your manicured nails clicking against the glass. Without having to look out your window down your driveway, you can just imagine the look on his face. His teeth sinking into the plushness of his bottom lip.

You: very. 

Not wanting to leave him waiting any longer, you slip your phone into your purse, checking your outfit in the mirror. Your hair falls in silky waves, glossy in the dim lights of your bedroom. Adjusting your tight burgundy tank top, you make sure the lace trim settles against your breasts perfectly. A dark-washed jean skirt settles mid-thigh, gold jewelry shining on your neck and ears.

Underneath, you picked the laciest number you could find, the material a silky black. You know it’s a lot, probably too much for a guy who has seen you with no makeup on your face, sporting three-day-old pajama pants. But still. You really can’t get rid of that desire to see that soft blush paint his skin again.

You take the stairs two at a time, careful not to trip over your shoes. Once you’re out the front door, Kurt’s already looking up at you. His lips are parted into a small ‘o’, his knuckles visibly tightening around the steering wheel.

Making your way to his side, you motion for him to roll the window down. Quickly, he obliges with fumbling hands, eyes widening when you lean down and give him a healthy eyeful of your chest.

You’re able to see him easily with the LED strips he’s placed along the top of the car, even in the dark night. 

“I like the hair,” you smile, reaching in to run your fingers through the now soft tendrils, feeling like silk between your fingers. 

And you mean it.

It curls around his ears and the back of his neck, swooping over his forehead. Hanging slightly over the sharp line of his brow, hazelnut highlights shine underneath the street lights. His hair is messy in a way that somehow feels intentional, as if he ran his hand through it one too many times. 

It’s frustrating how good he looks, looking up at you with those wide doe eyes. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “So, I had an idea.” 

Your hand falls away from his hair, resting beneath your chin.

“Uh, oh. That’s dangerous,” he chuckles, the corner of his lips twitching up.

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and smile. “Hear me out, yeah?” you begin, only continuing when he nods hesitantly. “We roleplay. You pretend you’re my Spree driver.”

“You- You wanna give our porno plot?” He laughs out, the disbelief evident in his voice. 

“Come on, it’ll be hot! I’m, like, a sexy college student who needs a ride to a bar. And I start flirting with you hardcore. Then I’ll ask you to park somewhere and “keep me company” in the back.”

Kurt drags his knuckles against his lips, his eyebrows pulled tight. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“Seriously, tell me that’s not hot.”

He shakes his head, the tips of his ears pinkening just like you had hoped. “No, it is. It’s just… Are we sure this is a good idea?”

Tilting your head, you just chew on the inside of your cheek. “No. But we’re already here,” you whisper.

He just nods, drumming his fingers on the wheel, lost in thought. After a few moments, he nods again, turning to look at you. “I’ll run the cameras… Just walk down the street, and I’ll pretend like I’m picking you up.”

With a nod of your own, you stand up, making your way down your street. You go just a little further than necessary, just in case whoever views it recognizes the background. A part of you feels stupid, putting this much effort into something as crazy as this.

From down the street, you watch Kurt back out of your driveway, making his way down to you. Each foot he gets closer, the more your thighs press together, the heavier your breathing gets. It’s not panic, really, more so the realization that this is actually going to happen.

He pulls up next to you, parking right next to the curb. With a deep breath, you get into the little character you created in your head. “Hey, you’re my driver?” You ask through the open window, a smile creeping onto your face.

“That’s me,” he says with an easy smirk. Once you crawl into the back, he pretends to type something onto his phone. “You’re going to Melvalds, yeah?”

“Yep. It’s my friend's birthday today, we’re all celebrating,” you say, looking at your manicured nails casually. It feels kind of stupid, like you’re back in your middle school drama class. 

“Nice, nice,” he says, putting the car in drive and making his way down the street. “There’s water in the back if you need it,” he says, motioning to the pockets. 

You give him a sly look, the corner of your lips quirking up. “They’re not poisoned, are they?” 

He looks at you in the review mirror, with that knowing look on his face. You can tell he’s trying and failing to suppress a smile, catching what you’re referencing easily. “I can assure you they’re not. I don’t poison pretty girls.”

Heat crawls its way up your face, making its way down your body slowly. It’s just acting. It’s just words. “It’s a good day for me, then,” you say with a forced giggle, already uncapping a bottle. 

The cool liquid coats your dry throat, leaving you to force out a small whimper. It’s barely there, just barely loud enough for the cameras to pick it up. It’s obvious Kurt picked it up, though, his eyes flicking back up to the reflection of you in the mirror.

“So, you from around here?” Kurt asks, eyes focused on the dark road ahead.

“Oh, yeah, I actually grew up here,” you say casually, trying to pretend that his cologne isn’t giving you heart palpitations.

“Ah, nice. I moved out a few years ago. Still figuring things out,” he says, smoothly turning down a street you don’t really recognize.

“Nice. It’s not so bad when you know where everything is.”

“You got any restaurants you recommend? Any hot spots?” He says with a tilt of his head, like he’s silently urging you. 

You pick it up easily. “There’s this one place downtown, actually. Pretty good if you like Chinese food.”

It’s silent for a few moments, like you’re contemplating something. “I do know this one fun spot. It’s close to here.”

“Yeah?” He says lowly.

“Mhm. I’ve.. I’ve got some time before the party. It’s just a few rights down this road.”

Kurt’s eyes flick up. He knows exactly where to go; he could get to that lot with his eyes closed. You both used to hang out there every Friday night in high school, away from prying eyes. The old construction site that no one did anything with, just sitting there frozen in time. 

He nods, already making his way there. The rest of the ride is silent, both of you holding your breath as the time gets closer and closer. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest when you hear that signature song of tires crunching gravel. Kurt parks all the way at the edge of the lot, far enough from the road that anyone passing by wouldn’t be able to see, even with how bright the LEDs are.

“So… You wanna keep me company back here?” You whisper.

Both of you know this isn’t really how normal people talk, how random hookups like this happen, but you’re sure horny people with their hands wrapped around themselves won’t really mind too much.

“I can do that,” he murmurs. It only takes him a moment to open his own door and slide in the back.

Once he’s next to you, you place a hesitant hand on his thigh. The muscle is firm beneath the stretched-out denim, hard against your hand. “You’re cute for a Spree driver,” you whisper, eyes raking down his face like you’re seeing him close up for the first time.

Although it certainly isn’t, you can’t help but admit how pretty he is. How pretty he’s always been.

Kurt audibly swallows, his fingers twitching in his lap. “You’re cute for a passenger,” he murmurs.

It’s quiet for a few moments, Kurt not quite meeting your eyes. When he finally does, you can feel that subtle shift in the air. Like the tectonic plates of your relationship have cracked open, threatening to quake.

As if time moves in slow motion, he reaches out, tentatively brushing his knuckles against your jaw. You are less careful, taking your fingers and sliding them through the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Giving a soft tug, he bites his tongue, his palm encasing the soft curve of your jaw.

It’s unclear who moves first, but you’re both leaning forward, your lips ghosting. Both of you pause, eyes fluttering shut, breath mingling between you. With each breath he lets out, you smell sharp mint and that mango flavor you’re so used to. 

The tension is heavy, the air thick with growing desire. Slowly, so slowly, he presses his lips against yours for the first time. It’s just light pressure, closed mouth. You stay like that for a few moments, your brain going completely blank.

It’s weird. 

Not that kind of weird that makes you want to run, to pull back and tell him this was all a mistake. No. The kind of weird that stirs something deep within you, that ties years of questions into one single answer: You want this.

You really, really fucking want this.

Kurt pulls back, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as his lids flutter open. He looks at you with wide eyes, his thumb brushing your cheek, like he doesn’t know what else to do with it.

It seems to wash over you both at the same time. That intense, almost animalistic desire that leaves you dizzy. You can see it in the way his breath falters, the soft pinch of his eyebrows once he realizes how utterly fucked you both are.

Fingers snake through your hair, nails scraping your scalp. He surges forward so quickly it’s almost a blur, his lips smashing against yours.

A noise set somewhere between a whimper and a gasp rumbles in the back of your throat, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck. He swallows it with a groan of his own, wasting no time to press his tongue against the seam of your lips.

With no hesitation, you part your lips for him, allowing his tongue to slide against yours. Beneath the sickly sweet Mango and the peppermint of his toothpaste, there’s a taste that’s so uniquely Kurt you can’t help but moan. Your thighs press together when you feel him smile against you, his palm pressing against your back as he drags you closer.

You’re chest to chest now, bodies moving against one another in a dance neither of you wants to end. He tilts his head to the other side, chasing your lips as he adjusts the angle. 

It’s a frenzy of teeth and tongue, both of you clawing at each other like you’re lions that were just let out of their enclosures. You’ve never been this kind of person, the type to get so deep into a kiss that there are no other thoughts in your mind but pure, unadulterated lust.

Large hands trail down your body, stopping at the soft curve of your hips. Your skirt bunches up the plush skin of your thighs, giving his wandering hands even more space to map out. 

He slides his palms under your thighs, gripping the skin as he tugs you upward. Getting the hint, you throw a leg over his lap, knees digging into the leather as you settle on top of him.

Kurt doesn’t let you hover over him for long, his hands pulling you downwards, the already obvious bulge in his jeans pressing against your ass. Your breath hitches in your throat at the feeling, quickly turning into small whimpers when he begins to guide your hips against his, adjusting so the seam of his jeans presses perfectly against your clothed heat.

“Shit, Kurt,” you gasp out once his nose nudges your chin up, his teeth dragging across your fluttering pulse.

“See what you do to me?” He murmurs, grinding you down harder, making sure you feel every ridge of him, even through all the fabric. “Been like this ever since you got in the car.”

With each grind, with each catch of his zipper against your clit, you can feel your panties getting damper and damper, surely soaking through and leaving a dark spot on his pants. 

He bites into the skin above your collarbone, certainly leaving purple blooms beneath each drag of his teeth. You couldn’t care less, tilting your head to give him even more access to you. His head dips down lower, nipping at the curve of your breasts that are spilling out of your bra.

His hands come up, sliding up your sides, the fabric of your thin tank coming with. “Can I take this off?” He whispers, finally looking up at you. 

In the soft light of the LEDs, he’s never looked better. His lips are red and swollen, your lip gloss smeared across the plush skin. Those hazel eyes you’ve gazed into so many times are blown black, swirled with pure desire. You run your hands through his hair, biting your lip when he groans softly.

“Yeah,” you nod, helping him pull it off. He throws it somewhere in the front of the car, an issue for later. 

As soon as he sees the skimpy lace, barely leaving anything to the imagination, his lips part, and he lets out a shaken breath. “Fuck… You wear this for me?” He asks, his eyes not even flicking up to yours, too entranced. 

Before you can answer, before you can crack a joke about how lost he looks, his hands come up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing your pebbling nipples through the thin fabric. You can’t help but let out a soft whine, your back arching into his touch. 

Just as you think it can't get any better, he reaches behind your back. He fumbles with the clasp for only a few moments, tugging it off your body with trembling fingers. “Holy shit,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to yours.

“You’re fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispers. palms sliding up and down your sides. He looks at you like you’re an angel God himself sent down to him. The pure awe in his face leaves you a blushing mess, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Slowly, he kisses down your chest, branding your skin with even more hickeys. “Kurt-“ you cut yourself off with a soft whimper when his hand comes up, pinching and rolling the other between his fingers. His lips wrap around your soft skin, sucking the hard peak into the warmth of his mouth. 

You grind down onto him harder, a hand pressing against the back of his head, holding him against you. In response, his teeth sink into your nipple, and he tugs it teasingly. A sly smirk that you want to kiss off immediately crawls onto his face when you moan louder.

Slowly, he pulls back, his large palms engulfing your hips. His thumbs brush your skin slowly in circles, his eyes shining when he meets your eyes. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?” Kurt whispers, one palm sliding down your thigh, squeezing softly.

A soft breath leaves your lips, a new wave of pleasure spiking through you, just at his words. “You want to?” You ask, encasing his jaw in your hands, tilting his head up even further.

“Fuck, yeah,” he almost laughs. “I wanna know how sweet this pussy tastes,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb just ghosting your clothed heat.

Your hips jump slightly just at his little touch, pulling a core-clenching chuckle to leave his throat. “Please,” you whimper.

Not wasting a moment more, he grips you tighter and spins you both around. Your back lands against the seat with a low thud, Kurt landing above you with a soft grunt. He takes a moment to lean down and press his lips against yours gently, a stark contrast to your earlier kiss. 

As he kisses you, he pops the button of your skirt, slowly unzipping it. He tugs it down, only breaking the kiss to tug it over your shoes. It ends up in a heap over the center console, much like the rest of your clothes. He smirks at your thong, a finger hooking under and snapping the elastic against your hip. A soft gasp of surprise leaves your lips at the slight sting.

Then, his lips begin trailing down your body. Your breasts, your hardened nipples. His teeth drag across each rib, the skin beneath him exploding with goosebumps, proof of the effect he truly has on you. Once he reaches the softness of your tummy, he’s more gentle, pressing sweet kisses into the soft skin.

It seems that as he makes his way downward, the prior blinding lust transforms, mutates into something deeper. Something that starts making your hands shake at your side. He notices almost immediately. He always does.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking,” he whispers, reaching out and holding one of your hands in his own.

Nodding slightly, you squeeze his fingers in response, not sure what to say without embarrassing yourself. Really, you’re not sure what happened. You were so ready to go into this being that bold, sexual girl. The type that is a weapon in bed, to never get nervous, no matter how intense the situation is. But as he gets lower, it’s beginning to melt away. To feel real.

“Do you want this, sweetheart? We- we don’t have to. I can turn off these dumbass cameras right now. I won’t hold it against you,” he says quickly, frozen in place. Like he’s unsure whether to back away or come up to hover back over you.

“Kurt I- I think…” You take a deep breath, picking yourself up on your elbows to look down at him better. “I think I’ve wanted this for a really long time.” 

His eyes widen slightly, your admission hanging in the air between you both.

“Really?” He finally says, already positioning himself lower.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Don’t… Don’t stop, please.”

“I won’t,” he whispers, finally settling between your thighs. 

He hooks his arms under them, tugging you toward him. It’s slightly cramped, a little awkward to do this in his backseat, but you both make it work the best you can. Once you’re both situated, he looks up at you one last time, his eyes asking a silent question. 

Slowly, you nod, reaching down to brush his hair out of his eyes.

As soon as he knows you’re sure, his lips press firm against your clit through your panties. Without giving you a moment to moan or even gasp, he presses his nose into the damp fabric, breathing you in. “Fuck,” he murmurs. You rut your hips against him when he rubs the tip of his nose against your clit, effectively nuzzling you. 

His fingers hook under the skimpy fabric, and he pulls it to the side, revealing you to him fully. Not even bothering to take them off you completely. Pupils blow, his eyes turning black.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, two fingers spreading you open for him. “You’re soaked, sweetheart. All for me, yeah?”

Nodding, you suck in a harsh breath, fingers sliding through his thick hair. His own finger slides through your folds, gathering your arousal on the thick digit. “Jesus,” he whispers, looking at his glistening fingers in awe. 

Gently, he presses a slick finger against your clit, rubbing slow circles. “Oh,” you let out a soft breath, feeling your body relax against his touch. After a few more tight circles that leave you panting, he leans forward, pressing his lips against your clit.

Your hips jerk up, pulling another small laugh from him. Not one of mocking, but almost one of disbelief, like he can’t believe this is happening. He keeps pressing mind-numbing kisses to your slit, getting lower and lower until he’s at your entrance. 

Then, as if that wasn’t already driving you crazy, he presses his tongue flat against your dripping entrance, parting your lips with his tongue, all the way up to your clit. Once he gets a taste of you, he’s gone.

He laps at you like a starved man, his fingers digging into your thighs and tugging you down harder against him. You’re not really sure what you expected, considering his lack of experience… But fuck, you could’ve never imagined it’d feel this good. 

“Oh my god, Kurt,” you moan, throwing your head back against the seat. He smirks against you, pulling back and circling the tip of his tongue around your clit. 

Flicking his tongue against you, his fingers slide down below his working jaw, the tip of one prodding your entrance. You tighten your grip on his hair, moaning even louder when he slowly slides his middle finger against your sensitive walls. It’s only one finger, but the thick digit is already stretching you out, already making you keen and rut up against him.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart, relax for me,” he murmurs against your clit, slowly sliding his finger out and curling it back in. 

The pad of his finger presses against that spongy spot within you that has you seeing stars. “Fuck, right there- Please-” you whine, close to babbling.

Kurt gets the hint, pressing his finger firmer against that spot, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking it into the warmth of his mouth. Your fingers tighten in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. In response, he moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“Gonna add another one,” he says, only pulling back long enough to get the words out. 

You nod weakly, back arching off the squeaky seats once he slides his ring finger in, thrusting his wrist quicker. His tongue matches the pace of his arm, sucking and flicking your clit, his mouth feeling like heaven against you.

His fingers stroke that spot within you, pressing against it with such firm pressure that you can’t help but moan louder and ruck your hips against his face. Kurt can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, watching each twitch of your face, each shudder of your body with blown pupils and a smirk.

Quickly, much sooner than you ever could’ve thought, that sweet pressure builds within you, your thighs trembling around his head. “I-I’m, oh fuck, baby,” you moan out, grinding up against him, his nose catching your clit.

“You close?” He murmurs, fingers curling deeper within you. “You gonna cum all over my face, sweetheart?” 

His words make your eyes widen, your thighs press against the side of his head. They sound foreign on his lips when they’re targeted toward you, but so sinful that your stomach clenches. “Yes!” You whine.

Kurt’s movements get quicker, more precise as he gets you right where he wants you. You make the mistake of looking down at him between your thighs, his lips wrapped around your clit. Almost as soon as your eyes meet, you’re gone.

Your entire body shudders, your orgasm washing over you so quickly it leaves you breathless. You can feel yourself clench hard against his fingers, your arousal gushing around them. Head thrown back, your eyes squeezed shut, your hips jerk with overstimulation as Kurt leaves soft kitten-licks against your throbbing clit.

He works you through it gently, his licks turning to soft kisses, turning to barely there pecks. Each one makes your body jump, leaving Kurt to hold you down by your hip with his free hand. “Did so good for me,” he whispers, lips finally leaving you. He gently presses them against the inside of your thigh, eyes focused on yours as he slowly pulls his fingers out.

“Sorry,” he mutters once you whine softly at the loss of him, your cunt fluttering around nothing.

The sight before you once he pulls back is heavenly. If it weren’t for the pounding of your heart against your ribs, you’d think you were dreaming. Kurt’s lips and chin are shining with your release, his hair a mess of soft waves on top of his head. There’s a soft smile on his face when his tongue drags over his lips, a soft whimper leaving his lips when he tastes you there.

Reaching up with a shaking hand, you pull him on top of you, pressing your lips against his. You can taste yourself on his mouth, something that wouldn’t seem sexy before, but Kurt seems to make every part of your body ache with desire. 

He kisses you back, pressing himself firmer against you, your chests flush. You pull back first, your knuckles coming up to brush his jaw. “Kurt, how much porn do you watch?” You whisper, a soft smile twitching your lips up.

That cute rose color you love so much creeps up his neck, his eyes widening. “W-what?” 

“That was fucking crazy. Like, do you study that shit?” You joke, unable to help yourself. You just love seeing him flustered, love to see that innocent look on his face, although you know now he’s anything but.

“N-no, I just… It was good?” He whispers, sounding unsure of himself.

At that, you almost burst out laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

Kurt just shakes his head, shuddering when your fingers dip underneath his shirt, tracing the soft hairs of his happy trail. 

“It was fucking incredible, dude,” you murmur against his lips, sliding his shirt up to his ribs.

Getting the hint, he pulls back slightly, tugging it over his head. Once he’s back over you, you look down, letting yourself explore the revealed skin. His broad chest is scattered with moles and freckles, all disappearing under a thick patch of hair. Dragging your fingers downward, you trace his happy trail, smiling once the soft curve of his tummy clenches.

“So pretty,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to his half-lidded hazel ones. They widen once you slide your hand down even lower, palming him through his already-tight jeans.

“Oh-” he cuts himself off with a groan once you squeeze his bulge gently, your breath catching at the size of him, even through his jeans. His head comes down and rests in the crook of your neck, breath coming in sharp pants as he ruts against your palm.

 “Can… Can I fuck you?” He whispers, voice muffled against your skin. The question is so wrecked, so earnest, you almost moan in response. 

Kurt pulls back, looking into your eyes, waiting to see your response. You nod quickly, already popping the buttons of his jeans. 

“I want you to say it,” he says softly, his hips pulling away from you slightly.

Looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your mind hazy with want, you lean up and kiss his jaw. “I want you in me, Kurt.”

His eyelids flutter shut, a soft groan leaving his lips. Not wasting another breath, he helps you drag down his zipper, kicking out of his jeans. It takes him a moment due to the angle, but he’s eventually left in only boxers that leave almost nothing to the imagination.

The curve of his erection presses against the fabric, every ridge of him clear. But nothing could prepare you to see him without any barrier. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband, tugging them down quickly.

His length springs up, hitting his stomach softly. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. He’s big. Bigger than you ever imagined. Not that you imagined it… too much 

The tip is flushed pink, a bead of precum already sliding down the underside of him, trailing down the prominent veins that snake around his shaft. A soft patch of hair sits at the base of him, connecting to his happy trail.

“What the fuck, Kurt,” you gasp, absolutely transfixed.

“Is that a good or bad ‘what the fuck?’” He laughs out, scratching the back of his neck.

“Good. Really good.” You sit up next to him, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. 

Kurt lets out the softest whimper, his jaw going slack. “Feels s’good,” he murmurs, shuddering when your thumb swipes across his slit.

You begin to stroke him slowly, just getting used to the warmth and weight of him in your hand. His hips begin to rock in motion with your fist, thrusting up into you. Leaning over, you let a drop of spit slide out of your mouth and down his tip. Kurt whines in response, the sound so weak it makes your breath halt.

“Lie down,” you whisper. 

His closed eyes flutter open, his head tilting. “You… You want...?” He trails off, barely able to say the word.

You place your palm on his chest and push him back, resituating yourself while he lies back. Climbing on top of him, your knees land on either side of his hips, the leather of his seats squeaking beneath you.

His length sits against your thigh, smearing a glistening stripe of precum on the plush skin. Gently, he places his hands on your hips, squeezing slightly, thumbs brushing circles on the bone. 

Kurt grips himself in his hand, gently tugging you toward him. Chests pressing together, your heart beats in tandem with his. A low mewl leaves your lips at the feeling of his chest hair brushing your nipples. With a low grunt, he drags himself through your folds, coating himself in your arousal. 

“There’s a condom in the center,” He murmurs, jaw ticking at the sound of your soft moans when he grinds his tip against your clit.

“Prepared, huh?” You grit out through a thick moan.

Despite your cunt grinding against his dick, Kurt still blushes, his teeth chewing his bottom lip as he looks at you sheepishly. Just as you're about to lean over and dig through his center console, you change your mind halfway through.

“I’m on birth control.” 

He blinks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Okay?” His eyebrows are pulled together, like he doesn’t quite understand why you’re bringing this up.

“Kurt…” You whisper, unable to help the smile that’s crawling onto your face.

Realization seems to dawn on him, his lips parting in surprise. “Wait- You want…? Are… Are you sure? Isn’t that..”

Before he can continue, you cut him off quickly.“Stupid? Yeah. But, Kurt.. I want to feel you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted this for a really long time.”

You can see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows, his jaw working. “Me too,” he murmurs. “For too fucking long.”

Slowly, you sit up, hovering over him. He squeezes your hip as he drags himself through your folds one last time. 

“You wanna go slow?” He asks, just barely prodding your entrance. 

“Just- At first,” you whimper out, slowly sinking down onto your best friend's dick.

The stretch is immediate, despite only his tip entering. It burns so fucking good as he slowly pulls you down onto him, letting you feel each inch agonizingly slowly. You can feel each ridge of him stretching you open, sliding against your fluttering walls.

Kurt throws his head back, groaning once he feels you clench around him, sucking him deeper. “Half- Halfway there, sweetheart,” he grunts.

You place your hands on his chest for stability, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut once he thrusts shallowly into you. 

“More,” you whine, your chest already heaving.

He nods, pulling you down until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you. “Sweetheart…” He groans, eyes fixated on where your bodies connect. “You’re so tight, shit.”

The fullness is one that you’ve never felt before. It’s so overwhelming you can’t help but double over, tucking your head into his neck. You press soft kisses against his damp skin, slowly rolling your hips.

His fingers dig into your hips while he lets you grind onto him, low groans mixing with your high-pitched whines. It takes a moment for you to adjust, for the pressure within you to bottom out. Slowly, Kurt drags up your hips, not stopping until only his tip is in. 

With little warning, he pulls you back down, the breath knocking from your lungs once his fat tip slams against that sweet spot within you. “Fuck, Kurt!” You moan, gripping onto his shoulders. 

He does it again, and again, your moans getting louder and louder, to the point where somewhere in the back of your mind you’re worried someone might hear. 

Dragging his legs up, Kurt plants his feet on the seat and fucks up into you harder, groaning praises into your neck. “Feels so good around me,” and “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the small space, the windows quickly fogging with each rock of the car. Your cunt squelches with each thrust up, the sound so erotic and sinful it’s intoxicating.

Your brain only fills with him. Of his hands all over your body, of the feeling of him pounding into you. Of the feeling of coarse pubic hair that keeps catching your clit with every roll of his hips. 

In one quick motion, Kurt sits up, placing one hand behind him, the other pressed against your back. In this position, you can feel him even deeper, your eyes rolling back. Arms wrap around his neck, holding him tightly against you. 

“You’re, fuck, taking me so well,” he grunts out, turning your head and nipping your fluttering pulse. “S…such a good girl for me.”

His words sear into your skin, your nails digging crescents into the meat of his shoulders. Your words come out in babbles, mixes of  “right there” and strings of curses that make next to no sense together. 

He shifts you both once again, pressing your back against the seat and hovering over you slightly. Warm fingers wrap around your ankle, and he places it on his shoulder, opening you up to him even more. Almost bending you in half, Kurt snaps his hips harder into you.

A hand reaches down, his thumb rubbing quick, tight circles against your puffy clit, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Oh my god,” you moan, hips grinding up against the pad of his thumb. “Don’t stop, please,” you plead.

In response, his pace quickens, his thumb moving in turn with his hips. Your orgasm builds so quickly you barely have time to warn him, barely have time to do anything but cry out his name.

Your cunt clamps around him, every ridge of his length catching on your sensitive walls. Kurt doubles over at the feeling, your knee almost pressed against your chest. Pleasure tears through your entire body, your teeth clenching so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. You’re almost completely silent for a moment before his name is torn from his lips in a loud, breathless moan. 

He slides your knee off his shoulder, hiking it over his hips, drilling into you as he chases his own release. Your name also leaves his lips like an oath, his voice rough and shaking. It takes a few more thrusts before his hips stutter, and he buries himself into you fully. Warmth spreads within you as he releases inside, his cum coating your walls in hot spurts.

“Holy shit,” he pants, collapsing on top of you with his head tucked into your neck. You can feel him twitch inside of you, your hips jerking slightly at the feeling.

With shaking hands, you run your nails up and down his spine, trying to catch your breath. Kurt rubs his thumb up and down your hip bone, shuddering against you still. 

Once your breath begins to slow and calm, he pushes himself up on his elbows. He looks down at you with a soft smile, knuckles brushing your jaw. Leaning down, he gently presses his lips against yours. 

Slowly, he pulls out of you, rubbing soothing circles into your skin once you whine. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, sliding down onto his seats. The feeling alone makes you shudder. 

You stare up at the ceiling of the car as he moves around the small space, gathering tissues from the center console to clean you both up the best he can. “You okay?” He whispers while he helps you get dressed, pulling your panties over your still trembling thighs.

“Yeah, just... Thinking,” you murmur, lifting your hips to help him tug on your shorts. 

“About?” Kurt asks, a nervous tone leaking into his voice.

You breathe out, meeting his eyes. “That.. I don’t want that to be the only time we do this.”

His eyebrows raise, lips parting in surprise. His shirt is halfway over his chest, the look on his face almost adorable. “You…” he clears his throat, tugging his shirt all the way down. “Me neither,” he admits, swallowing as you pull on your own shirt, not bothering with your bra.

He lies down next to you on his side, the best he can in the cramped backseat, his arm wrapping around your middle, face muzzling into your neck. You also turn on your side, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. 

Kurt chases your lips once you pull back, long eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheeks as his eyes flutter open. A smile spreads on his face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. “What does this mean for us?”

You stop to consider that for a second. Really, you didn’t think that far ahead. But the thought of walking down the street, hand in hand with him, fills your heart with flutters. All in one moment, you imagine movie dates, coffee runs, and late-night talks under the covers with him. “Maybe we could… give us a try.”

“You mean like, date?” He asks, his entire face lighting up.

“Yeah. Like date,” you laugh, unable to help the smile that spreads across your own face, mirroring his.

Kurt laughs with you, leaning forward and peppering kisses all over your face, making you giggle the entire time. He pulls back, almost glowing under the LEDs. “Why did it take us so fucking long to do this?”

“I guess we’re stubborn.”

“We’re? If you asked me to do this with you, like three years ago, I would’ve.”

“You could’ve asked,” you begin, smiling slyly at the look on his face. “See? Stubborn,” you emphasize your words with a peck to his nose.

“Okay, whatever,” he says with a playful roll of his eyes, pulling you against him again.

You bask in the warmth of him, every movement that led you to this moment with him flashing through your head. You think back to your idea from just a few hours ago, how this even started in the first place. “Kurt?”

“Hm?” he hums against your shoulder.

“Are you gonna post the video?”

He freezes next to you.

“Kurt?” You urge slightly, leaning back to look at him.

Eyes darting everywhere but you, his face flushes. “I- Uh… The cameras were never on. I wasn’t… Ever going to post anything…”

Your eyes widen at his admission, your lips parting. Then, you burst out laughing, pressing your forehead against his chest. 

You both laugh together, laughing at how stupid you both have been. How dumb the suggestion was in the first place. 

Jason Voorhees

Jason’s yearning is heavy. He’ll follow you through the forest with silent excitement like a hunter after their first doe of the season. He tries to make himself smaller, softer in an attempt to not scare you, though his size and silence do anyway. Jason leaves offerings like bait; flowers, candy, whatever he sees and thinks you might like. He loves you the only way he can — by protecting you. It’s worship.

The Grabber

The Grabber’s yearning is an illness dressed in silk. You feel it in the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way his bare hand rests around your throat — not to hurt, but to remind you that he could. He watches you with that damned mask hiding his truth, pretending control, but you can feel it each time he speaks; the desperation lacing his voice. He doesn’t understand love, not in the gentle sense that someone as soft as you deserve. His is a dark possession that aches, a distressed urge to keep you where the world can’t touch you. Every time you flinch, he whispers, “I don’t want to hurt you.” and part of you believes him. You are the only softness he’s ever craved, and he needs you to stay.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas’s yearning is slow, patient, and devoted. He can’t say what he feels, so he builds it instead. Little gestures stitched into every day; a gift a thought you’d like and waiting for you to join the table before eating. You’re the one thing that makes him believe there’s something gentle left in him — how could he let that go? He watches you with soft eyes, adoring every feature like it’s the first time. His yearning isn’t loud, but it speaks volumes.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms’s yearning is frantic. Like he’s drowning and you’re the air he’s desperate for. His affection comes as whispers through the walls, gifts he leaves where you’ll find them, and the way he trembles when you say his name — God, he loves the way his name sounds on your tongue. He wants you to see him, to never, ever leave. His love is unbalanced, fevered, but achingly sincere. You can tell how badly he wants to be good for you, even if he doesn’t fully know how.

Hannibal Lecter 

Hannibal’s yearning is an art form. He is precise and utterly consuming. You are his muse, his fascination, the line between devotion and destruction blurred into something so beautiful. He doesn’t starve for your body so much as your soul, the way your mind moves. His love is a sonnet written in blood and expensive wine. When he looks at you, it feels like being studied, painted, and devoured all at once. You’ll never know if he wants to kiss you or consume you, maybe both. He has paintings of you on his wall. To be yearned by him is to be owned. 

Vincent Sinclair 

Vincent’s yearning is quiet. You see it in the way he sculpts, how every curve of wax mirrors you with precision. He doesn’t speak his love, but trust that he shows it. His hands that glide across your face and skin, memorizing every inch, the polaroids of you that adorn his workspace — the man spends every moment thinking of you, replicating you with wax. He loves like an artist loves their masterpiece.

Bo Sinclair

Tap, tap, tap.

You type away important information pertaining to Mr. Thompson as per his psychiatrist's orders. Finishing a sentence, you take a moment to massage your temples with your fingers as you look over the patient's chart. Being a nurse for Smith's Grove Sanitarium wasn't your initial choice, but it was one that paid decently enough to keep the lights on at home and had great benefits. The doctors treated you and the others as inferiors and the patients could really make or break the day, but you persevered.

You recognized some here were just deeply troubled and needed someone to listen to them properly. And while a few of the psychiatrists and therapists try, most are here for the money or recognition of working here. The man you work under is one of those. Dr. Daniel Jackson is one of the most egotistical men you've met, convinced that he could crack open Myers despite the many years Loomis put into trying just that. There is a rumor floating around the possibility of Dr. Loomis wanting to stop his work, and you just know Dr. Jackson is chomping at the bit to take over the Myers case.

You glance over at the time and quickly finish up your charting, putting in Mr. Thompson was medication compliant, no longer feeling SI yet still experiences HI and AVH, but is seeing improvements with the new medications given to him. You save everything and click out of his file, pushing away from the nurses station. 

It was nearly time to see Michael Myers. You quickly grab a large Rubbermaid tub with the supplies needed for paper mache and drop them off in the usual room Loomis uses to speak with Michael.

It was a few years ago he was added to your rotation. You were a little apprehensive at first, given what happened to a nurse who worked with him before your time here. Outside of him making his masks, he just…lives in his own world. Yet when you took over part of his care he seems to have perked up a little. His change was subtle–almost discernable–but still present when you enter the room. He perks up when you enter his room, he shows you the new masks he makes, and sometimes has you make a mask with him. He seems to respond to you–not always verbally but something about you breaks through his dissociation. And despite the warnings around him, you've developed a bond with Michael. You've tried to explain some of what Michael shows you to Loomis, yet he never believes you.

A part of you feels it teeters on the unprofessional side, but the other part believes you two share a connection. You're not sure how deep it is and you know you shouldn't indulge in any feelings you may feel fester inside you when you're with Michael… but you can't help but be softer with him. Feel something for him you probably shouldn't feel, especially on those late lonely nights you seem to frequently hace larely. You definitely shouldn't think about his towering height over you and how his subtle actions towards you and you only really do it for you, but you do. You shove those thoughts and feelings away, yet they are always present.

You meet up with Ismael, giving him a friendly smile until you spot a new guard with him. 

“Hey, Ismael, new hire?”

“Yep.Noel Kluggs. Showing him the ropes.” Your friend nods and the three of you start walking down the hall to Michael’s cell.

“So who are you and why does this place have such a hot ass nurse here?” Noel comments with a sleazy grin, making your steps fumble as you look at him with clear disgust on your face.

“Hey, man, not cool.” You’re grateful for Ismael’s quick scolding even if you could easily stand up for yourself against someone like him. “Don’t talk about her like that.” 

“He’ll be quick to learn to not fuck with me.” You chuckle, which makes Ismael laugh at your comment while Noel looks confused. He doesn’t make any comments further but he does try to put on a ‘macho man’ show towards Ismael.

Ismael opens Michael’s cell and greets him like usual. You were about to say hello like usual but the new guy started making a scene. You roll your eyes and you were about to tell him to knock it off when he goes and touches one of Michael’s. Ismael shouts at him while you reach out and smack the man’s hand.

“Don’t touch his masks.” Ismael warns.

“What the fuck, did you just slap me?” Noel growls and takes a step towards you but the sound of metal scraping stills the three of you. Michael had stood up abruptly and turned to face all of you–everyone’s breaths catch in their throats. You could see Myers’ chest heaving as he loomed over everyone else. You could barely see his face with his mask and hair in the way but you can just barely see his dark eyes focused on Noel, his large hands clenching into tight fists. 

“Hey, Mikey… It's alright. We're sorry. He's new.” Ismael speaks softly as he looks up at Michael. He clasped the cuffs around Myers's wrists, the chain dangling between his arms. “I'm sorry about the chains, but we are taking you to see Dr. Loomis.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for? You like this guy?” Noel looks genuinely baffled as he looks between the two of you and Michael.

“It's called having basic decency, Mr. Kluggs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Mr. Myers here handled. You can wait for us outside.” You let out a little ‘hmph’ and focus on the tallest in the tiny cell. You can see how much he is on edge right now with how tense his posture is. “You ready to go, Michael?”

“I am not leaving you alone with this freak.”

“Wait outside, Noel. Michael wouldn't  hurt me.”

“What the-”

“Listen to her.” Ismael grunts, grabbing Noel by the shoulder and guiding him out. He gives you a worried look but obliges. The door isn't closed, but it is still almost daunting being alone with him.

“I'm sorry about what just happened, Michael. He's new and just trying to prove himself.” You murmur as you step up close to him. You never thought much of your height compared to others but whenever you stood near Michael he made you feel so small and you have to cool off any sort of reaction his height brings you. It may be foolish to be so up close to him, but he's never given you a reason not to trust him. “Ready to go? We can make new masks before you and Dr. Loomis have your session.” 

Michael’s body seems to slowly relax back into his typical slouched posture. You barely hear the soft grunt from him as he shuffles forward, his eyes now locked on you.

Your smile gently and without touching him, you lead him out of the room. Ismael and Noel looked shocked at the hulking man following you so easily with no restraint and quickly scrambled to stand next to him. Nothing is said until the four of you reach the all too familiar, large room. Michael takes his seat at the table and you gently pat his shoulder and take your spot near him.

“Need anything else, nurse?” Ismael asks as he looks between you and Michael. 

“No. Thank you for your help.” 

You hear the dual footsteps grow further away until the door opens and closes. You know both of the guards are still outside, but now it is just you and Michael.

You don't say anything as you pop off the lid and set out the sheets of newspaper and various colors of construction paper. You get the necessary ingredients out and mix them for you both. While you can’t heat up the flour and water, it still works for crafts. 

“Do you want me to make one with you?” 

He lets out a soft noise and pushes some of the paper to you. He immediately starts tearing paper and getting to work and making something. You were slower as paper mache was a new medium to you but Michael’s hands worked fast, the chains connected to his cuffs tinking and shifting with each movement. You ‘tsk’ softly but know the guards wouldn't ever take off his restraints outside his room. You glance up from your own work to observe him.

“How are you doing today, Michael?”

His hands slowly stop his work as he peers up at you through his long hair. He doesn’t say anything and you don't expect him to, but his little responses tell you everything. He gives you a slight shrug and resumes making his mask.

“My neighbors are still being jerks.” You start to talk about your life as you normally do. It seems to be one of the few things that brings Michael out and in the present. “Last night they were so loud in their backyard. I don't know how two people can make so much noise but they do. I've tried telling them I work mostly in the mornings so I need sleep but they don't care.”

Michael grunts as he smooths out some of the wet paper of his mask.

“I made a delicious batch of cookies though, which was great since I usually suck at baking. I'll talk to Dr. Loomis and see if I can’t bring you some tomorrow.” 

Again you are met with silence from him but he stops his task for just a moment to briefly look at your face. He stares for a long time before going back to his mask. You don't say anything more as you focus a little too hard on finishing your own art project. 

Your mask is a little chopped and not the greatest made thing when you finish. It's lumpy under the red and yellow paper you placed on top of the newspaper yet it still has some charm. You let out a little huff at the sight of the mask Myers made with black as the primary shade with specs of red and blue placed on various places where the cheeks and forehead would be. It looks more smoothed out and less chunky than yours. 

“You are too good at that.” You grin as he looks at your face and the mask you made. He slowly slides the mask he made over to you. “For me?”

He grunts again and returns his hands back to in front of him. 

“Then, I will give you the one I made. I'll take them to my desk to dry while Dr. Loomis talks with you.” You carefully lift the mask he made into your hands and look it over with a smile. “Thank you.”

Michael leans forward a little, tilting his head back a little so you see more of his eyes and the current mask he is wearing. You blink as he stares and your smile waivers just a little at the intensity. You catch his hand twitching against the table and he moves as close as he can to you. Your breath catches in your throat but you don’t show any fear. It may be foolish not to be scared of a patient known for his random bouts of violence. It may be stupid, too, to reach over and gently place your hand over his.

“You've done good today, Michael.” You nearly whisper and you can feel the nearly indiscernible twitch of his fingers. His hand–much larger than yours–turns and he grips yours firmly. It makes you wince and almost instantly you felt his hand loosen its grasp on yours. You smile softly and squeeze his hand gently and he returns the gesture. You feel him start to pull you close and you swallow thickly.

 Before anything else could happen the door opens and in walks Dr. Loomis. You are quick to remove yourself from Michael’s personal space, your heart racing at almost getting caught being so close to a patient. You let out a shaky sigh, giving Michael a reassuring look, before looking at Loomis.

“Ah, making masks again, are we?” The older man asks with a raised brow. 

“As always, Dr. Loomis. I'll get the table cleaned up.” You murmur politely, all while Myers still stares at you. You gather up the supplies, place them in the clear tote, and click the lid back in place. You place the masks on top of the box and carefully lift it into your arms before grabbing the small bowl with the water mixture. “I shall stop by your room afterwards, Mr. Myers.” 

You can feel Dr. Loomis's stare on both you and Michael as you leave. Ismael thankfully opens the door for you and Noel doesn't say anything. You let out a sigh as you walk to your desk. You set down the container and place the masks down at your desk before taking a seat. You feel almost warm, or lighter, at the subtle progress Michael has made.

You stare at your hand as you recall Michael’s behavior, when Dr. Jackson appears with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Have you heard the news?”

You don't reply to him and just give him a hard look as you stand up. 

“Dr. Loomis is closing his work on that freak, Myers. He's going to hand the case to me.” His words make you freeze.

“What?”

“He doesn't think he can learn more or help Myers at this point, so he is giving him to me. And the first thing I implement is removing you from his case.”

“You can't be serious? Michael has shown improvements after he was added to my rotation.”

“Only that you have seen.”

“Ismael has seen it too.”

“Ismael barely knows his right from his left.” Dr. Jackson waves you off. “I don't need you or him meddling with what the patient needs.” 

“Unbelievable.”

“Believe it, sweetheart.” He grins and waves as he quickly takes his leave before you can say anything else. You stared at his retreating figure in disbelief. You feel the cold realization that he is limiting your time with Michael and the fact that Loomis won't be his primary psychologist  anymore. Change can be life altering for the patients and you worry about Michael’s reaction. 

You get through small tasks until the hour is up and Michael would be escorted back to his room, bringing the mask you made along with you. When you approached the room you saw Loomis leave with an almost troubled look before he spots you. Michael is led out by Ismael and Noel and you could see just how tense he is.

Dr. Loomis calls your last name. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course.” You swallow thickly as Michael is led back to his room. 

“I have decided to stop working with Michael Myers and have handed my case on him off to Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

“I've heard. He is removing me from Michael’s care team.” Your voice is tense. “I don't think that is a good decision, especially if you're no longer in charge.”

“While I respect your dedication to Michael’s care, I think Dr. Jackson's choice is a valid one. You are in too deep. I've seen the way you've treat him-”

“He responds to me, Dr. Loomis!” You exclaim, cutting him off. You felt your frustration boiling over at how stubborn this man is. “He doesn't speak but he responds with action.”

“And I have yet to witness that.” Dr. Loomis's face turns stern as he looks you over. “I advise you to drop this matter or I will highly recommend to the charge nurse you will need to take some time off and a suggestion that you take courses around the ethics of healthcare as a nurse.” 

“Dr. Loomis-”

“I will not hear anything else from you. And I will also advise you not to see Michael out of your own volition either. If Dr. Jackson wants you away from him, then you stay away. Now…Have a good night.” Dr. Loomis gives you a tense nod before walking off, not giving you a chance to speak. 

You stand for a few moments in shock. Your frustration and also the sudden sadness you feel brings tears to your eyes, but you try not to cry. Michael has been doing so well. Even if it's small actions, he's been coming out of his dissociation. Your heart clenches at the thought of him as you start to head to your desk, grabbing the mask you made before heading to his cell. 

Losing both Loomis and you will certainly shake Michael in some sort of way, and you worry for him. You worry about the care Dr. Jackson will place on him too. You worry Michael is either going to regress back completely into his dissociative shell, or become violent. Your stomach churns at all the possibilities. 

You're grateful to see Ismael when you arrive back at Michael's cell. He has a sympathetic look on his face. “Heard the news. I thought you'd want to say goodbye to him.” 

“I just hope he'll take the news well.” You murmured before Ismael opened the door for you. You take a deep breath and step inside, Ismael cracking the door so you have some semblance of privacy. You look at Michael as he sits at his desk, slouched and tense.

When your footsteps sound in the cramped room his head perks a little. 

“Hello, Michael.” Your voice is a little above a whisper as you greet him. You get yourself to where you are close behind him. You'd stand to his side if there was enough room in his tiny cell.

You're surprised to see him slowly turn in his chair and peer up at you from his spot. Even sitting, he is a hulking man.

“Dr. Jackson and Dr. Loomis told me what's happening.” Your chest feels tighter at what you're about to tell him. Your instincts tell you not to, but you can’t help but squat down and offer your hand to him. You half-expect him not to move, but you give him a small, sad smile when he places his large hand on yours. “And…Dr. Jackson wants to remove me from your care team.”

You feel his grip tighten on your hand as you let out a trembling breath. You don't see his face past his mask but his eyes seem to search your face.

“I tried reasoning with both him and Dr. Loomis, but they feel I am impeding your care. Loomis threatened to have me put on leave. I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I would hate for you to not know why I won't be present any more.” You feel your eyes sting and the tears you were so desperately trying to hold back fall. You ‘tsk’ at yourself and hastily wipe them away with your free hand. Screw being professional. “It wasn't out of choice. If I wasn't risking my job or license I would choose to stay as your nurse.”

Michael pulls you closer to him, making you stumble and your knees hit the floor. He grunts and his hand is almost painfully tight around yours. His breathing seems to have deepened all while he stares directly at your face.

“I'm truly sorry.” You stand up slowly and try to take steps back but his harsh grip keeps you near. You almost worry–for just a second–but he drops your hand. You can barely force yourself to move away. You know if Loomis or Jackson catches you in here the consequences will be worse.

You leave his cell with a sad look and don't say anything to Ismael. You just head back to your desk at the nurses station to finish the rest of your rounds. Your mood stayed somber and it didn't help that Dr. Jackson would walk past you with a gloating smile.

—

You planned to turn in early when you got home but trashy television was a great distraction. You mess with the bandaids now adorning two of your fingers when you accidentally sliced yourself when you were cooking, the credits playing on the tv screen. You let out a soft sigh and decide to turn off your show and get up from the couch.

You groan as you stand up and stretch. You turn off your lights and pad your way to your bedroom, cursing softly at how the now stretched hems of your sweats catch under your heels. Your bed is a welcoming sight after the day you hand. You close your squeaky door and promptly flop on to your bed. You struggle for a second to get under your plethora of blankets but soon find yourself in a comfortable cocoon of warmth.

You let out a soft sigh as you press your face into your pillow. You close your eyes and try to take deep, slow breaths. You've always struggled falling asleep yet tonight you find yourself drifting off easily.

You're not sure what caused you to stir awake. Was it that your doors squeaked when it opened? Was it the heavy breathing you heard when you arose from your slumber? Or was it the sensation of being watched?

Your brain barely comprehends it as you wake up and sit up. You shiver when your plush blankets fall off you, making the cold air envelop your once warm skin. You rub one of your eyes with the heel of your palm and groggily look over to your door. 

Your heart drops into your stomach as your eyes lock on to the masked figure wearing stained, brown coveralls. Your eyes flicker down to his clenched hand and you spot the bloodied knife, and you whimper, scooting back against your wall. The man doesn't move or say anything. He just stares. You stay still as if any sudden movement was going to trigger something, your eyes locked on his form as your muscles tighten in case you need to fight or flee. 

The man tilts his head and underneath the neck part of his mask you spot messy, blonde hair peeking out. Your eyes widen as you realize the sheer height and you suddenly recognize the figure.

“Michael?” You whisper, voice unsteady. You can hardly believe yourself but everything about this man points to your former patient. Even the way he tilts his head to the side reminds you of him. “Michael, what are you doing here?”

You don't expect a verbal reply despite your question as you stare at him. You can see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath before he steps closer to your bed. What could you really say or do in this scenario? You and him have a good history, but now that he is apparently does that really matter?

Michael starts to step closer to your bed and you don’t make any more sounds or attempt to move. You swallow thickly when he reaches the side of the bed you’re on. You crane your head up while he looks down at you with a tilt of his head. His hand–not the one gripping the kitchen knife–slowly reaches out and grips your wrist. He lifts your arm and stares at your hand, his thumb sliding up from your wrist to tap against one of the bandaid’s around your pointer finger.

“Accidentally cut myself cooking. I was a little… distracted after everything today.” You murmur and cringe a little at reminding him of early.

Michael grunts and shifts his hand quickly, sliding his palm against yours and intertwining yours and his fingers. You swear your heart is about to slam out of your chest from your nerves. What was he thinking? What does he plan to do? Those are questions that everyone at the Sanitarium asked and you find yourself asking those same questions at this moment. The tall man looks over at your nightstand and sets his knife down slowly.

Your eyes train in on the open wounds on his hand and you look up at him in surprise. They look like scratches and you fear the worst at the thought of where they came from. The blood on his overalls implies what answer you’d get from him if he were to speak. 

“Are…Are you alright, Michael?” You’re hesitant to ask but you do so anyways as you look over his hand holding yours.

“Mmm…” Was all he replied with before his other hand moves around your hand and grasps the back of your head. He grips your hair and tilts your head back a little too roughly but it's clear he is holding his strength back. Something about him towering over you with his hands on you both terrifies you yet sends shocks of arousal through you. You want to push those feelings and thoughts away like you did back in the Sanitarium but they persist. 

You shouldn’t still be thinking like this about him. He is dangerous…but he has never been threatening with you. He's been soft, you think.

“Michael…” You whimper his name and his hand’s grip tightens.

“You.” 

Just one, singular word is all he said before he makes you lay back down on your bed, ripping your blankets away from your body. You let out a soft noise of surprise and before you know it, Michael is shoving his mask up above his nose and sloppily pressing his lips against yours. He still grips your hand tight and presses it against the bed as he crawls on top of you, his leg sliding between yours.

He bites your lips rough and his kiss is uncoordinated, but god is it hot. You're half-tempted to try and push him off. He's your former patient after all and it's all sorts of wrong. And yet, you find your free hand coming up to grip his shoulder. He barely lets up for air before his mouth is attacking yours again. He removes his hand from under your head to grip your jaw, pulling it enough to force your mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. Your mind is overcome with the roaring flames of growing passion that any previous hesitations or guilt have left you.

Michael lets up his kiss to your lips and instead attacks your neck. You whimper out as he roughly bites and sucks at your skin, his hand on your jaw keeping your throat exposed for him. You can feel the old, rubbery mask press against your skin as he bites and sucks at the same spot again and again, likely trying to leave a mark.

“Why are you doing this?” You manage to whisper out to him. You weren't complaining but you were confused in the midst of this shared heat. Michael grunts and slowly pushes himself up. He can’t see you with how his mask is pushed up but you watch him lick at his lips.

“You.” He repeats in his deep, almost hoarse, voice. He presses his knee against your core and you gasp. “Family…wife.”

You don't get a chance to reply, his mouth is back on yours in an instant.

“You are nice.” He grunts against your lips before he bites your bottom one again. You're certain it will be swollen in the morning. “Mine.”

You should feel excited he is speaking and acknowledging you directly, yet all you can focus on is your own growing need as he presses his knee against your pussy through your sweats once more. You let out a breathless moan at the sensation and you feel his hand–fingers still intertwined with yours–squeeze your hand in response and his other squeeze your jaw.

You're completely at his mercy and it thrills you. You can't help but roll your hips to try and get more friction where you need it most. Michael grunts again and pulls his mask up enough to where you can see your eyes. He isn't gentle about getting your clothes off. He nearly rips them from your body and tosses them onto the floor until you're completely exposed to him. His face is blank but his eyes roam over your body possessively.

“We shouldn't be doing this.” You murmur and his eyes snap up to meet yours. You feel his grip on you tighten before you continue to speak. “But, I'm no longer your nurse and clearly you aren't a patient anymore…”

That seems to please Michael. He leans down and nips at your chest before he licks at one of your hard nipples, sucking it into his mouth hungrily. You let out a sharp moan as you feel his teeth bite around the areola as he sucks and licks at the hardened bud. His hand leaves your jaw and he roughly grabs and kneads at your breast, all while keeping his other hand connected with yours. You squirm and roll your hips again, grinding your now bare pussy against his leg. He lets off your breast with a slight pop before he attacks the other one just the same. Your nipples feel tender and are deeper in color, covered in his saliva with his bite marks around each, once he is done with them. 

Michael sits up and his hands finally move to grip your legs. His movements are fast as he lays down on his stomach with his head between your thighs, putting your legs over his broad shoulders. You can feel his hot breath on your wet folds and it makes your face flare with heat. 

“You don't have-” Your words are cut off by a moan when he licks at your folds. Your noises are soft as his tongue laps up your wetness eagerly. No part of your cunt is left untouched and when he swipes over your clit? You're crying out and arching off your bed. You hear him grunt and his lips suction around your swollen bundle of nerves and focus all his attention and effort into licking and sucking your clit. You choke on a moan as jolts of pleasure and arousal shoot through you. One of his hands leaves your thigh and he maneuvers it underneath himself.

You cry out when two of his thick fingers slide inside you, your slick wetness making it easy for him to start pumping them in and out. He doesn’t start out slow and gentle. His pace is rough as he works you open.

“Curl your fingers a little…Just-Just like that.” You sighed before sharply gasping when he’s brushing against that spongey, sweet spot inside you. Feeling your legs twitch and try to close in around his head and with all the noises you were making has Michael doubling his efforts. You curse and babble and feel the telltale signs of your orgasm rapidly building to the precipice. Your hands move on their own as you attempt to push him off your sensitive pussy but he growls in response, using his free hand to bat away yours. You don’t even get a chance to react to his actions as you tumble over the edge of pleasure faster than you have in a while. Your release hits your hard and fast, and you can practically hear the increased wetness as he still fingers you.

You cry when Michael jerks away and pulls his fingers from your pulsing heat. You lift your head off your pillow and look at him looking at your pussy. His hands move and his thumbs part your folds as he watches your cunt clench around nothing. You feel his hot breath against your flesh and you hear him let out a mix of a grunt and exhale as you come down from your quick high. Slowly he sits up and falls forward, catching himself with his hands as he looks down at you. He pulls down his mask while you reach up with shaky hands.

You cup his face over the mask before dragging your fingers down his neck. You pull at the overalls and he lets you. You can still hear his heavy breaths behind the latex of his mask and you feel your arousal rekindled at the thought of his mouth smeared with your release underneath that mask. Michael sits up a little with you as you push down the coveralls off his shoulders to his waist, leaving just his white shirt covering his chest. Pushing them down a little more, you can clearly see the tent in the dark boxers he has on. 

“Want me to pull those down too?”

He grunts once more and he rolls his hips against your touch. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as you pull down the fabric constraining his length. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. Michael, for a lack of a better word, is hung. You take a moment to look over what’s going inside you, admiring the deep red tip glistening with his precum. Your gaze trails over a prominent vein along his shaft before looking over the pubic hair at its base. You place your hands under the hem of the white shirt and trail it upwards his stomach. You can feel his thick happy trail leading up to his belly button as you caress over his hot flesh.

“You’re so warm.” You whisper as you pull off his shirt. He goes back to hovering over you with one hand bracing himself by your head and the other gripping your hip firmly. You can feel him tensing under your touch and his length twitches and drips a few small drops of his pre-cum onto your stomach. You can tell he is getting impatient–you’ve seen it plenty of times from him towards the guards and Dr. Loomis. “Do you want to fuck me now?”

The low groan from him tells you his answer.

Michael shifts his hips and he presses his cock against your folds. He grinds against you with a deep sigh and you whimper each time he rubs against your swollen clit. You reach down and gently grasp his flushed cock, guiding him to your entrance. Immediately he pushes his hips forward and you whimper when the thick head of his cock pops inside you.

Much like with his fingers, Michael sinks inside you to the hilt in one thrust. You cry out at the stretch and he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust to his size. He’s already rocking into you with steady movements and you can hear his breaths coming out harshly beneath his mask. You grab at his arms as you try to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain you feel. You watch as he tilts his head down and you just know he is watching himself disappear into your tight heat.

“M-Michael…” You breathe out his name as you try to adjust your legs around his waist. He grunts loudly and tightens his hold on your hip while moving his hand from beside your head to around your throat. His pace starts to quicken as he drives into you again and again until he is practically snapping his hips against you. He leans forward and drapes himself over your body, practically drowning you underneath his impressive frame.

Michael’s mask presses against the side of your head and you can hear his heavy breaths and grunts so much clearer. His hand still grips at your throat enough to make you light-headed in the midst of your pleasure. You shift your hips and the new angle as you squirming against him. He lets go of your hip and slides his arm under your lower back, palming at your ass and keeping your hips angled how you want them. His cock rubs perfectly against that spot as he continues roughly grinding into your heat. Your noises grow louder and you can tell that please him greatly. 

“Mine.” His voice is hoarse and muffled against your ear. You grab at what you can, your fingers digging into his skin. His pace is starting to falter and shifts into sloppier movements while you feel the familiar heat growing in your lower belly. Your walls start to clench and tighten around his cock while your breath catches each time he is fully inside you. With the added squeezing from his large hand along with your sensitivity from your previous release you’re at the edge once more.

“I’m s’close again.” You rasped out, gasping slightly for air. You feel his hand lighten up for a moment before squeezing again, making your head spin once more as tingles start to travel up your legs. He’s recklessly rutting into you, his grunts and your moans filling your room. 

“Breeding you…family.” He mutters and you barely catch what he says.

You can’t speak. The words are trapped in your throat as you let out hoarse cries of pleasure. In your hazy arousal, you haven’t thought about the fact that he has no condom on or how you’ve been spacing getting your refill for the pill. You feel too good to tell him to pull out…not that you think he would listen to you. In a different setting you would have insisted on some form of birth control, but you didn't and you still don't.

The coiling tension in your lower belly finally breaks and you dissolve into pure pleasure beneath Michaels. You let out a strangled moan as your walls pulse around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you. 

You hear a tense groan from him and his hand briefly tightens around your throat. Michael’s hips stutter until he gives you one final, powerful thrust, emptying himself inside you. His dick throbs with each spurt as he fills you full of his cum. You can’t help but moan at the feeling, your walls milking every last drop he gives you. Sweat sticks to both of you as he keeps himself pressed against and in you.

Michael lets go of your throat and pulls his mask up again. His mouth is back on your neck, biting and sucking repeatedly in several spots. He still slowly grinds his hips even as he's softening inside you. You let your legs fall from around his waist as he stills his movements with a soft breath. Giving your skin one last lick, Michael pushes himself up and off your body after fixing his mask. You could faintly see his eyes trail down from your face to where you both were connected.

You were expecting him to pull out. Instead, he removes his arm from underneath you to brace himself as his other hand caresses over your lower belly. Your face flushes at his action and you are reminded he came inside you. That you and him just had sex and you don't feel regretful at all about it. All your schooling and training about ethics in healthcare have gone out the window. 

You let out a soft, content sigh and caress his chest and shoulders. “Are you going to stay the night?” 

A soft noise comes from him before he lays back down on top of you, pushing his arms under you before rolling you both on your sides. You can feel his coveralls and boxers are still bunched at his thighs but he doesn’t seem to care. Neither do you at this point. You feel boneless and so full right now as he holds you tightly against his frame.

You can’t help but nuzzle against his chest as you relax, trying not to think of all the possible outcomes from what just happened. You don’t think about Michael being out of the Sanitarium and the implications that brings. You try to forget the knife sitting on your nightstand or the few words Michael whispered to you in the heat of the moment. 

Instead, you kiss his collarbone and feel him tense against you, his fingers digging into the skin on your back. He shifts his hold and keeps your head pressed against his chest. You can feel his release start to leak around where you both are still connected.

“Mine.” He mutters once more and you feel his touch drag from your back and slip between you both, resting against your stomach once more. “Ours.”