Words Upon Words

“Everyone give it up for the Westminster Men’s Choir!” 

The cameras panned to a varied group of men in matching cobalt-colored robes. Some of the younger ones blinked and fidgeted under the harsh lighting. One man, tall and severe, stood out amongst the baritones. It was Errol. 

Your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle you were holding. He was a fan favorite it seemed as the close-up shot lingered on him just a beat longer than the others. You attempted to drown the audience’s shrill cheers with an eyeroll and a swig. The liquid covered your tongue and you hummed, desperate for the moment of comfort to last. You were nearing the bottom of the bottle. 

You couldn’t believe that asshole fucking left you. 

After everything, after all of the late nights rubbing his back and murmuring soothing affirmations. After every kiss pressed to his knuckles after you reassured him he was not broken, that he was more than what he had been born believing in. He had cried into your lap and kissed your knees as his tears dripped down your thighs and you told him you loved him. Not just his righteous fury (though his passion was attractive, you’d admit) but the soft underbelly of him. You loved the hours you spent on your knees for him, hands clasped at his altar and accepting the truth of him between your lips. One night he would kiss you sweetly, murmuring his hidden thoughts and begging for understanding. Then he would demand your repentance with rough hands and an unforgiving tongue.

All of your new friends left, one by one, to experience the world in their new bodies. Errol and you watched them go, the unspoken truth between you swelling like a festering wound. You both knew that he would be the last you let go, but that you would eventually realize him. And when he chose to leave, you wouldn’t try to stop him. You just didn’t imagine he would go so far, or that he wouldn’t come back… 

For one indulgent moment, you wonder how he has inevitably morphed. He had been human for six months now. You can’t imagine a religion built solely upon convection would last long in the real world, let alone in a newly-homosapien mind experiencing the highs and lows of humanity on his own for the first time. Religions transform when in foreign lands. How has he adapted his fervor? Has he sought communion in a human cathedral or ingratiated himself into a wellness cult? You would never admit it, but you hoped he still prayed to something. 

In an even darker part of you, you hoped he prayed to you. 

You couldn’t make out his voice in the drone of the choir, but it might as well have been a solo. His sharp features and towering height were already enough to make the average passerby do a doubletake. You knew his greedy ego was feeding on the crowd’s adoring roars like it was water in the desert. You tipped the bottle and welcomed the last of the wine down your throat. 

Tomorrow was the first day of the quarterfinals. You knew they wouldn’t win, choirs never do. But you were still here, in this godforsaken city in a swanky hotel Errol booked for you. When his last letter came with the offer of a ticket to the show, you almost threw it in the fireplace where it felt like it belonged. But something in you protested, and you kept them. Then you replied that you would go, and there was a hotel confirmation email in your inbox. At first you wondered why he would even bother sending you the tickets if he wouldn’t even call to thank you for coming, but then you suspected he might have no one else to offer them to. 

You absently rubbed the lip of the bottle against your lips, enjoying the cold hardness of it when it clanks against your teeth. The sound of the TV faded to a hum in the background as your mind drifted, kicking and screaming, to thoughts of him and his long fingers and steely eyes. You suddenly remembered the experience of checking into the hotel. You had to provide his name and number because your rooms were both reserved under his name. 

And the front desk had given you keys to both rooms. 

You couldn’t even be sure that he was in the other room. He could’ve invited someone else to the house, or maybe even someone new… but you shook off this thought. There was only one way to find out. 

The next thing you knew, you were knocking on what you presumed to be Errol’s hotel door. There was no answer. 

“Screw it,” you thought, spurred on by the bottle of wine you had downed, “it’s now or never.” 

You tap the plastic keycard against the doorknob. They light turns green and you hear the mechanical lock inside turn. But the door only opens a fraction before it’s stopped by the deadbolt in place. Inside you hear someone scramble up and walk to the door. 

“Who’s there? I didn’t give anyone permission to enter my room,” Errol’s voice booms. Bile rises in your throat at the sound of him. This was a mistake. But you don’t have time to run away, he’s already here, his head peeking out of the door. 

“Oh,” he breathes, his eyes wide and a flush already crawling up his neck. It’s obvious he didn’t expect this. 

As soon as you see him the rage in your belly starts to simmer again. How can he be shocked? He was the one to invite you here, the one who rubbed his new life in your face in a fucking letter. But wrapped around that anger is a tenderness you want to burn, kill, bury. 

“What- what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“You invited me,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“I invited you to the show, tomorrow,” he huffs, but he stands aside to let you in. He did that a lot in the beginning - he would shun you with his words while crumbling under your touch. Part of you ached to see him reverting, like none of the time you spent together mattered enough to stick with him. Still, you slid past him into the darkened room. 

You were surprised to see it was bigger than the room he had booked you, with a full kitchen and sprawling windows looking over the cityscape. Figures he’d cheap out on you. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you, I just need-” 

“Nice room,” you cut him off. 

He looks around like he hadn’t noticed. “I…thank you,” he says, though it comes out more like a question. 

You turn back to look at him. “Why did you ask me to come here?” 

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” he scoffed. “I assumed you would still be enlightened enough to appreciate the music. The message I have to share. There are so many lost souls out there” 

Your eyes darken. “‘Enlightend,’ huh? That’s fucking rich. You wouldn’t know what enlightenment was if it slapped you in the face,” you hiss, venom pouring over your words. He could be so arrogant sometimes. His mouth screwed to the side and you knew his first instinct was to yell at you, to call you a sinner or dirty or ungrateful, and you wanted him to just do it already. But he didn't. He just looked at you. 

“Is this really what you want to be doing - performing soulless songs with smoke and lights?” 

He scoffs. “There are millions of people watching us - watching me sing. Do you have any idea how many people can hear my message now?” 

Ugh, there he goes again with his message. “Only you could turn a talent show into a megachurch, Errol,” you replied. It all felt like such a crock of shit. 

He straightened his back and spread his arms wide. “And yet they keep returning to hear me, do they not? They watch me, spread my name, and call out to beg for me to continue blessing them. You cannot make me ashamed of that.” 

“You’re a hypocrite,” you snarled. “You’re not here for any message, not really. And deep down you know it,” You were pointing a finger at him now. “You’re here for the ego boost. You’re here because it feels soooo good to hear the applause. It’s pathetic.”

“I am not the pathetic one here,” he almost laughs. But his eyes were boring into you, seething. 

“Why,” you repeated, your voice raising with every word, “did you invite me? You fucking left, Errol. You used me to get a body and fucked off the moment you got it.” 

“I did not,” he blurted, his hand flying through the air to punctuate. His breathing was audibly faster and more ragged now. “I did not use you.” 

You guffawed. “Then how would you describe it? How would you explain claiming to love me in the night only to leave on your mission in the daylight?” you said, spitting the word ‘mission.’

“That is not what happened!” Errol shouts. You start back as if you were slapped. Though you were expecting it, it had been so long since he had yelled at you. It hurt more than you thought it would. Immediately he melts. He moves closer to you, hands outstretched in a sign of peace. “Please don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’ve hurt you.” He closes the distance between you. His hands reach for your face and in your drunken stupor you lean into his palm, hating how comforting he still feels. Tears are welling in your eyes now.  “It was a gift from Him, don’t you understand that? It was something that was given to me and I couldn’t squander it. I couldn’t waste it on myself.” He just stares at you now.

 “Tell me I haven’t hurt you,” Errol begs, almost choking at the end. The aloof man who had denigrated you through fifty-cent postcards was gone now. 

A tear falls from your eye and onto his thumb, rolling down his hand. You assume this is answer enough. 

“My beloved…” he whispers, testing the endearment, unsure if it will still fit. “What was I supposed to do?” You silently curse the tears that are flowing freely now. He doesn’t deserve to see you like this, not anymore. 

“You could have stayed.” 

He rubs his thumb across your cheek and you finally look back at him, but the moment your eyes meet he draws his hand back. “I have a duty, you know that,” he says. 

“To who, to what?” you choke through tears, and turn away. You can hardly catch your breath before you feel him behind you towering over you. Errol’s hand hovers over your shoulder as if he were afraid to touch you again.When his fingers finally make contact, you lean back into the heat of his body and you hate yourself for it. 

But then he’s leaning forward, snaking an arm around your midsection and pressing his nose to the nape of your neck, breathing you in. You grasp at his arm, unsure if you want to tear it away from you or hang onto him for dear life. He kisses the spot behind your ear and when he takes the lobe in his mouth you can’t stop the whimper that escapes you. The sound only spurs him on and a low growl rumbles from his chest and through your entire body. 

“I can smell the wine on you,” he tutted, sliding his other hand from your shoulder to rest gently at the bottom of your neck. You could have succumbed to him right there. But then you remembered the first few dozen nights you spent alone after his departure. He left so suddenly, so coldly. Every night you dragged your fingers over the empty side of the bed like a prayer, believing in your heart that he would return to you any day now. But he never did.

You whipped around to look at him and reached up to grip the back of his neck. You half expected him to resist you when you pulled him down closer to your face, but he didn’t. 

“Do you really think you’re innocent in this?” you say through gritted teeth, sinking your nails into the soft skin at the nape of his neck, drawing out a stuttering sigh from him. 

“I know that I’m not,” he whispers, breath hitching. You almost smile at the sight of his quivering bottom lip. It was only then that you registered the thick scent of whiskey on his own breath. You had never known the friar to drink. You weren't sure if it was wishful thinking, but something told you this wasn’t to cure performance jitters. 

You were pleasantly surprised to see him sink to his knees before you, his trembling hands wrapping around the back of your thighs. 

“God,” you breathed, “you must be even more drunk than I am.” You drew your thumb across his lips before parting them and teasing it into his mouth. He wasted no time and sucked at it, as if the swirling of his tongue over the pad of your thumb could earn your forgiveness. 

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to repent,” you whisper and he shudders in response. The sight of it sends a burning warmth directly to your groin - there’s an intense throb between your legs. “You look absolutely pitiful down there.” 

Errol fails to completely repress the tiny whine that escapes him when you pop your thumb out. You grab his shoulders and shove him backwards, not hard enough to knock him over, but forcefully enough to demand he get on his back. He relents and falls back onto his elbows with his legs splayed beneath you. You drop to your knees and crawl over him, looming, like a cat that’s just found a new plaything. 

You’re straddling him now, resting your hands on his chest, just for a moment, before you push him the rest of the way down. You curl your fingers around his wrists and pin them down at his sides. “Was it worth it, Errol?” 

He goes to turn away but you catch his chin, forcing him to face you. “Look at me Errol,” you command. “Look at me.”  

“You know I can’t… can’t think straight when you say my name like that.” he groans and gives a half-hearted attempt to wiggle away. He finally meets your eyes. “I so badly want to say yes.” 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Was he admitting regret…Is that something he’s even capable of? 

You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. And suddenly your lips are on him and he’s kissing you back like he can’t breathe unless his tongue is in your mouth. Despite his position underneath you, his kiss is forceful and greedy and it sends sparks through you. You loved how hungry he was for you. When you finally break away for air, he looks up at you like a lost puppy. “I missed you,” he croaks. “What must I do? How can I be worthy of you again?” 

God, he looked so desperate for you. It felt absolutely invigorating. He spent so much time looking down on you prior to that first night you spent together, and though he apologized, he still had such a conceit about him sometimes. It got so much worse after he left. His postcards were so impersonal and focused completely on his new crusade. He wrote to you like you were merely an acquaintance, rather than the person he privately renounced a clerical title for. But now he was writing under you, needy and begging for salvation. “What did you miss about me?” you asked. 

“Your voice,” he admitted. His eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected himself to answer so quickly. “That is why I never called you, or answered yours. I knew that if I heard that… angelic voice,” he winced, “I would have lost all resolve.” 

You really didn’t know what to say. This felt like a confession. Not of sin, but of something far sweeter. You’re suddenly awash in the certainty that there were weighty implications to this. After the night of your first kiss, Errol melted in your hands; he was suddenly admitting his secrets, his desire, his fears. He was vulnerable and you relished in it, feeling like you were in on some sort of dirty scheme together. But there was always a certain distance there - he would always hold back, always return to talking about his gospel of convection. He would always reinforce his conviction - and when you fooled around, he always felt guilty afterwards. 

But now he was panting underneath you, his longing for your touch written across his face - and you loved it. Your clit throbbed just thinking about how much he wanted you. You look back down at him and purr, “Did you miss the way that I taste?” 

He sighs and nods, almost like he was relieved that you brought it up. “Yes,” he said emphatically, almost shouting it. His arms strain against your wrists just enough to show his excitement. Without leaving your spot on the floor, you wiggle out of your jeans and underwear and toss them aside.

Errol’s hands grasp at your thighs, pulling you towards him. You let him guide you to hover over his face before sinking into him. He’s swiftly on you, lapping at your sex like a man starved. Errol dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and pulled you down onto his face, begging for more contact. 

You oblige him and grind onto his mouth, making him groan against you. God, it’s like he’s crying out for you. He’s tonguing at you with a force that was almost bruising; he licked and sucked your clit with just as much veracity, if not more. When he swirls his tongue around your clit you shudder and jerk violently. “Just like that,” you groan, and he hums in response. 

He’s laser-focused on every noise you make. He’s not just eager to please, he needs it. He needs you to squirm and writhe against him until you unravel. He takes advantage of your distraction to smuggle a hand out of your grip and he snakes it towards your cunt, plunging a finger inside you. You tremble and clamp around him, eager for more. He adds another finger and pumps them into you all while sucking viciously at your clit. Shockwaves fly through you, making your legs shake. It wasn’t so much the spot his fingers hit, but the delicious pressure they created. You hadn’t been with anyone else since he left, and it was apparent. Before long the coil in you starts winding tight; you can feel the release building in you. 

“Don’t stop, don’t you fucking change a thing,” you groaned, grasping at his hair (you still weren’t used to him having hair, but you forced this from your mind.) “Keep going just like that.” 

He whimpers but he doesn’t lose his pace. He keeps his tongue lapping exactly as it was when you called out to him, not even daring to change the pressure of his tongue. However, his glassy eyes finally flit open and you catch them in your own gaze. Just glimpsing his lust-coated stare was enough to send you over the edge. He holds your stare even as you cry out, grasping at his clothes, thighs shaking around the curves of his face. He doesn’t let go of your clit; he only lessens the suction while you come undone on his tongue. He doesn’t let go even when you gasp and twitch. 

“Fuck that’s, that’s enough Errol-” you said. You feel him smirk against your folds, your clit still nestled between his lips. He makes a move with his tongue, almost like he’s rolling your around in his mouth and you yelp. “That’s enough now.” you try once more. 

Oh, but he doesn’t care. He had already drawn the most beautifully obscene sounds from you, but this was the first time you had shook around him. The sensation of you trembling before him was too intoxicating to ignore. 

He sucked again at your clit and you yelped. This was too much, you couldn’t handle so much stimulation. But he kept on flicking his tongue over your swollen nub. “Errol I’m- i’m not kidding, I -” you yelp again before you can even finish. “It’s - ah, fuck… it’s too much -” He ignores you, happily slurping at your juices and lavishing in you. It feels so good to be devoured like this, as if the wetness dripping from you was the manna that nourished him. 

“It’s time we finally finished this,” you gasp, extricating yourself from his wolfish kiss before slithering south. 

“Oh, well..” he stuttered when he saw you fiddling with his belt. “My love, I don’t know if -” 

But now it was your turn to cut him off, his pants pulled down just enough to allow his member to spring free. You took it, hot and twitching, into your hands. It felt so engorged it was like his cock itself was pleading with you. “Fuck,” he hissed, bucking up into your hands. You dipped your head to taste him, your tongue twirling and exploring the soft head of his dick. 

You could hardly believe how heavenly he tasted. How badly you wanted someone, it turns out, directly influences how good their cock tastes. And Errol’s precum was like honey coating your tongue. You had savored him from the first time you knelt before him on the kitchen tile, but this was practically mouthwatering. You could sense his hands fluttering around you even without seeing them. You would’ve sworn you could smell the desperation seeping through his pores. He whimpered when you took him down your throat, without notice and in one quick motion. 

“Good fucking lord -” he moan. His fingers buried themselves in your hair. The warmth of his palms against your scalp pleasantly contrasted with the tiny burn you felt at the back of your throat and at the roots of your hair. 

Errol dug his heels into the carpet, his legs spasming with every suck and gulp. Just when he thought he could handle no more, you release him with a sopping wet pop. The sound was fucking filthy and Errol loved it. The excitement mingled with the nearly unbearable loss of your mouth, leaving him on the verge of tears. You straighten back up and straddle him at the hips. 

Through the haze Errol’s eyes widened. He had never explicitly said it, but you were pretty sure he had never penetrated anyone before. Your pussy clenched at the thought of being the first to ever take Errol in this way. “Please,” he keened, half-terrified and half-delirious with hunger, with his fingers digging into the flesh at your thighs. It was your turn to be in control, your turn to make him mewl and beg for forgiveness.

You line him up and lean forward, dragging a kiss across his jaw to his lips. You start to sink into him when, to the surprise of you both, he yanks you down onto his cock. You cry out at the stretch but fuck, it feels divine. Your breath turns shuddering and ragged while you get used to him; there’s a flash of concern in his eyes before you eagerly wave it away. He’s just big enough to bottom out in you, his member knocking against your cervix. This is exactly where you want to be. Errol’s fingernails are boring into your skin and his pupils are so blown his eyes look almost black in the dim lighting. You were like a holy visage floating above him - he was at your mercy. 

“Is this what you want?” you cooed. You were moving now, slowly at first but then picking up speed. After every heave of your body you slammed back down on him relentlessly. He pitched his pelvis up to meet you but you could feel the quaking in his thighs. He wasn’t going to last long. 

He bore into you with his cock and with his deep blue eyes and you realized both parts of him were on the edge of spilling. “I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you…” he cried, his voice wispy. You felt him twitch and pulse inside you, tears prickling his eyes. The sight of him so pathetic underneath you was too much - just as you felt him shudder and spill inside of you, another explosion of white hot light ripped through you and you clamped down on him again, convulsing with pleasure. 

It was difficult to say how long the two of you laid there on the floor, panting, wet with fluids and tears. At some point in the night, you stumbled into bed together with no regard to what may come with the morning light. 

You are so unfathomably beautiful. 

Today you seemed to have had a particularly difficult day of work. It shattered his heart to see such tension in your shoulders, such weariness in your face. 

You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling when you heard the faucet turn from the half-opened door of your bathroom. Curious, you wandered in. 

Hector looked up and smiled at you from beside the slowly filling bathtub. 

“What’s all this?” you ask. 

His smile broadens and he gestures down to the water. You now noticed the sweet smelling bath salts swirling on the ceramic, slowly dissolving. 

“It’s for you, my love. You deserve to unwind after today. You deserve to be… pampered.”

“Oh, my sweet thing,” you say, moving to cup his stubbly cheeks in your hands. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Shock, quickly followed by fury, storms across his face. His hands fly up to grip your wrists. “Never say such things! That’s ludicrous!” But he softens again almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak so crossly to you.” His grip on your wrists loosens, though he kept his fingers pressed gently to your pulse point. “I just can’t bear to hear you speak of yourself that way.” 

You press a light kiss to the tip of his nose in thanks. The intimacy of it leaves him flushed. 

“Ah..” he sighs, locking eyes with you for a mere moment before it becomes all too much. Sometimes it still feels like he should be loving you from a distance; like none of this is truly real. God, how he wants to breathe you in. 

“Well, I believe your bath is almost ready, mi vida.” 

Before you can move, Hector’s hands flit down to your shirt, his slender fingers nimbly releasing each button as they move down your abdomen. The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten, and his hands move to your waist. He drags his fingers across the skin of your back, making you flit your eyes closed and hum in pleasure at the sensation. You feel him press gentle kisses to your collarbone as he swiftly unclasps your bra. 

He pulls you into him, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. You enjoy the warmth of his flushed cheeks against your skin and releases you. 

After shedding the rest of your clothes, you step in the tub and sink into the irresistibly warm water with a contented sigh. You rest your neck on the folded towel Hector had already placed there for you and you relish in the knowledge that you are cared for. 

Hector cannot help but bask in your beauty. He languidly drags his eyes along the rosy hills and valleys of your body. The water is cloudy now from the lavender bath salts he had added, and he had to admit… seeing you undressed yet obscured from full view in the milkyness of the water- it somehow felt more filthy than simply seeing you bare. It took all of the strength in him to tear his gaze away for even a moment, nevermind long enough to give you some alone time. Like parting from his soul, he slinks away and eases the door shut. 

You’re not sure how much time passes (a few minutes, half an hour?) while you laze and doze in the tub, but you open one eye when you hear Hector creep back into the bathroom. He’s carrying a fluffy bathrobe you had never seen before. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask, grinning. Ah, to be the object of such thoughtfulness! 

Fhe

“I got it a few days ago, actually. The world seems to be bearing down on you so much these days, I want to give you what comfort I can.” He holds out a hand to you, gesturing for you to step out of the tub. “I want to take care of you,” he purrs. 

You rise and take his offered hand. As soon as your feet hit the floor he envelopes you in the robe. “It’s so warm!” you gasp, delighted. 

“Does it surprise you that I think of everything?” he asks, a glint in his eye. 

He takes your hand again and, pausing to pepper kisses across your knuckles, leads you into the bedroom. The dark room is illuminated by candlelight - where did he even get so many candles? It was almost unrecognizable. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do all this…” you sigh.  

“But I did,” he says, looking back at you. “Just as I have to eat, drink, to breathe air. I see you tired and in pain and I am implored to act. It’s not a choice.” 

“Even so,” he smiles, “this is still what I would choose to do.” 

Your heart flutters, dances, leaps out of your chest as you follow him to the bed, and for a moment you’re grateful to the dim lighting for concealing your spreading blush. 

“Lie down for me,” he coos. 

You assent and make yourself comfortable on the bed, with Hector sitting next to your feet. A beat passes and he produces a tube of lotion and spreads it onto his hands. He rubs the cream into the skin of your legs and feet attentively, making gentle circular motions with his thumbs. He kneads into your pliable flesh diligently, utterly absorbed in the task at hand. 

You are exquisite. His hands reach your thighs and he shivers at the joy of it. His movements slow here, where he knows is sensitive. He grips the underside of your thigh and swings your leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around it as if it were precious. His stubble prickles your skin as he plants kissing along your calf, knee, and thigh as he hunches forward toward you. He places a final kiss at the junction of your hip and pelvis. 

He rests his head on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his thick, dark lashes. The candlelight is caught flickering in his brown eyes, turning them golden with his craving for you. 

“Turn over, my dove,” he said firmly, “and leave the robe behind.” Not commanding, but in a way that conveys his confidence in your pliability. It conjures a fluttering somewhere in the depths of you. 

You flip over and settle back in, resting your head on your folded arms. Hector is on you again in moments, spreading the lotion on the small of your back. He works upwards applying just enough pressure to draw quiet, happy moans from you. He savors every noise as he feels the muscles beneath him loosen and relax. 

You are enveloped in his warmth; in his devotion to you. Thoughts of anything as trivial as work are lightyears away from you. 

Hector’s hands wander down your back, your ass, your legs….. 

Before your mind can make sense of what’s happening his fingers have found themselves between your legs,. His breath is hot against your ear as his fingers first probe and then spread you open.

“My sweet, sweet, thing…” he rasps. “Please relax for me.” 

You can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes you when he plunges his fingers into you. 

He hums into your ear in satisfaction. His lubed fingers slide deliciously deep into you. Lazily at first, so he can watch you wiggle and squirm when you inevitably long for more friction. But you never need to ask him for something twice. 

He takes his time with you, probing and exploring you with patience. Before long, his movements quicken to please you. His slender fingers pump into you and curl ever so slightly, pressing against your fleshy walls. His left hand reaches down to grip you before pulling you backwards, deeper onto his fingers. “You are always a sight to behold, but it is simply magnificent to see you so weak from my fingers….” he sighs, and you whimper. “To say nothing of how warm you are; it’s heavenly.” 

More squeaks escape you as you as he quickens his pace. 

You feel his snicker more than you hear it. “You like hearing how lovely you feel, don’t you? Well, you know me… You know it is my heart’s desire to indulge you,” 

He slows for a moment, pulling almost completely out of you and you whine in protest. “Oh, I know…” he whispers darkly, his lips pressed to your earlobe. “I just wanted to hear those sweet little utterances of yours…” 

You buck your hips backwards onto his fingers and he laughs in surprise, though he hastens again to match your speed. The squelching noise his soaked hands make is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, that was cruel of me, wasn’t it? I just can’t help myself when you sound so…saccharine. That’s it, my love, release your frustrations. Unwind in my hands.” 

The heat of his breath, the adoration in his voice, the lingering lavender-like smell of his dedication to you all bring you so much closer to release. He must feel your muscles tightening and hips bucking because he quickly presses his plush lips to your skin and mutters, “You’ll come for me, won’t you? Please, my love, I know you can.” 

With one last keen half-burried in your pillow, you clench once more around his fingers and the sweltering coiling in you finally snaps. You come undone in the palm of his hands, crying out and scratching at your sheets. 

He had longed for you, for so impossibly long. 

The exquisite curve of your neck and the goosebumps that form there when the cold air hits your skin. The sweet tenderness of your lips… 

You are so unfathomably beautiful. 

Today you seemed to have had a particularly difficult day of work. It shattered his heart to see such tension in your shoulders, such weariness in your face. 

You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling when you heard the faucet turn from the half-opened door of your bathroom. Curious, you wandered in. 

Hector looked up and smiled at you from beside the slowly filling bathtub. 

“What’s all this?” you ask. 

His smile broadens and he gestures down to the water. You now noticed the sweet smelling bath salts swirling on the ceramic, slowly dissolving. 

“It’s for you, my love. You deserve to unwind after today. You deserve to be… pampered .”

“Oh, my sweet thing,” you say, moving to cup his stubbly cheeks in your hands. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Shock, quickly followed by fury, storms across his face. His hands fly up to grip your wrists. “ Never say such things! That’s ludicrous!” But he softens again almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak so crossly to you.” His grip on your wrists loosens, though he kept his fingers pressed gently to your pulse point. “I just can’t bear to hear you speak of yourself that way.” 

You press a light kiss to the tip of his nose in thanks. The intimacy of it leaves him flushed. 

“Ah..” he sighs, locking eyes with you for a mere moment before it becomes all too much. Sometimes it still feels like he should be loving you from a distance; like none of this is truly real. God, how he wants to breathe you in. 

“Well, I believe your bath is almost ready, mi vida .” 

Before you can move, Hector’s hands flit down to your shirt, his slender fingers nimbly releasing each button as they move down your abdomen. The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten, and his hands move to your waist. He drags his fingers across the skin of your back, making you flit your eyes closed and hum in pleasure at the sensation. You feel him press gentle kisses to your collarbone as he swiftly unclasps your bra. 

He pulls you into him, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. You enjoy the warmth of his flushed cheeks against your skin and releases you. 

After shedding the rest of your clothes, you step in the tub and sink into the irresistibly warm water with a contented sigh. You rest your neck on the folded towel Hector had already placed there for you and you relish in the knowledge that you are cared for. 

Hector cannot help but bask in your beauty. He languidly drags his eyes along the rosy hills and valleys of your body. The water is cloudy now from the lavender bath salts he had added, and he had to admit… seeing you undressed yet obscured from full view in the milkyness of the water- it somehow felt more filthy than simply seeing you bare. It took all of the strength in him to tear his gaze away for even a moment, never mind long enough to give you some alone time. Like parting from his soul, he slinks away and eases the door shut. 

You’re not sure how much time passes (a few minutes, half an hour?) while you laze and doze in the tub, but you open one eye when you hear Hector creep back into the bathroom. He’s carrying a fluffy bathrobe you had never seen before. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask, grinning. Ah, to be the object of such thoughtfulness! 

“I got it a few days ago, actually. The world seems to be bearing down on you so much these days, I want to give you what comfort I can.” He holds out a hand to you, gesturing for you to step out of the tub. “I want to take care of you,” he purrs. 

You rise and take his offered hand. As soon as your feet hit the floor he envelopes you in the robe. “It’s so warm!” you gasp, delighted. 

“Does it surprise you that I think of everything?” he asks, a glint in his eye. 

He takes your hand again and, pausing to pepper kisses across your knuckles, leads you into the bedroom. The dark room is illuminated by candlelight - where did he even get so many candles? It was almost unrecognizable. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do all this…” you sigh.  

“But I did,” he says, looking back at you. “Just as I have to eat, drink, to breathe air. I see you tired and in pain and I am implored to act. It’s not a choice.” 

“Even so,” he smiles, “this is still what I would choose to do.” 

Your heart flutters, dances, leaps out of your chest as you follow him to the bed, and for a moment you’re grateful to the dim lighting for concealing your spreading blush. 

“Lie down for me,” he coos. 

You assent and make yourself comfortable on the bed, with Hector sitting next to your feet. A beat passes and he produces a tube of lotion and spreads it onto his hands. He rubs the cream into the skin of your legs and feet attentively, making gentle circular motions with his thumbs. He kneads into your pliable flesh diligently, utterly absorbed in the task at hand. 

You are exquisite. His hands reach your thighs and he shivers at the joy of it. His movements slow here, where he knows is sensitive. He grips the underside of your thigh and swings your leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around it as if it were precious. His stubble prickles your skin as he plants kissing along your calf, knee, and thigh as he hunches forward toward you. He places a final kiss at the junction of your hip and pelvis. 

He rests his head on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his thick, dark lashes. The candlelight is caught flickering in his brown eyes, turning them golden with his craving for you. 

“Turn over, my dove,” he said firmly, “and leave the robe behind.” Not commanding, but in a way that conveys his confidence in your pliability. It conjures a fluttering somewhere in the depths of you. 

You flip over and settle back in, resting your head on your folded arms. Hector is on you again in moments, spreading the lotion on the small of your back. He works upwards applying just enough pressure to draw quiet, happy moans from you. He savors every noise as he feels the muscles beneath him loosen and relax. 

You are enveloped in his warmth; in his devotion to you. Thoughts of anything as trivial as work are lightyears away from you. 

Hector’s hands wander down your back, your ass, your legs….. 

Before your mind can make sense of what’s happening his fingers have found themselves between your legs,. His breath is hot against your ear as his fingers first probe and then spread you open.

“My sweet, sweet, thing…” he rasps. “Please relax for me.” 

You can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes you when he plunges his fingers into you. 

He hums into your ear in satisfaction.

 “You’re already so wet.” 

His fingers slide deliciously deep into you. Lazily at first, so he can watch you wiggle and squirm when you inevitably long for more friction. But you never need to ask him for something twice. 

Soon his movements quicken to please you. His slender fingers pump into you and curl ever so slightly, pressing against your fleshy walls. His left hand reaches down to cup your sex before dragging his fingers back down to rub loving circles around your clit. “You are always a sight to behold, but it is simply magnificent to see you on my fingers like this,” he sighs, and you whimper. “To say nothing of how warm you are; it’s heavenly.” 

More squeaks escape you as you clamp tighter around his fingers. 

You feel his snicker more than you hear it. “You like hearing how lovely you feel, don’t you? Well, you know me… You know it is my heart’s desire to indulge you,” 

He slows for a moment, pulling almost completely out of you and you whine in protest. “Oh, I know…I know...” he whispers darkly, his lips pressed to your earlobe. “I just wanted to hear those sweet little utterances of yours…” 

You buck your hips backwards onto his fingers and he laughs in surprise, though he quickens again to match your speed. The squelching noise his soaked hands make is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, that was cruel of me, wasn’t it? I just can’t help myself when you sound so… saccharine . That’s it, my love, release your frustrations. Unwind in my hands.” 

The heat of his breath, the adoration in his voice, the lingering lavender-like smell of his dedication to you all bring you so much closer to release. He must feel your muscles tightening and hips bucking because he quickly presses his plush lips to your skin and mutters, “You’ll come for me, won’t you? Please, my love, I know you can.” 

With one last keen half-buried in your pillow, you clench once more around his fingers and the sweltering coiling in your pussy finally snaps. You come undone in the palm of his hands, crying out and scratching at your sheets. 

His tongue reaches out to trace the curve of your ear and he says, “I hope you feel as unburdened as you sound, my love…”