ellie

At the Retail Rodeo—where the two of you worked together—you ate lunch together every day, swapping books and stories and complaints. Holden would lean on his elbows, torso nearly falling over half of the picnic table as you talked. He looked entranced, as if he could catch every word you spoke like fireflies at dusk, admiring them in the light of his palms. 

And after work, Holden would bike to your house, with you sitting on the rear rack, your hands searing a brand into his shoulders without even knowing what you did to him. 

The two of you usually curled up on your couch, frayed navy linen and cushier on the right cushion than the left. Holden would trace stories into your skin, talk about that novel he was writing, open his windows but keep his doors shut.

Eventually his locks would rust away, and he’d start to cry, sniveling about how he wished the cracks in the floor would open up wide and swallow him. He wept about the grease and lies piled into every corner, how everyone was trained not to see it, not to see any of it. He sobbed about the merry-go-round in his head—spinning so fast all he could see was candied-orange, honey-yellow, strawberry-red, and the need to be something more than nothing—until it snapped and sent splinters through his stupidfucked brain.

You would listen. You’d press reverent kisses to the crown of his head, whispering you’re here, you’re okay… 

He was in love. Madly. 

He wanted you always closer, wanted to pull himself inside of you and worship the church that was your soul, the very thing that saved him. 

There was only one thing. Sometimes, it seemed like… you held him at a distance.

You never let him pull you by your dusty blue vest into the storage room the way he wanted to, never accepted the stars he laid down at your feet because you had once said you were too scared to reach for them. 

He couldn’t help but ask himself, why? Why, why, why?

It almost drove him crazier than when he’d see you reaching for the very top shelves, when your shirt would ride up just enough to see soft skin hiding underneath, and he’d imagine that skin arched into his touch, your navel glittering with sweat and ache... 

It almost drove him crazier than when his heart would pump every drop of blood in his body down, down, and he neededyousobad—But he couldn’t. 

It almost drove him crazier than when all he could do was disappear into the EMPLOYEE-ONLY bathroom and pant whimpers of hot steam against the tile as he thought of you, spilling over, hot and sticky, into his fingers. 

Almost. 

୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ ˚.⁺⊹

The sun was low in the sky as you looked up at Holden, the two of you leaned against the armrest of your couch—the side with the rip, cotton candy stuffing starting to spill out. Holden’s arms were draped around you, your head laid on his chest, breathing in the smell of old-lady laundry detergent and fresh pencil lead. 

“Mmm.. you smell good,” Holden murmured, breathing in the top of your head like a baby’s. 

“You like my shampoo?” You looked up at him, seeing those big eyes looking down at you, all half-lidded, that stupid grin on his face. 

“No. Well—yes. But I think it's you.” He always got so nervous. You found it endearing. 

Turning around to face him, you brushed your nose against his, watching all the heat flood up into his face. “What do I smell like then, hmmm?” 

You watched his eyes get wide at that, his hips shifting uncomfortably beneath you. He looked everywhere but back into your eyes. “Um, y’know… Like, like you. Cinnamon-y.” 

You puffed out a warm chuckle, pressing a kiss to the bridge of Holden’s nose. He usually ran cold, but his face was burning. “Silly boy,” you murmured against his skin, saturated with warmth.

You didn’t expect to feel him shudder, dull nails suddenly gripping onto the frayed linen beneath you like he’d float away if he didn’t. 

“Mmh—you…” he choked, eyebrows knit together. “You can be so… frustrating.”

“What’s wrong?” you pulled away, searching his eyes, body for any sign of his discomfort. 

He looked up at you, eyes wide with stars on the verge of exploding. His hands lifted from the couch, trembling, hovering above your waist—like he was scared to touch. 

“You—fuck. You’re only… Only like this at home.” Not your home. Just home. “It’s… like you’re ‘shamed of me.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, a whine-like noise bubbling up from his throat. 

Oh, wow. 

You felt his hips squirm underneath you again, and it all clicked into place. His length was pressed against your thigh, throbbing through his jeans.

“Holden, baby..” you sighed into his hair, your hand coming up to the back of his neck and grabbing a fistful. You pulled his head back, almost in awe of his neediness. “Look at me.” 

A thick shudder rolled up his spine, lashes fluttering shut, as if he were working up the strength to even look up into your eyes. When he did finally look up at you, you felt your fluttering heart skid to a stop. 

“I’m not ashamed of you. Never in a million years,” you murmured, your eyes pleading with him to understand. “Whatever… this is, just because I’m not like this at work, doesn’t mean I don’t want you. They’re boundaries, sweet boy.” 

“But—why don’t you want me all the time?” Holden whined, eyes glossing over with unshed tears. 

“I do, Holden. I do.”

“But—I need you, so bad. All the time, so bad it hurts. I… I can’t hardly take it.” 

Holden rolled his hips up into your thigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he bit down hard onto his bottom lip. 

Was he really dry humping you? Did he think you didn’t notice?

“Holden, baby…” you felt yourself grin, something sadistic blooming deep between your lungs. 

You slid your hands under his shirt, hot palm on clammy skin. He shivered, sniffling in your ear as he buried his face back in the dip between your neck and shoulder, huffing you like an addict. 

You could feel humid breath smothered against your collarbones as you traced the soft landscape of his ribs, raw and breakable just for you. 

“‘m sorry… Can’t—mnnh—help itt...” 

“Don’t be sorry.. Just like that, keep going.” 

Holden was gripping onto the hemline of your shirt, like he needed to remind himself you were really here, with him. That you wouldn’t disappear, like all the things he had once called home.

He was so hard against you, hips stuttering up as he gasped shakily, spit-glossed lips falling open just enough to see those bunny teeth. 

Those eyes, those fucking eyes, glazed over with tears and pure need, boring up into you like you had struck a match against his soul and let him burn. 

“You’re an angel,” he choked out, half whimper, half confession. “Oh, God.”

Sweat shimmered on his skin like fairy dust, glittering dragonfly wings strung onto a boyish frame. 

You giggled against his mouth, and he could swear you tasted like heaven. This was probably the closest he’d ever get to it. 

“I’ve barely even touched you, Holden,” you murmured against his lips, tracing his happy trail under his shirt. 

“You—you don’t need to, fu-uckkk..” he threw his head back against the armrest of the couch, eyes clenching shut as his hips bucked with increasing fervor against the creamy-smooth skin of your thigh. “Oh, oh..”

“Nuh-uh. Eyes on me,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. “You can do that, can’t you?” 

The teasing lilt in your voice made Holden’s dick jump, already dripping against the inside of his boxers, his zipper too-tight. He lifted his neck, his brain suddenly weighing a thousand pounds. He blinked back tears as he met your eyes, nodding feverishly. “Uh-huh, uh-huh… ‘m sorry. Sorry.” 

His reverence made you smile as you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead. You held his face like an angel saving a sinner, nose brushing against his. 

“Good boy.”

The words made Holden’s brain short circuit, electricity arcing up his spine and shooting fireworks zapzapzap through his fingertips. His hips stuttered wildly as he choked out your name, grinding and humping against your thigh. Tears began to spill down his cheeks from pure, raw emotion ripping through him. He was yours—body and soul—and the thought made him sob with pleasure.

“Haa-ahh.. Oh, oh God, need you, fuck, fuck, I love you..!” 

You watched him slump against the frayed linen, chest heaving with exertion as he stared up at you with those fucked-out eyes. 

Holden was always finding new ways to surprise you. “There he is,” you crooned, slipping a hand under the band of his jeans, noting the wet patch seeping through the front. “So good for me.” 

He preened at your praise, glazed-over eyes fluttering with happiness as he grinned lazily up at you. 

“You came so quick,” you murmured, feeling Holden’s softening erection through his boxers, humid and sticky beneath your fingers. The sensation made his hips stutter, still shaking from the aftershocks. 

“Ah, mmn.. Can’t help it. Not if… not if it’s you—nngh!” 

You watched his expressions admiringly as you pressed your palm harder into him, grinding it against the sticky mess in his pants. His eyes fluttered back into his head, thighs shaking with overstimulation. 

“Mmnn.. too much, fuck, I can’t—“

“—Yes, you can,” you cut him off, your other hand moving to press two fingers against his lips, beckoning him to open up. 

Holden parted his lips obediently, tongue lapping over your fingers, getting them wet as he looked up at you with those half-lidded eyes that made your heart twist. You felt his breath hitch around them, eyebrows furrowing as he tried desperately to be good, to take what he was given. 

Your palm worked against his sensitive erection, coaxing it back to life as his hips stuttered, indecisive about whether to chase or run from your touch. “That’s it, Holden. Just like that, mhm.”

Muffled curses and pleas slipped Holden’s mouth around your fingers as he slurped on them, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he looked up at you with so much need you almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

“Look at you, bein’ so good…” you murmured, pulling your hand out of his jeans. Holden mewled out a protest, but it was quickly cut off as you shoved your hand back down into his boxers. “My perfect boy.”

Your hand was so warm, so soft against Holden’s sloppy sex, he felt like he was floating. The feel of your actual skin against him made him dizzy; it was so much better than feeling you through the scritchyscratchy ache of denim.  

It took almost all his brainpower to focus on your fingers—focus on being good. He tongued around them sloppily, swallowing them down to your knuckles. Drool slipped down his chin and you thought he looked beautiful. 

“Nnngh, mmh..”

“Yeah? Feel good? Talk to me, baby.” 

You felt him nod around your fingers, moaning something incomprehensible and making you press a pleased kiss against the space between his eyebrows. 

Your fingers found their way around Holden’s sticky base, pumping him through the overstimulation as he stiffened up again. His hips stuttered like hummingbird wings, his tip leaking and smearing all over your fingers. 

Holden whimpered your name around your fingers; a muffled prayer that condensed in the humid air between your fingers. 

The sound only egged you on, your hand pumping his spent length faster, squeezing him tighter until his stomach was tensing, his back arching up against you. Tears were rolling down his flushed cheeks freely now, the sound of his sniffles and whimpers loud in your ears. 

“Mmn.. ah—ahh.. oh, ‘can’t—fuck..” Holden sobbed around your digits, and you pulled them from his mouth, watching the string of spit connecting your ring finger to his mouth. 

“Talk to me, baby,” you breathed against Holden’s forehead, watching his thighs tremble with overstimulation. 

“Ah—I… I can’t, it’s too mu-ahh, I’m gonna, mmn.. You're perfect,” Holden slurred out, blood roaring in his ears as he found himself on the precipice of something mind-blowing. 

“Yeah? Show me, baby. Mhmm.. good boy.” 

Holden sobbed out a broken groan, his hips bucking wildly into your fist as he came undone, white-hot ecstasy ripping through his veins like metal trashcans blowing down the street. Tears streamed down the soft curve of his cheeks, sniffles and hiccups tearing through his throat. 

“So perfect for me, attaboyy.”

You slowly pulled your hand out of Holden’s sticky boxers, fingers shiny with his spend. 

Holden’s chest was heaving as he sniffled and caught his breath, legs trembling from the aftershocks. He looked beautiful, all fucked-out and raw for you. “Thank you, thank you…” 

You hummed in response, pressing reverent kisses over his tearstained cheeks, licking the salt away. You mumbled sweet nothings into his skin, helping him sit up. “So, so good, fuck. This is why we can’t do anything at work, baby… Let’s go clean you up.”

You watched Holden nod sleepily, leaning into your touches and slumping into your arms. He was all pliant now, but when he got his strength back, you knew he’d be all over you. 

You grabbed his right hand with your clean one, pressing soft kisses into the silver scar in the center of his palm. He never told you what it was from, but you knew it was tender for him, someway.